This cat......

(in the realm of a vivid imagination) could be considered a fair to middlin' watch- cat. If I've said anything to the contrary -- I stand corrected. You just have to learn what signs to look for.

For instance....when she darts through the house as if she's on fire either she's just dumped a load in her kitty litter box, or she's been gazing through a door or window and she's spotted someone in the general vacinity of the house.

So when I see her zipping through the house and I don't smell anything, I take a gander outside to see what might be going on. There may be someone at the door, in the yard, on the sidewalk, in the road, in the cul-de-sac, across the street.

It's all in knowing the body language.

Do you ever suffer with the *whatifs*......

My daughter A. was prone to the whatifs as she was growing up. When she had a particularly severe case I'd read her Shel Silverstein's poem "Whatif" -- my voice escalating with passion and terror until she disolved into fits of giggling. A quick and easy cure that worked every time.

Recently, I've come to realize her dad suffers from the same malady. Maybe they're genetic, I'm not sure. But....I can tell you they are contagious. When others so kindly share their whatifs with you, it's damn hard not to catch them -- or your own version of them. I wish J. could be cured as easily as his daughter -- by reading Silverstein's poem to him. Should I try it?

A.'s Silverstein books are hiding somewhere. I wish I knew where 'cause I'm in a Silverstein mood today. I did find his whatif poem online for anyone who suffers from them.

Whatif
from the book "A Light in the Attic" (1981)

Last night, while I lay thinking here,
some Whatifs crawled inside my ear
and pranced and partied all night long
and sang their same old Whatif song:
Whatif I'm dumb in school?
Whatif they've closed the swimming pool?
Whatif I get beat up?
Whatif there's poison in my cup?
Whatif I start to cry?
Whatif I get sick and die?
Whatif I flunk that test?
Whatif green hair grows on my chest?
Whatif nobody likes me?
Whatif a bolt of lightning strikes me?
Whatif I don't grow tall?
Whatif my head starts getting smaller?
Whatif the fish won't bite?
Whatif the wind tears up my kite?
Whatif they start a war?
Whatif my parents get divorced?
Whatif the bus is late?
Whatif my teeth don't grow in straight?
Whatif I tear my pants?
Whatif I never learn to dance?
Everything seems well, and then
the nighttime Whatifs strike again!

I'm impressed......

Son #3 called from North Carolina asking me to look at his Spamalot playbill and see who played The Lady of the Lake. It was Lauren Kennedy, just as he'd thought. One of the roommates has finally gotten a break she's worked so hard for. She's been hired by the area's regional theater. She got the rest of the group comp tickets to "Annie Get Your Gun" last Friday night and son #3 thought he recognized Lauren Kennedy from when he saw Spamalot. I was impressed he remembered.

"Annie" is the second show of the season. "Dream Girls" was the first show. When they saw "Dream Girls" the girls recognized one of the actors who had been in "The Lion King" when they saw it. They think of this as huge coincidences -- two shows in NC, each one with an actor they saw in two Broadway shows.

....I guess.

Whispering Sweet Little Nothings in my Ear......

Sunday morning, when I turned on my cell phone, there were two voice mails waiting for me. I hadn't turned my cell off until around midnight Saturday night, so who could it be calling in the wee hours I wondered. Nothing for it but to listen and find out, so I started pressing the keys that let me listen.

Both messages were from the same guy. Yes. A guy. Calling me in the wee hours, speaking with a voice that was husky, sexy, and drunk as a coot. A voice full of need. He needed me to call. He needed to know that I was all right. He needed to learn more about me. He needed to know I was safe at home.

The only problem was....he thought he was talking to somebody whose name must begin with *C* because that's what he called her. *C* If her C name was pronounced with a hard C -- resulting in a K -- I'd have freaked out. Because then it could have really been me he needed so. Oh, well.

Another call came in later in the day. I didn't hear it. J. did. He informed the dude of his mistake. I hope he found his C. Unless....she intentionally gave him a wrong number.

Gather round ye lads & lassies......

for today's short and sweet history lesson. Have you ever heard how the lovely ladies in New Orleans practiced their genteel version of civil disobedience long ago during the time of Federal occupation? If the term Fleurs du Sud doesn't have meaning to you -- you probably missed this little tidbit from the past. And....since I couldn't find an image (even on Google images) I was forced to take pictures of my own and figure out how to upload them to this post. ....I know they aren't the best images, but it's the best I can do at present.

You won't be surprised to know that displaying the Confederate flag was a big no-no back then. (Sort of like it is now.) Well, times being what they were, and the ladies of New Orleans being who they were -- inventive ways were devised to display the colors -- covertly. They planted flower beds in the colors of the flag. And a local drawing teacher, J.B. Guibet, created the lithograph (a reproduction of which I've posted above) depicting the Stars and Bars -- the Confederate First National Flag.

Here's part of what's written below my print: "The blue shaded area in the upper left corner represents the flag's blue canton. The eleven five pointed flowers represent the eleven Confederate States, and the two blue flowers of the same design represent Kentucky and Missouri -- two border states. The two rows of red shaded flowers represent the red bars, and the single row of white flowers the white bar. The colors in the original lithograph are subtle shades so the flag's pattern won't be too obvious."

Needless to say, word got around and when Beast Butler heard about this deception every effort was made to destroy all the lithographs and engravings. My print is a reproduction of one of the surviving lithographs. It is hanging in my bedroom. And now, while writing this, I've realized that I have a Confederate flag hanging in my bedroom.

What attracted me to the print initially was the spirit of rebelion attached to it. I guess that rebel spirit is still alive and well down this way. You'd think we'd learn, huh?

Birds......

After my brother died I was lost. I didn't know how to process what had happened. I was nine years older than G. Soon after he was born arthritis started wearing down our always-on-the-go mom. This meant that I did lots of the everyday things for him that a baby and toddler needed. My memories of this time are good. It was like having my own real live baby -- for periods of time. During G.'s early years my mom's disease allowed her to be there for him much of the time. It wasn't until he was a preteen that she was hit hard. By that time my middle brother was a teen and making a life of his own. I was away in college. So, G. was the one of us siblings who suffered most intimately with our mom. Along with my dad. My dad was all my mom needed.

Anywho....I was very close to G. and he was very close to my mom. Thinking back I don't know if he was ever truly happy. My mom's suffering did such a number on him. I am still angry about that. He was such a kind and gentle soul. He was good. Maybe too good for this world. (WhatEVER that means!) But....the fact is I married, moved away, became overwhelmed with my life and therefore wasn't there for G. I will always feel bad about that. I guess I thought he always knew I'd be there for him. I hope he knew that. But, in the end, he didn't let me help him.

One comfort I cling to is the fact that G. made a life for himself. He surrounded himself with things he loved and most importantly, with people he loved and who loved him back. I found that out when my other brother, son #2, and I traveled to Atlanta for a celebration of G.'s life after he was gone. I met so many who loved him. It saved me. They told me all these stories he'd shared with them about me raising him (in his words). I didn't know he'd remembered all that.

So. After we came back from Atlanta I was lost. J. was working in Wisconsin. Son #3 was the only other one home. I was homeschooling him so I had to keep going with that. If it hadn't been for that I think I would have taken to my bed (I like that phrase) and....stayed. But the fact that I couldn't turned out to be a blessing. Little things would happen, wonderful little moments full of comfort would just pop up when I least expected.

Here's an example. J. had been working in Kansas a couple of months before G.'s death. Son #3 and I were with him. Living in the 5th wheel. In the snow. Living in a metal mailbox in the snow in Edna, Kansas. One weekend we took a quick trip to Branson. While shopping I noticed an oil lamp with a sunflower on it. I bought it. The potter who'd made it was there and as she handed it me she smiled and told me that she used magic when she made that lamp. She leaned close and whispered that when I needed it, it would be there. I laughed, thinking it was a sale's gimmic (which it probably was), and didn't think anymore about it. I bought the smokeless oil she'd recommended but never lit it. When J. started the job in Wisconsin son #3 and I moved back to the house and I put the lamp on the sofa table. Still didn't light it. One day after G.'s death I walked by that lamp and realized what it was intended for. I knew why I'd bought it. I had bought that lamp to honor G.'s memory. So when I feel like remembering him. When I need to feel him close, I light that little lamp and it comforts me.

Then there were the birds. After G. died I couldn't get away from birds. My first notice of them was when they started flying into my bedroom window -- my closed bedroom window. They didn't injure themsleves, but they would startle the heck out of me. I got used to that and didn't think much about it. Then when I would go outside birds would buzz my head. I'm not kidding. Others saw it happen. That finally got me thinking that something was going on. Say what you will, but I believe all this bird stuff was a way for G. to let me know he was still around. I mean, for awhile I couldn't even go to Wal*Mart without birds flying around inside. It usually happened at the cash register and the odd thing was that no one else seemed to notice. One time a bird actually flew overhead out the door with me. I swear.

Then there was that time at the beach. J. was stunned speechless. (And that's an accomplishment, believe me!) When I told A. she painted a water color of what happend, had it framed and gave it to me for my birthday. I'll save that story for another day.

I don't know what got me thinking about this. Well, maybe I do. It was probably when I walked by the cat this afternoon, saw that her ears were spinning like windmills, and realized it was because she was freaking out listening to all the birds chirpping away through the open window. I think today would be a good day to light my special oil lamp.

Could this day get any *better *?

I know. I know. I really, really shouldn't ask this, but....

J. called and shouted said that he didn't want to see the New York Times in his driveway anymore. Never! Ever!

My Sunday delivery of the NYTimes is one of my naughty little vices that try his patience (according to him), along with any book Oprah has recommended (wonder if that includes the Bible?), and the time waaaay back in college when I took an African American Lit class (no matter that the books I was learning about would hopefully be of interest to most of the students I'd be teaching). Things like that classify me as a liberal -- in his mind. Shows you what a sheltered life he's led.

I really wish the Times hadn't published that article about McCain.

His edict reminded me of all the times he used to tell me that he didn't want any of his money spent in that damn French store. He was referring to Target. I had to show him online how he (and all his conspiracy buddies) was incorrect.

I probably shouldn't have mentioned that because our conversation went downhill -- fast -- after that. Blame it on the weather.

A blah day....so far

It's grey and rainy outside -- also pushing 70 degrees and h-u-m-i-d. Yep. Won't be long till summer. Our daily highs are inching up to the 70's and our lows are hugging the 50's and 60's. I've loved these chilly days we've had this winter. I could open the curtains and let the sun shine in. This is so nice because summers around here require layers of window coverings to try and keep the sun out. I'm in a grey mood befitting the weather.

Off-track ? here: Is there really a difference in grey and gray? I won't even go into judg(e)ment and judgment.

Warning! Loads of b*tchin' to follow....

I spent a good hunk of time this morning trying my best to track down a package the USPS has supposedly delivered. Their site says my package made it from somewhere in New York all the way to south Louisiana in 1 1/2 days. (Hard for me to believe.) And....the site says it was delivered at 10:50 am. (Now I'm here to tell you, if our mail gets here before seven pm you'd see an impromptu neighborhood parade.) So....we'll see what happens. The mail service around these parts is close to what I hear it's like in some third-world countries -- drop your letter in the box, cross yourself, say a prayer that it arrives at its proper location.

And now let's go to the kids. Here's where my faith in the law of averages is strengthened almost daily. When you have four semi-adult children (as I do), you can bet that there will rarely be a day where they will all be problem free at once. Take it to the bank. Not going to happen. Now that son #1 is calling regularly so we can lay our heads on our pillows at night not dreading the nightmares that come when we don't know where or how he is, the other two boys are acting up in ways that call for a mommy-intervention. FYI I try and handle most things that I define as *possible-problems-in-the-making* before bringing J. into the picture. You might think that's not correct, but you haven't lived with this man for a l-o-n-g lifetime. I have. And if there's one thing I've learned it's that one thing he's good at is making any problem much larger. So I have to tread lightly when bringing him in. (I think he does that so I'll do just what I do. Handle most things and leave him the he** alone.)

So....from several states away I talk to my dear sons saying things like: aren't you ashamed that i am saying these things to you at your age? am i going to have to come up there? (that one scares the heck out of them) keep going this way and you'll be back home! (that one scares the heck out of me. even tho i love them lots.) ....You get the point. I wish they did.

Now. Even tho I'm several states away I know what happens. I can just see it. They get off the phone with me and start punching each other in the arm saying things like: see what you did? *I* didn't do it, you did. now she's gonna tell dad. wanna go play (fill-in-the-blank with an online game)? yeah.

Do you think they think and problem solve while playing those games? Or do they just get lost from their problems? Can you see one of my problems? Eternal optimism. Sometimes that's all I have to hold on to.

Well, I could go on (and on and on and....). But I won't. I think I'll mosey over to my special cabinet and pour a dallop of Cask&Cream Chocolate Temptation into my coffee to brighten my outlook on this dreary day.

Another comment......

For some reason this has been a day full of people saying down-right stupid things.

Our new guv is in the middle of a special session on ethics. G-d help the poor man! He wants to cut the amount lobbyists can spend on meals for legislators from $100 to $50. From the hollorin' going on you'd think we were trying to take food out of their mouths.

One legislator actually said that if the limit is cut to $50 they'd be eating at Taco Bell. WTH!

Now, to be fair, the legislator in question is from New Orleans -- where food can be pricier. But, come on now. In this state it's not hard to find a very good meal for $50.

This comment......

caused me to spew the sip of coffee I was trying to swallow all over the computer keyboard:

"This could be a real opportunity to make up for the city's lack of culture with utter pretension."

Those words were uttered by a councilman referring to a proposition that every retail space in our downtown area (which is being brought up to snuff) be turned into a wine bar. Like....(as the article went on to state) you could walk into Kinkos for copies or....a nice glass of chardonnay. Are they serious?

One proposition made a couple of years ago did scare me tho. The one to add daiquiri bars in Wal*Marts. I could get into some serious trouble staggering through Wal*Mart under the influence. And then -- you're supposed to drive home? As special as it might sound on first thought, the thoughts that soon follow make you wonder what in the world these people are thinking.

So. Responsible citizen that I am, I can see problems that may arise with the above mentioned proposals. Let's leave well-enough alone. Aren't our drive through daiquiri bars enough?

There's this woman who......

calls me her friend. The first time she called me this I wanted to puke. Let me tell you a few things about her: She's one of those people who can't seem to get along with anyone. She has trouble wherever she goes. She cannot accept happiness in her life and can't stand to see anyone else happy. She puts down everyone and everything around her. She is miserable. And so are you after being around her for more than five minutes. She is one of the two energy vampires I've know in my life.

I first met her during that time when my life was running me. I was so busy and overextended that I didn't have time to think -- or even realize I didn't have time think, so her words and actions had little impact on me. She'd say something -- always about someone or something else. I'd tut-tut her. And then some fire or other would flare up in my life and off I'd run to put it out (or at least try and manage the damage). Oh, I realized she was an A #1 b*tch, but I was too busy to let it affect me.

Maybe that's why she came to think of me as a friend? Because I was one of the few who didn't tell her to f*ck off? Whatever the reason, once son #3 and I began traveling with J. my life and routine changed so drastically I no longer ran into her. That was that, I thought. Until....a couple of years down the road (both literally and figuratively) I ran into her on a homeschool board. !! So, once again we were in contact.

Nothing changed on the homeschool board. She was miserable and tried her damndest to make everyone else that way. She'd be called out and then she'd moan and groan about not having anywhere else to go for support, etc. People felt sorry for her. She'd straighten up for awhile and then --- same same, all over again.

Then....I stopped traveling and started living at my *home-on-the-ground* once again. And, via the Internet, she figured this out. And, via the Internet, we made contact once again. Again, tho, I was busy traveling back and forth to MS. where A. and son #3 were in school, so we corresponded mostly through emails.

Then....last month she calls and says she's moving to another state and wants to know if we can grab a quick lunch before she leaves. We do and that's when she mentions I'm one of the only friends she's made here. One of the few friends she's ever made. I finally have the time and presence of mind to talk about this. She still doesn't get it. She still sees nothing wrong about saying (out of one side of her mouth) that this place had been so good to her kid (actually young man -- who ran away from home as soon as he could). While out of the other side of her mouth she says life in the South (she's from the frozen nawth) has been so hard for her the only way she's managed is to think of herself an her family as missionaries trying to enlighten us backwards doofuses. !!?? Did she know when she said that that the only thing keeping me from sticking her head through her a** and rolling her sorry self down the street (so sorry!) was that I didn't want to be on the local nightly news?

I started to get up and leave but didn't. I managed to ask her if she was truly as miserable as she seemed. She said she was. Now keep in mind this was a woman who was in the process of realizing a dream. She was finally moving to that little cabin in the woods she says she's dreamed about all her life. (Of course, that little cabin is still in the South. No way she'll move to the woods back home. No fricken' way.)

So, she's moved. She's living her dream. And she's still miserable. Go figure! From her emails I can tell she's spreading the misery in her new environment. I don't get it.

Whew! Just writing this has made me tired. And so glad she's away from here.

My city has joined the bandwagon......

Yes, we now have those new fandangled red light cameras. And....guess who was one of the first drivers to be busted? (Not moi. Thank Gawd!)

It was a sheriff's deputy. *Big smile.*

If you want to gloat, you can watch the actual video here:

Click Here For Cop Running Red Light


Here's my question. Who writes the officer's ticket?

I hope someone special tells you......

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY! ....If not, let me have the honor -- HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

When you were in school did you exchange those little valentines your mom bought in a package? If you did, wasn't it fun going home and spending the evening pulling out all the valentines, reading the names on back, and feeling that thrill when you read the caption on the card that certain boy had chosen just for you?

My first *boy* valentine memory was when I was somewhere around six years old. A boy from my class left a box of candy on my front door stoop. My oldest brother had somehow learned of the boy's plans so my brother (and a couple of his friends) was waiting on him. As the doorbell rang, my brother yanked open the door and my classmate flew over the front porch railing. I say flew because we lived at the top of a hill and our house was built on yet another hill. It's a wonder that poor kid didn't break anything. I was mortified. My dad (and my brother and his friends) thought it was hilarious.

Tuesday while getting my hair cut (and colored and highlighted....) I told the girls in the salon how my husband usually waits until the day after Valentine's Day (or any holiday) to buy me candy. He actually brags to me about it. Says he can get me twice as much because it's on clearance. He really doesn't get it.

But....this morning I got out of bed and as I stumbled up the hall, hell bent on getting to the coffee pot, I noticed the light was on over the table in the bay. J. had already left for work and I couldn't figure out why he'd left the light on. As I walked up to the table I saw the candy, the card, and the single rose. Awwww!

It was so sweet and such a nice way to start the day. I guess he's realized that stores don't necessarily put candy on sale the day after Valentine's anymore....

The dog from foley......

My daughter called and asked me where I got the picture holder I gave one of her roommates for pictures of her beloved cockers. It's cute -- not exactly like the one in the picture above this post, but sort of, kind of like it. I found it in Foley, AL, in a little shop owned by a Frenchman. J. and I were draw into the shop by the zydeco music blaring from the open front door. Once inside we were intrigued by the owner -- a small Frenchman running back and forth while mumbling in French (I guess). He seemed so obsessed with what he was doing. So busy. Then, all at once, he stopped. Just stopped. He assumed the waltz position (his arms around a ghostly partner), and glided up to me while singing something in French (I guess).

As usual, I stood there like a dofus. I don't react well in situations like that. J. loved it. There were others in the shop. Looking. Gawking. I started saying something from my fifth-grade French lessons (since I remember nothing from high school French except verb conjugation). He chuckled and danced away. WTF! Anywho, once he was gone I finished looking through the shop. Beautiful linens.

While I was at the register paying for a couple of things, I saw the dog picture holders. I guess it's true about the French and their dogs because several of the picture holders held pictures of dogs -- the owner's dog, the clerks' dogs -- with names written in lovely script. I thought it would be a good gift for the roommate I knew would be spending a couple of day with us at the coast. (It was last Christmas.)

When the time came, the roommate opened her gift. Seemed to like it. Thanked me. And that was that. Until, my daughter (leave it to her) laughing, loudly asked, "What is that?" We looked and....there on that cute little doggie were these rather large balls (testicles for those of you insisting upon correct terminology) hanging down. Don't know how I'd missed them. All I could say was....Ohhhhh la la! Those French.

It seems the picture holder now sits on roommate's desk at work and some of her co-workers want one. I'm sure they just want to display pictures of their own dogs. !!

So, the dog from Foley (or at least a couple of his attributes) is making an impact in Research Triangle Park, NC. Was that why the French shop owner was laughing? Did he somehow know? Could he be psychic? Ohhhhh la la.

So, son #1 called last night......

late last night -- he can be counted on to forget about the time difference between Oregon and Louisiana. It's late. I'm tired. But I'm so glad to hear from him. We start talking and within five minutes the conversation turns political. Politics is not a good topic of conversation for him. He is very passionate about his politics -- as well as about most everything else in his life.

But what startled me -- alarmed me really -- was that some of the things he was saying were so not like him. I could tell (or at least it sounded like) he was spouting someone else's rhetoric. There was so much anger. I didn't say much, mainly because he was on such a roll I didn't really have a chance to say much. I only managed to get in a couple of things like, "You don't believe that." "That's not you talking."

I'm worried about him. J. and I are planning a trip up there in the next couple of months. By the end of the conversation he apologized and said that he hoped I knew he was just frustrated, he needed to get it out, and there wasn't anyone else he could say those things to.

if blogger had sound effects I would have an alarm going off here

Was this a test? Should I have told him that I didn't want to hear ridiculous stuff like he was saying anymore that anyone else? He knew I didn't agree. He even admitted he didn't really feel the way he was talking. I've never heard some of the things he was saying -- the theories. Really far out. I wish I knew where it was coming from. Maybe, when he calls again, I can casually ask who he's hanging out with....

I didn't even think about looking at our phone conversation as a test until this morning -- hours after the call. It probably was, but....I think I'll go pour a glass of wine and think about it tomorrow.

This whole thing is getting a little complicated. Today while I was getting my hair cut, my stylist was so upset about politics that I was fearful for my ears. I'm not about to tell her to cram her feelings and just cut the hair! Not while she has scissors in her hands. Maybe I just don't get it, but I'm pretty excited about the choices we have. I don't know who I'm gonna vote for, but the choices are certainly different.

Weekend = tests......

All weekend I was tested on my Lenten intentions. I'm practicing letting go. Letting go of negative feelings and emotions I've held close. I've acquired this negativity by allowing others to pile their unwanted feelings and emotions onto me -- so they will be rid of them. I'm usually very receptive -- and then resentful, so I'm a player in this game, too.

My first test was Thursday. J. is very unhappy at work. He doesn't do well in any one place for very long. That's why he's spent most of his career traveling around the country. I truly think one of the reasons we've lasted so long is because we spend lots of time away from each other. Sounds crazy, huh? Anywho....from his talk and the phone calls, I think he's getting ready to go back on the road. Last night he asked me if I could live in Houston.

So....he comes in from work Thursday night and unloads on me when I ask if he wants a salad with supper. I responded with a quick (not suitable for print)reply and then.... I let it go. I didn't harp on it all night and I didn't hold it close and feel bad about it. I told him his actions wouldn't result in my support and left the ball in his court. We had little blowups like that off and on all weekend. Short ones because I refused to play or even feel angry or bad afterwards.

It really brought our relationship into focus -- for me. I realized how much time we spend getting over/trying to make up for what he's said. It takes a lot of energy.

All this is new to me. I don't know exactly how I reached the point where I stopped playing the game. But I do know how good it feels. It feels good not carrying around that resentment. Oh, it's still there and it still trys to rear it's ugly head. But there's less and less of it as I continue letting go.

So many books, so little time......

I can't remember where I read/saw that saying, but it works for me. I've always loved reading. (Except for that extended period of time after college graduation when I never wanted to see a book again. Ever! Never again in this life. ....That's one of the dangers of getting a degree in literature. Even tho my degree was in English Education -- at LSU that meant basically a lit degree.)

Anywho....as much as I've always loved reading, lately I've found myself going through spells when I just can not sit down and read three pages straight. I let books stack up, just sitting there waiting for me. Then. WHAM! One day I start reading and everything else falls by the wayside. That's how it's been lately.

I've recently read "Middlesex" (really liked it), "The Friday Night Knitting Club" (liked it), and last night I finished "Little Children" (didn't especially care for it). In fact, a couple of times I almost closed the book without finishing it. I'm bad to do that. If I can't get into a book I don't waste my time. I do try and follow the age-old advice of giving it a chance by reading at least 50 pages.

I'm not sure what I'll read next. I've been on a mind-candy binge as you can see from my recent selections. I have ordered Oprah's recommended "A New Earth: Awakening to Your Life's Purpose" -- I've even signed up for her online classes. (We'll see how that goes.) So I guess I should wait on that to get here and not buy anything else to ensnarl me and my time. But Amazon says they won't be shipping the Oprah book until sometime next week. Maybe I'll finish "The Amber Spyglass." Such important decisions!

BTW.... Does my rating system remind you of anything -- like....Netflix?

Illicit Affair......

I won't deny it. I knew what I was doing. I knew what might happen. I knew it as I chose what I would be wearing. I knew whose attention I would catch and what it might lead to. Knew it, but it didn't matter. I had been good for so long. One little slip-up couldn't hurt -- could it?

I had learned how to modify my past feelings and behaviors. I had done a good job. Not many around me suspected my past. But on a day like today the old urge was too strong. I remembered how good it felt to share these feelings with someone. In real life. Not over the phone, or with emails. But actually being there. Where you could see the excitememt, the smiles. Hear the voice filled with such emotion it quivered, the soft, throaty chuckles. Share the release.

So, off I went. No planning, no premeditation. Just open to whatever little dalliance might present itself. And it didn't take long. Within a few minutes of walking in I noticed his glance. The one that lingered a little too long. The one that held the unspoken question. I boldly returned that glance. I was ready.

We inched nearer each other, careful of who was around us. Nonchalant in case either of us was misreading the situation. He spoke first. It came out more like a question than a statement. My reply was definitely a statement. That was all it took. What we were both hoping would happen, happened. After the deed was done we were giddy in the shared release. Not the least bit guilty. Then we parted. No exchange of phone numbers, email addresses. Nothing to link us. It was better that way.

Yep. That's how we two closet BAMA fans shared ROLL TIDES! yesterday. Shared our elation over having the #1 recruiting class in the nation, when we met in the produce section of a Target store right smack dab in the middle of alien territory (LSU territory).

It felt good, but I could tell righ away he wasn't my type. He didn't have the courage to wear any BAMA paraphernalia. It was my BAMA shirt that caught his attention. The one I had so purposefully chosen before I left home.

One clue that you're not important......

Louisiana's presidential preference (I guess that's what it's called) is tomorrow, and I promise you that the only political ads I've seen or heard are Obama's -- and not many of those since they started airing last week. Bill popped into town today to speak.

That's very fine with me. Unfortunately, the void was filled by others. We have been bombarded with pro/con ads about the new casino hoping to come to town. It has been past ridiculous. Past the point of annoying. Now it's laughable.

I know this is not mature of me, but I swear I'm going to vote "yes" tomorrow because of the smear campaign that has been waged against them.

I'm gonna smudge......

Have you ever smudged your home? I haven't, but I've wanted to for a while. And....that's just what I'm going to do. As soon as my smudge sticks arrive.

A song......

My daughter A. called me yesterday afternoon. "Can you get on your computer?" she asked.

"Yep," I answered.

"Go to iTunes," she said.

"Okay," I said, "I'm there."

"Trust me and download one of Sheryl Crow's new songs," she told me.

I did.

We listened to it together and I understood why she knew I'd like it.

The following is one verse from the song. I've been thinking about it a lot today.


Peace Be Upon Us
By Sheryl Crow

"If we speak in tongues of love
But we kill in the name of God
How can we profess to own his name
And still be so lost and still be so lost"

Letting go......

I've decided. I will spend this forty-day period of time practicing letting go. Yesterday, as I was thinking and deciding if I wanted to do this -- do it right, I realized I had already begun a journey I wanted to continue. So I will. I may need to do some research, I'm not sure. I am sure of how good it has already felt to let go (or at least to start letting go). I realize it will be a process for me.

I have come to a point in my life where I realize some things will never change -- or at least I realize I don't have the power to make them change. So, I am going to let go of as many of those things as I can. Instead of being angry, instead of being frustrated, instead of being resentful, I'm going to see if I can find a way to live with and accept things the way they are. If I can live an authentic life, if I can be happy, then....fine. If not, then I'll know I tried my best.

....This is sounding eeriely similar to what little I've heard of AA's Twelve Steps. Maybe I should read them.

Wouldn't you know soon after I decided this I would face a test? J. called and as often happens, we found our light and easy conversation had gone there again. We weren't talking anymore, we were beginning to argue. The instant I realized this, I knew I needed to stop doing what I was doing. It never worked. So I stopped. Then and there. I let it go. Part of why I could let it go was because I knew what he was doing and why he was doing it. And....I knew how it would end.

Instead of going to the usual places during our arguments, I'm letting go. I can't fix him, and I think that's what he wants. He'll admit it. His modis operandi is to try and get rid of his feelings by putting them on someone else. Then he thinks they are gone. Double whammy for him as I see it. They aren't gone and others are often hurt. He has to deal with his feelings. No one else can. I will not accept them anymore. Letting go....

I hope this process leads to us developing a better relationship. My fear is that it will lead to my not caring. He can't keep being the way he is and reacting the way he does if I've changed. I hope he will face some things he needs to face. I hope he'll realize neither I nor anyone else can face things for him.

I hope there is still something there once I finish letting go. My hope is that the empty space left from negative feelings will be filled with love, peace, and joy.

MARDI GRAS HEUREUX !

HAPPY (stormy, steamy) MARDI GRAS!

Even though the weather's not exactly cooperating, it's hard to be dreary when you hear that wonderful Mardi Gras music being played everywhere you go. Turn on your radio -- it's there. Tune in tv -- it's there. Go into Target -- it's there. ....You get the point. With Mardi Gras following so closely after the Tigers winning THE NCAA NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP! we've hardly had a chance to catch our collective breath down this way. But....I guess tomorrow will help with that as many around me begin a time of reflection.

Ash Wednesday. I'm not Catholic but since moving here, from time to time, during the Lenten season, I've celebrated Lent in my own way. It may not be Kosher, but I like the idea of an extended time to reflect on some aspect of myself I want to improve or change. I'll be thinking about that today and deciding if I'm going to commit to the challenge tomorrow.

And....I am so looking forward to all the scrumptious seafood offerings at most restaurants. So, on this warm, humid day, I offer up this suggestion to one and all: before the day's over, smile a little smile, hum a little tune, and do a little jig.

HAPPY MARDI GRAS, Y'ALL!

Happy Lundi Gras!

Come on. Slip a pair or two (or three or four or....) of beads over that well-coiffed hairdo -- purple and green are my favorites, with a strand of gold for accent. You'll be surprised how it'll lift your spirits. Get your mask ready for tomorrow -- but check your local laws first. Don't wanna be mistaken for a bank-robber. !! It's good to be anonymous for a day -- even in your own mind.

Here's wishing a good Fat Monday to all.

Oh! And congrats to the NEW YORK GIANTS and New Orleans own Eli Manning!

Barkus......

Ladies & gentlemen, boys & girls, pee-ons & royalty....May I present (last year's - since I couldn't find any good pixs of this year's) Mystic Krewe of Barkus parade!