As Time Goes By.....

I realize....just what you mean to me....
Remember that? Chicago, Colour My World, 1970. What a great song.

As time goes on
I realize
Just what you mean
To me
And now
Now that you’re near
Promise your love
That I’ve waited to share
And dreams
Of our moments together
Color my world with hope of loving you

I'll bet you're wondering what made me think of that song. If your not thinking that, I'd say it's odd that you wouldn't. But never mind what I think, I'm a bit odd, at times.

This picture of Karina, Christopher and Donte (my daughter and two nephew's) began the thought

I looked at the picture and thought "Time flys. It goes so quickly". Next thing I knew I was humming Colour My World. So, what does the song make you think of?

In 1970, I was in high school. Chicago was big. I'm sure it conjured up some romantic image in my head that may not have been directed at anyone in particular. But I actually got to know more of Chicago's music because my Aunt Ruth used to take me Greek dancing. I was spending quite a bit of time with her and we'd listen to Chicago. I never owned an LP of their music but she'd put it on while we were at her house getting gussied up for the Greek dance floor...OPA!

So, what memory does "Colour My World" awaken in you? A boyfriend. A concert. A party. Slow dancing. The beach.

Gene Kelly

I love Gene Kelly!

What was it about this man who, not only made you want to dance, he made you want to be in love. He made you smile and he made you cry. He made you "think" you could sing and he definitely made you dream of being beautiful. Okay, so maybe it was just me that felt that way....living in that dream world again. Wake up, Marie!

I don't know much about his personal life; maybe I should read a his bio, but on screen he had such charisma. For me, he stole the scene even when he was in the background. I think women across the country probably pleaded with God to send them a man like him, heck, even the married ones prayed believers and atheist alike.

Lucky for me, I found a man who dances. Not quite like Gene Kelly, mind you. But he dances with me and our girls. He even tries to dance ballet when Karina is dancing around the house. Which, by the way, can be very amusing. Kind of reminds me of .... hmmmm, I dont' think there's anything to compare it with. Almost like watching .... hmmmm, no, that's not it. Ahhh..it would be as if...uh, uh... Okay...so, he dances and we'll just leave it at that!

But getting back to Gene, he was smooth, he was suave, he was charming, he was cute, he was clean shaven, he dressed to the T. So, my question is, if we (or maybe just me) found Gene Kelly to be smooth, suave, charming, cute etc., what the heck are the girls of today thinking when they look at this? ------->


Are they thinking smooth, suave, debonair? Take some time, compare the two. Tell me what you think. I know times have changed, I know styles have changed but me baby, I still prefer my man untwisted. I wanna know that when I reach for his hand, I'm not gonna get a foot. I'd prefer his head not be where his butt is and that when we dance together, we touch at some point. Geez....I'm getting old!

Happy 15th Birthday Karina!

If a "blast" is something that comes from dynamite, I'd say we had dynamite party this past Saturday. It was 50's themed and to prove it, we twisted, shouted, limbo'd, hoola hooped and blew bubbles. We laughed, we fell, we hugged and we planned to do more of it in the near future.

A good 5 and a half years ago we had a 50's party when Jenifer turned 15. It made such a great impression on Karina, then 9 years old, that she couldn't wait for her 15th birthday to do it again. I was sure she'd forget about it and think of something different to do, just goes to show how little I know. She wanted the 50's theme and she wasn't backing down.

We dug out the old, but still good, decorations which actually multiplied when Jenifer used them for a High School dance. Being as what we bought for her party at home were not enough, the school gave her money to buy more; lucky us because they would have thrown them away if it hadn't been for my thrifty, intelligent, quick thinking daughter who bagged them and put them in storage. Yahoooo! I love a good savings.

And who says you can't have a mixed age group and have a good time? Who, I say who?!! While the younger group may have gathered and separated together some of the time, a whole lot of the time we were all dancing and enjoying the various games together. My guess is, the young were laughing at the old and the old were laughing at...well, the old.

I twisted and I'm not referring to the dance floor. Getting into bed that night I thought for certain I'd never again see the light of day. Thank the good Lord I had the sense to hold the Limbo stick instead of trying to Limbo. From what I saw of others, they'd probably still be trying to pick me up from the floor. I'd have the heel of my shoe in one of my ears, I just know it. And of course, I'd probably be in a full body cast because if I even attempted to arch my back as far as others did, I'm sure that I'd have caused such an uproar that half the guests would have been hospitalized along with me from ruptured muscles, something that happens when you are forced to laugh uncontrollably. I actually think it should be used as a form of torture. We'd probably save this country a whole lot of time out of courts and money spent.

My Pastor is the only person I've ever seen Limbo while holding and drinking a soda (show off!). This is a man who stops at nothing. I've seen him break dance during a Sunday sermon and live to tell about it yet, after a 15 year old's birthday party he's forced to give his entire message seated on a stool. Pray for him, please!

This photo was just the beginning.
These people were bent so far back I believe they could see the next days sun rising.

Stay tuned...as soon as I get the Limbo video edited a bit, it'll be posted for all to see. It's never quite as good as the real thing but I know you'll be impressed by the way I hold the limbo stick. Hey! I moved my feet while I held it, I'm not a total loser.

A Farewell from Gabriel Garcia Marquez

This was sent to me by a friend. I found so much truth in it that I wanted to share it with my friends. To be honest, some of the stuff about sleep I might disagree with, but for the most part, I'm right there with him. So here it is:

If for an instant God were to forget that I am a rag doll and gifted me with a piece of life, possibly I wouldn't say all that I think, but rather I would think of all that I say.

I would value things, not for their worth but for what they mean. I would sleep little, dream more, understanding that for each minute we close our eyes we lose sixty seconds of light.

I would walk when others hold back, I would wake when others sleep.

I would listen when others talk, and how I would enjoy a good chocolate ice cream!

If God were to give me a piece of life, I would dress simply, throw myself face first into the sun, baring not only my body but also my soul.

My God, if I had a heart, I would write my hate on ice, and wait for the sun to show.

Over the stars I would paint with a Van Gogh dream a Benedetti poem, and a Serrat song would be the serenade I'd offer to the moon. With my tears I would water roses, to feel the pain of their thorns, and the red kiss of their petals...

My God, if I had a piece of life... I wouldn't let a single day pass without telling the people I love that I love them. I would convince each woman and each man that they are my favorites, and I would live in love with love.

I would show men how very wrong they are to think that they cease to be in love when they grow old, not knowing that they grow old when they cease to be in love!

To a child I shall give wings, but I shall let him learn to fly on his own.

I would teach the old that death does not come with old age, but with forgetting. So much have I learned from you, oh men...

I have learned that everyone wants to live on the peak of the mountain, without knowing that real happiness is in how it is scaled.

I have learned that when a newborn child squeezes for the first time with his tiny fist his father's finger, he has him trapped forever.

I have learned that a man has the right to look down on another only when he has to help the other get to his feet.

From you I have learned so many things, but in truth they won't be of much use, for when I keep them within this suitcase, unhappily shall I be dying.

No birds or bunny's allowed!

Memorial Day. Juan Carlos and I chatted about what we should do with our day. The kids were home. Why we even had an extra kid; my nephew Donte. That meant we could accomplish at least one of the projects on our list of things to do. And Juan Carlos will be the first to tell you that the most important reason for having kids is that you have someone to do the chores you don't want to do (that's a mans thinking for you). So we decided to take advantage of the fact that the kids didn't have plans and make plans for them.

JC and I made breakfast for us all and then, of course, had the kids clean. While they cleaned, we went out to the back yard and got out all the tools to start our little project of planting vegetables. We've had it planned for quite some time now but it just never seems to happen. Since we had the day off, we figured it was the perfect day. We dug a little planter along the back wall and then spent the next 2 1/2 hours pulling the grass roots out. Not an easy task but we had a strong, determined group.

Karina had the task of trimming Muñecas hair so she had no idea what we were doing most of the day because Muñecas hair looked really bad. I'm not sure but I think she was trying to pass for a Jamaican Maan. She's began growing dreadlocks for quite a few months but we didn't notice what a great job she'd done until a few weeks ago. After Karina's hand at dog grooming, we now have what looks like a poodle in the back yard. We've gone from Jamaica to France in just a few short clips of the scissors.

After finishing up outside, we all went inside for a shower and nice family meal with prayer and thanks for those who have and continue to fight for our country and the freedom we so much enjoy.
One week later we had our first sprout of the sweet white corn and three days later there now appear to be 3 or 4. They're still hard to see, but they're there.

We put up temporary wire fencing to keep the dogs out but eventually we'll get something nicer to replace it. Until then, I'm just happy we were able to get the job done and happier yet that it was a family affair.

Well, gotta go fire up the Barbi. I've got visions of sweet corn and butter dancing in my head.

I Hate falling asleep during a movie...ugh!

More and more lately, I fall asleep while watching a movie. While it isn't the worst thing in the world, especially with technology and the ability to rewind these days, it bugs the heck outta me.

It starts with a simple flutter of the eyelids and before you know it, you feel like your on the free fall at Knott's Berry Farm. Thankfully you catch yourself before hitting bottom (of whatever it is your gonna hit in a dream) but not without snapping your head up in a panic. You look around to see if anyone caught it and then go about acting as normal as anyone can who has a fine hairline of saliva just about to make it's way from your chin onto your shirt.

Before you get this gross picture of saliva hanging from my chin in your head, know that I don't drool. No, really, I don't. A few people in my family do (I wont' name names) which is why I'm familiar with the act. I myself witnessed it during one movie I was able to stay awake through.

As a kid, I recall being entertained by my father and uncle as they fell into the sleep zone. It would happen directly after a family dinner. The men, of course, mosey into the living room to relax and "watch a movie", while the women clean up the kitchen (which is another blog all together). They settle in for whatever it is they're going to watch and then proceed to take turns in the zone. It was always entertaining to see the drunken eyed look on their faces as the first person would walk into the room. Their heads would pop up and the eyes would roll back ever so slightly while they made every effort to look as wide awake as possible. This followed by a shift in the seat as if one could not possibly be asleep and shift at the same time, were all the signs that someone was about to snore.

Never, no NEVER in my life did I think I could possibly fall victim to this dreadfully embarrassing act. Yet, here I am 54 years old doing the head flop. It's ridiculous. I'm 100% awake at the moment booty makes contact with the seat, yet within minutes I'm down for the count. There's just no sense to it.

Why be mad when you can be angry. Really Angry!

Last Saturday night turned out nothing like I'd planned. I ended up disappointed, frustrated, mad and then Angry. I'm not really sure if there's any difference between mad and angry but for some reason "Angry" just sounds so....so....so much worse than mad. Mad is child's play when compared with angry. So let me tell my story and then maybe I can put it to rest, once and for all.

My Comadre called a week in advance to invite my husband and I out for a night of dancing. If you know anything about me, you probably know that I was a dancer some time back...okay, so it was eons ago....and I've never, ever gotten dancing out of my system. Don't believe I ever will. I was born to dance. Anyway, I checked with Juan Carlos to see if he was up for the evening and he agreed, it would be fun. Commitment made.

Half way through the week he gets a call...a reminder call; he has a gig Saturday night. Oh, oh. He breaks the news to me like a teenage girl telling her boyfriend she's pregnant. Fear in his eyes, trembling hands, shaky knees. He's committed one of the most unforgivable crimes - DO NOT BREAK DANCING DATE WITH WIFE! He's smart though; says "the gig starts at 6:30, it's a quinceañera and we'll be finished by 9:30 with plenty of time to meet the friends". I agree not to kill him and he suggests that if I accompany him to the gig, we'll be able to meet up with the friends earlier than if he drove all the way home to pick me up. I like it. He's thinking. He's planning. It'll be fun!

Saturday comes, we hop in the car, drive all the way to the valley; a good 45 minutes and arrive at the gig with time to spare. Then we wait. And wait. And wait. An hour and a half later, they do the first set. Okay, we're doing OK. Next set, it's 9 o'clock. Not so OK. It's late and I'm, what did I say? Disappointed. Set finishes and again, we wait. And wait. And wait. I'm now frustrated, border lining mad. It seems there was no contract for this event so there's no end time set for the band and from what I can tell, no one really cares. It's a quinceañera, for goodness sake.

Although most of the party have left, the band gets up to do the last set at approximately 11:30. A far cry from 9:30 end time. So you can imagine, I've gone from mad to plain out ANGRY. Controlled anger, yes. But that may just be the worst kind. The tough part is, it isn't my husbands fault. I really think he thought we'd be on our way, long before. But regardless of what he thought, we're stuck. I'm boiling over and there's not a darn thing I can do about it except go to the car and think mean, bad, terrible things. As if it would help. The time is gone, as is the opportunity to join up with our friends.

We drive home, mostly in silence, while my poor husband try's to make small talk and apologize for something that was out of his control. I know he feels bad but for some reason, it's not enough. I so wanted to meet with our friends and dance. And as we drive by the exit we should have take 3 hours earlier, he says "do you think they're still there, maybe we sh.....", "NO" It's all I could say. I attempt to hide my tears of disappointment but don't do a very good job of it. After all, I really haven't had the opportunity to go out with these friends. It's been almost 17 years since we last went out to dance with them. They all went and I missed out. I know there are worse things and I should count my blessings. I've heard all that and agree, but it doesn't mean it makes it feel any better. Maybe I just need to get over it.

So, I'm going with him to a gig tonight. Problem is, he plays, I watch. Ahhhh....so much for the dancing. Maybe its time to hang up the shoes.

If I could put time in a bottle....la, la, la, la, la, la, la, la

I'd market the stuff! Isn't it terrible how time really does fly?

Reminds me of when I was a kid. I'd hear my parents say "time passes too quickly". "What the heck does that mean?" I'd think to myself. I mean, I understood the meaning, I just didn't understand the literal reality behind the phrase. As a kid, you really cannot grasp the concept or essence of time.

If you tell a child to go to bed because it's late, they might do as they're told, but it isn't because they're in agreement or understand what late is. Eleven o'clock is no different than 9 o'clock. Five minutes could be an hour as far as they're concerned. Time means nothing.

We all went for a ride in the back of a car when we were kids. We've seen commercials, movies and heard our own children ask that famous question "are we there yet". If you say to them "5 hours more", 20 minutes later they're asking "has it been 5 hours yet", are they not?

So my question is, is it better to be an adult and know how much you can accomplish within a certain period of time, or, like me, would it be better to play ignorant and act as though you have absolutely no concept of time so that when the house doesn't get clean, the errands are not run and dinner is not ready you have the excuse that you thought you still had time?

Just wondering what excuses you all use when you just plain don't feel like being responsible. Let me know....I'm desperate!

Roses in bloom

Stupid thorns! Sorry, I just had to get it off my chest. Monday was the day to prune the rose bushes. Juan Carlos and I went out to the back to do some work on the yard and work we did.

If you know us and have been to our back yard, you know very well, we don't do a whole lot to make it look good. The only reason I can give is that our cute little MONSTER pups took the thrill away when they decided it would be cheaper to get to China by digging their way there instead of paying for an airline ticket. Time and again we tried to educate them in the ways of back yard beautification but being the MONSTERS they are, they merely dug in deeper.
Then came the pool. The pool only made it through two Summers. You may or may not be asking why, I'm gonna tell you anyway. The pool was a fight saver. It kept the kids busy during those long summer vacations. They may not have seemed long to the kids, but for us adults it was an eternity that is, until we purchased the pool. The fighting subsided and appetites went up but aside from a couple of hair brain ideas of jumping into the pool from a still moving swing seat, everyone was happy. (I can still hear harps and angels voices when I think about it) After the 2nd Summer we took it down and set it to the side to make sure all the water had drained. Penny (aka Penelope Ann) decided it looked quite tasty and well....made a meal of it. I'm not sure if she ever swallowed and quite frankly, had no desire to look for evidence. Not in a million years. Whether she did it out of hunger or fun, I'll never know. I only knew we were out of a pool.

If you've ever put up a pool, you know it leaves a big round dirt dip in the ground because it kills the grass under it. So there we were with what otherwise might have looked like an alien space ship landed in our back yard while we were sleeping. I considered calling the press thinking we might make the front page of the local newspaper if it hadn't been for my concern that they'd send out an investigative reporter and he'd discover pool pieces in where I refused to look.

Then came the gofers. Since the girls gave up on their trip to China, they found other reasons to dig. It took us a while to figure out why they would bark and stamp their feet on the ground. At first I thought it was some type of tribal dance and immediately started looking for a animal talent scout. However, after a few days of finding very large holes in the back yard. We soon discovered we had company. Thank God for experienced neighbors who educated us in the way of getting the pesky little creatures to move on to other grounds. The digging stopped.

And just when you thought I'd forgotten about the roses. It hasn't been all that long since they've been pruned but I have to admit, my fight to keep the yard looking like a million bucks dissipated along with the lawn. It's now become something we do because we have to.
Alas! Just when all desire was gone, the lawn mower gave out which forced us to purchase a new one. And you know all it takes is one step inside the garden area of any home improvement center when visions of castles and green islands dance in your head. All I can say is, get me working quickly, because if I think about it too long before actually getting started, I can promise you, roses or not, it will not happen.

Darn Dogs!

I can't tell you how many times I've asked the dogs to pick up their poop. Stubborn headed creatures, these. They just sit there and look at me like they have no idea what I'm talking about when I know darn well they do. Muñeca, probably the smartest of the three, barks at me. She gets that look on her face like, "don't tell me what to do" and then proceeds to bark at me like some teenagers do when they talk back to their parents. What's more, she stamps her two front feet at me. Can you believe that!Penny, five going on 2, always has a "dahhh.... what?" look on her face. I don't really think she can help it. She's just plain dumb. Somewhere along the line she lost any sense of intelligence. She's the one that runs after the dog whose running after the ball. Then because she's big enough and strong enough, takes the ball out of the other's mouth and drops it in front of me so she can play chase the dog again. Poor Penny, I think she may have been dropped on her head as a pup.
Payton. Hmmm, what can I saw about Payton except that I threaten to lock her up daily. She's our yapper. Suffering from "Little Dog Syndrome". She barks for EVERYTHING! She truly gets on my nerves. I try to talk sense into her but I'm not sure it's possible. Maybe she's just too little to have a functional brain...then again, it may be she knows exactly what I'm saying and plays dumb to escape the task.

All I know is, I'm tired of picking up poop. No one picks up mine.

And a good time was had by all......

I got home at 3:30 a.m. this morning. That's how much fun the reunion was with my high school girlfriends.

If you read my pre-reunion post, you might remember how concerned I was with my current state of appearance. Of course most of that post was merely mocking how we sometimes worry about what people will think of our aging selves. And then again, a bit of it was out of truth. I'm not quite as shallow as my post reads...or am I? Lord, I hope not.

I was late to the event. Last to arrive, last to leave. It so happened that the spa (my place of employment) was overbooked with beauty treatments of every nature. Daughter's taking mother's for a day of pampering and husbands treating wives to what they know they so deserve. So after my last appointment, I drove as quickly, as I legally could, home for a quick shower and change before meeting up with the girls.

On my way home I get a call from my husband, pleading with me to deliver a laptop to his first "gig" of the evening. A friend "needs it" and is leaving for a trip out of country. "But I....honey, but I.....tonight is my....okay! I'll be there in a while". So much for being on time to the reunion that started at the same time I walked out of my job.

And as if that's not bad enough, my 14.11 year old sends me a text "Jenifer took me". And I'm saying to myself, "Jenifer took me where?...Jenfier took me what?...WHAT? What is she saying?" Thank the good Lord for blue tooth capabilities, I made several calls (you know I wouldn't be texting while driving....Come On! It's illegal!). Turns out Jenifer gave her a ride to her friend Amber's house where the whole group of pimply faced, hormone ridden teenagers will be rehearsing the waltz for Amber's quinceañera. Oh joy! The dilemma now is that she will need a ride home. I send several texts and place several calls to find that she has no ride home and although I had asked that she have this all worked out and invite a girlfriend to come spend the evening with her....somehow it's back on me. You're surprised aren't you.

Unfortunately for my daughter, this was all resolved by my getting impatiently angry and actually yelling at her on the phone "Just take care of it! How often do I go out and did I not ask you to make arrangements?", silence followed by guilt! I'm a bad mommy. Jenifer, sitting in the next room over getting ready for a night out with her boyfriend, walks in and say's "mom, just go and have a good time, I'll take care of Karina".

So I leave my house with frustrated guilt and one side stop before the reunion. I could go on and tell you how I had to drive back and forth, due to a lack of parking space at my husbands gig and bla, bla, bla....but that's way too far off subject.

I finally arrive at the party 8 o'clockish. Yes, two hours late. By now, everyone has eaten and ready to party. I feel cheated, but, life happens. We take a few pictures and gather in the tv area where we commence to swap stories old and new. While sitting there listening I realize how much we'd all gotten to know each others families. Although the years have come and gone, we've somehow managed to keep in touch. Lives have changed in more ways than we ever thought imaginable but we still care and share concern for one another. We remember each others mom's and dad's, uncles and aunties, brothers and sisters and let us not forget ex's. We laugh with, at and for each other. And of course, no reunion would be worth the drive if we didn't talk about the ridiculous situations we got ourselves into and out of. Isn't that what youth is for anyway.Last time I looked it was 10:45, it's now 2:45....we hate to leave, but we are tired. Our eyes show it much more now then they did even 10 years ago. So we make promises to get together more often. I hope we do....we've already got a date lined up for June and I can't wait. These girls are like sisters to me. Crazy sisters true, but sisters none the less.

Girls Night

It'll be here soon. I'm referring to "Girls Night" with my high school girlfriends. Anything could happen you know and that kind of scares me but I'm going anyway.

It's been 36 years since we graduated from El Rancho High School. Could that be! I actually had to take the calculator out and double check my numbers because it just seems like an impossibility. I'm so young, I'm so energetic and good looking and in great physical shape and...did I mention...a liar! Ok, so maybe I'm not any of those these days but I've got to come up with something to make me feel good because 36 years out of High School is painful.

I look in the mirror sometimes and wonder who the heck that woman staring back at me is. I wonder where the tire around my mid-section came from cause it ain't rubber. And I wonder if there isn't some kind of magic pill to make me look better. I did just see a web-site that promises, if you purchase and use their product you'll look younger. I had to stop the video because I was beginning to believe it might be true.

I work in a day spa and our estheticians swear by a particular line of skin care, micro current and microdermabrasion treatments. They promise renewal of the skin and wrinkle removal. Could it be? Do I dare? How much?

I've got one day from now until Saturday night to look good. To look like life is treating me well. To look like I'm all that I can be....OR....I could be honest. Naw....I'm gonna start working out right now.
I'll burn as many calories as I can, drink a ton of water, eat nothing but carrots, go to a sauna, have liposuction, a tummy tuck (a boob job while I'm at it), wear clothes that are too big, say I'm suffering from a rare disease...whatever it takes!

Or then again, I can just hope everyone else looks worse than I do.

Hawaii fo sho.....

So about a week ago, a very interesting thing happened. Juan Carlos left for work in the morning, nothing unusual, calls me around 10 o'clock a.m. or so and says "I might be going to Hawaii". I'm thinking "Whatever!".

Understand, Juan Carlos absolutely loves to travel. Well, who doesn't? But, he looks for every excuse to travel. Work, a gig, a family problem, a possible business venture, toothache...you name it. The interesting part of this is, when I met him he hadn't been back to Costa Rica for years. Really. He arrived in California when he was 16-17 years old. When we met he was about 29-30 with about 13 years in the Los Angeles area. He said to me "As long as you're with me, you won't be taking any vacation." (A little sure of himself, don't you think?) To which I quickly responded "Ah, you may not be taking vacation, but I promise you, I will". Seventeen years later Mr. "I might be going to Hawaii" has another thing coming if he thinks I'm not in on it.

I didn't say "that's what you think", "over my dead body", "you better 'might' again"...I just kept my cool. And I think it was that special shade of cool that gave him a clear understanding that he was not going to Hawaii without me.

Next day, phone rings again; "So....you wanna go to Hawaii or what do you think?". Aha! Cool is working...I say's to him I say's "how long", still playing the cool. "Three days", he answers. I'm thinking I have a buy one, get one free airline ticket but I'll be a donkey's momma if I'm gonna use that thing for 3 days.

Day three, phone rings; "So, you wanna go to Hawaii for 9 days, free condo, free car". Now we're talking. "Sure...." still maintaining my cool because if it ain't broke, don't fix it. If I can get from "I might be going" to "so you wanna go...", I'm hanging on to every shade of cool I own.

Now for the bad news. I have 30 pounds to lose in a month and a half....okay, how's about 5 pounds?....Oh, Man! I hate going knowing I'm waaaay over the legal weight but you know what? I'm going to Hawaii! Ohhhh Yes!

Happy Birthday Juan Carlos Boza....Happy Birthday to you!

Cinco de Mayo around our house really is party time. And it has absolutely nothing to do with Cinco de Mayo as everyone else knows it. It's Juan Carlos' birthday and oddly enough, he got a slow start on it this year.

Typically he starts reminding us of his upcoming birthday at least a month in advance. This year, for some reason, he hasn't talked much about it. Could it be the added years that have slowed the reminders, or is it just the busyness around the house and studio? Not sure, but as you can see, May 4th was a pre-birthday dinner.

Karina and I went to visit my Comadre, Debbie, and left the house without making dinner. Sorry guys. Upon our return, I walk into the house to the smell of shrimp on the barbi. And to my surprise, there's our friend and fellow musician Oswald Bernard cooking for the boys. He's been promising to cook for us for some time now because he joins us for dinner frequently and maybe feels like I may not like it. But it doesn't bother me, he's family.

Unfortunately for me, I don't eat seafood so I just sat and watched. Well, the boys seemed to enjoy the meal and I got out of cooking. Of course, I did get the pleasure of cleaning up but I'm not complaining, I got a little time away from the house and a night free from the stove. Maybe I should try to put some guilt into Oswald....It's nice having someone else cook for a change.

Doomed to be bruised?

A few weeks ago while looking for keys, or something or other, I pulled the little drawer open where we often throw "stuff". It's a very small drawer so only small "stuff" goes in. I don't even recall the object we were looking for but I do remember it was imperative that we find it as quickly as possible.

With Juan Carlos and Karina standing by waiting to see if our missing object might turn up in that tiny little drawer, I quickly yanked it open to have a peek. Unfortunately for me, the drawer came all the way out of the slot and during one of those rare times when I have no shoes on, it fell smack onto the big toe of my right foot.

Tears, minutes and a bruised toe later we all agreed that the "missing object" was not in the drawer and that I should have shoes on. A little to late to make a difference, but I've been wearing shoes in the house since. I'm not one to go barefoot all that often anyway but if that day was the day to begin a new habit, it was quickly broken.

A few days later while at work, I stooped to pick something up and upon straightening back up, quickly found that a door had opened above me. The crack I heard on my head sounded much like that of a bat to a ball and the pain that followed was enough to bring tears to my eyes, again.

Sound like I'm on a roll? I am.

The door to our bedroom bath slides into the wall when opened. I suppose it was made that way in an effort to avoid having two doors in the same area. I neither like or dislike the sliding door...well, not until today, anyway because if you haven't already guessed....Strike Three! I pushed the door open and somehow the middle finger of my right hand managed to jam right between the door and the wall. Can you say OUCH!

Once again, I find myself bent over, teared and bruised. I'm beginning to think I'm just doomed to be bruised. There has got to be some way of protecting myself from a life of tears and pain but I'm not yet ready to lock myself away in my bedroom and be waited on like a princess, or queen, or famous actress or royalty....wait....what am I talking about...those are so descriptive of who I am. Quickly! Someone bring me some caviar!

Didn't do anything today, my foot!

If you haven't already read my blog about our game night, you should know that part of the craziness of that night had to due with my state of exhaustion. I was so busy with the little stuff on Friday that it took all day to get it done.

Recap:
At 2:45 p.m. I got in the car to go pick Karina up from school. She got in the car and we picked up our usual conversation once she's belted in and ready to go. If you're a parent, you know the one...How was school today? Did you eat at lunch? Any homework? Anything exciting happen? After which she innocently remarks "So I guess you just stayed home and didn't do anything today, ha?".

Poor child had no idea what she was in for but I guess I was just at that place where out of exhaustion, I could no longer control myself. I looked her straight in the eyes and said, in my most 'what do you think I do all day long, you're lucky I'm not gonna kill you' voice: "DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! I came to pick you up didn't I? Of course, that was after I got up this morning and drove you to school, went back home and made breakfast for your dad and Matthew, washed clothes, filled out the rebate papers for your dad's phone and Sonar program, cleaned the bathroom, cleaned the kitchen, mopped the floors, picked up some supplies from Office Max, ran into Target, and packaged the broken cell phone that you will now accompany me in mailing at the Post Office and then you WILL go with me to the grocery store to buy what WE will make for dinner before we even think about playing games this evening.

Didn't do anything, myyyyyy foot! Thinks she's gonna mess with me! She's got another thing coming!

Family Game Night

We started late. After 8 o'clock p.m. If you ask me, that's late to start a game night but all things considered, I'm surprised we even played.

It looked as if the evening would be disastrous because my Sister, Michele, couldn't make it. Her son, Donte, came home from school with little blisters on his chest and back; we're guessing chicken pox. My Aunt had taken a senior day trip to Santa Barbara and was too pooped to pop and brother Rusty, as it turns out, doesn't like playing games (What?). We were really counting on Gloria and Andrew to show up but Andrew had a church function to attend, so we sat and waited.

Why we waited, I still don't know, but we did. 7:49 p.m. - phone rings...everyone freezes in anticipation..."Gloria?", "hey, you guys still up", "Yeah, we're here waiting", "okay, be right there"....hung up. "They're on the way.", BIG exhale and back to where we were...waiting.

10 minutes later, the door bell rings. Back to freeze. Karina gets up and opens the door "It's them!"..."YES!!" Let the games begin. We're excited now. There's a new air in the room and the excitement is building because when it comes to games, my family is competitive.

Of course, before we can start we have to get through the directions. For any normal family, this shouldn't be a problem but for us it's like a circus. One person tries to read out loud but no one is listening so the next brave soul grabs the directions and makes a second attempt, if you couldn't listen the first time, why would you listen the second? What are we dealing with here? A room full of school children? Apparently because we do what any group of school children would do and toss the directions to one side and jump in feet first.The game begins and everything appears to be going smoothly except at some point I realize that if the team who's turn it is answers the question correctly, there's no reward. No extra move, no 2nd turn, no nuthin'. So why play? If I'm not gonna get rewarded, why am I playing?

The reason the question came to mind is that Carlos and I are a team and we're in...you may have guessed...last place and it isnt' that we haven't answered any of the questions correctly, we've just been rolling low numbers so we're not traveling much. So I'm trying to figure out how we're supposed to get ahead, if not by answering correctly.

By this point, we're half way through the game. So I ask "Isn't something supposed to happen if you answer a question correctly?" Duh...there's a mad scramble to find the directions. This time through we're all ears because who doesn't want to win?

We get it all figured out and get back to the game.....by some stroke of luck Carlos and I win. We were in last place so it wasn't expected, but from Carlos' parade you'd think we just won the Indy 500, the Kentucky Derby and the Gold Cup all at once. He's up high fiving everyone, he's break dancing, moon walking, spreading his feathers and then making his acceptance speech. Seriously, this went on for a good 6, 7 minutes.

To say it was funny, would be putting it mildly. I don't think I've had that good a laugh in a very long time. My stomach muscles hurt, I had tears running down my cheeks, I had to sit so I wouldn't fall and we all looked like....well, kinda ugly now that I picture it. You know that kinda laugh that makes a beautiful person ugly?

Well, let's see what next month holds. God willing we'll do it again except next time, I'm emailing out a copy of the directions in advance.

Game anyone?

How Will We Cut The Palm Leaves Now?

Ever have a dinosaur in your driveway? Well, from one who has, let me tell you, it's ugly.

Ever have a hair brain idea? Unfortunately for Juan Carlos and I, we have. Aaaha.

Our story starts something like this:
Friend says "got a old motor home I wanna sell"
Juan Carlos says "that motor home is mine!"
I says "are you sure?"
Juan Carlos says "YES"
Result: Dinosaur in the driveway

Seriously, for those of you who have never had one, it's exciting, the thought of driving cross country, sleeping on a bed instead of a airbed in the beautiful campgrounds of Sequoia, saving money on restaurants by cooking your meals, playing cards at the table while dad drives. All exciting thoughts. And thoughts are all they ever were.

2 years later, our motor home vacation dreams are still pending while I have to run outside to the curb to see the latest excitement of an ambulance down the street. I cannot for the life of me figure out how to snoop on the neighbors without either climbing on top of the motor home or worse yet, crawling under it. And every week the day before the street cleaner comes we battle for the driveway of the vacant house down the street or get up early Tuesday morning to move our cars. So far, I haven't seen a return on my investment.

So Sunday God clearly sent a drunken angel. No, I'm not kidding. In the middle of a family bar-b-que comes a voice from heaven: Juan Carlos....imagine it....Juan Carlos....it's angelic....it's all consuming....OHHHH, it's the neighbor down the street with the all too recognizable beer can in hand. OK, so it's not angelic, but clearly God was working.

Juan Carlos goes out to the front to see who's coming to dinner and returns with a smile on his lips and a fold in his brow. "Marie", he says, "they're offering me $2,000.00 for the motor home". To which I reply faster than I have ever spoken in my entire life "TAKE IT!". I think I may have frightened him because he jumped back several feet. Honestly, at this point, I don't know who "they" are and I don't really care. I'm drooling at the thought of seeing my driveway again.

Well, it was an ordeal, to say the least. Good part is, our drunken, heavenly friend, wrote a check, hooked up his tow truck and after leaving the motor home in park and partially pulling off the front bumper, merrily drove away to where ever it is angels with motor homes go.

For Juan Carlos it was a bitter sweet ending to our motor home dreams. For me, it was an "oh well" moment. And we will have to come up with a new way to cut the dry leaves off the Palm tree. But just so you know, even angels with beer cans can be a blessing.

Thank you Jesus.

Why control anyone?

I find it interesting, the number of people out there who are into control. You know what I mean, the person who feels they need to tell you what to buy, what to eat, who to hang out with, what color to use on your hair, what to read or even, how to wash your face.

Why is that I wonder? Is it a need to be important? Is it because they don't value anyone as much as they do themselves? Might it be because they felt unimportant as a child and have never dealt with their issues.

I suppose it comes from any number of things but, personally, I don't want to be controlled anymore than I want to control. Ask me my opinion and I'll give it to you. I don't expect you'll always agree or choose to live your life according to my opinions or desires. Your life is yours to do what you will. And in turn, I'd appreciate the same from you. Sound fair? Good.

Now that I got that off my chest....I think I'll go to bed. It's late and I'm really tired. First, I'd better go out to the studio and tell my husband that it's time to turn off that recording equipment and get to bed. If he wants this marriage to work he'd better start listening to me. Hmmmm......No more of this going to bed late. From now on it's 9:30 lights out! And that music he listens to....

It's Hot

and it's late. I should be sleeping but...it's hot. Heat is strange. If it's hot during the day, it makes you sleepy. If it's hot at night, it keeps you awake. Makes no sense, yet that's exactly how it is.

Does cold do that? I don't believe it does. If it's cold during the day...it's cold...and if it's cold in the evening, well then, it's still just cold. It may make you want to cuddle up in a blanket and watch a movie or read a book but it doesn't interrupt your sleep unless your uncovered, in which case you cover up and go back to sleep.

So how and when did heat gain so much control. I'm not sure I understand it, but someone needs to step up and take the control back. We should start a petition, get 1,000 signatures and send it to Obama.

Just a suggestion.

Tip of the Day

It was busy at the spa today but I'm not complaining. Really, with the economy the way it is I'm the last person you're gonna hear complain about having work, or being busy.

I did a Pregnancy Massage, a Swedish Massage, a Hot Shell Massage and .... drum roll please, a 2 hour Hot Stone Massage...pa, rum, pum. I admit I'm a little tired, not much but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't.

In all, it was only four Massages, which is no big deal; a normal day. The one that tired me out was the last, a 2 hour Hot Stone. Not sure if you picked up on the TWO HOUR HOT STONE of that sentence. I've done two hour massages before and while they're not very common, we do get a request every now and then.

Here's the deal, if you've never had a hot stone massage, you must understand that the stone is hot because it is immersed in hot water. Well, let me just tell the deep dark secrets of a day spa...the stones are in a crock pot for goodness sake. It's not some fancy schmancy machine that heats the stones. We're talking Mama's roaster set at 125-135 or thereabouts. No tomato sauce please! Hold the carrots and potatoes, just gimme some plain old Basalt, black volcanic rock and a big plastic spoon to dish the stones out with.

This massage is all about comfort...to the receiver of course, because to tell you the truth, there is nothing and I repeat, nothing comfortable about holding on to a hot stone especially when your experiencing hot flashes. So, here I am in this dark room. A forty watt light in the corner, just enough to give the room the feeling of mystique. A little water fountain for the steady sound of water falling, light music to relax the client and me....a frizzy haired, crazed woman with high blood pressure, trying to survive menopause without taking anyone down, ending up in a mental institution or heaven forbid, a prison cell. Ahhhh, yes, peace. My foot!

When I walked into that room to perform the service, my hair was down (almost straight), make-up beautifully done, sane of mind. Peace abounds, life is beautiful. I have to admit, even I would have liked me. But how you gonna stick me in a little room with a bunch of rocks creating enough humidity to make me think I'm on the island of Guam and ask me to treat some nice, very nice, unsuspecting client for two long hours? How? I don't understand people. Apparently I have everyone at that spa thinking I'm a level headed, kind person.

Thank God my client fell into a restful sleep because by the time I ended her treatment I was ready to scream. I kindly woke her, slid out of the room before she could take a good look at me. I ran to the employee room, took out my fan, gulped down a glass of cold water and did everything I possibly could to cool myself down and "appear" normal again. Not an easy feat when your hands are lobster red from those stinking stones. And who thought of this treatment anyway?

Well, it's over. I did my best, hot flashes and all. My hands are like leather now but apparently I did something right because my client left me a really nice tip. Bless her heart and ability to sleep while some mad woman massages her with hot stones.

Oh What a Beautiful Morning!

I almost hate when this happens....My husband wakes up and says "What a beautiful morning!". Now most people would find no problem with such a comment but if you know my husband, you know he has energy for four. A beautiful morning for him means energy gone wild.

The other reason I hate the phrase "What a Beautiful Morning" is that it reminds me of the musical Oklahoma.

I recall years ago when I first heard some of the music from Oklahoma, I just loved it. I was melodical, fun music. After a few years, that feeling wore off. It seemed like everyone had done Oklahoma to the point that the freshness was gone. I went to see friends who were sucked into doing the show because they knew so and so, who knew so and so (thank God, I always escaped).
For me, it just turned into one of those loved it, now hate it musicals.

As if it weren't bad enough that I'd seen every version of it imaginable, I was given tickets to see it in Hollywood. Oh, Yippie! Really, why on earth would anyone be doing this show AGAIN. A girl I was working with was so excited to go that I just couldn't say no.

So off we go thinking, okay, well maybe since it's in Hollywood and the gal who played Vicky Stubing on "Love Boat" was in the cast, maybe, just maybe it'll be worth the while.

Wrong! Unbelievably wrong. If anything went right in that show, I'd be the only one who didn't notice. Let's just say that the actress didn't know her lines; script or songs. The actors were totally lost on stage, the lights went out several times and here's the point at which I could no longer take it....the back drop came crashing down on stage nearly landing on the actress in the middle of one of her ear piercing, poorly interpreted songs. I actually got up and walked out, something I rarely do regardless of how bad a production is.

You know, if the acting is bad you can sit through it with respect to the actors; maybe they're learning. If the music is bad, maybe you can deal with it, maybe. If the set is cheap, hey not every production is funded with thousands of dollars.

Ahh...maybe I just need to get over it already. But, I do have one simple request; should you get up one day and find the sky clear, the sun shining brightly, a tropical breeze, the smell of fresh coffee brewing, Macaw's singing in the background...don't call me with "Oh What a Beautiful Morning". Call and say "it's Gorgeous outside", "it's an incredible day", shoot you can even say...and I hesitate to go there but you could say "It's Beautiful Outside". Just don't ruin it by saying......well, you know.

Me, A Junkie?

Apparently my migraines make me look junkieish? Is that even a word? Perhaps not, but I think you know what I mean by it, right?

Last night I went to a rehearsal with a migraine headache. I really didn't think I could make it because, well, if you've ever had a migraine you know they sometimes leave you incapacitated. As bad as I felt I went to the rehearsal with the intention of sitting and watching, nothing more. My friend lent me his sunglasses (even though it was 8 o'clock p.m. and indoors) so I could deal with the bright lights...as I sat and watched.

My intention really was to just watch but I thought "these people are here working and I'm just sitting, what will they think of me?". So I decide to say my lines to pull some my weight of the rehearsal and not look like a little spoiled princess sitting in the sidelines. Step 1.

After sitting there with the sunglasses on, yelling my lines out and pressing every pressure point I could find on my head, in an effort to control the pain, it dawned on me that I was actually at the rehearsal I didn't think I could attend in the first place.

I know the rest of the cast understood how I was feeling and had no problem with my sitting on the sidelines, HOWEVER! I now began to feel that if I didn't get on that stage along with the others, I would feel totally lost at performance time. So what did I do? What else? Step 2. I got up and took my place on stage.

Problem is I was still slightly bent down, eyes toward the ground with sunglasses on indoors at 8:00 p.m., pressing an approximate 5 points on my head with hair slightly tangled....looking, I guess, like a junkie. Who would'a known? I've never even thought of playing a junkie, much less feel like one or have someone tell me I looked like one.

I still haven't' decided if it's a good thing or not, being told I look like a junkie, but at this point, does it matter? I'm playing a junkie in a play that has nothing to do with drugs. All because I took that first step.

Well, pray for me, I'm looking for step 3 and am deathly afraid that unless I get help soon I'll end up in a 5 step program. I guess the good part is, I can always blame it on method acting.

Love ya Denny's!

So Sunday night Carlos had a gig in Bakersfield. Why on Earth they booked a gig that far away on a Sunday night I-do-not-know.

Thing is, he sucked me into going. Wednesday he says "hey babe (first sign one should run in the opposite direction, at high speeds) I got a gig Sunday night. I was thinking it would be perfect for you to go with me". A, ha. When he thinks it's perfect, I already know this is not a good thing. But being the sucker I am, I agreed to go.

Part of my wanting to go is that the gig was with a group where the female singer is married to the trumpet player and they're a great couple. I mean GAArate! She's pretty, he's good looking, they are both so down to earth, sweet, honest, wonderful people. You know, the kind that remember all your family's names three weeks after meeting them. Whoaaa...I almost thought I was talking about me! NOT.

Anyway, later on in the week Juan Carlos delivers the bad news that the gig is in Bakersfield but I've already committed to going so....it's a done deal.

We leave the house at about 7:15 p.m. and head out to Palmdale to drop off our 23 year old son who'd just spent the weekend with us, and will wait up for us to pick him up on our way home because, well, who wouldn't want to spend a week in the house of the insane? The gig is supposed to start at 10:00 p.m., a little late for me but I'll be darned if I'm gonna admit that to many people because the quiz I took on Facebook say's my real age is 39. It also said that if I were an instrument I'd be a clarinet and if I were a Barbie, I'd be "Trailer Park Barbie" (stupid test!). So now that I'm 39 and not 54, I'm in a real predicament. I'm almost forced to stay up late even if I do have to be up early in the morning.

So, as I was saying, we drop Matthew off in Palmdale and speed our crazy selves off to Bakersfield. It's dark, it's late, it's far and I'm dumb. I'm sitting there in the dark, listening to Salsa because Carlos is "getting into the mood", and I'm thinking, "what the heck was I thinking?". See, as soon as my loving husband said the gig was in Bakersfield, I knew why "it would be perfect for you to go". He didn't want wanna drive there and back alone. Well, can you blame him?

Ok, the trip takes about an hour and a half from Palmdale. We get there at 10:06 p.m. thinking everyone is waiting for Carlos. We grab our stuff (his stuff) and make a run for it. Walk through the door and down the hall to find the D.J. has everything under control...in his opinion. Again, I'm 39 so I'm not complaining BUT, if I were, it would be because the music was soooo loud, the D.J. was louder yet and at that time, there were only four couples on the floor. So glad we could haul...booty to get there on time. And I'm not exaggerating when I say loud. Seriously, I could feel my eardrums vibrating. I realize that, that is precisely what they're supposed to do in order for one to hear tones but for crying out loud, it felt like I was in the movie "Fantastic Voyage". If you've never seen it, you should, even if it's just for the laugh. When I was a kid and saw that movie (1966-11 years old...unless of course I was FB age)....ok, I'm getting off subject because...because I can.

Well, the fact of the matter is, if it took that long to get there and have our ear drums blown out, it's gonna take that much time to get home, right? So the gig is done and over at 1:15 a.m., Monday morning...and yes, we're still in Bakersfield. We high tail it out of there and about mid-point to Matthews in Palmdale we both start getting sleepy. I cant' fall asleep because I don't wanna die yet. If I fall asleep, Juan Carlos is going down with me, I'm sure of it. So after a while we stop at a truck stop and get some really bad, weak, watered down coffee. First sip and I know I'm making a mistake. Coffee makes me wanna tinkle. But you know, what else can we do? Wet pants or death? I'm opting for peepee pants...at the time.

We pick up Matt and it's my turn to drive. Of course the two of them, I know, are down for the count. So I gotta, somehow, make it home with bad coffee and peepee on my mind. All that way and no room in the car for the peepee dance. I'm getting desperate, almost at the point of rabid. It's "interesting" what a little night chill and coffee can do to a person.

10 minutes from the house and I'm sure I'm gonna go blazing mad. By this time Carlos is awake because he probably heard me gritting my teeth and the water sloshing around in my bladder. In fact, I think I had water coming outta my ears because suddenly the windshield is clean. He started to laugh but after one look from me, decided it wasn't such a good idea. He played it smart and tried to massage my neck, head, leg...anything to make up for the laugh but I'm not yet ready to forgive......Luckily for him we come upon a Denny's. I make a run for it...I'm not kidding either. I'd already undone my pants 45 miles back cause I'm thinking if I gotta jump, I'm jumping! I will not be caught with peepee pants. I get to the front door and take a quick breath, not to deep, it could be dangerous. I open the door and try to walk in as cool and casual as if it were a spring day in the park. That walk must have been one of the longest I've ever taken and all that's left to say is Thank you Denny, thank you!

God is Good

I hear people say it all the time; "God is Good". I bet that anytime there's a church gathering or group of Christians united for any particular reason that phrase is said on a regular basis. For me, the phrase is just plain simple fact, Sunday or not.

I read a friends blog yesterday. She announced her blog post on Facebook so that people would go to her blog and read it. I give her lots of credit. Not only because she drew people to her blog by using Facebook, but because she knows that she has friends and family using Facebook who are not Christian and could use a boost of faith in these difficult economic times. Smart thinking if you ask me.

So I read her blog and was not surprised at what she had to say regarding her faith and how much her views and struggles have changed since coming to know the Lord. I'm right there with her in that I share in her beliefs and trust God with my life. But I guess that's not really why I decided to write today. I thought it interesting that after reading her blog, I found myself wondering if I prayed enough. In case you're thinking it, I'm not fanatical. I believe in sharing my faith but, I don't "praise the Lord" in my every conversation. Maybe I should, who knows.

Throughout the remainder of the evening, after reading, the question would come to me "do I pray enough?". I don't think it was with guilt or a feeling of being any less Christian, it was just a thought. Eventually I went to bed without a real answer.

4:45 a.m. this morning I wake up. My husband wakes up. Unusual; we normally wake up about 6:30 a.m. or so. He asks "Are you okay", I say "Fine. You?". He asks "do you pray a lot?"....... do, do, do , do.....do, do, do , do Another dimension...do not change your television dial.........

Husband says we need to pray together more. You think I'm gonna question that? Uh, uh. God will use anyone...anything...anytime...to speak to you, won't he? God IS Good.

Gotta go. I need to spend time with God.