Dancing In Tattered Shoes

In need of Living Room Furniture

2012-01-24T11:34:00.000-08:00

This is a fact, not an posting for the classifieds. My Living Room sofas suck.

I bought them about....hmmm, maybe, Yikes! Ten years ago....which explains why when you sit down, you need a good set of climbers tools to get out. I know you're probably thinking I'm exaggerating. Take my word, I'm not.

I think it's probably easier to drop to your knees and roll to the closest, stablest piece of furniture, grab on and pull yourself up. I've done it, don't laugh! There is the option of grabbing on to someone standing nearby but keep in mind, if that someone isn't firmly planted with heels dug in, the two of you could end up in the abyss, lost for all eternity.

There certainly isn't the same traffic (meaning people) going through my house as there once was, but my house is lived in. The thing is, if you're not careful you could end up living in my sofa surviving off popcorn and chips for the rest of your life. If that sounds bleak, not to worry, there is the periodic rubber band or TV control that go missing and to feed your daily mineral needs dimes seem to get sucked in by the dozen.

I tried pulling the cushions out the other day to see if my daughters ring had fallen in (along with everything else); I nearly had to disassemble the entire sofa to remove them. The wires from the box spring (if that's what it's called) were sticking out through the material and were holding the cushions captive. It was similar to when you get your hair tangled up in a round brush while blowing drying; a rat's nest is easier to decipher. After a good long wrestle a Rock Star, cup of coffee and overdose of vitamins I was able to pull those suckers out. I still have the bruises on my forearms, if you don't believe me.

Just in case.

The other night after everyone had gone home I decided to sit down and watch one of those "I Survived" episodes where there are several people telling their stories of having been victimized in some terrible way and through shear determination make it out alive. Suddenly I realized I too had a story to tell, I just wasn't sure if I'd live long enough to get through to the network that does the filming. See, I got just a little to comfortable in the sofa and before I knew it, one thing led to another and I found myself up to the neck in cushion and box spring. The popcorn had already been vacuumed out for the month so my chances of survival were looking slim. If it weren't for the fact that I didn't want my daughter to be humiliated when reporters came around to get the facts, I may have never found the strength to climb, hack and crawl my way out. Sure there was a bloody mess afterward, but the exhilaration of knowing I'd done it was beyond any other feat I've ever achieved.

I'd show you a picture of my war wounds from that night but there is just no way to prepare you for the shock so I think it be best to leave it to your imagination. Let's just say that old box of Flintstones band-aids came in handy..Bam Bam!

I considered taking a picture of the sofas to show you but soon realized the camera was missing.....not worth looking.

Weeding in more ways than one

2012-01-21T21:37:00.000-08:00

Yes, I finally did the weeding in my little patio. I've been saying I was going to do it for at least 2 weeks now. I wish I had taken a picture to show you the "before", but, I forgot...

I put off pulling the "weeds" because they were really pretty. I don't know what it is but it grows out long and tall and looks really lush. I kinda felt like I was in the middle of a meadow every time I walked out my back door. But alas, I was not.

So it took an hour to clean up; an hour for thought. It was 3:00 when I started and about 4:15 when I finished filling two big 'ol black plastic trash bags. I was terribly busy today so that hour stooped over was back breakingly healthy, because everything else I did required me to sit in front of the computer.

So I'm pulling weeds and I think that maybe pulling the weeds is symbolic of what and where I am at this moment of my life. After almost 20 years I'm very close to being divorced. Just months away. After five years of too much tolerance, divorce was the only solution.

There's a whole lot I won't say but I will say this, you can plant a really beautiful garden that flourishes with proper watering and care but sometimes there are things, under the top soil, things that look really good from the top. Those uncovered things slowly destroy whats beautiful. You can pull the undergrowth out but if you don't get past the top soil and to the roots, the problem never goes away and before you know it you're pulling weeds again. It can go on for years, if you let it.

I never meant those weeds to grow out so much that they covered all my other plants but I was fooled by how nice they looked; it made me feel good. I never wanted my relationship to end either...but the root went so deep. I tried to end it but it wasn't until I realized only a court could help that I was finally able to make it happen. Sad but true.

Morsels of Joy

2012-01-12T22:48:00.000-08:00

How many times have you read a blog of a friend recalling an event from their childhood? I'd be willing to guess, more than once. Me, I've written about plenty of escapades from childhood. Those days when we first learned how to make friends, how to take turns in a game of jacks, how to fight over a doll and act the next day as if it never happened.

Our childhood friends played a huge part in how we interact as adults. I can tell you that some of the tolerance I have now as an adult is hugely due to dealing with a neighbor girl who was sick and spoiled. Everyone, out of sympathy for her poor health, allowed her to dominate play time; I learned to follow.

A very close childhood friend was left home alone a lot; I learned to care.

I remember a boy around the corner who played with the girls and was somewhat sissified, I learned to accept those who didn't fit the mold.

And then there was the family next door. This family moved into the neighborhood shortly after ours. It was a new track of homes built in what once was an orange grove. When my parents first purchased the house only my two older brothers were born, my sister and I hadn't been released from the confinement of mom's ovaries yet (but I'm sure we were cute even then). The family next door had two sons and a daughter. By the time I came around, they had already had their second daughter leaving us one short. No one saw it coming but my parents competitive edge came out seven years later when my sister (referred to as the Consolation Prize by my dad) was added. It was a proud day for my parents knowing the Jones' had nothing on us; Score 4-4. And what did I learn from this you might be wondering; competitiveness, because a few years later I learned that just when you think your on top someone comes along and steals the gold; the neighbors added one more for a final score: 5-4, Neighbors. Humility. We tried.

Both families stayed in the neighborhood but as with most, us kids began to take off in different directions. All the years of playing and fighting, falling off bikes, church picnics, birthday parties, sleep overs, skating, swimming, board games, patio discussions, Easter egg hunts, Christmas and New Years Eve parties and making tamales seemed to fade away.

My dad passed away. Their dad passed away. My mom; then theirs. By this time we'd completely lost touch.

Thank God for memories. They help us hold on to the past that made us who we are. They keep us from forgetting where we came from and if we remember the positive stuff, they help us to direct our own children in how to grow, tolerate, support, love and appreciate.

And oh right, here's where one of those little morsels of joy come in. Yesterday I had lunch with Karen; The "Tie Breaker". We found each other on Facebook, and I know you're not surprised. I think we can all say thank you to FB for someone.

A while back I went a huntin' on FB looking for any sign of the Ezree's and Bingo! Found one. Totally excited, we talked about getting together; a reunion but, time went by and nothing happened. This Christmas my brother, Rusty, who is the family gynecologist...Oops!, I meant genealogist, put some CD's together with family pictures. Seeing as how the Ezree's were at our house almost as much as we were, they were in quite a few still shots and some of the film.

The Consolation Prize and the Tie Breaker don't make much of an appearance in either the photos or the film because they were really young when most of my dads horrific photography and movie making was in full swing. I guess the excitement wore off at some point and all equipment got shoved into the closet, never to emerge again...Until, I got married and had a family. At that point I threaded the movie projector found a white wall and showed the kids how stinkin' cute I was as a kid. Unfortunately my bedroom walls were really textured so we all looked a bit frankensteinish.

Yesterday's lunch felt way too short but it was fun. Besides the fact that Google Maps is not to be trusted and we ended up being 15 minutes late when after exiting the freeway we thought we would be 10 minutes early, it was a joy to sit with Karen and catch up on some of the goings on's over the last 15 years. We ate like...well, like Pigs, and promised to get together again soon to do more catching up. I can't wait.

Life is full of little morsels of joy, sometimes you just got to search for them because they might not come looking for you.

HOME ALONE

2011-08-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

I'm home alone. Something new to me. It's not like I have a house full of kids living at home. No, I only have one who lives here, but it's rare that I should be here alone with no one knocking on the door. Unusual for an apartment manager.

My daughter is far, far away, which makes me a little sad but I know she'll be home Tuesday the 16th. She's way over on the other side of the world. India to be exact. About 13 hours time difference. She won't be coming home tonight and because it's Friday, hopefully most tenants are out enjoying their Friday night or indoors resting from a week of work.

So I figured, what better time to write. Almost got distracted but decided not to let anything get in the way of a little time for me. I showered, changed into something comfy, smeared myself crazy with lotion and sat down at the computer with wet hair. WHAT A WONDERFUL FEELING!!! YES!

I've been on GO and GO fast, for the last month or so, waiting for this moment. This one. Right here and now. It's a little odd now that I'm here. I keep thinking I should be doing something else, not that I want to, but when you spend so much time on the go you have to re-train yourself to stop. I stop all the time but it's usually because I've fallen asleep. Sad, isn't it?

As long as I'm here, I think I should write something. Maybe something clever. Something funny. Something deep. No, something utterly ridiculous........Darn, ain't that the way. I have the time but I'll be darned if I can think of anything to write!

I'm getting mad; I can't think of anything to write. Maybe if I talked to someone I'd get some ideas. Speaking of which, why the heck has no one called me? Doesn't anyone care? Doesn't anyone want to spend time with me? Is it something I said or did? Maybe it's my hair; I knew I should have colored it lighter. It could be my clothes, I haven't bought any clothes for a long time now. I'm out of style and those few pounds I gained have turned everyone off. I've been eating too much garlic lately, my breath is probably horrendous...oh, jeez, I forgot to polish my toenails and everyone has noticed. It might be that the last time I hung out with any friends I was boring. I need spice up the conversation, learn a new language, get a new look, pick up an instrument............Whoaaaaaaaaa! Maybe this time alone stuff isn't such a good idea after all....

It's Incredible to see God work in your childs life

2011-04-17T00:22:00.000-07:00

As you look back on your childs life, you can clearly recall events that made you so proud of who they are.  It could be how they chose to deal with someone who wasn't treating them well or maybe the day they realized they could overcome a fear. Maybe you've watched your child perform in front of a crowd or something as unbelievable as making their bed without you having to threaten their life to make it happen.

I've witnessed Karina do so many things to make me proud that I often wonder if she knows just how proud I am of her. I try to tell her now and then just to make sure she knows.  I consider myself truly blessed to have such a well behaved child.

Recently Karina decided to go on a mission trip to India with Revolution Church. When I asked her why she wanted to go, her response was clear. She said she felt she needed a spiritual challenge and would love the opportunity to share the Gospel and talk to other kids her age about the love of God.   Karina regularly attends her Youth Group at church and has consistantly invited kids from High School to join her.

I'm so very proud that when other kids have decided they're much smarter than their parents and have started listening to the peers "advice", she still comes to me.

Karinas trip is not one that will be easy.  Travel time to their destination in southern India will take 2 days. They will be visiting villages where there has never been fresh water to dedicate water wells. They'll visit orphanages and seniors in elderly care centers, provide medical and hunger relief to many in need and share God's love with tens of thousands of people by putting on a 3-night crusade.

I so much want this to be a success for the team, for the people of India and for God. My biggest delima is in the area of finances. It costs $2,750 per person not including shots & malaria pills, passport and supplies.

This is where you might want to come in. As most mission trips do, I'm asking friends and family to invest in the success of her trip by either prayer, a tax deductible financial offering or both.    A website has been created for this purpose so if you felt led, please click on the link below and then follow your heart.
Donate to Karina's India Cause by clicking here

Thank you so much and please know that sending my daughter off to a foreign country is difficult. It was with my older daughter Jenifer when she went too but I know this trip will not only be a blessing to the person traveling but also to those who will witness the testimony of a young girl who knows in whom peace can be found. If it's taking this much faith and trust in God for me to allow my 16 year old daughter to go, imagine how much more faith and trust she has already placed in the Lord. Incredible how we can learn from our children.

Thanks and God Bless.
Marie

What a Quack up!

2011-03-15T12:55:00.000-07:00

A couple of weeks ago on one of my regularly scheduled days off I walked outside, as I do every morning, work or not. No work doesn't mean I get to sleep in....well, maybe a little; getting up at 7:00 a.m. as opposed to 4:45 a.m. makes somewhat of a difference but, on the days I stay home I feel it my responsibility to take my daughter and nephew to school since my sister takes them on the days I work.

So on this particular morning although I was able to wake up later, I still walked through the regular routine; crawl out of bed, head to the bathroom, get dressed, grab keys and head out to the laundry room to unlock the door.

As I'm walking out the front door I spy through my peripheral vision some unusual, low lying movement. If your first thought was Superman....maybe even Spiderman, please head back on down that road to reality; there is no such thing....okay, okay I admit that was my first thought too.

After the wave of fear subsided and I managed to get my shoes back on I realized that what I saw was none other than a couple of ducks looking for someplace to chillax, do a little back stroke; take time off from the regular routine. Just two love birds getting a little R & R. Where the heck was the rest of the flock anyway?
I guess even duckies need a little time alone.

I remained frozen thinking any movement would send them flying off to the Hawiian Islands...Next stop: Honolulu! Not so. The little buggers hardly gave me a second glance.

I'm wondering if you think me silly to sound so excited about two little duckies swimming in a pool. If you don't, I do. See, for some reason, seeing those little duckies and immediately after thawing out, I created a dialog that went something like (and spoken in a Daffy Duck voice): Him: Beautiful weather we're having, don't you think luv? Her: Yeth my darling, juth beautiful. Him: Then howth about a thwim Thweetheart? Her: Abtholutely, lead the way dear.

This was not the first time I'd seen ducks up close and personal so I can't use that for an excuse for the exthitment. No, I think it was just that, since we moved into the apartments, although some very interesting events have taken place with the humannoids around here, I haven't seen anything in the way of animals or pets lately. The last, say, 12 years we lived with our two dogs and since they're gone and all I have as a replacement are barking tenants (if you hadn't heard that story, read my Apartment Living post) I suppose I'm just a little lonesome for the company of a friend that will listen to me, even when I'm a grouch, and not feel the need to give their 2 cents.

So! There you have it. I might be living 11 miles from the beach or any other large body of water and not expect to see my fine feathered friends in my back yard but apparently ducks are not all that particular of where they take a dip. As long as they can go for that morning swim, that's all that matters. Quacks me up!

Small World Isn't it..........

2011-02-07T22:54:00.000-08:00

A few days ago I read the blog of a long time friend of mine, Juan Talavera, cleverly entitled Juan's Blog. Juan often does recaps of his busy schedule just to let everyone know where he's been, what he's up to, and his upcoming auditions.

Juan is a Flamenco dancer in the true sense of the word(s). He started dancing at a very early age and unlike some of us, never stopped. I dare not say his age without his permission but I will say, he's a tad bit older than I, and I'm 55. Sorry Juan.

When I started dancing Flamenco many, many years ago, Juan was one of the people I took classes from. He lived nearby so we frequently drove together to classes and shows. I would say we became friends, not the kind of friend that is inseperable; not at all, but we did spend a decent amount of time together. I admired his talent then and still do today.

So back to Juan's blog. For some reason, in his last blog he talked about one of his early teachers "Corina Valdez". I don't recall him ever sharing that bit of information with me before or I'd have done what I did while reading his blog; I dropped my jaw in surprise. Corina was my first teacher too. Big surprise.

Through one of Corina's shows I was first introduced to Flamenco. I still recall Arlene (a non-related cousin type) dancing a Spanish number in what's called a bata de cola. The video below isn't Arlene but it'll give you an idea of what the bata de cola looks like.

For many, many years I wondered if the day would ever come when I'd have a chance to learn Flamenco.

After reading that Juan studied with Corina I left a comment that I too had studied with her and gave a little background of how Cornia and I are non-related. Her sister was married to my mom's uncle. In the Mexican culture, that means she's a non-relative treated as a relative. Whatever. I'm totally confused and not sure what I wrote but....does it really matter? My point, if there ever was one, is that Juan and I were around a lot of the same people.

Juan and I travelled to Spain together....did we actually travel together Juan? Doesn't matter, we were in Sevilla and Madrid at the same time. We went to a disco in Sevilla and showed up at 9p.m., far too early, had to leave to get a bite to eat and then returned after 11p.m. and were still early. I believe it was later that evening that we took a cab with a friend I'd made in a dance class. He took us to a club where the gypsy's hung out and danced Sevillana's. I must say, they (the gitanos - gypsy's) intimidated us, but we stayed for a while. Oh how I wish I'd had a video camera....

I remember a night in mid October when we were caught in the rain. I don't know if Juan remembers but, I had an umbrella and tried to share it with him, he's a tall guy but being the kind hearted person I am I was determined to keep him dry. He grabbed the umbrella I'M SURE thinking he would keep us both out of the rain but due to his height, and quick stride, he stayed dry and I....well to say that my hair got frizzy would be an understatement. Thanks Juan!

After a few months I returned home and Juan stayed on. It was his first trip to Spain after having danced for many, many years. Since then I think Juan has returned maybe five times. I have too, in my dreams.

I just want to say that if you ever, ever need a Flamenco dancer; to take classes from or to perform, you must, must, must visit Juan's website flamencobravo.com. And if you're not in need of a dance class or dancer,visit his website anyway. Juan was one of the original members of "El Cid" on Sunset which was originally a movie studio.

Juan Congratulations on your many years of dancing. Keep up the good work, you're an amazing dancer and man.

Apartment Living

2011-01-24T23:21:00.000-08:00

Well, I admit; it's just a little nicer living in apartments when you're the manager in that I got to pick out my carpet, I have nicely painted walls instead of the standard Navajo White, I have the only garage with a door that leads to my patio and into the kitchen, the Crown Molding adds a special touch and the cost of living is answering your door at unusal times and having pushy sales people call at 6:45 A.M., looking for the Housekeeping department.

Today my daugher asked "do these people ever stop bothering us?" and I responded, "yes, when we start paying rent". In other words, get used to it honey, ain't gonna happen. The front door say's "Manager", i.e. "bother at will". I mean seriously, why would I answer my door with an attitude when the benefits are beyond what I could have imagined?

I must admit, some very unusal things have happened here. I have a tenant who barks when he's mad. I know this because he came to my door with his complaint. I stood and listened and then "tried" to explain what I was doing to resolve a problem when the tenant who happened to be inside with me thought it necessary to come to my aid. She was wrong, of course, but I appreciate the fact that she wanted to show her support....unfortuantly, her style and mine are quite different. The tentant outside the door thought it necessary to tell me what to do and so the two began a "discussion" of their own...I kept asking the one inside to let me handle the situation but those motherly instincts had already kicked in. The next thing I know the tentant outisde barked...aahaa, barked. Just like a dog...you know, woof, woof, woof. If that isn't crazy enough she barked back. For a few seconds I thought maybe it was a full moon. I waited in anticipation to see if either of them would grow facial hair but it never happened. My daughter was sitting on the sofa watching and later told me she was ready to call the animal shelter...ok, that's a lie but she was ready to call the police.

It was something out of a bad book. So stupid you wanna just put it down but just interesting enough to keep you there. After a few barks, I stepped back up hoping neither of them would bite me in the ankle and asked them to sit, which of course was followed by a treat...another lie. I did manage to get in between the two and four fleas later was relieved when the two were ready to let me take my position again and speaking in English was able to calm them both down, no belly scratching involved.

The next day the female dog called to say she was sorry; that she could never do what I do. To which I responded of course, grrrrrr...ate! Thought I was gonna growl, didn't you! I tried to make her feel a little better by saying that we all have our own method and mine is to try to avoid argument, and listen before allowing myself to be drawn into a no win situation. She said her husband told her to mind her own business but I think he sat her down and calmed her by squashing a few fleas.

I appreciate the fact that she wanted to come to my defense. I do, really. I think she mistook my patience as weakness. But all I was doing was allowing him to voice his complaint without him thinking I didn't care what he had to say. I admit, I didn't enjoy the way he thought he needed to voice his complaint; some people think that yelling is the best path to wining but once I was able to get them both to calm down, he quietly listened to what I had to say and then left on his merry way.

It could be he was embarrassed as hell....if hell get's embarrassed...or maybe his wife was whistling for him, not sure. All I know is he walked away, lifted his leg at the first tree and left me in peace for the rest of the evening. Now I know why he never came with his wife when she was deciding if she wanted to apply to rent. God bless her.

Yes, managing apartments has it's benefits...I'm just glad we don't allow animals on our property.

I'm baaaack............

2011-01-23T10:46:00.000-08:00

It's been a long time since I've blogged. I've had every intention of writing but something has kept me down. Maybe the intensity with which every day has every hour filled. Possibly the move from my home to apartment manager. Or it could just be the ups and downs of my daily life. Whatever the reason, I've not blogged and I miss it immensely.

This morning I awoke at 6:30 and decided I had no particular reason to get up; except that the laundry room needed opening. With all the selfishness I could muster up in me I decided "the heck with it!"...I laid down and settled in for a few minutes more of shut eye only to wake again at 7:15.

Knowing that there are a few people who wash Sunday mornings, I threw my jeans on and headed over to the laundry room to open up. The wind was blowing so strong but it was a warm tropical wind...yes, here in California..I actually strolled over and enjoyed the warmth of the breeze.

I came back in and decided to read my emails and found one from my very good friend, Debbie, of trixiesmommy.blogspot.com/. That was it! I moved on to my cousin Anita's blog castlescrownscottages.blogspot.com/.

I won't be writing much this morning; have to study some songs and get ready for church and Worship but, now that my schedule has changed and I'll have more time on my hands I plan on getting back to blogging. It'll be such a joy to get back to doing something I love. I can almost hear Tye from Extrememe Home Make Over saying "Welcome Home, Marie, Welcome Home".

Wow! It's been over a month since I posted anything...

2010-09-26T13:25:00.000-07:00

Things are a little crazy right now but I saw this video at church today and really felt the need to share it. ENJOY!

Awwwwww!

2010-08-22T16:15:00.000-07:00

A few Saturday's back was an exceeptionaly fun day. I went with my theater friends to see Shakespeare by the Sea - Twelfth Night. We left my house at about 3:45 and arrived at Point Fermin Park in San Pedro around 4:20.
The moment we stepped out of the car I felt as if we'd just traveled around the world...not because the ride was so long or because the company was so boring. It just looked so different and something about it gave me the feeling I was a tourist.

We walked down to where the outdoor seating is and decided since it was still early (the show didn't start until 8:00), we'd wander around and see the grounds. Lucky, as we were, we were walking past the Lighthouse when we were made aware that you can actually go inside the beautiful thing. This is a lighthouse that was built in 1874....it's older than me! Yea...I like things that are older than me. It was beautiful; filled with antique furniture, an old iron that could knock any misbehaving husband out for a few days, an ice chest (better known today as a refridgerator), beds, just about anything you'd need in 1874.

We made our way up to the Lighthouse huffing and puffing the entire

way. It's amazing what a few years will do to your stamina. The view was stupendous. It made me wish that for just an hour I could step back into that time to get a full understading of how it might have felt.

After our lighthouse adventure we mosied down to the seating area again and met up with more friends, ate our dinner and then set out to see more of the grounds. As Wendy tried to look for seeds in some of the flowers (just shows what age we've come in to), a family of racoons crossed the path and climbed up into a tree nearby. Apparently that tree has some type of berry on it and this little family were hungry.

Berry Hungry Family of Racoons

We hung around and photographed the Racoons until they'd had enough and started to hiss at us. I'm not all that educated on the lifes of Racoons but I somehow recall hearing that they carry rabies. Needless to say, we were outta there!

There was time to sit, chat, and laugh before the show began.....

The show was wonderful; the group of actors fantastic! I think it only fair to say, a good time was had by all!

SHOES

2010-08-07T10:17:00.000-07:00

I knew it wouldn't take much more than the word "SHOES" to get your attention.
What is it about shoes that gets us all excited. Why will we knock down the person next to us at a sale to grab a pair of shoes, not because we like them all that much, but because someone else looked at them and you can't take the chance that they are cute and you just haven't seen it yet; some things need time to grow on you.

I woke up this morning with shoes on my mind. Strange? Yes, but there it was plain as day; shoes. I don't remember dreaming about shoes. I don't recall seeing any ad's about shoes. I do recall thinking I'm not gonna let "so and so" walk all over me, but I don't think that could be it. Why shoes? There is a possibility I may have put my foot in my mouth recently, but I'm still not sold on that being a solid reason for having shoes on my mind.

As I look back through the years....a long way back, I wonder how many pairs of shoes I've owned. Does anyone know how many pairs they've owned? Let's see.....I still have a little white pair of walkers, most likely from before I was walking. They're terribly scuffed up, but so cute. I have a red pair of dance shoes I wore when I danced in the Disneyland Parade for the opening of Small World. I have some old tap shoes, character shoes, ballet shoes, flamenco shoes....there's a theme here.

In my closet you'll find hiking boots (like when was the last time I wore those), Crocks, sandles, sneakers, flip flops (I've learned not to call them thongs anymore), plenty of heeled work shoes, and let us not forget the smashed up, worn out, things I call slippers (Cinderella would be embarrassed for me). There might be 15 pair of shoes in my closet. Most of which I don't wear, but there for security sake; I never know when I might need them.

When was the last time I bought a pair of shoes....WOW! I think it was before going to Hawaii last July. I bought two pair of sandles. Prior to that, I don't recall. Seriously. I just don't buy shoes anymore. I make the old ones last. And style....HA! What do I know about style?! There was a time when I was the style queen. My friend Denise and I would go shoe shopping at one of our favorite stores in the Stonewood mall. The owner had shoes from everywhere...imported stuff. Beautiful. He'd let us put them on layaway, crazy I know, but we did it. We'd pick four pair, put them on layaway and get them out within a month. Those were the days!

Why I didn't save some of my shoes, I don't know. Especially the platforms, they're back in style now. I actually think I tried to save them. Before moving into my current house and while cleaning out the old one, I pulled a barrell from the shed. It was full of my old shoes. When you move you don't want to take more with you than you absolutely have to so I tossed them. Such a shame....

Shoes can say so much about a person, can't they? They actually "tell on" us. If we're clean, dirty, overweight, stylish, boring, casual, walk to one side, frugal, or lacking in personality. So was that the reason I was thinking about shoes? Could be. I haven't had had much change in my shoe wardrobe for some time now...maybe it's time for a change.

Ok, well, I just justified my reasons for going out and buying a pair. Hmmm let's see, where can I get the most for my money......................

Wheat Thins

2010-08-03T20:44:00.000-07:00

I love Wheat Thins but I'd like your opinion. Are they called wheat thins because they're thin in size or is it because if you eat them they help control your weight and you stay thin? Cause I'm here to say that I cannot, seem to control myself when I start eating them. I tell myself "I can't gain weight" even if I sit down and chow a whole box at a sitting. I say it over and over...sometimes, even out loud. Cause you know if you hear it, it's true... Right?

Like, let's say you wanna eat a whole cake...this is just an example, so don't think I'm speaking from experience...So you sit down with the cake and you say repeatedly "I can't gain weight, I can't gain weight". Of course, you're saying it out loud because if you can hear it, it's true. I can't remember where I learned that, but I'm almost sure it was at church...maybe not.

Well, I don't know but so far, I'm still not thin. Maybe I have to eat a few more boxes of the stuff. I'm just wondering if I have to eat them at one sitting or if I can stretch it out over, let's say.....2......hours. Cause the thing is, I'm not going anywhere, not moving a leg or a finger until I see results. Can you imagine eating a whole box and instead of sitting right there on the sofa waitng for thinness to come upon me, I get up and walk around....I could miss it. You know chewing works off calories too so I'm beginning to see why eating a couple of boxes could be to my advantage. Also, I've read that sleeping is a good calorie burner...that gives me a great idea for this evening. I'm gonna sit down and cram a couple of boxes down my throat, which of course will be followed by a glass of water because water is a plus when you're attempting to lose weight, (I don't know why they don't print that on the box) and then I'll take a little nappy and hopefully when I wake up, viola! I'll be thin.

I'd like to meet the person who created Wheat Thins. I imagine they're perty darn skinny...Oops! I meant thin.

Do you remember or do you think you remember

2010-07-29T20:16:00.000-07:00

The other day my daughter was telling me about something she remembers from her childhood. She went into great detail and I was honestly impressed that she had such a great memory. She does really. There are times she recounts a dream, in it's entirety. I've learned not say anything to her that I don't want her to remember because, she will. My sister is the same; she remembers things that most people don't even notice happened right before their eyes.

I remember stuff too you know. Like the time I colored on the wall in the living room behind my dad's red chair. You know why I remember? Right! I got one of the very few spankings I ever received.

I also remember a night I found myself laying on the bathroom floor telling my Aunt Camille she didn't love me...you know why I remember? Ahh,ha she spanked me too. I guess your not supposed to tell people who love you that they don't cause if you do they're overcome with this crazy desire to spank you. I remember that Auntie!

I also remember being about 8 years old, sitting on the back porch of my parents house. I was wearing a white button down shirt and some old brown cowboy boots (whose were those anyway?). I was eating white bread with refried pinto beans on it. The memory is so clear. Oh! Maybe that's because I have a picture of it.....and there, my friends is the key. Not that all memories come from old photos but, I wonder if I'd remember much of anything from my childhood if there weren't pictures to trigger the memories.

I don't know about you but my family has so many pictures. My parents had pictures that go waaaay back. Way, way back. It's a beautiful thing too. My brother Rusty (Daniel A. Leonard V)has done a wonderful job of putting some some of those pictures on a webpage (it's a geneology); click on his link and check them out by clicking on the highlit names. I'm actually quite surprised he didn't put more pictures on there.

Daniel A. Leonard 2nd

In the 40's, my mom and her cousins used to take the best pictures. Looking at them makes me wish I could have been there. I loved the clothing and the poses they chose. They'd all climb on top a car and strike a pose or theres the picture in someone's living room with them posed around the piano. Just makes you wanna jump into the picture cause looking at it you can almost feel the mood.

I remember the pictures my dad used to take of us when we were kids. Most of us wore flat tops....Oh, wait, that was no flat top, that was my dad cutting our heads off. His artistic abilities must have been somewhere else because it wasn't in picture taking. Then again, maybe he just didn't like what he saw and did a little editing. Thanks Dad, you really could have told me the hairdo needed some changing.

For a while there I stopped taking as many pictures...what a mistake! They're like family gold. No family should be without them. So if by some chance you've put the camera in a drawer or closet, get that sucker out and start snapping away. It's less expensive these days and so much easier to get to. Do it! Your family memories are slipping by you if you don't. The kids need to see the pictures and videos of themselves so they can remember just how cute and dorky they once were. Sorry, I was probably thinking of one of my elementary school pictures with my hair standing up in the middle of my head. Can't look at it without laughing and neither can anyone else.

Go on now, go make some memories!

Not exactly what I had in mind but it'll do in a pinch

2010-07-26T21:41:00.000-07:00

Geez! I forgot how long it takes to set up a new blog page. What with the Blog Background thief still at large, I had to pick something quick to try and make my blog as inconspicuous as possible.

Some of you out there are constantly giving your blogs facelifts. New pictures, new colors, new backgrounds, new, new, new....Me, I'm quite content to keep the same scenery. I mean, if you have time to do it, more power to you....I guess.
So I chose this one because it has plenty of color. I wasn't able to figure out how to make the photo of my dance shoes fit better so I finally just thought, "so". Really, that is what I thought. I've found that saying "so" helps release me of the pressure of having to do anything. "So", perty much says it all. It's almost like saying Amen...okay, well not quite but it's a good closing ~~line~~ word.... Theres something so final about "so". I mean what are you gonna do when someone says "so"? Challenge them? What more can you get out of them...how about "so what?" That's taking it a step further.
And as usual, I've gone off on another tangent and forgotten about the original message of this post, so I should finish....but, on the other hand, I'd rather not.....SO!

Not there yet...

2010-07-25T01:19:00.000-07:00

I'm still not sure what took place exactly, and I'm not where I need to be with my blog look but I'll be back tomorrow to see if I can't get a little personal feel to it. Such a cryin' shame. tisk, tisk.

What the heck!!!

2010-07-23T19:28:00.000-07:00

Okay, fess up whoever you are! I'm mad as heck and I'm not gonna take it anymore. I wanna know who stole my background. How can you have a blog without a background? How?

If you're envious of my blog background, I'm really sorry but that's no reason to steal it. Seriously, there are a ton of blog backgrounds out there, so why did you have to take mine. I'm a simple person. I do no one harm. I get mad like anyone else now and then but that is no reason to rob me of my background. I feel violated.....

And what am I supposed to do? Is there such a thing as a blog background police? Do I go to Detective Wallpaper? Do you think CSI would take my case? How about 20/20, they're always looking for a new story. Maybe they'll help me. 60 Minutes might show some interest if I beg but why should I have to go to such extremes?

And another thing...how did you manage to steal my photobucket video? You are a sly one, aren't you.....I'm just not all that sure I like the floating notification you left in its place. It doesn't belong. I know this much about you, and I'm sorry to say it but ... you have no taste! Who leaves a sign of what they've taken illegally?

Whoever you are, please return my background...I have nothing to offer in return except a thank you but I can promise it'll be sincere and non-accusatory if you return it without making a big scandal. I'll give you until tomorrow evening after which time I'll probably cry a little, throw some dirt on myself and then move on and over the grieving process by looking for a new background. It hurts me to think I'll have to go with another layout but sometimes life just throws a hardball our way and we have to do what we never thought we were capable of.

So tomorrow,7 o'clock P.M. Return the background or I'm sticking out that stiff upper lip and moving on. If you’re out there and you're reading this, you dag nabbit thief, keep an eye out over your shoulder Miami Vice, L.A. Vice, Sergeant Friday, Barney Fife and the rest are looking for you. (Okay, I just had to get that last threat in) I'm so disappointed.

Signed,
Background Less in L.A.

Not Again!

2010-07-13T17:07:00.000-07:00

Let me start by saying that this is NOT a fun post. Having delt with this myself, I can tell you that Pancreatitis is far from fun. I've had it so I know first hand.

Karina, at about age 9, began having stomach problems. Not exactly stomach but for the sake of this post I'll use "stomach". So I'd take her to the doctor and he'd say "she's not getting enough fiber, she's constipated". I wanted to punch that guy in the gut and say 'now does that feel like constipation to you?' I didn't, but I still wish I had.

So for months, we made our little trek to the doctor and he'd say "What did you eat today? If she doesn't eat enough fruits and vegtables, this is what happens". Okay so after I don't know how many trips the last thing I remember him saying was "If you're gonna keep bringing her back here because she's constipated but never change her diet, what would you like me to tell you? It's your fault she's like this." And I said 'bye, bye Doctor Stupid', out we went, never to return again.

I'm not a doctor but there have been a number of times when I went to a doctor and told him exactly what was wrong with me before they could do any labs. Why? because I know my body and I listen to it. But this joker was too dumb to listen to what the patient was saying. He only knew he was right, or so he thought. Big Jerk!

So, we found another doctor who, was nicer but still could not recognize that this was something other than bad fruit or too much candy. I tried to explain what I thought it was from my own experience but could not be heard. Poop! We liked her too.

Well as it turned out, after several visits to the doctor, being sent home with an "it's nothing" response, we decide to stay home and ride out the pain. I was getting desperate as Karina's pain was increasing and there seemed to be no end in sight. Finally in desperation and fear as I watched my little girl turn into a skeleton I took her to the ER where, not only was she admitted for Anorexia, Child Services were called on Juan Carlos and I because, and here's what the doctor said "I was raised with a step-parent too. I know how terrible it is. Your husband should not be hitting your child"......Hold the phone Miss Doctor Stupid Numero Dos. First of all, neither of us are her step parents and second, we do spank our children if they really need it but the heal of your hand to the forehead as a joke has never, as far as I know, won a case in court for physical abuse. This doctor was slightly off her rocker.

So she admits Karina for Anorexia and I let her. Why? Because even though I knew she was a dim wit and would lose her case in court, all I really wanted was to get medical attention for my daughter who I knew was suffering with something other than malnutrition. Holy!

After many, many tests, many, many doctors and a switch to a children's hospital, it's confirmed by a wonderful doctor who was intelligent enough to see that this was not Anorexia or anything of the sort. It was an unusual case of Pancreatitis. Yes, it's unusual for children but that does not mean it does not exist.

Our wonderful doctor sends us to yet another hospital where the specialist does what they call an ERCP...don't ask....and removes these little stones from Karina's pancreas. No sooner did she come off the drugs used during procedure when she's asking, "can I have some food?". Let me tell you, Godzilla himself would have melted and spoon fed her. She ate as if she had never eaten before and wanted more once she finished with the first plate.

If you've never had pancreatitis and would like to know what it feels like, simply take your everyday dinner fork, poke it into your stomach right below your left ribcage. Twist the fork repeatedly while using a hammer to push it in as far as possible. And then....... yes, it's that painful. There is absolutely no position that makes it better and for as much pain as your in, you'd better not even look at a drop of water or crum of food becuase my dear, that fork will soon turn into a jack hammer. PAIN! So on top of being in pain, food is out of the question....for days.

Karina during a pain break

Well, that's where we are. Back at the hospital after I don't know how many visits. On drugs and holding on to the pounds by getting a healthy diet of Potassium Chloride, drip, drip, yummy, yummy.

If you have a heart, please pray for my little girl. She's been hospitalized about 5 times, her fist stay 7 weeks long. She been prodded, stuck, x-rayed, scanned and starved far too many times. She's a good kid and manages to get through this everytime. I wish I could do more for her but unfortunately I'll just have to pray that she out grows this terrible thing as I did, some time in my 30's. I really pray she doesn't have to go through this for another 15 years. Sometimes life is just not fair. :-(

It's a mystery to me....

2010-07-10T23:45:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day in quite a while that I visited my Facebook page. I didn't intentionally keep away, I just hadn't made it a point to visit....well, I take that back. I suppose if I don't tell you and you find out, you'll think I'm lying. I have FB on my cell phone. I'm not a FB fanatic or anything of the sort, it was during a crazy whim that I decided to add it and everynow and then while sitting at a doctor office, on the shuttle from work to the parking lot or when I get a good piece of gossip and need a way to validate it, I use my phone. Come on now, you've got to admit, it's not a bad idea.

So, as I was saying, today I visted my Facebook page. I watched a video a beautifully voiced bass baritone friend of mine posted of himself, visited the Rio Hondo College page, jotted a quick hello to Meredith and was on my way out when I see one of those people you "might want to be friends with" thingys on the side. I had to take a second look because it was a very dear friends son. That in itself is not strange. What's strange is that I have no idea, NONE, how any one, or in this case any "thing" (meaning FB) would know that I know this young kid.

My first thought was 'Hmmm, maybe I became friends with his mom or dad and don't remember'. So I went through every single face in my friends list and they weren't there. I'm thinking this is kinda creepy. I mean, are people from my past gonna start popping up on my FB sidebar? This is a Twilight Zone moment. Who knows I know this kid? Who? Is someone trying trap me into sending him an email and then make it look ugly like I'm one of those sicko's so they can have me thrown into jail while being taped by one of those after prime time shows that airs on tv? WHAT IS HAPPENING? This is a real mystery.

I don't wanna make a big thing about this but...I just don't understand. I went back to my page to see if he was still there and he was gone. Gone. Just....gone. And in his place people I knew in High School. How the heck did they show up?

Listen people, FB, FBI, CIA, whoever you are...I did nothing...I'm innocent...and I stand my ground. You cannot destroy me. You cannot break me...you cannot, you cannot, you can.....NOT! But just in case, I'm locking my doors, pulling the shades and getting a pitbull. Are they expensive? It doesn't matter, I'm getting one and I've heard them yelp on tv when a burglar sneaks into the back and hits it or whatever it is they do to make a dog yelp. I know that sound so don't think your gonna get me or my dog!

If you didn't already know...

2010-07-03T18:50:00.000-07:00

Last weekend was one I'd waited for, for quite some time. You see, my cousin and her wonderful husband flew in from Minnesota....yes, way over there where if you don't freeze during the winter, your able to take a vacation to a warmer part of the world, like good old Califor.NI.A

Let me just say that it was a visit I wished would never end. We met on Friday, which was long in coming because they flew in on the 19th. Of course there was Ruben's side of the family to visit with and friends they hadn't seen for years and then....having saved the best for last (my opinion only), Friday the 25th rolls along. Six days, count 'em 6 days, later it's my turn. And heck yes, I was excited. My daughter, Karina, had heard so many stories of the famous Anita, she just couldn't wait. She kept telling me how excited she was to meet my cousins.

Friday arrived and at approximately 11:42 my door bell rang. I tried to play it cool but I nearly bore through the hardwood floor in my living room running to the front door. As I answered I had to fight back the desire to shake my head in order to believe that it was actually them standing before me. We sat and talked, and talked and well, you know....Let's just say that talking must run strong on our side of the family because Anita already had larengitis and Ruben, he's not shy for words. Had I been thinking in advance I would have installed one of those little thingys that have in the meat department of the local grocery store so we could pull numbers and make sure we all had a chance to speak. I'm sure Karina had plenty to say too but her bad luck, she speaks slowly. Too bad kid, that's all I can say. Out of shear sympathy we did allow her at least 4 words every 15 minutes....poor little thing, it was the least we could do.

Saturday, it was Breakfast Club and then some. My long time friends Bunny from I'm Just Sayin', and Debbie from From Venting to Viggo were there along with the rest of my family...I say the rest because like it or not, Debbie and Bunny are family. They've known us far too long to be anything but.

Breakfast was to start at 10:00 a.m. and although we were starving, okay so we weren't and I just felt the need for a little drama; the truth: although we normally start at 10:00 oclock on the button, we waited patiently for the guests of honor to arrive. I passed out wipes so we could wipe the drool off our chins as we sat and smelled the awesome breakfast my brother Rusty and his wife Juliet prepared for us. And then, and then, they were there, here, with us...whatever! You get my drift; we could eat! No! I didn't mean that...

Bloggers Debbie, Marie, Anita, Bunny and Ruben

After 15 minutes of hello's we finally grabbed our plates, served ourselves and sat down for coffee, food and chat. We ate and ate, and ate, and ate....and talked and talked. We switched tables, switched chairs, changed rooms, changed shoes, laughed, cried, told old stories, talked about junior high, high school, dorks, school fights, being kids, being adults, books and then as if it had never happened we started all over again...food, chat, talk, laugh, switched tables and on and on it went. I admit, my feet hurt. I switched from the left to the right and then again so often it looked as if I were in the middle of a salsa dance. And then after what is typically a 3 hour gathering, we realized 12 hours had passed and it would have to end.

I really didnt want to leave but we were all tired. Plumb tuckered out. All I can say is, next time, we're meeting at a hotel with a dance floor a live Salsa band, a restaurant with buffet and of course beds for resting. Sure would make the 12 hours a lot easier. But I'm thinking we could do a weekend trip, why not! I'm all rested up and raring to go!

Juliet, Aunt Camille, Erick, Bunny, Michele, Danny, Debbie, Anita, Ruben, Marie

Rusty, Christopher, Donte, Karina (Not pictured Carlos and Juan Carlos, sorry boys)

Today's news

2010-05-23T01:49:00.000-07:00

This morning Juan Carlos and I sat down to breakfast...no, that's not the news...after we had breakfast I cleaned everything up and waited a while to wake Karina as she was out a little late because she went to the band banquet last night.

Around 10a.m. I woke her up so she could eat something and get ready for a rehearsal with a little performing group she's just joined. She asked for french toast so I gladly made it, even though I'd just finished cleaning. I sat down with her because, I like to take that time to sit and chat with her.

We talked about little things and I sat and watched her eat, delighted at how she enjoyed her meal. I could tell she was in deep thought but didn't quite know what it was and figured she'd tell me eventually. She stops, puts her fork down and looking me straight in the eye says "Mom, can I tell you something?" Far be it from me to say no, so I said "sure, if you want". She starts out with "I hope you don't get mad, but last night xxx asked me to be his girlfriend and I said yes. Are you mad?"

The last time she asked me if she could be someone's girlfriend she prefaced it with "You know how much I like xxx right? Well, he's gonna ask you and dad if I can be his girlfriend". I was delighted at the idea that that conversation had taken place before the big decision was made. They'd decided that they would never be alone, never go out alone and would only hold hands. His parents were aware that he was going to ask her and that he wanted to talk to us first. So, we went through the warming up of the idea, and then waited for the day. We all talked and decided it would be okay.

So the guy who had the whole thing worked out and talked out before he would accept her as a girlfriend eventually invites her over his house (with his parents and siblings there) and the relationship was on it's way. This is a kid who goes to her youth group, I know his parents and so I talked to them and we were all in agreement that it would be ok. Fast forward two weeks later, he calls her and breaks up with her over the phone because seeing her once or twice a week is not enough and he just can't take it. So much for all the talk buddy. My little girl is heart broken.

So here we are at the kitchen table and she tells me, doesn't ask, just tells me she said yes to this guy. I already know him because he's been going with her to youth group. And seeing as how I always give a group a kids a ride to group and then home, he asks me to go in and meet his mom. Ahhh, I'm thinking this guys got something up his sleeve. Us mom's know this stuff.

So, what am I to say? I start with "no, I'm not mad, but .... and I tell her that the same rules apply, no going out alone, no hanging out at school alone, no, no, no....". She sat and listened and then said "I know mom". This is when I tell her how proud I am that she's so honest with me because I am AND because I just wanna cement the idea in that I'm not gonna let my guard down and she shouldn't either.

I asked if she'd told her dad, knowing darn well she hadn't, and she said no, but I will. Now I ask, what do you do with a 15.9 year old who wants to have a boyfriend, is open with her parents about the whole thing and always trys to do the right thing? You can hardly say no. I mean, I guess I could but what would that accomplish? I dont' want her sneaking around, but I'd rather she didn't have a boyfriend either. If I say no, she just might stop being as open with me....I really don't want her to sneak about.

He's a nice kid, not exactly who I would have picked for her but look what happened with the guy I would have picked! And here's the interesting thing; he'd asked her before but she said no because she still wasn't over the first kid and Thursday night on the way home when I gave one of her other guy friends a ride home he asked me, how should I break up with a girl who I'm seeing when I shouldn't have started going out with her in the first place. Karina pipped in and said "you didn't even know her that well when you started seeing her. You should have gotten to know her before you asked her to be your girlfriend". He says "I know, that was dumb cause now I don't want to hurt her but the truth is we're not compatable". Karina tells him make sure you don't do it over the phone, be a man about it and face her, after all, it was your mistake. Geez! I'm impressed. Of course she was speaking from experience.

I don't think I'm ready for this.

So, there's the news. My daughter has a boyfriend and that's that. Don't you hate it when you get a taste of what your parents had to go through.

Before and After.....

2010-05-20T23:17:00.000-07:00

BEFORE:
What, you ask? A reunion of my college theater friends.

Next Saturday, May 1st, we'll be getting together for a picture reunion. This doesn't mean only pictures will be there, we, the bodies will be there but we're all taking pictures from shows and travels we did/took together.

I'm scared. Seriously scared. See, unlike anyone else, I've aged and gotten "chunky", I've turned into someone's mom and it makes me look old. Darn! As my comadre and I have been known to say "remember when we used to walk down the street and guys would look at us". Those days are G.O.N.E., gone. If they look now it's because they're simply dumb founded at how we were able to get into our pants without tearing them at the seams.

I know, just know, just know that all my friends stayed young looking, wrinkle free and beautiful. Even the ugly ones, they're beautiful now. Albiet through the magic of plastic surgery, I don't care, they're beautiful. I've lost my charm. I've lost my figure. I've lost my mind! How can I raise the money, get counseling, have surgery and recover before next Saturday. How can I, how can I, how, how, how?

Okay, maybe I'm not all that worried. It's just that lately, I look in the mirror and see jowels. I swear they weren't there last year. I was looking at a magazine and saw a bull dog. I immediately reached for the phone to call a lawyer because I thought someone used my picture without my signing a release.

Do I sound crazed? I'm quite normal, I'm just not ready to start looking old and I seriously don't think it happened until just 3 days ago. Before then, I looked hot.....kinda. Especially if you squinted when you looked at me. Now, today, here, you could stand on your head and I'd still look old.

What to do? Well, I'm gonna go face the music. Which is not to say I'm not gonna buy a girdle or color my hair, have my eyebrows threaded and my nails painted. Shoot, I might even buy new underwear cause you never know, what if I have an accident there and someone see's my underwear. All kinda accidents happen at our age you know.....like, like...well, have you ever sneezed unexpectedly and ....oh, never mind. I can't bring myself to say it, but you know what I'm talking about.

One time my family was at a picnic and one of the kids made me laugh unexpectedly....I made a bee line for the bathrooms. It was my first experience with the weak bladder thingy. I was shocked. I thought something was desperately wrong and that's when I first discovered I was aging. I still curse that day. The first of my old age experiences.

Don't worry, I'm not digging my grave yet but I wish I could have appreciated my youth when I had it. I wish I could have appreciated the smaller bum I once had, or the wrinkle free face. I don't get it, they come up with gadgets for everything, why can't they design something to hide wrinkles? A girlfriends sister and brother in-law used to put preperation-H on their faces. I found out one day when I went to their house and the subject of wrinkles came up. They all started laughing except me. I guess I had a suspicious look on my face, not knowing what they were laughing at so rather than let me stand there in the dark, they told me about their preperation H treatments. Maybe I should run out and buy some of that but, will people recognize the scent and then think I've been kissing butt?

Wish me well. I'm scared but I can do this. I'll just smile and hope they don't notice the wrinkles and if they do, I'll lie. I'll tell them I'm a victim of some strange new disease......I can lie. I can, I can, I can.

AFTER:
You guys are crazy! You had me all worried about what people would think, how they'd point and laugh. How I'd be the only one with wrinkles and extra padding on the bottom side....side, side....back side and front side. I'm not sure what you had my friends made out to be but if they laughed, they hid it well. It's nice to know they had enough respect for the aging process to accept me like I am.

I had a BLAST! We laughed, we cried, we saw slides of old shows, we ate, we drank. But most of all, we knew it was there...the old feelings all came back. It was as if we'd seen each other just yesterday. If I have any complaints, it's that one evening was not enough. I felt like I got only a few minutes with each person and after over 20 years, a few minutes just ain't enough.

The great thing is, we've reconnected and believe me, time was not wasted. People are getting together to hang out, see plays, go to the movies, eat....it's great. Facebook pulled through for us by providing the perfect tool with which to seek out and connect with people we'd lost touch with. Everyone looked great and it was an evening I'll never forget.

What a bully...

2010-04-20T18:26:00.000-07:00

Growing up, on of my bestest friends in the world was Sheron Lupita Garcia. Sheron lived across the alley and cati-corner to my house. She moved into that house when we were in the 3rd grade and wasted no time getting to know what kids lived in the neighborhood.

We were not directly related, but her family was related to someone on my mom's side of the family so we just preferred to consider ourselves cousins to spare explaination of how we knew each other.

Sheron was an only child and spent a lot of time at my house because her parents were often out leaving her alone in the house. So many times she would call late in the evening and say my mom and dad aren't here, can I come over. Of course my parents always agreed that she should so I'd walk out the front door to the curb to wait and see Sheron running down the alley, her long lanky legs carrying her as quickly as they could. As this was pre-cell phone, she'd always leave a note for her parents so they'd know where she was when they came home.

Sheron was used to doing things her way because she didn't have any siblings to consider. And because I was always the push over, we often did what she wanted to do, even if it wasn't what I wanted to do. I guess you could say I let her push me around. Go on, say it.

One summer my parents bought a small pool for my sister and I. Michele is 7 years younger than I so when Sheron and I would ask if we could walk to Ed's Liquor, at the end of the street, my dad would say "you can go, but you have to take your sister with you". We hated that! Not because I didn't like my sister, but you know, when you're 11 and your sister is 4, it just doesn't seem fair. So, for me it was a drag but for Sheron, well, my sister was just a nusance. So back to the pool....Sheron comes over one day and we're walking in the back yard when my sister comes running in our direction. Well, I guess Sheron was just not in the mood for my sister so she picks her up and throws her in the pool. Oh no you di'int!

Granted the pool was small, but hoooooold on just . a . minute! I was not happy. I was never overprotective of my sister and in my family we had to learn to stand up for ourselves but come on now, it was so uncalled for I wanted to punch Sheron right in the face. No, she isn't one of the three people I've punched in my lifetime. I just remember fuming at the thought that she would do such a thing.

My sister was one of the cutest little kids I have ever seen. She had this cute little round face with big beautiful eyes and she was, as still is, so well tempered. As her older sister there were times she got on my nerves because that's what little sisters do to big sisters. But for someone to come into our domain and do something like that was just uncalled for.

I don't remember how it worked out but of course after a while Sheron and I went back to being friends and she'd call late at night and come running down the alley like a crazy kid. She'd talk me into walking to Mr. Ed's Liquor when I didn't want to go and of course she'd help me convince my parents that we needed to go to Skateland on Saturday afternoons. She was an influence of sorts in my life. Sometimes she could get me to do things that no one else would have been able to get me to do. She'd get me to talk about boys, or more often list to her talk to boys because she was boy crazy.

After middle school Sheron's parents divorced and she moved in with her dad. We lost touch for a short while and then after we graduated from high school she would stop by the house now and then until one day when she moved back into the house her mother still owned and had rented for years. It was great to have her back and she'd still call me in the evenings but now she'd ask if I wanted to come over while her husband was out playing drums somewhere. We picked right back up where we were except that, I didn't feel like I had to do everything she said anymore.

Sheron has been a great friend through the years. She calls or sends me a birthday card every year without fail. And not too long ago we met at her cousins house for an evening of rememberence. It's so great to know that after all these years and time apart we can still pick up as if we'd never lived far from each other.

That's what real friendship is. Calls late at night when you need to talk to someone. Phone calls that may come only once a year at birthday time. Old ragged pictures of Sheron and I playing the piano with our toes that bring back the best memories of our youth, even if they do include your little sister looking waterlogged.

Thanks for being a friend Sheron (I'd add our piano picture but my computers arent working at the moment).

The kid that got the best of me

2010-04-10T23:36:00.000-07:00

As a kid I was shy and mellow. So shy that sometimes I'd go to my own cousins house and not warm up to them enough to play until right before we went home. Now that I think about it, it was kind of sad.

My next door neighbors to the left of us, had two girls about my age. Teresa, being the oldest (we called her Tatsi) and Ana, my age. Later on there were two other sibilings that came along but before then , it was just the 3 of us. Teresa (Tatsi), was sick from the time she was born. I'm not sure what she had but she was always frail. She had little scars on her hands from surgeries she'd gone through and often times she couldn't play because she wasn't feeling well.

Tatsi was kind of spoiled. No! she was very spoiled. She had the last say, no matter what. If she said we're gonna play house, we played house. If she said "go home", you'd better believe I went home. She was mean and no one ever fought her. She called the shots and if you coldn't handle that, there was no place for you.

I can remember begging my mom to let me go next door to play with the girls. She'd say, okay but don't come home crying. I'd walk out the back, through our fence, around the corner through their fence and we'd get started with whatever it was Tatsi wanted to do. If her cousins showed up, you'd better believe I was no longer wanted and there I'd go off to mama crying cause I was chased home. My mom would get so mad, she'd say "don't ask me to go over there then!".

Well, one day I'm out in the back playing in my playhouse, all by myself setting up store. I don't know if you did this when you were young but we used to save milk cartons, corn cans, soup cans, juice cartons...well, anything we bought at the store that could be emptied out, washed and used in the "store" was a valuble item. Mom would let me keep anything for the playhouse store as long as I made sure to put it all away. My playhouse, by the way, was one of the best ever. It had a functioning door, windows with curtins, table and chairs, a porch and of course plastic dishes and cups. Dad bought it before I was born; he was so sure I'd be a girl.

So back to the store....I've got my store set up and there were no customers because...I don't know why. I guess the girls were in the house and my other girlfriends weren't around so I was playing store all alone. For a while anyway. After a period Tatsi shows up looking through the wooden fence where one of the planks had fallen out. I dont' recall if I was happy to see her or not but there she was. I'm busy doing storely things when she sticks her arm over and grabs one of my items. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, she stole something from my store. No exchange of the green whatsoever. Just a swoosh, as the item goes from my store to her yard. I admit I was a push over but I was not happy with little miss sick, always get my way girl. So I says to her "Hey! That's my stuff you can't take it. Give it back". No item returned, she must have been in one of her moods because she stuck her skinny little arm right through the fence again and this time she took a milk carton. Milk cartons are a valuble asset to a front porch store and no one, but no one should think you can just reach in and take one because you never get punished for anything and mommy let's you have your way. I give a second warning and can feel the steam coming out of my ears but you know, some people just don't know when to stop and apparently they have no fear of the unknown.

Just so you know, in my life time, outside of spanking my kids, I've only hit another individual 3 times. One, a bully at school who just wouldn't let up on me and 3 a guy who....well, let's just say he deserved it.

Did I leave out 2? Hmmmm, I think I did. Well, number 2....
I see that arm coming in for what looks like the 3rd and final time because all buttons being pushed I'm good and tired and ready to have at it. All I can say is, girlfriend didn't see it coming. I must have really given her the one, two punch because there it was....one tooth less to brush. Yep! I knocked her tooth out.
More than likely it was lose already but regardless, little miss let me boss you around was ready for Halloween or looking forward to Christmas and getting her front tooth.

I don't remember what happened next; if we played together or not. All I know is, for once I stood up to a bully who may never have hit me physically but her mean mouthed, sky high attitude finally got a feel for what it was like to be on the other end.

Wow! Was I mean? I mean, she was sick...................Naw! I wonder if, when my time comes and I see my life flash before me, that'll be one of the quick frames I'll see: Tatsi, tooth flailing through the air, covering her mouth and running inside "Marie hit me!". Pray for me people.

I could just pinch him!

2010-04-10T23:19:00.000-07:00

I'm talking about my nephew Christopher; he's the cutest thing.

Today being the 2nd Saturday of the month was breakfast club. It was Stars turn to host and she was in top form. We had Chorizo y Huevo burritos with bacon and potatos as additional fillers. There were biscuts, juice, coffee and more juice.

My brother Rusty celebrated his 62nd birthday April 7th so I stopped by and bought him a nice cake to add to the mix. I really wanted to make him a cake so that it would be a little more personal but ran into a little trouble. First, I opened a yellow cake mix and found that the bloody moths had gotten to the box before I could. I was just a little mad.....okay, I was stinking mad! I wanted to throw it on the floor, stomp all over the package and then take a chainsaw to it....slightly dramatic, I know, so I changed my mind and walked it over to the trash can and dumped it.

I opened a second box and scoured it for any sign of insect, be it winged or otherwise, and found nothing. Feeling relieved and back to normal, if there is such a thing, I poured the mix into a bowl and THEN, went about collecting the rest of the ingredients. I know you're talking about me, I can feel it, and yes; you are supposed to check for ingredients first, but I knew I had them. Eggs, water and oil. No big deal; unless of course you have an antiquated refridgerator that is supposed to be in a small apartment and not in a home where 5 grown people need refridgerated items. Our refridgerator broke down over a year ago and with things being as they are, we just have not replaced the fridge. Instead, we moved the little apartment fridge from the studio into the house until we could afford to buy a "normal" sized unit.

So! With my mix in the mixing bowl ready to be beat, as directed on the box and not my mood, I walk over to the fridge and pull out the Egg thingamajigee. BEAUTIFUL! There they sit, 6 frozen eggs. Yes, FROZEN! Perfect time to practice those flamenco steps if you ask my angered mood but then I'd have to clean the lousey mess. So once again I cool myself off and then proceed to repackage the cake mix. Sorry Rusty, no homemade boxed cake for you.

I could have run to the store and bought unfrozen eggs but due to the fact that we still only have one car (JC had a gig and Jenifer had just left to a party) which means at 8 o'clock at night I really would have had to run, I figured the solution was to

A) get up super early, find an open store, run home throw a cake in the oven and then take Karina to the church HUB in Los Alamitos where she was leaving for a day trip to Six Flags, drive back home in hopes that 1) the house had not burnt down 2) the cake hadn't stuck to the pan or 3) I could actually make it on time and throw the frosting on before I showered so that we leave right after my shower to pick up my Aunt Camille and then make it on time ............

B) Buy a pretty one.

You know which I opted for, don't you.

It looked just like this except it had peaches instead of kiwi and blackberries.

So, like I was saying...Christopher (my nephew) is so cute, I could just pinch him. Here he is with his brand new bike. He can't wait to ride to the beach with mom.

Was I supposed to see that?

2010-04-10T22:22:00.000-07:00

Years ago I went out with a girlfriend for a night of dancing Salsa. We weren't sure where we wanted to go when we left the house and so we ended up at a local spot called the Quiet Canyon. The Quiet Canyon wasn't necessarily the hottest spot in town for salsa but if you wanted to just hang with the regulars and not drive far from town, it would do in a pinch.

My girlfriend happened to be a fellow Flamenco dancer and to tell the truth I wasn't all that sure she could dance salsa, not that I had any real reason to question her ability, but Salsa and Flamenco really are two worlds apart.

Once we got on the dance floor I saw that Claudina was not bad at all. She could definitely hold her own. We danced and danced and then we danced some more, coming up for just short periods to grab a quick drink or glass of water.

During one of our breaks we stood to the right side of the dance floor near the bar and chatted. As we stood watching people dance, I turned to look behind me, just curious to see who was around...possibly a new dance partner. Just behind us stood one of the band member's girlfriend. I happened to know her, not well, but I knew her and her boyfriend because not only had I been in a Salsa band with Juan Carlos, but because Juan Carlos frequently introduced me to many of his musician friends.

We waved a quick hello and then I turned back to Claudina to continue on with our conversation. After a few minutes I'd finally caught my breath and felt like I was ready to hit the floor again. I glanced back over my shoulder to see if my friend was still there, just to give a little wave that I was moving on. As I turned I saw something fall out of her mouth and onto the floor. I wasn't sure but something told me by the look on her face and the rapidity with which she covered her mouth that a tooth may have been on the run. I turned around quickly so that she wouldn't know I'd seen the mishap.

You should know that I can't stand to lose anything. I'd rather miss out on a party, a wedding, a dance, a reunion...just about anything than leave the house with a lost or missing item. When I drop something like a contact or whatever it may be, I find it. I have the determination of 10 people when it comes to finding lost somethings.

So when I saw this thing fling on the floor, I knew, knew, knew I had to stick my two cents in. I quickly explained to Claudina what I thought may have happened. She, of course, did exactly what I didn't want her to do; she started laughing hysterically. I somehow kept a straight face but I will admit, I was jiggling on the inside. I was torn knowing that I might embarrass my friend but I knew beyond a doubt I could find IT.

I did a quick side glance and could see my friend still had her hand over mouth talking to her friend trying not to look like she was desperately looking for anything. I couldn't take it, I was sweating for her. I said to Claudina "that's it, I can't take it, I'm going over there". I was on a mission.

I walked up and said "Hi. Ahhh, I don't want to embarass you but I noticed...ok, well, I saw your tooth fly out and I also noticed you haven't been able to find it. I find everything so if you wouldn't mind; I'd like to find it for you". Covering her mouth she smiled and said "if you think you can, sure".

I bent over and before she could count 1, 2, 3 I found it, picked it up and put it in her hand. With her hand still covering her mouth she smiled and said "thank you so much". I could feel her relief as her boyfriend walked up for a short break. She must have explained to him what had happened because as Claudina and I finally turned to walk away he mouthed a great big "Thank You!" to me.

It was an interesting night. It's not often you get to go out, dance and save someone's tooth from the dance heel of death.

Loopy

2010-04-02T17:35:00.000-07:00

Last Monday I took Karina to the oral surgeon to have one of her wisdom teeth extracted. It hadn't been giving her problems, as you might have imagined. Her orthordontist requested I have it removed as it was laying down and showed possibilities of pushing her teeth once her braces are removed.

Yes, we've been sucked into the "Gotta have a perfect smile if your gonna succeed" way of thinking, as has every other teenager and adult walking the face of the earth. Isn't that what it's all about anyway? Excuse my sarcasim but I can remember when even the Movie Stars themselves had crocked, and even yellowed teeth. Now a days, I don't think you can get onto the silver screen unless you have straight, white, pearlies. I suppose if you're playing a villan, you might get away with it but if you have any intention of playing a love interest, or just about any other part, you'd better have pearly whites!

So because Karina's tooth was impacted, they had to put her under. I'm not sure what they gave her in order to knock her out, and I'm sure they told me because they always do; I'm just not very good at remembering names of drugs or mediations. All I really know is, she was gone. Knocked out. Asleep.

About twenty minutes after I left her with the surgeon I got a call to go back with her in recovery to help her wake up. I walked up and one of the attendants began saying "Karina, wake up! Come on, open your eyes..." He began walking away and told me to talk to her as much as I could so that she could wake up. She had the strangest look on her face, almost as if she had no idea who I was. Uhh, Welcome to La, la land.

The dental assistant and I took turns annoying her to try and keep her a wake. As she started to come out from under the anisthesia she had me laughing. Apparently the big piece of gauze she had in her mouth to absorb the blood must have felt like a piece of gum because I'd say "Karina, don't chew on the gauze, bite down on it", to which she'd reply "oh, sorry" and then continue to chew. I'd repeat "Karina, don't chew on the gauze, bite down on it" to which she would respond "oh, sorry" and then chew.

Then she asked me to video tape her so she could remember what she looked like. I started the video on my camera and within seconds she asked "why are you taping me?" We carried on this crazy conversation that was composed of her slurring something and my saying "What?", for the longest time. Her chewing, my saying stop, and her, sorry.

I watched her, thinking, what a terrible thing it is that some kids, after having a surgery, will experience the first of a long affair of drug abuse. I say this because during the period Karina was being hospitalized regularly for her pancreatitis, she loved the morphine. Mostly because it eased the pain but being a kid, sometimes she'd say...whoooo, I'm starting to feel good. It really was scary. The good part was that they would give her a little "pump" in which she could self medicate if she felt she needed it. The little gizmo doesn't allow anyone to overmedicate but, I kept an eye on her anyway.

Thankfully Karina is very involved in our church's youth group. She's starting to sing with the youth worship team and every week makes me a bus for whatever school friends she manages to talk into visiting her youth group. Last night there were three kids who all live locally. The youth leaders are very proud of her fearless attitude when it comes to inviting friends to attend and I'm praying that she gets a bigger high out of seeing new friends attend her youth group and learn about Christ, than what she gets out of those crazy drugs that take away all the pain. After all, isn't that what God does for us if we give him the chance.

If you keep a prayer list, add my daughters name to it that she might continue to seek Christ and the desire to lead others to Him. Also pray that she not forget this months study of sexual purity where she received a purity ring.

In this day and age where kids are so confused and looking for happiness in all the wrong places, I pray all teens are turned on to the love of God by someone. Anyone.

Love to you all and Happy Easter!

Breakfast Club

2010-03-27T09:15:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday morning I was up early; it was my turn to host

Breakfast Club

We had huevos rancheros, tamales, menudo, rice, beans and last but not least, pan dulce. I know, I know, a little heavy for breakfast but seeing as how we start at 10:00a.m., by the time we actually sit down and eat everything, that's breakfast and lunch all rolled into one. Who needs to eat again until early evening unless your a total glutton.

The food was good but the company was better. Aunt Camille was a little late. By the time she arrived I was just too full to lift the camera for another shot. Sorry Auntie.

Its a shame Juan Carlos, Matthew, Jenifer and Carla couldn't make it, it made for a small group. They missed out...but then again, hmmm...I got more. OMG what a terrible thing to say! I'm shocked at myself....A meal shared is a good time for conversation and catching up on whats next on our plates, if you'll pardon the pun. If your family doesn't already have a scheduled time to meet, I highly suggest you consider starting one. Time goes too quickly and we become too involved in our everyday lives. Before you know it, a month or so have passed and we haven't as much as shared a quick phone conversation or two.

I honestly don't think this came about just because I'm getting older and more sentimental, although that may have something to do with it. I was listening to Dr. Dobson's show one day, before he retired, and there was a family on his show who were talking about how they, the entire family (cousin's and all), meet at one house every Sunday for a meal. Can you imagine that? I can't because on my dad's side, I have about 40 first cousins. But there's nothing to stop my family from gathering. We're a small enough group that we can all fit in one house around one table. It's a nice time and you never know what's on the menu.

Now that I can....I can't

2010-03-20T00:33:00.000-07:00

You read right.....Now that I have flying privileges I don't have any time to travel. And by that I mean, I have no paid vacation time.

At my old job I had a months worth of vacation time because I'd been at the company for 10 years (which probably has a lot to do with why they walked me). Although I had a months time available, I had two problems: 1) No money to actually take a vacation and pay for flight, hotel and food and 2) I used all my vacation by staying with Karina in the hospital.

I have a job now but it doesn't pay well and I'm only part-time creating problem 1) No money, 2) Karina has been free of pancriatial pain for over a year now but I have no vacation time.

This probably sounds like I'm complaining....so I'll admit, I am. I know that I've been blessed in a big way now that I have a job with insurance should Karina get sick. Oh no....I'm trying but I can't stop it.....Buuuuuut! .... I STILL HAVE NO VACATION TIME!!!

Something about this just ain't right. Funny thing is, everyone at work knows I started only January 25th and yet many have asked me if I've traveled yet. I know many people take short weekend trips so I suppose I should do that but that brings me back to the ever present problem 1) No money. If you've noticed, this seems to be a continual problem, always in the number 1 position.

What a crying shame, eh?!

In case it's crossed your mind, I'm not trying to get sympathy. Not at all...I just need to dig out of the hole I've been digging into for the last two years.

The other day Carlos and I were talking and he said "remember when I used to have a lot of work and clients and guys working with or for me?” just days before Karina said "mom, remember when we used to have money?” You know what, I do remember. We've never had money to blow, but we somehow managed to have a little fun without feeling like we didn't know where our next dime was coming from and I think I'd feel even worse about this whole thing if it weren't for the fact that I hear other people having the same conversation.

So! Where the next dime is coming from, I don't know. But, somehow it's a little comforting knowing we're not there alone. Other people are wondering the same thing and with everything we're seeing, natural disaster related, I still feel darn blessed to have what we have. So maybe tomorrow we won't have our home, we still have health and family (don't worry, this doesn't mean I plan on moving in with any of you).

There are people, just recently faced with natural disaster, who not long ago had a home to go to. Maybe they were in a desperate financial situation but they had family. Had. So many children left without homes or family. Parents who have no idea where their children are, relatives totally separated. Those are desperate situations.

I'm wiping my tears now. I just need to remind myself every now and then that things look bad but it could be much worse.

I suppose that if I'm going to wipe my tears I'd better stop talking to myself too. I got myself all worked up and all I really wanted to say was, now that I can take a vacation due to my reduced price to fly, I'll have to wait until I have vacation time. The mind can be a terrible thing when you let it get away from you.....

Wisdom....contributes to big buttedness

2010-03-18T20:05:00.000-07:00

"With time, women gain weight because we accumulate so much information and wisdom in our heads that when there is no more room, it distributes out to the rest of our bodies. So we aren't heavy, we are enormously cultured, educated and happy. Beginning today, when I look at my butt in the mirror I will think, Good grief, look how smart I am!"

I didn't write this, but I must agree....MUST!

So, as it turns out, I'm much smarter than I thought! My butt makes my intelligence equivalent to a Harvard degree. In fact, I think I should be honored with the Nobel Peace Prize.

Gotta go. Need to write a letter to President Obama before it slips my mind and ends up on my butt.

Yuhuhuhmmmmeeee!

2010-03-13T14:57:00.000-08:00

SOUR DOUGH BREAD!

Pass the butter.............

How do you say....ummmm...mind your own business?

2010-03-07T14:09:00.000-08:00

Our home, much like my parents home, has often been a "resting place" for many while waiting to go on to other things. For some reason we attract people who are in need of a pit stop. Not that I consider us the pits, by any means and I hope you agree.

We must exude a desire to be of assistance, even though we ourselves are in great need of assistance. We've had many people; even small families stay with us for short periods of time.

If you've ever done this, you know first hand that it isn't always easy. We all come from different backgrounds and cultures. Even within your own culture it's difficult to co-exist in a home where grown adults who have already established their own way of daily life are living under the same roof. It doesn't matter who, if you've ever been in your own home, suddenly not having reign is a difficult thing. Some work at fitting into another household, others just don't.

WARNING! If you're considering moving in with another family or adult, do not rush in. Pray, ask God for guidance and wisdom; and I don't say this jokingly.

I'm sure your wondering what in tarnation (always wanted to use that word) would make me blog about this. Well, let's just say that we recently had a visitor who within the first two days of a "visit", (not a situation where this person would be taking up residence with us, merely visiting for four days) this person first rearranged my curio cabinet (day two) and then while my husband and I were getting ready for a day at work (day three), decided to, without my permission, rearrange my kitchen. Oh yes, I did say without permission and rearrange my kitchen in the same sentence.

This same person, who obviously has a mental disorder, attempted to tell me what was good for my family and I, and TRIED, to do it based on scripture. All this while "visiting". Let me say to you.....If I was not a Christian who lives her life knowing that at the end I will be judged by my actions, I would be on the run. Not from my home, dear friends....but from the law. Everything within me, every ounce of my being considered dropping this "person" off a bridge that had no water below it. I'm certain, and I thought this through, you could more quickly put one out of any physical pain if they hit cement as opposed to water.

I still question whether anyone with the capacity to interfere with others lives in such an annoying way can even be considered human. I prefer to think of this similar to human being, thingy, as alien. Not alien as in from another country, but alien from another world. I believe the only reason "it" is here on earth is that the planet from which "it" came could no longer tolerate "it's" behavior and decided that we humans might possibly be able to tame it, seeing as how we've lost all sense of values or respect for other beings. I hasten to say this but, I totally understand how one can get to that point for I have arrived.

Until now, I considered myself a loving, caring, considerate woman. I thought I had a good heart. I'm not so sure anymore. I feel my blood pressure rise. The hairs on my neck (which were not there until this week when I became animalistic) have grown by inches. I search through scripture, praying all the while, that there are footnotes to the 10 commandments in which the Lord says "situations in which one may kill and excused from all blame". I hear that small still voice saying "Marie, my child, DO IT!" It's God, I know it is.

Maybe you're thinking this sounds a little extreme just for some simple moving around of furniture. There's more. I just feel that to tell you more would put me in the position of vulnerability. You'd wonder what the heck is wrong with me, instead of "it" for allowing such antics in my home. I wouldn't blame you because, if this were not happening to me, I'd be saying "kick it out before it takes over your family"; I would. "It" tried.

The four day visit turned out to be one day short of 2 weeks. But it didn't leave town...oh, no. It suckered another fool into renting a hotel room, lending "it" a cell phone and a car.

Maybe you're thinking I'm jealous of the "she it", or felt threatened of my relationship with my husband because of "it". I promise you, my husband in his own words said to me "if "it" (okay, he said she) was the last woman in the world and I the only man, man kind would cease to exist because there's no way under the sun I could procreate with that thing!". And he had the look of fear in his eyes.

Well, I don't know about you but I feel much better now. You know how they say, you don't have to act out, just get it out on paper and in doing so you free yourself from that which binds. Although I must admit, I’ve suddenly developed this obsession with tall bridges.

Harmless Addiction

2010-03-05T21:50:00.000-08:00

I believe in telling the truth. I believe that if we have any chance of living a "normal" life, we must first admit to our weaknesses and by so we free ourselves from the chains that bind us to our addictions.

HOWEVER! In my case, I have absolutely no problem admitting that I'm totally, 100%, without a doubt, wholeheartedly addicted to American Idol. I am. From beginning to end. I love watching the initial auditions, except for the real weirdos in costumes or those people whose parents are either blind, hard of hearing or too out of touch with reality to tell their kids how untalented they are. Of course, that's partly what makes AI what it is.

When we first started watching it was a family event. Every Tuesday and Wednesday night the Bozas would sit down, watch, criticize and make our own "educated" guess at who would be the next American Idol. Often times we would all agree on who the winner would be and other times totally disagree. We hear the sharp notes, the flat notes, the trained voice and the untrained voice. We comment on vocal style, dress style and hair style. We judge the judges and for the most part we love Simon who most people love to hate; he knows his stuff, he's just a little blunt in the delivery.

This is one of the only programs of which I know the time and channel to tune in. So if we're eating and haven't yet finished, we move to where ever we need to be so we can get a full shows criticism in.

Every year the contestants get younger and more talented. Except those old farts who manage to get in. They come off being crazy but they're neither crazy or dumb. Those old farts are working; they're working at getting recognition regardless of cost. If they have to wear dirty stinky clothes to get noticed, they wear them. If they have to sing off key in order to do it, no problem. The last old fart to appear during the audition week wrote his own song and it hit! Kids are singing it everywhere. Check this out.....

American Idol is our harmless addiction. I'm sure, that if American Idol had been around when Carlos and I were younger we would have considered auditioning. We may not have made it through but as I tell Karina everytime she auditions for honor band, it's not whether you make it or not, it's that you challenge yourself to try; that in itself is a trophy won.

So this week, through all the commotion in the house, we found a way to sit down together Tuesday and Wednesday nights. Then, with all the musical wisdom we could conjure up we cast our votes and waited with anticipation for Thursday night to see just how inclined we were. I can tell you this, we're purdy darn good!

Blizzard!!

2010-02-08T21:06:00.000-08:00

So last week and through the weekend I've been a little nervous about a training session the company scheduled me to attend in Chicago. I wasn't nervous about the training, it was the weather I was concerned with. I told my husband that I wouldn't be happy if it was raining when I left but that I'd go because I had to.

Now, just so's you know, I never worry about flying...much. Most travel is for vacations sake anyway. I've never been air sick or had thoughts of anything bad happening but too many movies will make you think all kinds of crazy things when it comes to heavy weather conditions, especially BLIZZARDS, hello!

So I look up the weather conditions for Chicago and it says "feels like 28 degrees", ok, I know I'm gonna hear from some of you about this but when I pull up the weather conditions for L.A. and it says 54, I'm wondering how many jackets I can put on without looking like I gained 40 pounds overnight. You think 28 degrees is gonna sit well with me?

BUT, as a new employee and considering I'm only into my 3rd week of work, I figure I'll just have to get over the frost bite once I return to sunny L.A. I'll make do because I have bills that are due and losing my job this early in the game would be plenty painful..

I go on line to confirm my reservation and check-in on line when Viola! The flight is cancelled. What a cryin' shame! I'd liked to have poked my eyes out with sadness.....or not. I call my friend at work who scheduled the flight to tell her my findings thinking maybe I'm mistaken, but as luck would have it, it was cancelled indeed.

So looks like I'll be at work tomorrow. Maybe with some luck they'll reschedule for a San Francisco turn around or even Chicago on a clear day.

What! Me...an award!

2010-02-01T21:36:00.000-08:00

They say good friends are forever.....at 54, I'm beginning to believe it. I also believe that friends are always willing to look at your "good" side, as opposed to people who don't know you and are looking to see what you do wrong.

So my long time friend Bunny at I'm Just Sayin' gave me a Sunshine award............aha, right Bun.

A "sunshine award". Know what, I'm gonna accept it even if it ain't so. I'm not very good at accepting awards cause I'm a giver, but sometimes, you just gotta put your hand out and take what's been given to you.

Thanks Bun.

And now....drum roll please.....I'm gonna pass this award to a few people who are always a ray of sunshine in my life. These people, Bunny included, have a way of affecting my mood in a positive way; most times they're not even trying. It's just who they are. All natural and stuff!

So here they are....take a peek when you get a chance and see if you don't agree. I think you will.

My lovely cousin Anita @ Castles Crown and Cottages
My dearest Comadre Debbie @ From Venting to Viggo
My ever so inspiring cousin Ruben @ Rattus Scribus
My hysterical blogger friend Maggie @ Just Between Me and You
My ever so talented friend Norma @ Bloggeritaville
And the ever so creative Winona @ Shabby Chic Diva's Pink Corner

I started blogging because Ms. Norma @ Bloggeritavill always had so many humorous stories and truth be told, I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. Then I discovered I was...screamed and started my own blog.

To those I've mentioned and those I haven't, THANK YOU. Your friendship, honesty, inspiration, humor, talent and creativity bring me up when I'm stuck in a rut. If it weren't for you and Calgone, I'd be bored and dirty.

I'm not a blog head, I'm just looking for a little amusement and connection out of the ordinary......for those of you who do not blog, try it. You just may find a place where you can express yourself and make a couple of fun friends while your at it.

I know you wanna know.....

2010-02-01T18:17:00.000-08:00

so before you ask, I'm gonna tell you.....The new job is GREAT!

You may have read an earlier post about my interviews with United Airlines. I shared my excitement about finally finding a job and all the excitement of just getting through the interview process.

Well, this Monday was my first day at United Airlines, located in the John Wayne Airport in Santa Ana, California. I was and still am excited. The people are great, helpful and so welcoming I almost feel like a celebrity. Okay, well, maybe not a celebrity but I do feel special.

So my first day I was told I'd be going over to LAX (Los Angeles International Airport) for training. My husband finally back from Cost Rica is dropping me off so that I don't have to deal with parking and the employee shuttle which at LAX takes about 45 minutes from parking lot to office. Yes, believe it. That's not including the drive time.....not for me! The shuttle from the employee parking lot at John Wayne Airport, better known as SNA, is about 7 minutes; a huge difference.

Anyway besides the fact that I'm overwhelmed after my first week, I still think I'm gonna love it there. Unless they're all exceptional actors they're a great group of people which means, of course, that I'll fit right in. I'm kidding, I'm kidding (unless you care to argue the point).

All benefits kick in day one. Can you believe that? So many companies these days aren't even providing benefits anymore and I'm getting them day one. Wow! I'm ecstatic about that, I promise you.

I won't go into everything I'm doing but I will tell you that I'll be working in the office doing a lot of the accounting functions. To go further would mean I'd have to write a book and I'm saving that for my new laptop.

I just wanted to share with you all just how happy I am with the new job and say that it's about time I found something worth my time.

Yep! That's me.

Gee Willikers - Letter to God

2010-01-22T17:46:00.000-08:00

What's a girl to do....well, I know what to do I just don't seem to do it.

My husband is in Costa Rica on business. Not a problem for him since that's where he was born and raised. Business is going well and he's able to spend time with family and friends. So I'm talking with him live.com and he casually mentions he's lost 8 pounds. Eight Pounds! Not one, not two, 8. Now, that just isn't right. I probably gained eight while he's been gone, which isn't good because he's gonna come home to a lardo.

"Whereas the average man has 26 billion fat cells, or adipocytes, in his body, the average female has 35 billion. Fat comprises 27% of an average woman's total body-weight but for a man comprises only 15%". fat-men-women.htm

Why oh why God, did you give women more body fat....naturally. I don't plan on having any more kids and I don't live in cold country so why on earth God, do I have to have more natural fat than my husband. I'm sure there's some logical reason and who am I to question your design, yet, I do! Is there some way you can reverse your decision and make my husband fatter than me? Any way? And while I'm at it, is there any way you can make his derriere bigger than mine or at least close in size. I'm a faithful follower and believer, I do everything I can to follow your word and treat others well but I fear your decision to give me all this unwanted, unnecessary fat makes me want to punch somebody out of pure selfish anger. Gee Willikers, have mercy on me please, my husband is due home soon and I don't want him to see that I gained the 8 pounds he lost. Please bless me with extreme energy and desire to get off my bahunkass to exercise. I'll pray more, I'll read my bible more, I promise I'll be good.

What a compliment!

2010-01-17T23:47:00.000-08:00

Friday night I went to my friend Monique's house to celebrate her father's 80th birthday. This is a family I love and hold dear to my heart. I know Monique because she is my Comadre Debbie's sister.

Debbie and I met in a high school drama class; I was a Senior and she a Sophmore. I liked Debbie immediately because she was so expressive and outgoing. In a drama class those qualities are a plus. Funny thing though, Debbie could be a total crack up one second and then totally shy the next; not unusual in actors. I think the thing that linked us in as friends was one day while doing an excercise we were asked by the teacher, Squire Fridell, to stand and make a facial expression that matched whatever mood he called out. In the middle of all the craziness Debbie looks at me and simply says "I stand on gum" meaning she had a piece of gum stuck to her shoe. That was it, we were besides ourselves, dying of laughter, outta control, gonna wet my panties laughing. We had great times in that class but my being a few years ahead of her in school I graduated and, as life would have it, moved on to other things. We lost touch.

Cut forward a few years and I'm out on my front lawn doing whatever it was I'd do out there. We had a huge Chinese Elm tree that had enough shade for the entire family to sit under. It covered the whole front yard. During the Summer I'd go out and water the lawn just to see my tree. And if that weren't reason enough to hang out, we lived on a main boulevard so there was always traffic going by. People would honk and I'd wave even if I didn't recognize them. I could make a whole day of watching the traffic while sitting under my tree reading.

So, I'm out front when who pulls up but Debbie. She saw me outside and stopped by to say hello. It was so good to see her. We chatted for a while, caught up and promised we'd get together. We didn't.

Maybe a year later, guess who drives by again....she stopped we chatted, caught up and promised we'd get together again. We didn't.

Can you say "Third times a charm"? Another day, another time I'm outside and guess who drives by? We chat, catch up on things and then promise to get together but this time, I ask "when?". My dad taught me that we can say just about anything to anyone, make any promise in the world but until someone takes the step to make it happen, it ain't gonna. So, question being asked, we actually made a plan. The rest is history. We started hanging out for what would turn out to be a very, very, very long time. We became family. I knew her's she knew mine.

This Friday night I took Karina with me to the party. The other kids are gone, JC is in Costa Rica so I sure wasn't gonna leave Karina home alone, besides, this is her Nina's daddy's birthday. We ended up gathering in the kitchen, as all good gatherings do, and go from one subject to the next. Inevitably we end up talking about our Salsa days, our fun times, dumb times, tipsy times, parties, well, you name it we talk about it. Meanwhile Karina sits in a chair listening quietly. I keep saying to her, don't worry honey, we'll go home soon, even though she doesn't complain, not once.

The last guests still at the house, we decide it's time to hit the trail. We get in the car and start the 10 minute drive home when Karina says "Mom, have I ever told you that I really like you guys?". I'm caught off guard and not sure what she's trying to tell me so she expounds, saying she had such a great time just sitting there listening to us talk about everything, not just the dancing part, everything. She says she wishes it was "still like that" and that she would have hung out with us if we were her age. She says people arent' the same as you guys were. You just had plain, clean fun.

My daughter compliments me on my looks, my choice of clothing, my shoes, my music and even my company but it was the way she said it that made me feel the warm and fuzzies. It's a cool feeling to know that your daughter likes you enough, she actually wants to hang out with you. I don't think a mother can ask for a better compliment than that. Thank you Karina. I like hanging out with you too.

Breakfast Club

2010-01-17T01:38:00.000-08:00

New Years Day, Day one of the new year, while throwing together a meal in anticipation of my family coming by for dinner I got a hair brain idea. I'd announce it later when the whole group arrived.

New Years Eve was somewhat quiet. We went to a friends home where several people from our church gathered as a farewell party to one of our Pastor's and his lovely wife. They came to us from New Orleans after having survived Katrina. Had it not been for Katrina, we would never have had the opportunity and true pleasure of knowing them. They actually ended up here in California because Pastor Christopher or "Topher" as many call him was raised in Downey, not far from our home. They're returning to pick up where they left off after having having been called there to do the Lords work, met and married.

We said our good byes and left the party early, around 11:40 arriving home in time to watch the new year ring in via replay of New Yorks Time Square. It was Juan Carlos, Karina and I. Just the three of us, there on the sofa, quietly watching. The first time in many years Juan Carlos was actually home on NYE and not playing a gig. Overwhelmed by the excitment, or should I say lack of, we went to bed early.

I woke up much later than normal new years day and didn't move. I layed there taking advantage of the rare opportunity. JC was ready for battle, remote control in hand. He turned on the set and found the Rose Parade in full swing. We watched until it replayed and we picked it up where it was when we first turned in. One of the longest mornings I've stayed in bed for a very long time.

Parade done and over I rolled out of bed and into the kitchen. Coffee and full on breakfast for all. We ate, cleaned the place up and I immediately started preparation for dinner. I'm not sure if the idea came to me because of the box of family pictures sitting on the floor awaiting my brother's arrival, or as a result of the unusually quiet previous evening. For as much as I enjoyed seeing church friends and having quiet time on the sofa with my husband and daughter, I also felt overwhelmingly nostalgic. It's been such a long time since I've been to or had a New Year Eve party with dancing and laughter and craziness. Not that a NYE without the craziness isn't fun, but I was raised with parties. Every year, every few months, sometimes every weekend. Something about family and friends gathering to just talk, laugh, dance, enjoy each others company, meet new people and of course EAT. I shared my feelings with JC who agreed. We decided then and there, next year, party at the Boza's, NYE.

Not being able to shake the nostalgic mood, I began to think back on holidays at our home as a kid. The house was filled with family. Never a dull moment. How could I explain to my kids how magical it was.....better question, why should I have to? Then wondering, will they have great memories of our holidays? And that is when I began to wonder when our family started spending less time together without noticing. I know it wasn't a conscience decision, it just happened. Work, friends, kids growing up and distractions all got us to a place where we put less and less importance on making the effort to gather often.

I went to my room, turned on the computer and sat there thinking, what can I do. I realized there wasn't anything on the computer that would answer the question. The only solution to the problem is to take action.

All in attendance, I waited until everyone was sitting and eating, took out a clean piece of paper, wrote down the 12 months and made stated my plea. "Ahem....I'd like your attention please. I've been thinking. We as a family do not spend enough time together." So far, so good, I had their attention. "Maybe it's just me, but I think we "need" to do something about this and soon". All heads nodd in agreement. "I have this piece of paper with the months of the year written on it. I'd like to pass it around and have each family pick from the first months, which they are willing to host a Breakfast". I waited for reaction and within a few mere seconds the paper was being passed around, with everyone signing up and excited about our new "Breakfast Club".

Today was the first. Rusty and Juliet hosted our first, 2nd Saturday of the month Breakfast Club. Let me tell you, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. What a spread! There were biscuits, pancakes, sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, bite sized quiche, fruit salad, juice, coffee and little chopped up vegetables to make your own personalized omelete. Even 10 year old Christopher contributed by making cheese with chicken quesadillas. I felt like a kid in a candy store. I ate too much and then hung around to talk and catch up on what had been happening over the last two weeks since we'd all seen each other last. It was a blast.

Next month is at Michele and Carlos' house and I can't wait to spend another great day with my family. I'm sorry for Michele and Carlos because Juliet and Rusty set the bar really high but the truth is, if they decide to serve toast and butter, it wouldn't matter (even though I do hope neither of them reads this and decides to do just that), the most important thing is that we get together.

It took a quiet New Years Eve and just enough nostalgia to get the ball rolling but hopefully instead of a few emails or a phone call now and again we won't have another two months pass before we sit down to a meal, laugh, cry and reminisce. Time passes far too quickly to miss out on the opportunity to hug.

So if you're planning on inviting me anywhere or dropping by, make sure it isn't on the second Satuday of any month, that day is taken, I've dedicated it to my family. I can't wait for April, the Boza's month...I already know what I'm gonna do and NO, I will not tell. I don't want anyone stealing my idea.

Finally!!

2010-01-13T03:22:00.000-08:00

Good news AT LAST!

You know, I've been looking for work for what seems an eternity. I applied for so many positions to no avail. No calls, no interest, no job.

I'd all but given up hope when I get a call from a United Airline's Recruiter asking if I'd still be interested in interviewing for a position. Trying not to sound as if I could be there in 1.5 seconds if that was what it would take to get the job, I ask, "is this the position at the John Wayne Airport?", knowing full well, it is. She said it was and asked if I could be there at 10:00 a.m., December 21st. I ask if I can check my calendar because who knows, there is a slim possibility I'd have to, say, pay a bill or something that would totally coincide with an interview, so I check and confirm that I do show availability for that date and time. I am important, you know.

The 21st comes and, I go to my interview; resume in hand (second copy in my bag,just in case the President of the company would like to meet me too). I meet with the General Manager and his Administrative Assistant; both very lovely people. The interview questions are prepared in advance so each takes a turn asking, and then each write down my response. I'm the first of 8 scheduled for two days. I'm told that a decision should be made by Wednesday afternoon and a notice to the fortunate candidate will be given by Wednesday late afternoon, possibly Monday.

After the interview, I'm feeling quite confident but I've been there before. Never buy the first days outfit until you get the confirming phone call and arrive back at home from filling the gas tank, my motto.

Wednesday comes, nothing. Monday the 28th an email arrives. I eagerly open it and read those dreaded words "we have offered the position to another candidate". I'm crushed but believe me folks, it ain't the foist time. Back to the drawing board, I continue to fill out applications.

Wednesday, January 6th, I see a call coming through on my phone with a familiar phone number. Although I run the risk of it being a bill collector I answer the darn thing ready to take on the dragon on the other end...."I'll lie", I think, if they want money. Say "it's in the mail" or "darn, I thought I paid that already", rustle some paper around, open a file cabinet, walk hard across the wood floor to make them think I'm concerned...."Hello?...Hello?...Hello? I can't hear you"...nothing. I got my shield in one had, spear in the other and nothing. I hang up the phone and go back to whatever nothingness I was doing. The phone rings. I'd just hung up the armor and ...."Hello?...Hello?...Hello? I can't hear you"...nothing again! I hang up. 2 seconds and I receive a text from the recruiter "call me if your still interested". I tried to wait, I tried so hard but I just couldn't. I called back so quickly I doubt she'd even put the phone down. She knew it was me because she answered "I couldn't hear you. I think you put your phone on mute". She knows me. She saw my number and knew it was me. I felt like Sally Field at the Academy Awards "You like me". No! I didn't say it, but I wanted to. I wanted to cry, just like Sally, but I got myself together.

My Recruiter (notice she's now "mine"), explains that I got the email in error saying "it's a standard email that goes out to all (loser) candidates"...okay, she didn't say "loser" but.....is it just me or do you think that maybe the position was offered to someone else who maybe didn't make the final cut? Guess it doesn't matter. I went to a second interview with the General Manager who just wanted to "make sure". Everything musta' checked out because I'm under the microscope now the balls rolling with a background check and yesterday, Monday, I flew to San Francisco for finger printing.

Unless I've committed some horrific crime while wandering the streets of L.A. during some late night sleep walk, I think I'm gonna pass. I've been background checked and finger printed before...NO! Not for anything like that! I'm a massage therapist remember? All that stuff is required for each city you work in as a MT.

I'm totally excited. I know United Airlines is a great company to work for and the benefits are good and I can finally go to the doctor...well, soon anyway. Benefits kick in day 1. No waiting until the fifth hour of the 4th Thursday of the sixth month for benefit enrollment. Uh, uh brutha! This is day one, sign the papers, insured!

Thank you Jesus and all you nice people who prayed for me. Hmmmm, wonder if I should go shopping or wait for Andy of Mayberry to call with approval.

Times of Innocence

2010-01-04T00:22:00.000-08:00

Not long ago I came across a box of old photos. I'd seen most of them except those in the slide show below. I was so excited when I found out I was able to print them using my scanner. Hope you enjoy and thanks Bunny for posting your slide show. Made me get off my rocker and finish mine.

Here's to YOU!

2009-12-31T09:23:00.000-08:00

A frightening thing has happened.............
I hate this............
But I feel compelled to let it out.........

I've been inspired!!!!!

I first read my friend Bunny's blog and then jumped on over to my cousin Anita's blog but it didn't stop there. There was Ruben and Debbie and Comet and Blitzen......Wait, wait, wait! As you may be able to tell, I become quite engrossed in the Christmas spirit. And why not! The Holiday's are but once a year which means I've only had the fortune of enjoying Christmas and New Years 54 times in my lifetime. Not nearly enough for someone my age.

I think it's quite unfair that Christmas is only celebrated once a year. It's such a joyous time. People overall seem to be in better spirits, which may be due to the consumption of spirits, or due to the excitement of giving and/or receiving gifts. There are parties to go to, caroles to be sung and the big fat lie we tell our children about Santa delivering gifts. Don't get me wrong, I lied too. I loved telling my children about Santa and the excitement it created in them. I loved the innocence with which they believed.

New Years Eve; another reason for the joy. Except for those who still don't get the connection between drinking and driving, New Years Eve is so exciting. I think back on so many New Years Eve parties. Parties with my parents, parties at my parents home (when they weren't there shhhhhhh)...parties with friends, parties with dancing, parties with laughter, parties with good old fashioned clean fights....I know, but it's funny after the fact. Uncles who cry when intoxicated. Aunties who dance with EVERYONE. New Years Eve at the Rose Parade and New Years Eve's with a small group of friends.

I'm getting all sentimental....

The older one gets the more stories there are to tell, ain't it so? The story I love most is the one about you. How you and I met. How we spend time together. How we play together. How we shop together. How we adventure together. How we travel together. How we learn together. How we grow together. How we write together and how we read together. Each of you created special memories for me. Some old, some new. Some educational, some spiritual. Each of you brings something different into my life that no one else can.

So if I've never told you, thank you for your companionship this year and in those past. I couldn't have made it through another year without your support and kind words, your prayers, your honesty and encouragement. There is nothing that compares to you, your stories and the laughter and tears we share.

Here's wishing each of you love enough to fill your cup, money enough to keep you dry and fed and faith enough to know that when you're running low, God Himself will hold you up and send friends and family to gather around you.

Main Entry: ta·ma·le

2009-12-26T23:09:00.000-08:00

I was over at my cousin's blog the other day. She wrote about "the best little cake with a flaky outside layer, which if made properly, is chewy and dense. The treasure inside of a cannelé should lightly reveal a moist, golden miette, like the inside of a fresh bread pudding". It took everything in me to stay seated, finish reading, and not run into the kitchen looking for something to snack on.

This time of year, especially, everything looks and smells so tasty. Everyone begins baking and offering the most delicious of delicious cakes, cookies, candies and tamales.

I grew up in a home where it was mandatory to make tamales every Christmas. Man.da.tory. You had to be present and accounted for if you even thought you might want to eat one during the holiday season. We learned early on how to hold the oja in one hand, spread the masa on, spoon in a bit of meat, add an olive and close the thing up for consumption at a later time or date.

We generally made them Christmas Eve during the day. That night family and friends would gather at the house and we'd eat tamales all the way through to New Years Eve. I never tired of them and gained at least five pounds every year during the holidays.

We made a variety of them; pork, chicken, cheese, I can even remember making bean tamales. If that ain't Mexican, I don't know what is! Bean Tamales! Some tamales were laced with jalapeños, some sweet and some were filled with corn. There isn't anything we didn't try.

I haven't made them for a time now so I wonder if I still have a hand for it. I really should give it a shot. Christmas is just not Christmas without them and my family has gotten into the habit of buying them instead of making them. So now that Christmas day has passed, and before we get into New Years Eve, I've decided I just have to try it.

This week I'll be going out to buy all the ingredients. I'm not the best of cooks, but neither am I the worst. I frequently feed friends and family. When there are parties, I'm often elected or offer to do the cooking. It all gets eaten and we haven't lost anyone yet so my cooking can't be all that bad, right? Humor me, please.

Wish me luck, I'll report back after the first of the year. If I gain 5 pounds, you'll know they were good.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=tamales

Tamales
	The most sexiest food in the world. Once you taste one tamale, u will fall completely in love with them. DAMN YO, THOSE TAMALES WERE GOOD.

Christmas at the Bozas

2009-12-24T14:30:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite things to do at Christmas time is wait until everyone has gone to bed, turn off all the lights but those on the tree and lay on the sofa to watch the reflection of the tree lights on the ceiling. I've done it since I was a young teen. It's a time to dream, reflect and focus on the real joy of the season; Christ.

I found myself doing the same thing this year and then took some pictures with my phone. They're somewhat grainy because they were taken with my phone, but they're warm. I hope you enjoy and feel the spirit of Christmas.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL

Sanchez Ranch

2009-12-07T01:47:00.000-08:00

One of the things I most looked forward to as a kid was our family trips to the Sanchez Ranch. The Sanchez are family friends from way back, who live in Malibu up in one of the canyons. I don't recall my first trip there to be honest, I must have been a small child but I do remember our camping trips at the ranch.

As with all things my dad did, going to the Sanchez Ranch for a weekend camping trip would mean taking an entire group of people. I don't suppose it would be much fun if it were just our family anyway, or maybe it would be, but I never had the chance to experience a trip to the ranch that way. I suppose that my dad being 1 of 9 children, simply didn't know how to do anything alone. I remember mom telling me they never went anywhere alone when they were dating. I doubt that it had anything to do with not wanting spend time with just her, it was simply that he was accustomed to running in a pack.

So, our trips to the ranch were planned way in advance. One year my dad got a big truck and loaded it with a sofa, area rug, a refridgerator and various other pieces of furniture. The Sanchez were probably half freightened to death when they saw us coming thinking we were moving in on them but these are people whose families crossed the Mexican boarder into the United States, if they could make that trip and survive, certaintly they could survive Dan Leonard and his pack.

As a kid, I of course wanted to do kid things. You know, climb on rocks, go on hikes, take a ride at night with the Sanchez boys at the wheel who would drive like crazy in old trucks without doors. And then in the middle of a winding road where you could fly off the side, as in a CLIFF, hello!, they'd turn the lights off and laugh like mad men while we all screamed at the top of our lungs thinking death was surely knocking at the door.

I recall one trip when my brothers brought a few friends along. They were in high school at the time and thought they were invincible and decided to hike to the top of "Boney". Boney got it's name because it was a hill that was mostly rock at the top. From where the campground was, it looked like a hop, skip and a jump so the boys being brave or dumb as I prefer to think, took off with little else but some smokes and a lighter. We'd had breakfast (a group breakfast of course) so their bellies were full and they thought sure they'd be back by lunch.

During the day there would be different groups going out on short hikes up through the unpaved roads or to the grotto where there were beautiful trees lining the path. It was fairly safe so as long as we went out in a group, which almost all did, there were rarely any problems.

Lunch came and went and no sign of the boys. Mom being ... mom ... began to worry. It's what she did. For a living. I believe my Aunt Camille paid her to worry for her too so that she wouldn't have to do it herself. Dad assured her the boys were fine, not to worry, they'll be down before long with a huge appetite. Pepe (one of the Sanchez brothers) tells her not to worry, "the kids love to hike up to Bone". Pepe can call it "Bone", because he lives there. He's earned the right. They're on familiar terms he and Bone-ey.

It's Summertime so there's still plenty of sunlight left. It's time to get the accordian out and start singing old songs in Spanish that none of us kids know the words to but have heard a minimum of 1 billion times. Uncle Joe plays the best but unfortunately for the rest of us, there are two accordians. Dad and Pepe share their talent. I always wished Pepe would just say "No Dan, you can't play so don't even ask" but of course, he's far too kind and lets my dad have a turn at it.

After a few hours appetites start to build and the whole camp begins preparing for another meal. Not all the meals are group meals but you know when you're around that many people with food, you just kind of slip your hand across the table and devour a bag of chips while in conversation which gives them the right to kinda slip they're hand across the table and slip a steak off your plate during dinner. Whaddya gonna say "hey! I only ate your chips, leave my food alone". So either you share or you sit across the table from a friend and drool while they eat ambrosia salad when all you have is raisins. I don't know...maybe it's just my thinking.

Dinner has passed and the sun is starting to go down and you know who is worrying enough for herself, my aunt and anyone else who wants to get in on the gig and they're not even paying mom. My dad, who is Mr. tough guy, is "concerned". He'd never admit to "worried". Ever. For "mom's sake" he goes over and talks to Pepe about the boys not having returned and Pepe says he could get one of his earth movers and start up the side of the hill to see if maybe he can find them but then with the sun going down, it might not be the best time to be driving up.
A small group of men get together and start hiking up while yelling "Rusty, Greg, Barry" and whoever else went on this up and down, be back in five hike. The men are a little smarter though, they only go so far because even with flashlights, hill climbing is not wise when you can only see a few feet in front of you. The women have stayed down at the campsite and they're all calling out the boys names too thinking that if they can hear and they're lost, at least they'll know what direction to go in, even if we are in a canyon and the sound bounces all over the place.

I still remember the second we saw the first flicker. There was a huge roar from the crowd as if the torch runner was coming to open the first day of the Olympics. Which ever one of the bone heads took the lighter, even though they didn't smoke..wink, wink.. was using it to light their path. They must have been moving at a snails pace but that little flame, it turns out, was a life saver. Luckily they didn't actually start a fire and burn the whole canyon down because my guess is, long time family friends or not, the Sanchez may not have invited us back.

The boys finally make it back starved, thirsty, scared and exhausted. My mom and all the other ladies make a big stink over them. Pampering them, bringing them food, wiping their mouths as if they were the Prodigal sons. Brats. They do something that dumb and they get babied. I remember thinking they were just plain dumb.

So that was the highlight of that trip. We talked about it for weeks on end half way rubbing it in to make them feel rediculous and the other half because, it was a dumb thing to do but they got back alive. I don't think they ever hiked up to Boney again. Big Chickens!

Building Addiction

2009-12-06T01:11:00.000-08:00

For the last 1,000 years I've been trying to get my husband to put the socket plates on, in our kitchen. He say's he can't find the right screws and if you ask me it's cause he's lost his. Ok, enough about him and on to my dad cause I don't want to dog my husband completely...just a little.

Unlike my husband, my dad loved to build things. I think he considered himself less than an expert at building but didn't give a flying banana, he did it anyway. He started projects and then hoped he had enough smarts to get it right. One of his favorite sayings while he was working and it was pointed out that something wasn't quite right was "it doesn't matter"; something I heard often because I was always pointing out the somethings that weren't quite right.

First Kitchen Addition

When my parents bought the home I grew up in, it had a large back yard, 3 bedrooms, one bath and a single car garage. At some point, dad decided the single car garage would make a wonderful enclosed patio. So he went to work on enclosing the garage door, putting a nice sized window in it's place and then adding sliding glass doors to provide the patio feeling and allow easy access to our large backyard.

After some time it occurred to him that the yard was still large and he could build more. So, in his downtime he made little drawings of what it would look like to add an outdoor patio to the already enclosed one with the sliding glass doors. Before anyone had a chance to voice their opinion on the subject the cement slab had been laid and viola! Patio #2.

2nd Kitchen Addition

It wasn't long before Mr. Winchester Mansion, was hard at work again. All I know is, he put some walls up around Patio #2, added a little cement and brick on one end with some god awful green plexiglass to create "effect" and our outdoor patio was quickly turned into an indoor patio. The sliding glass doors were left in place until 2, too many kids attempted to run through them. It's a shame we didn't have a video camera back then. Who knows we might have won Funniest Home Videos. Makes me sad to think about it the missed opportunities.

Eventually the sliding glass doors came off and the two rooms were combined to make a huge den. It got mighty cold downstairs. I must explain. There were only two stairs but it was downstairs to us all the same and about as close as we were gonna get to having a stairway. I remember when we'd invite people to "go downstairs", they'd prepare for the long walk. Women would lift their skirts so as not to trip on them and men would immediately look for the handrail only to be disappointed that after one, two we'd arrived. I remember some visitors would actually keep the march up for a while, sure they were still moving downward. It was entertaining as all hell.

So things didn't end at the den with two stairs, noooooo, not that easy. Having enclosed the second patio gave us no where to sit outside in the Summer time, except in chairs on the grass. And I know you know what's coming next but what the heck, I'm the writer here so I'm gonna tell you; Patio #3.

Kitchen Remodel

Corrupting a Grandson

Patio #3 was a little unusual in that the cemented area extended out more than it did along the back of the house. I'm not really sure what the thinking was but "it doesn't matter", that's how it was planned, that was how it was gonna stay. I just stood by and watched without question because the truth of the matter, doesn't matter. By this time our Patio left little space to build outward and our big back yard was....well, no longer "big".

Following the patio's came the extension of the kitchen, the add-on of the washroom, the remodeling of the kitchen, the new window in the living room, and so on, and so on, and so on.

At this point, we all thought Dad should be admitted for evaluation. Seriously, the man went to bed with nails hanging out of his mouth and a hammer in his hand. My mom woke up with drawings of various parts of the house etched all over her body and Lord knows what they did with the level but no one ever slid off that bed.

There really isn't enough time to take you through to the end of his building escapades; there were so many. But I will say, he never filed for a building permit. You know why he didn't get that permit, right..."it doesn't matter", that's why.

After a hard days work, teaching the kids to play the innocent

Many years after he'd run out of energy to continue building on, he'd gone to the hospital for a pre-op to angioplasty. He had a terrible reaction to the dye they injected into his veins and it ended up cracking the heels on his feet so badly, he couldn't walk. The doctor gave strict orders for him to come home, put his feet up and rest. Yea, right! During a time he swore he'd be resting I walk into the room and find him crawling on all fours with what else but a hammer in his hand. The doctor didn't say he couldn't crawl.

Well, dad certaintly loved to build. My husband doesn't but then again, if you'd like him to write you a song, move over daddy cause the music man is here!

Open Apology

2009-11-20T22:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Cousin,

For years I've lived with the guilt of my misdoing. I realize we were young, but there is no excuse for my behavior on that dreadful day, so many years ago.

Mom and dad took their annual excursion to Mexico but decided to leave me in your parents care. Perhaps I was angry for being left behind and not included in the two day trek. Maybe I was concerned that they would forget to bring my supply of cajeta and I'd have to resort to munching on wood chips with caramel to feed my addiction. I honestly do not recall what triggered my ill temper, however, I do know an apology is long overdue.

I'm certain you recall the day; we woke early and quickly drank down our ponche, followed by a soft boiled egg. We played in your bedroom for a while; Barbies, I'm sure. We laid on the floor and drew, or rather you drew while I watched your skillful hand fill request after request for yet another of your sketches which I later took to school to show off.

Before we knew it, it was lunch time. Sandwiches were on the menu that day, followed by scrumptious homemade greasy donuts. Thinking back, I don't doubt the effect those donuts must have had on me. Being the glutton I was...okay, still am....I recall eating more than my share until Auntie cut me off putting the donuts beyond my reach and sent us outside to play.

We hit the backyard with purpose; both headed for the tricycle without regard for who might go down in the process. One trike, two bodies, someone was gonna cry. I still blame the effect of the donuts for slowing me down, doesn't matter now but....you won. The tricycle was yours; for the time being anyway.

I tried to entertain myself by running around after you as you skillfully took every turn in that 12 x 12 foot patio. A speedway it wasn't but man you could maneuver that trike, Mario Andretti had nothing on you. I'd forgotten how long it had been since my last visit but it was obvious you'd been practicing.

Initially my chasing you around was fun enough but after about the 10th round, it was starting to get old...I wanted my turn and I wanted it now. You refused. I whinningly expressed my frustration and concern that you had had a fair amount of time but you just weren't ready to give up the trike. I pleaded, begged and attempted sweet offers but you weren't biting. Finally, I lost it. I called you something I'd regret for the rest of my life; "Stupid". Even I had a hard time believing I'd said it, but I had "Stupid, stupid, stupid!". I still recall the look that washed over your face. I went from being your loving cousin to pond scum within seconds. Crusty old gum at the bottom of a chair had more worth than I at that very moment. I can hear your voice as you called out to me repeatedly to stop. It was too late, I'd gone too far, I'd lost respect not only for you, dear God, but for myself. My voice rang out again "Stooo-ooo-ooo-pid!". I was out of control but the pain I was causing you gave me a sense of power until....I turned...there...in the doorway stood, your mom, my auntie, listening in disbelief. I didn't know which way to turn. Not only had I used foul, filthy, disgusting language, I'd been caught.

Regret immediately swallowed me up followed by shame for having used such language. When had the "S" word had crept into my vocabulary? How could I have stooped so low, I'll never know. I tried playing the victim to your mom but she wasn't buying. I, crusty old gum that I was, angered your mom so much I doubt she was ever the same. I know she limited my donut intake from that day forward. Could I blame her?

Now, so many years later, I find it necessary to free myself of the guilt by asking your forgiveness. I'm not sure that I'm deserving, but it's a chance I have to take. I know the distance has made it impossible for us to share as much as we'd like but just so you know I've tattooed a tear drop below my right eye in your honor.

Just as dry, crusty gum cannot bubble, until I hear you have forgiven me I will find no joy. I apologize from the depths of my heart.

Unable to bubble in L.A.,

Elizabeth well....Marie Elizabeth...Leonard well...Marie Elizabeth Boza

2009-11-15T21:57:00.000-08:00

Not long ago a friend and I got on the topic of the how and when we "became young ladies". Funny how for us woman this is something we have no problem sharing with friends. Funnier yet might be how, when and where it did happened. So, since it crossed my mind, and only God knows why, I may as well tell you my experience.

In the Summer of 1967 and at the ripe young age of 12, I became a "young lady". Seconds before that, according to my mother, I was just a young girl. I'd attended the 6th grade assembly at my elementary, only because mom had signed a paper in agreement. Heck! you don't think she wanted to explain the birds and the bees to me, do you?

From my recollection there were both girls and boys in the cafeteria that day and oh, how embarrassing it was. I don't recall a whole lot except that when the lights went down there were giggles and snickering from both genders. We sat and watched a little film with little drawings because we were little kids on our way to becoming young ladies and gentlemen. Afterward, we walked out making every effort not to look each other in the eye which was not too difficult considering we walked back to class in single file.

As Summer rolled right up to my doorstep, so did my first period. I recall entering the bathroom a child, yet, the hush in my mother's voice explained what had happened and with what I needed to do, I realized I was now a young lady.

Mom was always quiet and shy and this day proved to be no different. When I called, she walked into the hallway and up to the bathroom. I told her of my findings as quietly as humanly possible; she nearly fainted. I wasn't afraid in the least bit for what was happening to me but mom on the other hand, must have been sitting in fear since the day she signed that dreadful note sent home suggesting I see the "little film". I watched her as she walked to her room holding on to the wall so as not to fall. When she returned she came prepared with the necessary supplies and either she took the time to apply the whitest foundation I've ever seen or the woman was near to passing out. She was shaking so much she had a difficult time showing me how to wear that awful belt we wore in those days so she left me in the bathroom to tend to the awful deed of figuring it out on my own. I opened the bathroom door slowly and looked both ways down the hall. Once sure there was no one around, I made a bee line to my room and stayed in there until the next morning.

As the days went by and the reality of womanhood set in I realized why everything was said in hush hush tones. This was merely a quick training in how you must express yourself when you felt as if the A train itself was passing through your ovaries. We mustn't scream. We mustn't let anyone know we're no longer naive little girls, we're "young ladies" and young ladies go through cramps and mood swings and cravings and break outs and pure hell. Sometimes we want to kill someone just because they look at us, but it's ok, it's part of being a young lady. So, I came to terms with what life had dealt me, knowing soon enough all the other girls in my neighborhood would become equally insane during their time of month too.

I remember wanting to lock myself in the house some days and it was during one of those that mom asked me to take the trash out. Hesitantly I loaded up the bags and headed for the back gate. My biggest fear was that I might run into one of my neighbor girlfriends and of course they'd know with one look that I was no longer a child.

Sure enough, I open the back gate to the alley where my best friend Sheron, who could smell me out across miles of desert, comes running over to ask me to go swimming. Our conversation went something like this:
Sheron: Hey whatcha doin'?
Marie: Taking out the trash
Sheron: Wanna come over and go swimming
Marie: My mom won't let me
Sheron: Why not?
Marie: She just won't
Sheron: But Why?
Marie: Because
Sheron: Ask her
Marie: She won't let me
Sheron: I'll ask her
Marie: No
Sheron: Why?
Marie: Because she wont' let me
Sheron: What if I help you do chores
Marie: She won't let me

And on and on it went. Sheron was a determined child. I, wasn't smart enough to say "I don't want to, now leave me alone". But, even if I had, Sheron did not like losing. She was an only child and used to getting her way.

Of course, I was dying to go swimming but 1.) My mom had told me you can't swim when you're on your period and 2.) I didn't have the guts to tell Sheron I'd started my period. I didn't want anyone to know. It was possibly the most embarrassing thing that had every happened to me and telling Sheron was like telling everyone. Besides wasn't it obvious enough? Couldn't she just tell by looking at me? I was a young lady now; not a child.

I remember my mom asking me to go with her to the store one day. We drive into the Thrifty parking lot and she says "here's some money, go in and buy some Kotex". WHAT!? I felt like she was asking me to kill the president right then and there. My jaw dropped and I cried "Mom, I can't". She said "yes you can, what's so hard about that?" I was thinking I'm too young, I have no experience at this, people will be staring at me, they'll know! I fought and fought to not have to go into the store that day but she was convinced it was time for me to learn. OMG! From the time I walked in until I got back in the car, it felt as if I was under a spotlight. All eyes were on me buying feminine products. They knew! Everyone knew and I'm sure they went home and talked about it at the dinner table. What was my mother trying to do to me?

Eventually I told Sheron and she was understandable mad at me for not telling her that day. She was actually envious of me....poor girl, what did she know. At that age we were in such a hurry to grow up and Sheron couldn't wait for her turn. I wonder....does she feel the same way now?

Nicknames

2009-11-08T23:44:00.000-08:00

Nicknames. They're a strange thing, arent' they. Take mine for instance; Bedgie. Not one I would ask for but there it is, Bedgie. You may or may not care to know how it came about so if you care, read on. If not, catch ya on the fly.

So I'm, what, maybe 8, 9 years old. My oldest brother, Rusty, little sister Michele and I are in my mom and dad's room. She's on the bed and brother is trying to teach her to say my name. Agh....that's another story because....deep breath....how to shorten it. Ok, just read fast...my middle name is Elizabeth (Marie Elizabeth, very regal, I know) first name Marie. Dad wanted to name me Elizabeth and mom won out, naming me after my grandmother....argh....well, kind of; Marie is not exactly Maria de Los Angeles, thank you Jesus, but I'm trying to get to my point here.

So Michele is on the bed with Rusty and he says "say Elizabeth", come on bro, she can hardly say "mama", so she says "Bedgie". Can you blame her? She's on the spot. She's being asked to perform in front of a crowd of one. She panics and out comes Bedgie. Of course I laughed, are you nuts? I was young too. Insensitive to how much damage I could do to a mere toddler. I laughed, he laughed....I thought we were over it and moving on but NOoooo. Rusty insists on calling me Bedgie. Did he consider the life long effect it would have on my very being? Did he consider we'd have to come up with the proper spelling? Did he consider giving my sister a second chance at the pronounciation and the possibility of her blurbing out something a little cuter? Of course not. Why would he do that when Bedgie sounds utterly rediculous. Way to go brother!

Aaaaah, how could I have overlooked that he has a nickname as well. His name is not Rusty. It's Daniel A. Leonard V. Apparently our parents thought we'd be royalty some day and gave us names that would be acceptable within the court. My brother being a red head, blue eyed, first born and suspect to being the Helms man's son (OK, dont' take that anywhere, it's a family joke) gets a nickname that's a little more acceptable. Rusty. I'm sure he's not the first Rusty you've head of.

My brother Greg, royalty as well, is Gregory James Leonard. And consolation prize, as my dad called her, Michele Camille Leonard. I'm not sure it's got a royal ring but it does sound upper middle class at the very least. These two for some odd reason are left to short cut nicknames only. Gregory being Greg, like who wouldn't figure that out and Michele being Shell. I wonder if they didn't feel cheated and maybe we should think something more engaging up for them. After all, when people hear my name for the first time, it's always followed by conversation.

I suppose I just wanted to bring to your attention the fact that I enjoy nicknames. I saw a picture of a friend of mine recently and his.....dare I say it? His....nipple was showing. Nothing meant to be portrayed as risqué, but there it was...his nipple. I suggested we nickname him Nipples but got no response. Why? What's wrong with Nipples as a nickname. People just don't take me serious.

My husband Juan Carlos Boza is called a number of things. Some I can actually print are Juanca, JC or Juanchin. It's obvious to me by our names, he and I were meant for bigger things. And we're still waiting, mind you.

My friend Bunny. Her's is not totally unusal either, except for the fact that it was originally Bumpy because she bumped into everything as a child. How and when it changed to Bunny, I don't recall but I've known her since kindergarten and she's always been Bunny to me.

My friend Marsha. We call her Marsh.....that came out of pure laziness. Adding the "a" to the end of Marsh was just too much to ask.

I'm sure we all know someone with a nick name. Are there any as rediculous as mine? Just a one?

Kreativ Blogger Award

2009-11-08T00:40:00.000-08:00

My good friend Bunny from I'm Just Say'n passed this award on to me.

Thanks Bun, for thinking enough of me to do so and Congratulations on being a recipient!

I've been blogging for just a short time now and find that it allows me an opportunity to express myself and share with others just what I'm feeling; good or otherwise. Of course you never know who'll be reading what you write. Some will agree, others disagree with what you have to say and that's all part of the fun.

The other part is that there truly is an amazing amount of creatively interesting people in this world. So to those of you if fit into that category, my hat is off to you for allowing yourself to be vulnerable to the rest of the world. Continue to use your talent in which ever way you see fit whether it be designing, storytelling, encouraging, writing, performing or blogging, for in the words of William Shakespeare:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts...

One of our parts seems to be that of the blogger, no?

As a recipient of this gracious award I am required to follow certain steps in order to keep hold and not have my award withdrawn. Darn, nothing in this life is free! But, in this case, I find it a joy to be able to share my friends and their talents with you so here are the rules. Read carefully for if you received an award from me, you too will need to follow through.

1. Thank the person who gave this to you
2. Copy the logo and place it on your blog
3. Link back to the person who nominated you
4. Name 7 things about yourself that no one would really know....
5. Nominate seven 'Kreativ Bloggers'
6. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate
7. Leave a comment on each blog letting them know you nominated them...

Seven Things about myself no one really knows..................

1. I'm afraid I've lost my ability to sing. Since having laryngitis earlier this year, I feel like I never recovered completely.

2. I had two surgeries in one week. One planned, the other a total surprise.
3. I'm totally, absurdly allergic to calcium in any form. Yes, really.

4. I always wanted four children and even though I have four, only one is my natural child. God does answer prayers even if it isn't in the way we expect!

5. I miss acting and dancing something terrible (like all the time). I'm sad that, for the most part, my time has passed.

6. My first car was a Volkswagen bug. Because it's so small, I was always afraid I would get in an accident and break my legs, leaving me unable to dance.

7. I often dream of moving to Spain. I think I'm just not over Flamenco and wish I could still be dancing. Hey! I can dream.

Here are 6 bloggers I would like to pass this award on to...(sorry, I know it should be 7 but some of those I follow are not blogging these days..hmmmm...)

1. Debbie @ from Venting to Viggo

2. Norma @ Blogeritaville

3. Anita @ Castles, Crowns and Cottages

4. Jamie @ Songs of the Closet

5. Leslie @ Life, Love and the Random Things In Between

6. Ruben @ Rattus Scribus

Deep down inside, we're still the same

2009-11-07T20:55:00.000-08:00

Earlier this year I started a group on Facebook called "Rio Hondo College 1976 - 1982 Theater Group". If you're not familiar with FB (as all the cool people call it), it's a connecting site. Lots of fun but if you don't watch it, time consuming.

My reason for starting the page was to reconnect with some wonderful people I met years ago while learning the art of acting. Rehearsals leading up to performance take a great amount of time so whilst your sitting around waiting for your turn on stage, you really get to know the other actors.

The first few months, after starting the page, were a little disapointing. I invited friends but only had three become members. Three. Not four, not even five; 3. As happy I was to have those three on board...muah, muah, I love all three of you....(just in case they're reading), I was hoping for so much more. So much for connecting.

Finally I asked the 3 members to invite anyone they'd kept in touch with, since I alone was not able to get results. Either they lied to me about having invited others or the four of us were much less popular than I'd imagined possible. I wondered, have I been reminiscing about my past and making the whole thing up in my mind or did it actually happen. Am I as immature as my daughter says I am and no real adults really join this FB thing; can't be half my church is on there. Okay, maybe my entire church is made up of immature adults. What's going on that we cant' attract any new members?

Then one day I get an invitation (on Facebook) to join a small gathering to see a friend (also on Facebook) who's visiting from out of state and would like me to be in attendance. Yippie! Of course I go and there at that little gathering, a dear friend sits claiming he doesn't have time to join FB or anything of the like. Aha! Bet me! Some how I talk him into checking it out, send him an invitation to be a "friend" and after much deliberation, he joins.

Well, long story short, to date we have 25 members. Now that isn't a huge number but considering we had a sloooooow start, I'm excited. I'm thrilled. I bowled over. The really amazing part is, after all these years (approximately 28 or so), I'm finding that we just don't change. We may change in shape, we may change in financial status, we may even change in religious beliefs but deep down inside, we're still the same. We're loving, we're funny and we're creative. Some have continued on in the arts. Others, like myself, moved on to do other things making the artistic part secondary while still holding on to some of the dream.

It's been a joy "hooking up" with these long time friends. It's as if time stopped and we're still the same young whipper snappers we once were. Or maybe they're all just as immature as my daughter insists I am. Either way, I'm so pleased that we've reconnected. Can't wait until our reunion next Saturday night and the next one to come at the end of January.

When did I age and how did I not see it coming?

2009-11-04T00:11:00.000-08:00

So I suppose I'll have to admit here and now; age has crept in. Like an unwanted weed it seems to keep showing up in the most unlikely places.

I get out of bed; age shows up.
I bend down; age shows up.
Eat the wrong food......who invited you?
Stay up too late, Leave me alone!.

I consider myself blessed in that most people are surprised by my age. I know this because they frequently comment "Wow! I never would have known". Is that supposed to make me feel good? And I tell those who ask what my secret is; "immaturity will keep you young and admit your age to everyone but yourself".

Of course those who are older will always say, "tisk, tisk, your still young". For the most part, I agree...I must be younger than someone. But when the majority of your co-workers could be your children, well, let's not fool ourselves; we're getting up there.

One of the things that makes me more aware of my age is looking at old pictures and just recently a friend posted a picture of me when I had no waist. I don't mean because it was so grown out, I mean because it was so darn small I could have wrapped the tape measure around myself multiple times. Why didn't I appreciate it when I didn't have it?

This picture really discourages me from taking full bodied pictures so I try to focus on the face, if only I could find the right angle to take a picture. If my head is lowered the little pockets (ok, BAGS), under my eyes look as though I'm over packed for a 3 week trip to Europe. If the lighting isn't right it looks like they've mapped the United States all over my face; who needs a GPS?

Although I'm still quite agile there are positions that are better not attempted. I was helping my daughters choreograph a dance for church and removed my heeled shoes so as not to fall. I attempted to turn my foot, stuck on the wood flooring and pulled a muscle that had me limping for a week. No, I'm not kidding.

Today someone at work asked me what I used on my face "so I can use the same thing when I get old". Talk about a back handed compliment. Good thing I don't like him, it saves me the trouble of getting mad at him. It's lucky for him my memory is going too; by tomorrow I'll probably forget the whole thing and like him all over again.

I've decided I must do whatever it takes to make myself look younger. For that reason I am accepting friendship applications. For those interested in applying you must meet at least three of the following criteria:

A full head of gray hair
Arthritis in at least one limb
A notarized birth certificate from 1945 or earlier
Nylons that bag at the ankles
Facial hair growing from unusual places
Veins that protrude from your hands and feet
Thick, curled toenails

For those seriously interested, please include your weight. Anyone weighing less than I, will not be considered. Sorry.

Yummy first love

2009-10-21T21:08:00.000-07:00

If you've never had cajeta, you must, must, must have some before you give up the ghost! I'm not suggesting you'll be leaving us anytime soon but I am suggesting you not chance it. You never know when your time is up and why risk breaking the hearts of those who love you by not endulging yourself in cajeta at least once.

Just the mention of the word suggests love in it's purest form. Say it. Go on...say it! CA..HET..TA. Now say it in a breathy whisper...Caheta. It's enough to drive your husband or wife into a jealous rage so before you get into trouble with your significant other who's probably wondering why your calling out to cajeta while sitting in front of your computer, maybe I should explain how my love affair with cajeta began.

Over 50 years ago, yes we go that far back, in a small town in Mexico, my sweet little tia turned me on to what would prove an incurabel addiction to Cajeta: She and I were home alone. My parents had gone out for the evening, my brothers were invited to spend the night with a friend and my sister...well, my sister was still an egg I suppose (don't tell her I told you). I was bored stiff and my aunt being old could think of nothing to do to amuse me. I can still see her shuffling around in her little black china shoes, black mourning dress and shawl, searching desperately for some way to entertain me. It happened shortly after she'd lifted me up to see a very sleepy parrot for the 3rd time that she was suddenly hit with an idea. I saw her expression change from despair to hope. She grabbed me by the hand, I could tell in that very second something was about to happen. Even at my very young inexperienced age I knew without a doubt something was a'comin.

With my little hand in hers we skated across the floor to her bedroom, a place few had ever entered. She immediately shuffled over to a makeshift closet and there in the corner sat a small box tied with twine. After taking a quick glance about the room to ensure there were no evil doers standing in the shadows, she reached for the box, stopped, and then unashamedly stopped to wipe the spittle that had accumilated around the corners of her mouth with her sleeve. Although the room was dimly lit, I could see the excitement on her face and the glow that seemed to emanate from around the little wooden oblong box. I could hardly contain myself from reaching out and grabbing the box from hands that moved far too slowly for a five year old.

Before the lid could be removed, she said, I must sit like a good little girl. I nearly strangled the old woman! I have no evidence of the fact but believe that day was the root cause of my life long struggle with high blood pressure.

Finally after what seemed an eternity the old bag opened the lid and instead of the toy or money I thought she would produce, there was a gooey, caramel colored substance. Had it not been for the very rich, very creamy and most favorable aroma flowing through the air and up my nostrols, I might have kicked her a good one. The woman was trying my patience!

Finally, and I mean FINALLY, she produced from inside the lid a little wooden spoon. It was cute, sure, but by this time I had little interest in cute. I wanted to get to the point of all this secrecy and NOW. As if in slow motion, she dipped the tip of the spoon into the goo and then with the most careful intention proceeded to spoon feed me but not without stopping within a millameter of my lips to promise me I would love it. I could feel my eyese buldging with rage; I wanted to strangle her already. Had she no memory of what it was like to be a child? Was this some form of torture and was she getting her kicks out of watching me wiggle with anticipation? After what seemed to be a billion years, the spoon finally touched my lips. For the first time in my young life I knew the meaning of unconditional love and NO, I'm not talking about that for my aunt.

Lordy! Holy Toledo! Gee Wizakers and Wow! That stuff was good! I found love on a wooden spoon and couldn't get enough of the stuff. I insisted on holding the spoon myself, something my aunt was not too happy about. She fought to keep a grasp on it but I was much quicker than she. We were about to throw blows when we heard the dogs begin barking signaling the return of my parents and the end of my first encounter with what would soon become my sole purpose for living.

Before leaving my aunts room, I watched to make sure she returned the box to the same spot. It would take skill and planning but one way or another, that box was mine!

She guided me (against my will) out the door and into my mothers arms then turned and locked the door behind her followed by the chain and then the wooden bar. My entry would take some planning but it would be worth time behind prison bars if it came down to it.

So, there you have it. The story of how I, so many years ago, fell into the pit of no return. Sadly, my beloved cajeta is now made and sold in plastic containers which totally RUINS THE FLAVOR!!! The original packaging was in little wooden boxes and yes, the candy flavor hinted of wood but I'll tell you, if you spread it on tree bark I'd still eat it.

Every year we travelled to Mexico was a spiritual experience for me knowing I'd be re-united with my cajeta and the chance to stock up until my return a year later. The very few times my uncle actually traveled to the U.S. to visit us, he arrived with a generous supply knowing it would gain him entry into the kingdom as work done for humanity's sake.

Fun or Not Fun, that is the question...

2009-10-19T01:17:00.000-07:00

A few days ago my husband invited me to accompany him to a gig he had today. It was a benefit event at the Conga Room in Los Angeles and he was on bongo and back-up vocals for OPA OPA. It was a nice event and from what I could tell it was a benefit fund raiser for cancer. He told me to wear a dress and that some of the other significant others; wives and girlfriends, would be there as well.

Guess what. I was the only wife there. No girlfriends showed either. Not a terrible thing except that once we walked into the green room, I immediately noticed I was the only female besides those working for the event. Again, not a terrible thing except it leaves one wondering if the other guys didn't think I was just the busy body wife tagging along. My husband told me not to worry and said "well at least we get to spend time together". My response "kind of".

I don't mean to sound ungrateful that he invited me to go along but since there was no table for the musicians or their others, I really had no where to sit but in the green room. So when they went out on stage (and they only went on stage for four numbers) I sat in the green room and watched them play on the big screen. So glad I got all dressed up.....

The numbers they played were split up, meaning they didn't play all four numbers at one time. The first number they did was all percussion which meant Juan Carlos would be on stage. I got up and tried to walk out to watch but one of the guys (a very nice guy, I might add) stopped me and started up a conversation or should I say a monologue. Like I said, he's a very nice guy and though I've seen my husband play a gazillion times, I wanted to watch. Instead I was stuck/trapped in "conversation". At that point I couldn't even watch the big screen because they had a football game on. So there I stood trying to politely get away and then gave up all together after about five minutes realizing I was going to hear everything he had to say like it or not.

They came down off stage and sat down to do what guys do while they're waiting to go on stage and play; B.S. Carlos was sitting with a few guys and I was kind of .... there. I stood to go get coffee when another of the guys approached me. And so that it's understood, I've known most of them for quite a few years. So, this guys comes over and starts talking to me about how unappreciated musician's are. This is no news to me. I've been there and know exactly what he means, problem is, this is a person who, to put it lightly, has little class. He's talking to me as if I were another one of the guys, complaining about the other musicians, musicians from other groups and singers who think they're hot stuff just because they sing. Of course, according to him, none of them are any good. And then there's the woman who sings and she "ain't no good. She thinks she's all that because she does stuff on the computer", whatever that means. Supposedly, he's better than any of them and if he has to sing in a group with them, he may as well "stay home and scratch his ....s".

Now tell me, what kind of man takes a look at a woman, a friends wife, and feels the need to tell her what it is he does at home when he's alone and what body part it is he scratches? I'm listening and trying to be somewhat agreeable but when he gets to the part about his "scratching", I'm beginning to lose patience. I know I have some facial hair but is so noticeable that he's forgotten he's talking to a woman? Maybe I'm not the most high class woman in the world but I am a woman. Couldn't he have left that part out so that every time I see him I don't get this ugly, verrrry ugly image of him at home doing this disgusting thing?

I had half a mind to tell him what I thought but then realized he probably wouldn't get it anyway and as he continued to talk I stood there looking at him wondering what possessed him to tell me this ugly thing. Is it just me or all woman he tells his intimate, very personal habits to. I started thinking I should tell him about my hystorectomy or what it's like when I get cramps. I thought maybe I should ask him to expand on the details. Ask if he gets any relief or if he ends up having to use baby powder in order to get relief. Maybe I should have told him about that stuff that jocks use or suggest he vist the doctor.

Then as I was finally able to get away I turn into a conversation and hear one of the guys saying that he just went to the mens room and thought no one should go in for a while unless they wanted their nose hairs to burn off. Was I in the wrong place or WHAT!

Thankfully, they were called back on stage...all of them. I was able to recover when some intelligent individual finally changed the big screen to show them playing. I was grateful to be alone for a while. When they finally returned I nearly ran them over as I grabbed my husband and sat him down next to me as quickly as I could so that no other teller of tales would sit by me.

The next time my husband invites me to go with him I think I'll wear army fatigues and a moustache. If I'm gonna be treated like a guy I may as well look like one.

Dance ~ The Great Temptation

2009-10-17T22:22:00.000-07:00

A few days ago I read my cousin's blog in which she reminisced about her desire to dance ballet since childhood. I began to think back on my own life and how at an early age I had that same dream. I felt such a strong connection to ballet even though I was only a tot and knew little to nothing about other forms of dance or ballet for that matter.

At about eight years of age, my mother shared with me how a family friend made it a habit to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up because he got a kick out of hearing me say I wanted to be a "belly dancer". Of course I meant ballet, but being as young as I was, it was all the same to me.

Mom being quite shy had yet to share with me her strong love for dance. In fact the only reason I had any inkling at all that she loved dancing is that during our family parties, which in those days were almost every weekend, she would jump at the opportunity to dance with anyone who would ask. Dad preferred talking. Anyone who danced with him could attest to the fact because when he did dance, he talked the entire time and only stopped when he stepped on your toes which was almost every dance.

You can imagine the excitement I felt one day when I stumbled across this photo in mom's old album. I wanted all the details of the picture and clung to every word as she told me about her dance classes and how much she loved dancing. I would stare at her feet, in the picture, with amazement that my mommy could stand on her toes and wondered what it must be like to slip your foot into one of those shoes.

Mom had carefully saved and hung the little dance outfit in the front closet in hopes of keeping it for memories sake. It was light blue with dark blue trim and the material was a thick cotten.

Although mom's intention was to save the dress, I had other plans and one day snuck into the closet, reached way up, manged to pull the dress off the hanger and with great difficulty slipped it on. Even though it was far too big for me I couldn't bring myself to take it off. I fell in love with it and the thought that it would make me dance.

When mom found that I had taken it out and was wearing it, even though she probably wanted to strangle me, she tried her best to explain that it was something to be saved, not worn, to remember the time when she danced. I begged and begged but in the end, back in the closet it went.

Days later with no one around, I managed to sneak back into the closet and slip the dress on again. I recall being scared to death that my mother would catch me but could not fight the temptation to wear it.

Somehow I slipped out the back door and over to the neighbors yard where I wore the dress for quite some time before mom found me out. To this day, I'm not sure if it was her weakness or my stubborn desire that allowed me to begin taking the dress out for a fling on a daily basis until it was all but ruined. At the time there was no guilt involved in my wearing the dress but after some time the material started to fray and as it became dirty and stained I could see the disapointment in my mothers eyes but by that time it was too late. I'd ruined her dress.

Years later as she and I were looking for something in her cedar chest she took out a bag and unwrapped the most ugly, used, beautiful toe shoes I had ever laid my eyes on. Luckily for mom I'd learned my lesson years before with the blue dress and kept my hands off the shoes unless she was around to supervise.

My daughter who is running slightly behind in ballet, due to my difficulty in paying for dance class, often takes the shoes out of their plastic bag and slips her foot in "just to see what it feels like". Fortunately her foot is a bit bigger than the shoes and I'm not nearly as nice as my mom was when it comes to laying down the law in what we can and cannot do.

Earlier today I had the urge to look at mom's shoes. I pulled them out of the plastic bag they've been in for so many years and gave them a good inspection. There on the side of one of the shoes I spied, for the very first time, her name hand printed right on the silk (on the top shoe, near the arch, printed in faded letters it says "Thelma").

I wonder did she write that as a child so as not to confuse her shoes for someone elses or is it possible she wrote it there when I was a young girl to remind me just who those shoes belonged to.

Performers from the good old days

2009-10-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

Bringing up my girls I felt it important to try and keep them away from watching too much junk on tv. You know, movies that would have a bad influence on them. I owned enough Shirley Temple movies to keep them occupied for hours on end and worked hard at finding a balance between television, music, movies, reading and other playtime activities. As a result and without even realizing, I introduced them to Jerry Lewis, Dean Martin, Red Skelton, Carol Burnett and the like.

We own such a collection of Classic movies and musicals on video, DVD and CD that as they started school and began to make friends, some of the other kids thought they were plain strange when they'd be excited about watching an old movie. They normally had no idea what my kids were talking about.

I can remember the girls bringing school friends to the house and then playing some of their favorite music. They'd be singing along as if everyone should know the songs. Sometimes I'd have to tell them that maybe they should put something on their friends could enjoy too. It took a while for them to get it. And yes, they were different.

Today as I was scrolling through Facebook, I noticed Karina had a post that said "I love this video". This is what she posted. If you haven't already seen it, enjoy!

Not with my Mommy, you don't! What?!? No! Not with me either!

2009-10-06T22:30:00.000-07:00

Being a Massage Therapist can be an exciting career. It can be lucrative when the economy is on the upswing but at times it can also be a misunderstood profession.

I can't begin to tell you how many times I've seen that raised eyebrow at the mention of my title Massage Therapist. Of course I've never seen a woman react with the raised eyebrow and why is that? A woman understands and appreciates the benefits of therapeutic massage while many, many, many men have ill misconceptions of what it is we're trained to do.

I'm currently working a temp job as a receptionist. Many people, the majority being men, approach my office to ask for supplies or mail. Frequently they come by for nothing more than a chat and it was during one of those chats that the subject of massage came up.

Before I go any further let me say that any time I speak to a man who seems just slightly flirtacious I make it a habit to make sure he see's my wedding ring (I never leave home without it) and then fit my husband into the conversation; something I've learned to do over the years due to mens inability to understand that my friendliness is directed toward everyone; male and female.

As I sat chatting with this individual about the lack of work in the massage field, another employee walks up and overhears our conversation....Bingo! Bango! Wango! Antenae up, sonar bouncing off the walls! This individual who so "respectfully" refers to me as Doña Mari, frequents my desk with little business and much bla, bla, bla.

Please don't think me conceited, but as a woman I know when a man is trying to "play me". There is something in his voice that rings of bad intent and beyond that I'm incredibly perceptive and intuitive. It's something that was passed on to me by my father who at times, like I, chose to close his eyes to some very obvious signs so as not to insult anyone.

Just a little example of that: Dad had a friend, a political buddy, who I took an imediate disliking toward. I expressed this to my father many times but because he liked this guy he brushed me off each time. At first I wasn't sure what it was that bothered me about him until one day while we all sat in the kitchen talking. I realized that besides his outright arrogance, he was subtly hitting on my mom. There, directly in front of my dad, he was flirting with mom. Straight out flirting. Of course mom, being the humble woman she was would not acknowledge that any man outside of my father would even think to do such a thing.

To make a long story short, one evening dad finds himself more tired than usual and decides to hit the sack early. While he's in the bedroom snoring to the tune of "Whistle While You Work", a knock comes on the door. I'm in my jammies, watching tv with mom so I suggest she open the door. I move around the corner so as not to been seen when I hear the Big Bad Wolf asking if Dan is around. My first reaction is Wait! this character doesn't belong in this story but Snow White apparently has forgotten that every fairy tale has a villan. So our villan asks (oblivious to the hero lurking in the shadows), "well, if Dan is sleeping why don't you let me in so we can chat?". Sweet mommy doesn't get it. She trys to say no but the villan grows impatient and says "look he doesn't have to know". OH NO HE DI-INT! This is where I, without cape or magic wand, decide to pluck this fool outta da story.

I calmly walk around the corner, jammies and all, step in front of mom and say "I think it's late, you heard my dad is asleep. If I ever get the feeling your making a pass at my mom again I'll go straight to my dad. Bye, bye!" The jerk left and no, I didn't wait for the next time. I reported the whole incident to my dad the next morning. I'm not sure exactly what happened after that point, only that the wicked Queen, AKA the ugly 'ol witch never did show up with that red apple. End of story.

You know how it is when you know what you know. So in my story Mr. Suave shows up at my office to talk the day after he hears I'm a MT. Suddenly, he has shoulder and hip pain. He say's I hear your a MT. I say yes, already knowing where he's headed. "Ahhhh", he says, "because I need someone to work on me, I just cant' take the pain anymore". Before I can get a word out he says "but! It can't be on the weekend because I'm very busy on the weekends". I was dying to ask "Is that with the wife, by any chance?".

My story is taking far too long so before I take you right into tomorrows lunch time, I'll just say that I told him I'd check with my husband to see what day he'd be home and that I wouldn't think of working on a man without my husband being around (partly true). The bafoon had the nerve to ask if I would consider doing it somewhere else.

I wish I could be accused of making this up in my head but after his attempt to sing and recite poetry to me, I'd have to say YOUR WRONG! I may not be young and I may not be the size 9 I was when I met my husband but even fat, old ladies get hit on by desperate men trying to meet their quota. Do they actually think this one more score will get them that much closer to paradise?

Men, I apologize if I sound like it's pick on men day. That's not my intention. But as they say one bad apple spoils the bunch, my pretty.

Fuchie!

2009-10-03T01:50:00.000-07:00

Thursday eveing as I was driving to pick Karina up from RevX, the church youth group, I drove past the 91 and 605 freeway junction. That particular spot always smells of stagnent water. I'm not sure what goes on there but it smells something awful.

Although I was alone in the car, I immediately started laughing and called out Fuchie! For anyone who doesn't know, fuchie is a word I've heard since I was a kid and I imagine it comes from the word poochie, which means smelly. I guess it's a Mexican word, meaning a word in Spanish but used by the Mexican community. So I'm in the car alone but I had to say it anyway.

Just a month prior I drove past the same spot with 3 teenaged girls in the car and they all yelled out the same thing; "Fuchie" and then immediately went into hysterics pointing fingers at each other as if it were one of them causing the stench.

The other evening after dinner (thank God), the subject of passing gas came up. See Matthew, our 23 year old, just moved in with us and until we were able to move the two girls back into their room together, Karina was sharing a room with him. She said, and I quote, "I don't mind sharing a room with Matthew, his farts don't smell that bad." Matt quickly responded, "that's cause I don't fart much". The conversation was open for discussion at that point, so Carlos chimes in saying we all fart in our sleep and then begins to make fart noises, with his mouth, saying that he and I do concerts at night and we rarely hear anything because we're asleep. Here's a grown man, making different toned fart noises with his mouth to show how it might sound. I lost it. I couldn't help but laugh because this is a man who until about five years ago would never even mention the word fart much less focus on making different sounds to amuse his children. What happened?

So as I'm driving along, all alone, laughing, I start to think of all the comedians in the world who have spent entire monologues on the subject. George Lopez frequently works them into his act as has George Carlin, Eddie Murphy...well, all the funny guys. What in the world.....here I am writing about it and maybe it's cause I still cannot figure out why we must discuss it at all. It's a gross, disgusting subject yet, the second it comes up people of all ages and races start to laugh.

And why are we laughing?

What happens in a persons life that they find it necessary to discuss and point the blame onto someone else. Why can't we just be like dogs....we even blame dogs when someone leaks one out, poor little things. Do you think they laugh about it. Or maybe they blame each other....better yet, I wonder if they blame us for their exhaust. I just don't know.

Us human's are a strange bunch aren't we? Something smells bad, we quickly look to blame someone. I say we start a movement...we'll call it Proud Farters of America. We'll just relieve ourselves anywhere, anytime and not be ashamed. We can distribute fart literature and have fart concerts...okay, maybe that one should be up for discussion...but how about parades, parties, and a national day of farts. There are gay parades aren't there? Why shouldn't we have our own? The only way to get past the shame is to bring it out in the open. Let it rip...so to speak.

All those in favor say aye!

Could it be?

2009-10-01T21:10:00.000-07:00

Last night at 1 o'clock in the morning................wait, wait, wait...that makes no sense! Let me start again.

This morning, 1 o'clock a.m. to be exact, I found myself in the kitchen. No idea why, I just walked myself on over and then stood there looking. What the heck for, I have absolutely no idea. While I was standing there dumbfounded at how I even got there, two friends immediately came to mind; Debbie and Bunny. Reason being, these two long time friends (I no longer use the term "old friends"), recently expressed their inability to sleep at night. Both admit they've been exposed to that dreadful, incurable plague "Midnight Munchie Syndrome". While it's yet to be determined how one contacts such a plague, we do know that it attacks the body and mind around the same time as pre-menopausal symptoms hit. As I stood there thinking I was suddenly hit with the image of those walking bodies in "Night of the Living Dead" except in our case, we're not looking to munch on bone....(oh, yuck! I can't believe I said it) we're looking food, or whatever we can sink our chops into.

(I especially like the picture of the dead to the far right. Is it a man, woman, he-she, what? Looks like a skirt and breasts but it also looks like it has a moustache. Of course hair does continue to grow after you die OR hit menopause!)

Normally a flour tortilla with butter or a piece of starchy white bread with peanut butter would do but this morning was different. I craved something sinful. Something my family would stop me from eating had they an inkling of my whereabouts. And then as I opened the cupboard door I immediately realized what I'd come to do; down some Puffed Cheetos.

Five in total slipped down my throat all too quickly. Before I could stop myself from sealing the bag back up, they were gone. I turned and stalked out of the room angry at myself for not grabbing a handful, brushed my teeth and went to bed bearing the shame.

I havent' been to the doctor yet but I'm beginning to wonder if I too am part of the pre-mem group. I had a hystorectomy in 2000 but asked the doctor to leave my ovaries in if they looked ok. Apparently they were quite a site to behold because they're still tucked away deep inside. Last check-up I had the doctor burst my bubble when he told me they were "shrinking". Of all the heartless things to say to a lady...some people just have no tact.

Like Debbie and Bunny I sleep much less than I used to and have been known to have hot flashes. After my surgery I suffered one night of sweats but other than that, my mood only swings when I get a push. And I'm perty even keel most of the time. You might have to ask my husband and kids if it's proof you want, but I'm sure they'd tell you I'm the wicked witch reincarnate. They lie.

I supppose I'll have to go to the doctor soon and find out if I can start blogging about living with menopause. Why should Debbie and Bunny have all the fun.

Times have changed..........

2009-09-29T22:43:00.000-07:00

a statement we've all heard and said ourselves. Today as I sat at my desk answering phones I was reminded of just how much.

Back in 19cough, cough....I worked for a leasing company as an Accident Claims Processor. Being the outgoing, ready and willing to learn person that I am, the office manager asked me to be one of many back up's for the receptionist. Without hesitation I agreed, thinking it would be fun, exciting and a plus in furthering my career with the company or at least put me in good light with my direct supervisor. The more you know, the better asset you are to the company, right?

If you're too young to know, too old to remember or just unwilling to admit that you might be old enough to have been around at the time, this was when the switchboard looked like an octopus being pulled every which way; a la Lilly Tomlin snort, snort.

The hairdo isn't quite right, but the board, albeit small, is very familiar.

My first training session was frightening, to put it lightly.Within just a matter of minutes I gained a new respect for my friend who had been on the job for a few years already.

I recall sitting there watching her in awe as she, with the biggest head set known to man, pulled the cord of an incoming call, answered "National Car Rental, how may I help you?", then stretch that puppy from the base of the board (incoming lines) to the wall board (in-house lines) while moving on to the next caller in lightening time. And if that weren't enough, while she was answering a new call, and without blinking an eye or hesitating for thought, she could spot an ended call and pull the plug without so much as a hiccup. How she managed to spot that in the middle of this cord hell, I'd yet to figure out.

I began to wonder if I'd made a mistake by so readily accepting the challenge. All those feelings of self doubt; "What was I thinking, I'll never be able to do this", followed by "I'm not capable of learning this", and "I just know they're gonna fire me".

After my watching for sometime she said, in a perky little voice, "Okay, ready to give it a try?" WHAT! Ready? I'll never be ready....EVER! Everything in me wanted to grab her by the collar, scream and run as quickly as I could for the rear door.

Instead, like a fool I responded "Sure, let me give it a try". After the words left my mouth, I nearly grabbed my own collar and yelled. Dumb, dumb, dumb... all I could think to myself was that I'd be the laughing stock of the company. So much for being in good light in my Super's eyes. I mean, what happens if I disconnect the President of the company? How long does it take to get your first unemployment check anyway?!

As frightened as I was, and as much as my hands trembled, my dear friend simply moved to one side and threw me head first into the beast with a million tentacles, coming at me from all sides. I could have sworn I was under attack.

First call, I forgot the company name. I must have sat there frozen for all of 3 seconds but it felt like 20 minutes. I had a blank look on my face as fear poured over my entire body. My hands and feet began to sweat profusely when I suddenly detect a voice next to me say "answer....answer! Come on....Nation....." My voice finally came out but it was an out of body experience. Thank God my friend failed to tell me not to touch the metal prong as I plugged it into the socket because I got a shock that ran all the way up my fingers through my arm and directly into my heart which is why I survived the whole ordeal.

After a days training my friend felt confident that I could survive it alone while she ran to the bathroom. I admit the second she walked away I felt like a 3 year old being deserted by the only parent I'd ever known but I determined to do my job like the adult that I was.

Just a few days later and a number of hostile callers asking why I'd disconnected them "again", I was finally able to grab the octopus by the tentacles in full, or at least partial control.

Today as I sat answering the phone with a smile in my voice and with mouse in hand I grabbed a call on the computer screen to drag in into the extension the caller requested. I pushed a few buttons and napped in between calls. The beauty of technology; something you learn to appreciate with time.

Hup, hup. Hup to three four.....or maybe it's Left, left. Left, right, left

2009-09-29T00:50:00.000-07:00

It's that time of year when the Norwalk High School marching band begins their travels. Although travels are limited due to school funding, meaning only one bus instead of 3 is paid for, and a tonnage of fund raisers in an attempt to raise money to pay for transportation. I'm sitting here feeling a little disappointed that I won't be able to chaperon much this year due to my work schedule while last year I was able to take days off to attend.

This Wednesday they'll be competing at the L.A. County Fair. I was right there with them last year struggling to get through the crowd as the parents march alongside the band (ok...we run at a rediculous pace while stepping over people, squeeze between people, stumble around carts, bump into poles, fall off curbs, dodge balloons and step on sticky gooey who knows what) while trying to maintain some dignity as a parent who just wants to make sure your child and all the others get a measly little drink of water when and if they need it. It's a blast!

I remember last year quite well because it was dripping wet hot and as a band parent you quickly learn that it's much better to volunteer during the winter parades then Summer. Not so much for the obvious reasons but for reasons you must experience first hand to truly understand.

Last year, for instance, we arrived at the Fair at approximately 9:30 a.m. The kids took off until their call time, 3 p.m. Of course they've been out in the sun all day and wait until the last minute to return so they show up at the truck ..... hmmmm .... damp? wet? Sweaty. That's it. Plain and simple. They're sticky, sweaty and ..... yes, smelly (not all, but many). There were 130 kids or so and each one must find their uniform, change out of their regular clothes, and fix their hair.

Being I was a "new parent" or better worded "stupid and inexperienced parent" ---- (I know what those other parents were really thinking), they gave me the honor of helping the kids to put their hair up. See for competition not one single wisp of hair can show from under the hat. The judges can and will mark them off for such a crime. So there I am with bobby pins, hair nets, hair spray and comb in hand waiting for the little buggers.

We have guys with long matted hair, guys with fro's (in this day of age you've gotta be kidding) and guys with long straight hair stuck to the back of their necks with pure down home sweat. YUUUUCK! Of course guys have absolutley no idea, nor do they care to know how to put their hair up. They simply walk up to you and stare into your eyes waiting for the magic quesion "would you like me to help you?". Sometimes they actually mouth the word "yes". Mostly they just shake their heads and wait for you to perform some kind of magic on them. You somehow have to get yourself beyond the sweat and stanky and just do it.

I had one kid, who actually turned out to be one of my favorites, who's hair was straight and somewhat matted. He spoke very little but sweated enough to make up for it. He had the most uncooperative hair I've ever seen and it did not like hairnets. No matter how much spray or little poneytails I made on his head, his hair always managed to come lose. I often thought he did it purposely to test my mommyship. He wanted to know if I would mother him even if he did have wild hair.

Another kid who although born in the 90's had hair that was stuck in a 70's timewarp because he had such a big fro I had to put two hairnets on him. He looked like Mickey Mouse from the front angle the nets split his hair right down the middle. But I got it all in the hat, and that's really all I cared about. That he looked like an overgrown mouse was of little concern to me. He wasn't my kid.

Then there was the kid with no forehead and long straight stubborn hair. I put more rubber bands on his head in one parade than I've used in a lifetime on mine. Didn't matter, his hair came out anyway. I wanted to take a pair of scissors to him but didn't for fear of not being asked to walk the next parade. To this day, I think he trained his hair to go limp whenever I was around.

Where were these kids mothers? Why the heck was I putting their hair up instead of the women that bore them? Why? I'll tell you why, those women were smart. They let some other fool do it. They said "I can't I have to work", "I can't my dog is sick", "I can't, my kids too sweaty".

It's ok. I had a good time with those kids and this Wednesday while I'm at work and they're out there marching in the hot sun, sweating like pigs......oops! I really didn't mean pig, pigs....I meant....I don't know what I meant. But I will tell you this, I'm gonna miss those sweat heads. They're a good bunch.

I REALLY SHOULD STOP COMPLAINING.....BUT I DON'T WANT TO

2009-09-25T18:18:00.000-07:00

Today was one of the longest work days anyone could ever experience. It was busy, and if you don't know, I'm working a temp job and so that I don't use the "H" word, disliking every minute of it. The job itself isn't all that bad, especially if you have zero office experience. In fact, if that were the case, this would be the perfect place to get your feet wet.

In my case, besides being at the reception desk and answering phones all day, the rest is so mundane it feels like a slow suicide. It's like deciding to commit hari cari in slow motion. You decide where you want to insert the knife and then start the process of pushing it in...slooooooowwwwly, bit by bit, inch by inch, every day. Death by boredom.

The folks that work there are very nice, so it's not a matter of not being in good company. They're appreciative, friendly, easy going....you know. I'm sure your getting the picture. I've had several of the principal people, including the owner, come up to me and tell me how good I am and today I overhead a client talking to the owner saying "is she the one who's answering the phones now? She's excellent". Now while all that is flattering, and all, I'm still bored outta my skull.

So yesterday the young gal who I've replaced comes down to tell me that the word is, when the other girl who's on maternity leave returns, they're gonna give her a chance but as soon as she's late 3 times, that's it. She's getting the axe. She's says "that way you can come back and have the job". I'm smiling at her and wondering if I should tell her how much I despise the job, laugh or cry. First of all folks, I got news for you; I don't like this job and for someone who's bilingual, it sure isn't paying what bilingual pays....or does it? Now a days who knows.

I only know this: I'm bored and after I'm done being bored, I move on to bored only to be followed by bored which always ends with bored. What happened to the days when I actually had to think at work. Where it took research or imagination to complete a job. Instead I'm filling orders for 3 cans of coffee, 2 cans of cream and 4 boxes of sugar. Lord be with me now!

Today was a special treat. I got my first request to fill a large envelope with splenda and then I got to type five tabs for a binder. I was on a roll. You shoulda seen the sweat on my brow. Ok, enough of the gripe session. Monday's another day. Another day closer to this job ending that is.

Did I say thank you Jesus for giving me a job with a check at the end of the week?

If you haven't tried it, think twice before you do.

2009-09-25T00:26:00.000-07:00

I'm gonna tell you a little secret that kinda makes me sick....I've been playing a game on my phone. AHHH, I know, I know. It's so childish but I can't seem to stop.

This whole thing started about a month ago when I found myself alone and very, very angry. I won't tell you what I was so angry about but I will tell you that I wanted to escape. So, being the ever clever person that I am, I closed the bedroom door and went out on the back patio through the slideing door in my room, pulled up a chair and sat there. Boy I'm good.

Time passed and I was still angry. I started thinking "who can I call?". I looked at the time and saw that it was 12:59 a.m. Not to worry, it was a Friday night so I didn't have to get up for work, church or a meeting. Nothing on the books for the next morning but too late to call anyone. Now I'm really pissy. Is that a bad word, pissy? Well, if it is, I apologize but I was getting pissy, bad word or not.

The longer I sat there the p...ier I got (does that make it any better?). I look at my phone again and it's 1:05 a.m. It felt like 25 minutes already but it's only six. About this time I start talking to the dogs cause they're sitting there looking at me like it's story time or something. Whada they think? I'm gonna entertain them. I thought dogs were supposed to have this instinct that told them when to run like heck cause they're owner is in a p...y mood. Mine must be dumb cause they just sat there looking at me. I tried growling at them and all they did was that thing dogs do...tilt the head, arch the eyebrow...did they growl back? No. They just sat there. Penny tried looking away but she couldn't help herself, she did that head turned eyes still looking at you until the whites of her eyes were showing...now how often do you see the whites of a dogs eyes?

Two minutes pass and after shussssing the dogs away (no, they didn't leave), I take out my phone again. I'm desperate for something to do so I open a game "BrickBreaker"....That STUPID, STUPID game. At first I lose within the first 3 minutes which does not help my mood. But fool that I am, I keep trying. I mean what the heck else am I gonna do at that hour, right? So I play until I can't take it anymore, I'm exhausted. I need sleep. I need water. I need to go to the toitoi. It's rediculous. I'm playing a game on my phone. I'm 54 years old, playing a game on my phone at 2 o'clock in the morning.

You think that's the end of the story, don't you. Wrong! Today at lunch, I take a ... well, what else? A lunch break...see what these games do to your brain. So I take a break and you know what I did, don't you? I took the phone out and opened the game. Why? WHY? I'm telling myself, this is good eye/hand coordination practice. This is to give me patience. This is so I can learn to challenge myself.......This is DUMB! I'm like a drug addict looking for excuses to play this stupid thing.

What has happened to me. I used to be a woman people respected. I was someone. I coulda been a contenda! Look at me...I'm a washed up, no good pissy woman. There. I've said it. I always wondered what it meant "you have to reach bottom before you can wanna change". I think I understand now, I just can't figure out what kind of treatment center to check myself in to. All I know is, if I don't do something soon, I might be tempted to try a new game. What will become of me then. Who will raise my kids.

I'm gonna go see if I can find a church that never closes. The only way out is God. Pray people. Start one of those chain emails asking for prayer on my behalf. I can tell the road ahead will not be an easy one but I'm gonna be alright. And just a word of advise, If you haven't tried playing games on your phone, don't start now. Life is too short.

Wake up AND open your eyes people

2009-09-17T01:03:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading my friend Bunny's blog Rude Awakening and it totally reminded me of an incident that occurred when Jenifer started 6th grade, or middle school, about 9 or 10 years ago. Whoaaa...
Wait a minute! How can that be.............

Back to subject: The first week of middle school there's a mandatory parent meeting to familiarize both parent and child with school policies, classroom etiquette and various other topics, one of which is school uniforms. We live in a school district that believes in kids wearing uniforms, which I personally agree with. One reason I'm in agreement is the cost factor. I typically would buy the girls a combination of pants, skirt or skorts along with 4 to 5 tops so that we only have to wash one a week. I would say it's not because I'm lazy, but if I expect my children not to lie.....

The second reason I'm in agreement is that I've read studies that have shown how kids in school districts where uniforms are worn tend to do better in school as the focus is less on what they're wearing and more on what they're learning. I like it. I believe it, and I want that for my kids.

So there we are, Jenifer and I, at this meeting where we're both excited and nervous because she's so young and already starting middle school. It's bad enough our kids are exposed to far more than we'd like without forcing them to join an "older" group of kids before they're ready. And in my opinion a sixth grader isn't ready. I will say that I've always tried to instill wisdom and fear of their mother and father in them ;-).
No, I'm not kidding. Wisdom to know when to say no and fear as a double check.

During the meeting the Teachers and Principal cover a range of subjects and then as a last note turn to the policies regarding mandatory uniforms. One parent who has been sitting quietly throughout the entire hour suddenly decides to speak up. The conversation goes something like this:
Parent Question: Why do the kids have to wear uniforms
School Rep Response: It's mandatory in this district
Parent Question: Can I sign a waiver so that my child can wear whatever she wants
School Rep Response: Yes you can but we'd prefer that all children wear the uniform
Parent Question: I don't understand why they have to wear a uniform. The high school is in the same district and they don't have to wear uniforms
School Rep Response: I understand. I believe they feel high school children should be able to choose appropriate clothing to wear to school
Parent Question: Then why can't our children wear what they want? I don't want to go out and buy uniforms. They're ugly.
School Rep Response: There are several stores selling uniforms in the area. I'm sure you can find one she'll like that will be appropriate.
Parent Comment: Well, have you seen how some of those high schoolers dress? It's terrible that they can wear whatever they want. They should be wearing uniforms.

At this point my sixth grader looks at me and says "Mom, isn't that the same lady that just said she doesn't think kids should have to wear uniforms?" Now I ask you, if a parent sits and argues with school authority while they're child is present, what message is the child being sent? And secondly, this parent doesn't' even have the sense to form an opinion and stick with it.

So we wonder what's happening to our children and why the lack of respect for adults and the "system". I'll tell you what's happening to children: Parents. Parents who haven't' enough sense to understand that the schools and it's teachers are on the childs side. These same parents are the ones who go into our workforce and cause trouble amongst their co-workers because they want the world to revolve around them and when it doesn't, someone is gonna pay. They spread the bug of complaint, the virus of discontentment and the disease of gossip.

These are the people who have the first voice in their childs behavior, lives and future. How do you open the eyes of one who is so intent on keeping them closed? How?

1979 ~ The year of two heads and lots of other unusual stuff

2009-09-14T21:35:00.000-07:00

In 1979 I was lucky enough to be cast in a show that would allow me to travel throughout the Orient. My character had no lines and was inconsequential as far as I was concerned but I didn't feel in the least bit slighted, I got to travel either way.

Including the director, I believe there were 13 of us in the group; my cousin being one of them. How cool is that, I was able to travel with my cousin and now that I think of it, she actually was cast in the part I auditioned for. I never felt bad that she won the part because she captured the character of the Raven so much better than I did.

Our tour started in Japan and then we went on to Korea, Okinawa, Guam and the Philippines. As it turned out, there was some kind of mix up in our first stop, Japan, so we weren't scheduled to perform the first few days. It was wonderful. I'd traveled outside of the U.S. before but never to a country that didn't speak either English or Spanish so it was a challenge.

The beauty of eating in Japan is that the restaurants have little plastic food bowls in the windows so you can see what they serve and decide before going inside if they offer what you want to eat or not. I'd never seen anything like it and found it quite entertaining.

Our first evening there we were taken to a traditional Japanese restaurant where we sat on the floor and were served saki and the whole enchilada....ok, no enchilada but you get my drift. I recall sitting on my legs and thinking the evening might never end, wondering; How the heck do these people sit on their legs so long without them falling asleep. It's got to be one of the most uncomfortable things any adult human would want to do while eating. Maybe if your a fly weight, it doesn't effect you, but if your of any normal size...and I probably only weighed 120 at the time, it feels as if you'll never walk again. First you try to lean to one side by slowly shifting, hoping no one will notice and think you're wimping out. Then you shift to the other side always with a beautiful smile on your face which is actually a grimace because you've just rolled over your ankle bone and are not sure if the grinding you hear is because you've just broken your bones or maybe you're putting them back in place. And heaven forbid everyone else do this at the same time because if they do the whole group will look as if they're out at sea.

And while you're trying to sit there, looking as graceful as one possible can while being tortured, you're also learning to use chopsticks. I recall a deep desire to yell out....Porque Jesus, porque (and that movie wasn't even out yet). At some point I looked around to see if maybe it was just me, and it was. Everyone seemed to be oblivious to the pain I was suffering. Maybe they were better at bone crushing than I or maybe they were throwing down far more saki than I was aware of, I'm not sure. I only know it was a loooong evening. One that gave me a sincere respect for the culture.

And as if sitting on your legs for dinner isn't enough, you need to see how the Japanese wait for the bus because again, these people are either very creative or very lazy. I still have not come to any conclusion as to which but picture this if you will. Your in a bus and as you come to a stop you see a group of people stand. Normal. Nothing out of the ordinary until you notice there was no bench. Odd. Next bus stop, same thing....people sitting waiting for a bus, the bus approaches, they stand and board the bus. Now I'm not one to cause a scene but I'm beginning to think I'm hallucinating. As we travel along, I'm thinking next stop I want answers, does the bench lower into the side walk, is it clear plastic, just what am I missing? We drive to the next stop and I finally get a clear picture. These people are not sitting on anything, they're squatting. Yeah, squatting like....squatting. I don't know about you but if I squat like that for 30 seconds, much less wait a good ten minutes at a bus stop, I can promise you I'm probably gonna take down the person next to me trying to get up. I just can't handle that stuff. And I won't even get into the issue of how they use the restroom because I'd rather not go into detail except to say that when you're out in the middle of no where and the bus pulls over to use a Japanese toilet, before squatting, check carefully for spiders. End of subject; I'm moving on.

Our last stop on the tour was the Philippines. Besides the fact that I was sick most of our time there, I really enjoyed the Philippines. What's that you ask? Why was I sick? Ahhhh, now there's a story.....

We stayed at some very lovely places, one of which was a hotel on the beach. Sadly, we arrived late in the afternoon. We were tired and ran up to check into our rooms, not able to enjoy the beach at all, as I recall.

I was scheduled to room with Cynthia. We ran into our room and as I turned to look at the beds I noticed a cockroach about the size of a fully grown, 1,000 year old desert turtle on the pillow of one of the beds. I quickly ran to the other bed, threw my stuff on it and said in the sweetest, didn't see a thing voice "that bed is yours". I can still remember the look of terror on Cynthia's face as she screamed. Then and there we knew it would be a sleepless night. We paced the floor together wondering what we could possibly do to escape the creature. Neither she or I could come up with a solution so she immediately called for room service and ordered two beers (I was not drinking at the time). Within no time room service appeared and as we answered the door to our salvation, over the head of the bell hop flew in what looked like two dive bombers on a mission to destroy. And destroy is what they did. Cynthia and I were sure we would die. In a panic we grabbed the drinks and ran out the door directly behind our bell hop leaving him to think he'd done something wrong but we didn't care, if we wanted to live through the night, we had to leave the room then and there. We ran to the patio to have our drink in peace. To our surprise, just about everyone else in our group was already down there with the same dilemma, same solution; drunkenness feels no pain. We all laughed and drank until the deadly hour when we needed to return to our rooms.

Cynthia and I were in luck. The boys had had just enough beer that they were feeling very heroic. They offered to walk us up and check on the beasts for us before retiring to their own hell.

Before we could walk in the room, the boys removed their shoes. Aha, they were thinking, they weren't the young, dumb, boys I thought them to be after all, these were men. Men's men. We opened the door, turned on the light and there before us was an army in it's entirety. The cockroaches were out in full force and they were determined to take over our room before dawn. Our men's men turned into screaming girls....opening closet doors and slamming anything that moved with their shoes all the while yelling "die you gravy sucking pig". They turned up mattresses and pulled back covers until they could no longer take it. Our men flew out of the room and down the hall to their own quarters where we could hear them squealing and pounding their shoes long into the night. By morning I was so sick from Ulcer pain and lack of sleep, I wondered if I would ever recover.

And just one more horror story...Korea. Korea in itself wasn't a horror unless you consider the night we spent in a hotel on the economy. We checked in, as we would any other hotel. I was lucky enough to be scheduled to room with my cousin, Anita. Happily we found our room and began to settle in for the night. Within a few minutes there was a scratching on the walls. We both froze and looked at each other wondering what it might be. It took little time before we realized we had company and they weren't of the human kind. Ohhh, no. Our visitors had four legs and a long skinny tail. Our initial thoughts of showering were quickly put to bed as neither of us had any intention of slipping one toe onto the floor unless it was in clear daylight. Somehow we managed to fall asleep but not without fear on our minds. When morning came, we were up and ready to go probably faster than any other day of that tour.

We moseyed our way down to the lobby where we'd been told to meet the night before. And as we arrived we found one of our group members sleeping on a love seat. He looked terrible from lack of sleep. We asked what had happened and he nearly broke down in tears as he described his escape from hell. Apparently he too heard the scratching on the walls. It became impossible for him to sleep so he decided he would leave the room. As he walked out he was followed by one of the same furry type creatures that kept us company, but this one followed him all the way down the stairs to the lobby where it ran up on the desk where the attendant was fast asleep. The attendant of course went undisturbed the entire night. Needless to say, we carried more baggage that day than any other as every single one of us had bags under our eyes.

All in all, it was a wonderful tour.....by the way, did I tell you about the unexpected, loud rumbling we experienced our first night in Korea? I think I should save it. You might get the wrong idea and think our tour was terrible.

I really don't want to close on a bad note so I thought I'd include a picture of two of the main characters out of the musical we performed through out our tour. In 1979 performing in the Robber Bridegroom, two heads were better than one.

Scott Anderson and Robb Tracy

Not to worry....

2009-09-13T22:51:00.000-07:00

I didn't throw ice cold water on him and I didn't kill him. I tried words of kindness again. It may work, and it may not. Only time will tell.

I just wanted you to know that I won't be thrown in the clinker and you won't have to attend the funeral of a young man who's yet to live out his dreams.

All I can say is...he's one lucky kid.

Money doesn't grow on trees....I know cause my mom told me so

2009-09-11T01:54:00.000-07:00

So, I've told you how I haven't been working and how tough it's been financially. AND I've told you that I'm now working at a temp job that pays little but little is better than nothing. And yes, although you can't hear it, I can. The air conditioner is running in the studio. And guess what?.....I'm giving you time....give up? My son just walked out of the studio locked the door and went to bed. Once again he's left the air on. Maybe he's just feeling sorry for the crickets in the studio and wants to give them a comfortable place to chirp...

Maybe since the air has been running all day, or at least since he got home from school at about 11:00 this morning he thinks he may as well leave it on until he goes out there again tomorrow sometime so it'll be really, really, really cold and he won't have to even think about the heat.

Do you think he'll help me with some money? Hmmmm. Seeing as how he isn't working right now, it's not too likely.

I hate to sound like a cry baby about spending money on the air, but holy! What can I do to get this guy to understand that when you use the air all day, or when the room is lucky enough to stay cool all night even when the temp has dropped and there will probably be icicles on the equipment....MONEY IS BEING WASTED!

I hate being the wicked stepmother but maybe I should wait until he falls into a deep REM sleep and starts with the dreams and rapid, low-voltage brain waves, irregular breathing and heart rate and involuntary muscle jerks I'll go pour a bucket of iced water on him so tomorrow he won't feel the heat and need the air on!

Ok, now I sound like the wicked stepmother, don't I? I'm about to go tell him "If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times...." or maybe I should say "do you think money grows on trees?".

I'm gonna go out there and turn it off because I'm kind. No other reason. I'm kind right now that it's way, way past my bedtime. But it won't last because when I get up in the morning and I'm really tired because I was up doing God knows what and writing on my blog, I'm gonna kill him! Dead! He's gonna wonder what it was that slammed him on the head and then, and only then will he start to catch on that I can get mean and ugly when I have to.

I gotta go.....I'm gonna throw on that video that teaches women how to attack men that do dumb things and I happen to think it's in the studio where I can practice without any unsuspecting man watching me.

Lousey Memory

2009-09-06T01:20:00.000-07:00

Why is it I can't remember lyrics? I remember a time when I could and it doesn't seem I could have done all those musicals unless I could. I'm not sure if it's just an age thing, laziness, or the lack of desire to remember.

Years ago when I was doing musicals I had no choice but to lock the lyrics into my memory. Can you imagine singing a song and forgetting what it is your supposed to say. You can't fake it in front of an audience unless they're totally unfamiliar with the musical and even then, it's just a little difficult to get through West Side Story, for instance, by singing "I feel hmm hmmm, oh so hmm hmmm". Or even "I could have hmmmmmmed all night". Just wouldn't work. Someone would eventually catch on.

I do remember doing Chapter Two with a fever so high I was delirious. I had so many quick changes that each night I had two people back stage helping me change clothes. One of which was a guy. Of course, he wasn't in the least bit interested in seeing me in my underwear so I didn't mind but that night I ended up on stage with my buttons done wrong.

One scene in Chapter Two was a two way telephone conversation. I was on one side of the stage and the guy calling me was on the other side. As each of us would pick up the phone the others side of the stage would dim slightly. It was a series of calls so on the first call I picked up the phone and had a brief conversation, hung up and as I turned to walk away, the phone rang again. I turned back and answered as was scripted to do, everything normal there. I hung up, the phone rang again so I answered. As the dialog was written during this last call I was to say good-bye and hang up but because I was sick, I forgot to hang up. The poor guy on the other line kept saying things to get me to hang up, because he was stuck holding the line...I was totally oblivious and the light crew didn't know what the heck to do. I stood there in silence until I heard a rather strong whisper from back stage saying "hang up the phone", which I did rather promptly. I recall standing there wondering where the heck I was.

Somehow or another, it all worked out and I was able to get through the remainder of the show slightly sweaty but with full memory of where I should be and what I should say and got rave reviews. When I saw my leading man backstage after the show he looked as if he would like to kill me but instead he asked how I was doing. There were only four people in the cast and I managed to get the other 3 sick. None were as bad as I was but they would have liked to kill me anyway.

So if I managed to get through a show with high fever and a few crocked buttons, how on earth is it, I have trouble remembering my lines?

I know people who memorize lines for a show and 10 years later still recall total monologues. I do a show and 10 minutes after it closes I couldn't tell you one line much less a monologue.

I sing at church every Sunday and use music to get through the songs. Sad as it is, I still have trouble with lyrics. But why? I seriously do not understand. I'd blame it on my age but geez, I'm not that old, or am I? I try with everything in me to sing with all my heart and full understanding and really have a difficult time singing songs I don't like because it's too hard to express myself if I don't like the song.

There's got to be a trick to memorizing that I'm just missing. If you know what it is, let me know. I still think you can teach an old dog new tricks and I'm willing.

Ferdinand the Bull

2009-09-05T00:12:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite stories from childhood is Ferdinand the Bull (The Story of Ferdinand). I remember sitting on the living room floor for hours, not only reading and looking at the pictures but listening to the 45rpm, record that came with the book. I absolutely loved his story of Ferdinand the little bull who just wanted to live a peaceful life, smelling flowers and laying under the tree. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with the bull ring even if that stinky old bee did bite him in the bahooty.

Years ago when my girls were little I decided I just had to read this story to them. Of course, my original copy and the 45 had been thrown out long before and I couldn't find a current copy. I began the search of finding a copy probably more to fill my own reminiscent need more than anything but because this little story made such an impact on me, I was sure my kids would reap the same pleasure. I looked on line, asked friends and made phone calls only to find that any available copy was priced high enough to afford me a closet full of clothes. After many weeks of searching, I finally dropped the dream of finding the book as a friend of mine at work told me that she too was unable to find anything but the collectors copies which of course were ridiculously priced.

One day while shopping at Costco, about five years ago, I came across a copy. UNBELIEVABLE! I was excited beyond words but somehow managed to keep my emotions at a minimum, until I reached the car that is. I could not wait to get home. Sitting there in the car I opened the book and read the story. Believe it or not, I still could not wait to get to each new page. I might mention that the book was not the original "Reading Railroad" size because it was a special edition copy about 22"x34".

So there I was in the drivers seat struggling to turn the pages without knocking the glasses off my nose or worse yet, getting a paper cut on my face, legs or arms. The president himself could have knocked on the car window and I probably would have asked him to wait until I was done "sorry, Mr. President, I'm in the middle of something of high importance". Finding this book, was just as important as finding the Titanic as far as I was concerned.

I got the book home and attempted to show my girls who took it with a grain of salt. What do they know, they're young! I tried reading it to them, right then and there. I put the book on the kitchen table and made every effort to draw them into the images before them. Nope. Nothing. Maybe a little fake excitement for my benefit but overall, they felt nothing.

So for the time being Fernie sits up in the closet, probably collecting a little dust and bored out of his witts until perhaps a grand baby comes along. I'm praying that that won't be anytime soon.

Deal with it!

2009-09-04T22:26:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm back at work....sort of. I took a temp job making peanuts for pay but it's 3 months steady work and considering I probably will not get unemployment, being underpaid is better than not getting paid at all. I must tell myself this in order to believe it so if you tell me too, maybe, just maybe, I'll start to believing it.

I'd rather not mention the company name but its a job working in the city of Vernon, another not so lovely part of this job. There's a stench that goes along with the location, like none other and if it happens to be hot out, well, you can believe the odor will increase to a sometimes nearly gagging odor.

Over the years I've grown to enjoy time alone during lunch. I'm not anti-social by any means but, it seems that it's one of the only times I can spend time alone, besides a time like this when I'm writing and the fact that even if I did want to spend time with co-workers, for the job I'm filling, I'm forced to take lunch alone anyway.

So today, I thought it being cooler outside than the last few days, I'd spend some time in the car in the shade of a tree, reading. It sounded like an excellent idea and the car was cool enough to actually sit in and still be able to breath without feeling like I was suffocating but Lordy, the smell of something far worse than cheap perfume, was unbearable.

Have you ever driven by a location where there is stagnent water and it's like driving through a vat of hard boiled eggs? Well, let's multiply that a couple a dozen times. Of course the benefit to working in a smelly part of town is that you grow to appreciate clean air or so I keep telling myself because truth be know, I'm not sure there is a benefit.

So if your out there and you happen upon my blog, please, please, please, if you have any secrets that might help, share oh please dear God, share. I can only apply so much cologne and wearing nose plugs, besides being unattractive, just wouldn't go over well while working with the public. I've considered the 'ol clothes hanger on the nose, but totally hate the idea of having the indentations left at the end of the day. I'd stick kleenex up my nose but I'm afraid not everyone was raised with an Aunt Camille who thinks it's perferctly normal to shove kleenex up your nose and then leave it there for all to see. Where's your sense of humor people?!

Until I get some input from you all, I'll be forced to deal with the stink and pray that it doesn't penetrate my clothing and take a free ride home with me to be enjoyed by my family. Until then, I piddie da foo who has to sit next to me at the dinner table if I don't have time to shower and change before we dine.

Patiently awaiting your suggestions,

Marie

2009-09-02T20:36:00.000-07:00

It's late, but I can't sleep. Everyone is either out or asleep. What to do, what to do.....

Why not write, I ask myself. No answer. In fact, my brain is a little tired and empty....can your brain be empty? Maybe not but sometimes it feels that way. But I'd like to write...its just that sometimes when I start writing and I don't have anything in particular in mind, which is most of the time, I write strange things. I don't suppose it matters if it's strange or not since my blog is mostly for me. I don't think many people read it anyway.I wonder what people do think of me if they happen to stumble across my blog. Outside of the few people whom I know read my blog, how many actually "stumble" across it?

You know, if this is my therapy, and it seems to be, maybe I should be paying myself. After all, if I had a therapist, I'd have to pay, wouldn't I. So then the question is, how much? Let's just say I'd pay a therapist $50 an hour (determined by my gross income which at this particular time is nill), do I give myself a discount? Can I pay once a month or do I have to pay on the spot or worse yet, up front. Can I write a check or does it have to be cash at the time of service? Is that all I'm worth, $50?

If I am self therapizing, should I lay down on a couch while I write? That would make it difficult to type............If I can lay down and type, I think I deserve to be paid more because typing in a position that is not all that easy, is an art. With that in mind, my fee just went up to $75 and since I'm worth more, I should be able to provide myself with better results. I should be stress and worry free for that kind of money!

Maybe I'll stand and write...........no, that would cause stress to my body and then I'd have to give myself a massage. If I self therapize and then follow up with a massage, I should be making at least $150 and hour. I'm getting expensive!

Am I ripping myself off? If I'm not getting answers and I still need a massage afterward $150 and hour is quite high, don't you think. But then again, where else could I go for therapy AND a massage for $150 especially at this time of night? No where. I'd better pay myself more because I'm making myself available at a time no one else would even care. Geez, I'm affordable, I provide extra perks and I'm available at all hours of the night. What more could I ask for!

Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a client to see... Let's see..... ahhh....Marie. How are you? Lay down right here and talk to me. You can tell me anything, the confidentiality in this place is better than any other. Now, before we go too far, can you make that check out to M A R I E B O Z A and just so you know, there's a $25 charge for returned checks.............

"Yuck" just might be the right word for it.....

2009-08-27T20:06:00.000-07:00

I suppose my post about my feet was not exactly what anyone expected, including me. But truth be known, I don't always....I rarely, have an agenda when I sit down and write. I just wait and see where my fingers lead me and unfortunately for some, they lead me to the subject of feet...my feet.

So if you found it offensive, I'm sorry but the truth is, not a whole lot of people follow my blog and it's really just a place for me to express myself. Sometimes I'm good at it and sometimes I'm not. But it helps me to clear some of the stuff in my head and sometimes it helps me to clear things I had no idea were in my head.....like feet, for instance..."YUCK"!

Bye Bye Beach

2009-08-27T10:25:00.000-07:00

It looks like Saturday will be my last day on the beach, for the Summer.

For me, this really isn't that big a deal except that, this year was the first time in many that I was actually able to get and maintain a tan. Starting with our trip to Hawaii and then quite a few days I either took Karina and her friends to the beach or we went as a family to just hang out for the day, I've been able to keep a tan.

I remember when I was in high, or middle, school, Marsha's dad would drop us off at the beach for the day. It was a group of us girls and we'd just hang out, talk, laugh, watch the boys and do whatever it is that teen aged girls do. It was fun and our parents felt totally comfortable leaving us there. This year I'd planned to do the same with Karina and her friends thinking that at 15, or there abouts, they could be trusted to behave. The other parents didn't seem to think so, so I ended up staying with them, tanning more than I already had.

This Saturday we'll be at the beach again as our church is having a beach party and to take advantage of it, we're having baptisms. Karina has decided to be baptised too. I'm very proud of her. This year she went on her mission trip to New Orleans or NOLA and decided that it was time. I decided a while back not to try to push her into the decision because I knew should would decide when it was right for her. I'm glad I waited because now I know she isnt' doing it for anyone but herself.

So, we'll be out there on the sand partying, celebrating and eating, I'm sure. I'm going equipped with tanning lotion because my tan is fading fast and I don't know if I'll ever have a free Summer like I have this year. I'm not sure if I haven't found a job because as with everyone else, it's just hard right now or if it was because I just needed to have time at home with my daughter. It's the first Summer in her life that I've ever been home with her not only through the Summer, but just this much time not working. It was good.

As we've heard all things must end, so I'm planning on having a good time Saturday. Celebrating the end of Summer and my daughters step into a new life. Thank you Jesus for both!

Plantar Hyperhidrosis

2009-08-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

For years I asked the question; why me? And now I know I suffered from a bizarre foot thingy called Plantar Hyperhidrosis.

I've always been light on my feet and could move about without scuffing my shoes, which is not to say I could keep my feet clean because until recent years I always managed to attract every bit of dirt to stick to them. In fact, I'd be willing to bet my dogs have cleaner feet than I have. This is something I've had to live with since I was a pup...ahem...child. I meant child.

I can remember playing in the back yard with the neighbor kids. During the Summer we'd all have sandals on but it wouldn't matter much in my case, I always looked like I'd just finished a soft shoe in the dust. Dirt just stuck to me. Partly because my feet were always wet. They perspired so much it was embarrassing. I recall one day in particular when us kids had finished playing in the backyard and decided to go inside and play cards. Normally we'd all hang out at my house but that day we went to Kathie and Karen's who lived directly behind me.

We went into the living room and sprawled out on the floor for a little game of gin rummy. As everyone began to get comfortable the shoes began to fly off. I turned to remove my shoes and was shocked to see the light shade of gray they had taken on. They were filthy and I didn't know what to do with them. I tried hiding them but where the heck you gonna hide your feet on a hot Summer's day? So there I was the only bimbo with her shoes on. Too embarrassed that they might be dirty AND smelly.

It got worse; in my early 20's I got a job working for an optometrist and was required to wear those white nurse looking shoes everyday. After only three weeks on the job I'd ruined my shoes by leaving water marks on the leather. My stinkin' feet (probably literal) sweat enough to ruin the leather!

I couldn't make sense of it. If I was meant to have wet feet, why wasn't I born with webbed toes? At least it would make sense and if need be I could paddle my way to work on raining days.

Was this some kind of strange phenomenon? Was I supposed to be in the newspaper with photographers running after me trying to capture the dirt as it clung to me? If you must live with something so embarrassing, shouldn't there be a way to make money off of it?

Question upon question ran though my head about why this was happening but I found no answers. Funny thing is, I really didn't sweat anywhere else. I took a USO (United Services Organizations) tour to the Orient with a group of actors. The Orient can be hot and humid and as most of our traveling was on a bus we often times arrived at the appointed location with everyone on the bus drenched in sweat....well, everyone except yours truley. I'd be dry as can be...until you got past the ankles. The girls called me prissy, but it wasn't my fault, I'd have done anything to be a sweaty pig if it meant my feet could remain dry. Think about it, I was always scared to death I'd accidently electrocute myself.

Just so you know I'm not kidding, read this: Anyone with Plantar Hyperhidrosis who goes through an exercise, dance, or martial arts program with bare feet will leave wet spots on the floor. This will be embarrassing, but, more importantly, can be hazardous for the participant and others engaging in the activity. Falls could occur, as a result of the wet spots.

I don't remember when or how but I finally grew out of this dreaded thing and have fairly dry feet. And all this to say, I sure could use a foot massage. Any takers?

I was cool.......I was!

2009-08-26T01:24:00.000-07:00

Today my friend Bunny posted some "old" pictures of our group of friends from high school on Facebook. First of all, who ever thought at 50 sumpin, us girls would be communicating through FB (that's the cool thing to call it, you know) and my, OH! my, did those pictures take me back.You have to see the picture of me, really.

Could I not have picked any bigger glasses?

Those puppies were huge.

It's no wonder they even stayed on my nose.

I remember when I finally got those glasses because it was a big ordeal. A year earlier I'd gone to pick out glasses and of course, mom and dad went with me. The wire rims were my first choice and mom was fine with it but dad, on the other hand, was not. I wanted them really bad because like any other teen, I wanted to be cool but according to him they were "hippy glasses". Now tell me, look at the picture, do I look like a hippy? Of course not. But to my dad, wearing, as we used to call them, "John Lennon glasses" would probably make me a pot smoking, LSD taking hippy. You just know I would have sold my soul to the devil, had I bought those darn things.

A year fly's by and mom and I go back for my yearly eye exam. Sure enough, my prescription got stronger and darn if I didn't have to pick out a new pair of glasses. Lucky me, dad couldn't make it and mom was a push over.......Oh yeah! John Lennon glasses, here we come!

With little or no coaxing my mom let me get them. Mom was much cooler about that stuff than dad was. Maybe she was like me and understood that at a certain age, especially in your teens, it's really important to feel like you fit in. She also understood that my glasses would not change me, outside of making me cooler than I already was. Something that just could not be helped.

Well, believe it or not, I still have those glasses and you would not believe the lens on those things. This was before the polycarbonate lens (Bunny, correct me if I'm using the incorrect terminology) so the idea that the bridge of my nose actually held them on is just crazy. It might explain why I have little, if any, sense of smell left after toting those things around for a few years. I was constantly pushing them back up on my nose to keep them from falling off my face. But regardless of just how heavy they were I was cool, and that, my friends was the beginning of my coolness. Thank you Mom.

You can tell a lot about a man by his what?!

2009-08-25T17:36:00.000-07:00

I Googled "you can tell a lot about man by" knowing full well the end of that statement is "the company he keeps", right? Wrong. Well, maybe not wrong but it wasn't what I expected to read. There were so many "You can tell a man by his shoes" links that I was quite surprised.

If you're old enough and from the Los Angeles area you'll remember Dillons of Westwood. Dillons was a really popular place to go dancing during the disco period. This is when people still got dressed to the nines to go out, especially if you were gonna drive 30 miles just to dance. No one went out dancing like they do now; in torn jeans and tennis shoes.

My cousin Anita and I would plan a trip to Dillons and make sure when we walked in, we were ready to dance. Oh yeah! Of course we were single and both attractive girls so one never knew if you'd find the love of your life on the dance floor...Right! Whether you thought it or not, you had to be prepared. We were both "dancers" at the time and Michael Jackson's Off the Wall was out and hot. I'd be surprised if they didn't play at least 5 or 6 of Michael's songs throughout the evening.

After dancing a few songs (those disco songs were long) we decided to take a break and found a little love seat and chair to sit and rest our weary feet. I sat on the chair and Anita on the love seat with an empty space to her left. Before long a nice looking young man sat down next to Anita and started up a conversation with her. I was left to pretend I wasn't watching, but I was. Afterall, he was cute and dressed quite nicely.

Several minutes had passed when there was a pause in their conversation and Anita leaned over and asked "did you see his shoes?". Thinking there was some obvious reason she would ask, I took a sly wait until he's not looking glance over at his shoes and wondered what it was she was referring to for as far as I could see, they were not ugly or dirty or worn and he without a doubt had not stepped in anything stinky so I shot her a glance of not understanding. She leaned back into me and said with a raised eyebrow and a grin, "they're nice". I'm sure the dumbfounded look was still on my face because she realized I needed further explanation and said in plain, clear English "You can tell a lot about a man by his shoes. His shoes are nice and really clean". Aaha, the light bulb finally went on!

Where she got the concept from I don't know and to be honest, I dont' think I'd ever considered such a thing until that night. But, she seemed to know what she was talking about. He did seem like a nice guy and if his shoes were clean, I suppose that would mean he took time to keep himself clean as well. Wouldn't you think?

I don't recall what, if anything ever happened to Mr. Clean Shoes but I can promise you, from that evening forward I didn't hesitate to check any man's shoes. And so what if he caught me looking, if he had any chance of making it into my future, he sure as heck better keep his shoes clean. Because you can tell a lot about a man by his shoes.

Aha! Caught you looking!

I wanna dream too

2009-08-18T00:34:00.000-07:00

Can someone tell me if there's something wrong with me because I just can't remember my dreams. Or is it that I don't dream?

My husband remembers everything he dreams about and can recall an entire dream step by step, word for word. When they're worth repeating or make an impact on him, he recounts the ENTIRE dream to me. Some mornings he follows me around the house while I get ready for work to tell me the darn thing. It used to be he would go into the bathroom as I applied my make-up to tell me what he dreamed but if I stood there to listen to everything he'd make me late for work so I had to keep moving, asking him to follow me as he talks and talks and talks. Yes, really.

Being a musician, sometimes he dreams original songs. In other words, he writes dreams in his sleep. So a long time ago I purchased a small tape recorder and when he has those dreams, he wakes up, goes into another room with his little recorder and sings the lyrics so as not to forget. Is that incredible or what?

Karina, our 15 year old, has the same ability. One dream she had took two days to recall. I must tell you that I just couldn't take the entire dream in one day. The kid tried my patience as I listened to the first part. I really wanted to say "enough is enough already" but I didn't have the heart to crush her "dream". So I asked if maybe she could continue the following day so that I could get a few things done. Do you think she forgot? Heck no! The next day she asked if she could finish but of course she needed to recap the darn thing so that I would remember where we left off. Why couldn't I lie and say I knew exactly where we were, why?!

I've tried remembering mine and must admit there have been a few times when I do. Somehow they just don't seem all that exciting. I forget too many of the bits and pieces so they seem so abstract. How do you build excitement when telling something that only has bits and pieces to it. Maybe if I told someone who's a bit out of touch with reality it would make sense and be funny even. But to the average person, what's so good about a dream you can't even tell in it's entirety.

I know, I know.....keep a notepad near your bed and when you wake up start writing....I've heard all that before. Doesn't help. I still can't remember a darn thing. The pad will sit there and collect dust, I assure you. Not only that, the stupid pad is just a reminder that I must have fallen into a coma and never made it to REM.

Read this: REM sleep is when dreams occur. We have 3 to 5 REM periods per night. They occur at intervals of 1-2 hours apart and are quite variable in length, ranging from 5 minutes to over an hour. REM sleep is characterized by rapid, low-voltage brain waves, irregular breathing and heart rate and involuntary muscle jerks. About 80% of sleep is NREM sleep. If you sleep 7-8 hours a night, all but maybe an hour and a half is spent in dreamless NREM sleep.

So does this mean that I don't have the benefit of muscle jerks? What! I'm being robbed of low-voltage brain waves, irregular breathing and heart rate. These people have me all wrong because my entire sleep seems to be spent in NREM. Obviously when they did their research they didn't study anyone like me or those percentages would not be in print as they are.

I wanna know who I can go to with my story. Do you think Oprah cares? I know she'd send me to Dr. Oz who's really a wizard in disguise anyway. What could he do about it! Send me to Dr. Phil? He's certainly not gonna care, he's not even friends with Oprah anymore.

I may as well come to terms with the whole thing and thank God for those few dreams of flying I had as a teenager and memories of my flamenco dreams. I still have the sheets I kicked my heels through as a reminder of my very few REM nights. I'll be forced to live vicariously through my husband and daughters dreams. I have no dreams of my own.

I suppose this should be a letter to Dear Abby or whoever is solving dilemmas these days. There's got to be an answer for my dreamless nights. And don't tell me to sleep with a potato between my toes or some old wives tale like that. If you give me any advice on how to achieve my dream, please, please don't make it anything to do with a vegetable or animal. Ok, maybe garlic but eggplant is out of the question!

The best drink in town

2009-08-16T00:27:00.000-07:00

If you've read the blog about my father, "Shhh don't tell them you speak Spanish", you won't be surprised by this story.

I can't remember a time when there weren't parties at our house. Maybe because my father had 8 siblings and was used to being surrounded by people or maybe it was simply because he just loved parties. I'm not sure what the reason, I only know parties were a huge part of my childhood.

Although I was raised Catholic, as were my Mother and Father, dad landed a job working for a Jewish temple. As we were not raised with prejudice it made no difference to me where he worked or who with and it didn't to him either. He loved people and didn't care what their background. All he asked was respect. If you respected him, he immediately considered you a friend.One of the benefits of dad's working for the temple was that he frequently brought home kosher pickles. I so looked forward to weddings and bar mitzvah's, not that I attended any, oh no. Mom and Dad would go frequently because although my father was an employee at the temple, everyone loved him and invited him to their events. So while mom and dad dressed up and went out for an evening of fun and dancing, I stayed home and waited for the food to arrive. And it was through the temple events that dad made friends with the caterers and learned to make hors d'oeuvres. This was a good thing for a man who loved to have parties and as his kids, it meant we too would learn how to make the hors d'oeuvres, like it or not.

Dad would come up with a new excuse to have a party and then say "we're" gonna make the food"; which was always followed by an audible "Ohhhh" because to us, it meant hours in the kitchen making hors d'oeuvres.

Yes, parties were what we did and I recall one particular party when the "Host with the Most" would stoop to be a sneak in order to prove a point.

One weekend a family friend came to visit and the subject of alcohol came up. They began to talk about their favorite drinks, how they liked them mixed and who could mix a good drink.

Dad had long before built a bar in our back family room. It was a great looking bar and if you didn't know better, sitting there gave you the feeling that you'd stepped into a establishment. My Uncle Joe upholstered this L shaped bar, approximately 8 feet in length with a little swinging door so as not to use your hands when delivering drinks on a tray. Seriously. Behind the bar were cabinets with mirrors and lines of bottles and mixes. There you could find just about anything you needed for any drink.

So as the two sat and talked about their favorite drinks, this family friend made the mistake of telling dad that he only drank Chivas Regal and could tell it from any other scotch. Big Boo Boo. Dad loved a challenge. I could see the wheels spinning. There was a slight squinting of the eyes, the side glance, the arched eye brow and then as if it never happened he continued on with the conversation moving into world politics, the neighborhood and child rearing.

Two weeks later, we were in full steam ahead preparation for another party, whatever it was, we needed to celebrate. We're in the kitchen making hors d'oeuvres when here comes dad with an empty bottle of Chivas Regal. Thinking he was about to throw the bottle in the trash I watched in surprise as he placed it on the table next to a brown paper bag. If you haven't' already figured it out, he then pulled a bottle of some off brand scotch out of the bag and began to fill the Chivas Regal bottle with it's contents. What!? "Why you doing that da" I began to ask but before I could finish, that look from two weeks prior; the slightly squinted eyes and arched eyebrow were back. Finger pursed to lips and a shhhhh, was all the response I got.

He finished filling the bottle, wiped it up one side and down the other and then carefully walked it down to the den and placed it smack dab in the middle of all the other bottleson the bar. Pretty as can be.

Later that evening as the guests begin to pour in, dad stands behind the bar in anticipation of the arrival of our family friend. I can almost see him drooling at the thought of proving his point, but he's determined to pull this one off and maintains his "Host with the Most", not a care in the world attitude, serving drinks, swapping hugs, jokes and laughter all at once. The party is on and the cat is in the bag.

Soon enough our friend arrives and as if scripted to do so he plops himself down right on the middle stool of the bar. Although I'm sure he's seen him, dad manages to avoid eye contact for a few minutes as if preparing for the task at hand. After a few moments he turns and greets our friend as if he's just seen him and of course asks the question of the evening "what can I get you to drink?". Without hesitation our friend answers, what else but "Chivas Regal". Dad quickly responds "as if I didn't know...Let me see" and then as if he has no idea where it might be found he scans the bottles with a pointed finger until at last it is found. He grasps the bottle and turns the cap as if opening the bottle for the first time and then without concern of insulting our guest he pours the ever precious golden liquid into one of our regular whiskey glasses. Ohhh the gall!
Dad places the glass before our friend and then goes about his business of wiping the bar down while mingling with our guests all the while cocking one eye toward our friend to capture the inevitable question. Friend picks up the glass and drinks and then turns to another guest with whom he exchanges the regular "how's the family, bet the kids are getting big" routine. Nothing. No comment. No distortion of the face. No Nothing!

I know my father was waiting for something to happen; a slight look of doubt or question but nothing happens. The entire evening passes and not once does any question arise as to odd or peculiar difference in this bottle of Chivas Regal.

My dad is overjoyed with his win. So much so that he decides not to let our friend in on the joke. In fact, that same bottle remained in our bar for many months and was replaced only now and again when our friend, out of common courtesy would show up with a new bottle only to have dad repeat the same process time and again. It was our little secret and remained to be for as long as my dad was alive. The "Host with the Most" proved his point and never said a word to our friend. He did, however, save a ton of money by buying that less expensive Scotch and I can assure you the money saved was put toward an never before tried tantalizing, finger licking hors d'oeuvre. Ever had cocktail wieners with bacon wrap and a slice of pineapple? Ooooh...Party anyone?

Potty Mouth!

2009-08-14T18:08:00.000-07:00

Last year sometime through a telemarketing call I made, I got back in contact with a friend from College. It was a great surprise and a joyful reunion. This is a friend who I did shows with and drove to and from many parties with. We spent hours talking about everything and anything, planned an annual Christmas party, wrote 10 minute scripts, ate at Marie Calendar's frequently, roomed together during much of our USO tour and I'm quite certain we shed many tears together.

I must say, we were an odd pair, we two. From entirely different backgrounds. She, middle class White, and I, middle class Hispanic. Her family college educated, mine....not. It didn't seem to matter what our backgrounds, we got along well.

At some point we lost touch. I'd have to say it was probably more my doing than hers. I went through a rough period and just seemed to take flight. After many years of flying my feet finally touched ground and I suppose as all things happen for a reason, there I was on a telemarketing call leaving a message for the voice on the other end.

As it turned out, that voice returned my call to say "this is Cynthia Snyder, returning your call". I quickly looked at my list of contacts and saw that this Cynthia Snyder person was doing business in Whittier, not far from where I was working. I thought to myself "could it be?", so I asked "is this Cynthia Snyder who attended Rio Hondo College because if it is, this is Marie". Of course I had to go through my alias' because by this time I had been married, divorced and married again. But there we were, two old friends making a connection through of all things a telemarketing call.

Yesterday, as I strolled through the grocery store, I overheard two girls talking. The foul language which fumed from their mouths did not for one second do justice to their good looks. And that is what brings us to my story today. I am about to share with you a quick little diddy of how Cynthia and I once found ourselves in the same predicament.

We (Cynthia and I) were attending Rio Hondo College and in the middle of rehearsals for student directed Kurt Weill musical review. A young man, who I will call Paul (not the director, Paul), was brought in to fill a part. He was good looking, charming, played piano, sang and was beyond witty. The Frank Sinatra type but much, much better looking.....or maybe it was just that he was there in front of us, within reach that we found him so attractive. Either way, he seemed to have the whole package going on.

We soon found ourselves completely enthralled and became his biggest fans. If he cracked a joke I'm sure we laughed even if we didn't get it (although, he was very witty). He did have one slight flaw. He cursed beyond control. It first came as a shock, then entertaining and then quite acceptable because he was afterall, the comedian. And don't comedians have a right to cuss.

Well, as time went on, the cast of this show became very close, as many do. We ate together, drove together and played together. The only thing we didn't do was sleep together...as far as I know. We hung out before and after rehearsals well as on our days off. We began to act like each other and my dear friends that includes language habits. Oh, yes. The nasty stuff began to flow from both mine and Cynthia's mouths. It was terrible but somehow we didnt' see it coming until McDonalds.

Cynthia and I had gone to McDonalds on the way to or from.....I don't know where. I just remember that we were hungry and were driving down Washington Boulevard in the City of Commerce and we parked and walked into Micky D's. We placed our order and then sat down for a quiet bite to eat. As usual we were chatting away when it suddenly occurred to me that we both had become the most trashy mouthed young women ever! It was as if a brick hit me square in the forehead and opened my eyes. I think I froze for a moment and then said something like "Cynthia! Listen to us." I'm not sure she caught on immediately but I recall bringing to her attention the language we were using and then blaming Paul. I did. I blamed Paul. We were shocked to find that we had taken on Paul's characteristics and could not recall when or where it happened. It just did.

That day we vowed to clean up our act and become clean spoken young ladies. I'm certain there was a time or two when we slipped but as any smoker can tell you, it takes a while to become a habit and longer yet to break it.

As I sit here today, I can say that I no longer curse. It doesn't mean that I haven't had days when I did, and I even sometimes think bad words, I just chose not to say them aloud. Having children cleaned my act up immediately. And now that I've made my "True confessions of a one time bad girl", I feel cleansed. Renewed. Free of that terrible, terrible habit.

It is true when they say that friends can have a bad influence on you. And although I will not allow my children to use that as an excuse for things they do, I can! It was, after all, Paul's fault.

One paragraph at a time

2009-08-14T14:13:00.000-07:00

So, I'm frustrated. I'm sure it isn't the first or last time you'll hear me say it but, I am. It's really not that big a deal considering I'm blessed to have a computer at all. And when I think back to, what, 10/15 years ago, not all that many people had home computers. Or did they?

So I sit here looking at the clock knowing any time soon my husband could arrive. I'm glad he will but at the same time, I'll probably have to stop what I'm doing, regardless of what I'm typing and let it wait until later because he has work to do. Thank you Jesus for the work, but what if I'm on a roll. What if I'm writing something that takes me beyond just an hour or two to write?

Okay, so I'm not a paid writer and nothing terrible will happen if I must stop writing. But, I don't want to stop. Sometimes it just feels good, doesn't it? Like the blog I wrote about 1,095 Forks seriously, when I began writing that day, I had absolutely no idea what it was I would write. And now as I re-read it, I'm still not sure I had any idea of what I was writing, but you get my point don't you. Sometimes it just feels good to write and express ourselves no matter how ridiculous or how passionate the piece may be. It's an outlet, and we all need an outlet.

I suppose I just need a good laptop. One that I can carry around wherever I go. Stop for a cup of coffee and write. Take lunch; write. Run to the doctors office; write. Well there it is, the answer clear and simple. Do you think if I appeal to my husband he'll just run out and buy me one? Me either. Well, until I get that good paying job, I just may have to continue this game of on again, off again writing. It's better than nothing but I'm gonna keep on dreaming anyway.

Oh, oh...there he is now. Write to you later.