"Once upon a time..." (a tale of a romantic love)

This is not my usual type of blog. I wrote this the other night... thoughts and feelings coming in a rush that would not be ignored. The words seemed to fly from my fingertips. This composition leaves my innermost constitution exposed, but it does capture some of my deepest convictions and truest sentiments. What good is life lived hidden under a rock, if we are never known, never sharing who we are?

How does one describe love? What words are large enough? Where does it begin, does it ever end? How can we hope to capture that which only the divine can own? I don't know.... but I've attempted it here.

It seems as if she'd always known him... that they went back to a time before time began. They'd been there together in creation's womb, wandering that sacred garden naked on bareback horses. They'd played drums with painted faces around a tribal bonfire, carved bricks in Tutankhamun's tomb and followed Bethlehem's star. They'd borne a thousand sons and daughters and scrubbed cathedral floors. They'd run hand in hand through fields of wild violets and made love in a stone castle upon a veiled bed twelve feet high. They’d crossed oceans in pirate ships, tuned the strings of an olivewood lute and locked eyes during a Chopin polonaise. They’d peered into a glass jar filled with fireflies and watched them flicker as they set them free. They'd sipped from the same canteen and shared a prison cell. They’d chased each other around Saturn’s ring and traversed a dozen galaxies.... and all in a single instant, when they first met.

There was a spontaneous spark of recognition and connection between them. His voice was the sound of velvet on leather, and butter on bread. Each word he spoke seemed to hang in the sky, outlined in golden light, forming a protective canopy above her. From her spirit rose a flutter of musical notes that nestled among his words. She settled back with him into the cradle of that moment to gaze up in wonder at how perfectly they blended.

Until she met him she had framed her life with four glass walls. From within her fortress she could see for miles, but it was an untouchable world surrounding her. She felt certain he was her other self, and he seemed to read her spirit. Of course he did, for his very own rib crossed her heart.

They embarked upon an excursion of words. A great dam had burst, gushing forth the ideas, memories, tragedies, triumphs, dreams lived and dreams lost in their two lifetimes. Her head began a debate with her spirit... reason argued with intuition. But mighty wings were growing from the dormant buds that were rooted in her soul, and they lifted her in strong strokes over the glass wall, never to return.

Thus began their love story... and as time passed, it only reinforced everything she'd felt in that first rush to know him. He grew more beautiful to her as weeks turned to months, and months to years. He was her perfect counterpoint... the right balance of silly and serious, passionate and practical, restraint and surrender. She rode this teeter totter with abandon and joy. She felt fully woman and fully real with him. There was nothing she couldn't confide to him, no part of herself she couldn't show.

They merged into one body... slowly, tenderly, as a bud unfurls its petals in the sun. She memorized every pore and bathed in his scent. And they blended... in a rush of wonting, as a tide rushes to swallow the shoreline. They pressed coal to diamonds, they thawed glaciers, they thundered like a choir of Aprils, they branded their mark upon the sky. Yet, there were times, skin to skin, it was the spaces between their words that consumed them... and that was a joining every bit as powerful.

They were tested... some of life's most heart-wrenching circumstances fell upon them... matters of life and death, of hardship and uncertainty. And these circumstances twisted and tore at them until a great canyon finally divided them. With sad acceptance, they parted as lovers... but never as mated souls.

They always seemed to transcend time, didn't they. The spark that would not fade had become an immortal ember, full of life and fire and expectancy.

They forever belong to the universe, and they will go on... if not in life, then in the afterlife. Their old souls are creased with deep grooves carved along this journey of countless light years. They look like twin maps, sharing the same peaks and valleys. They mirror each other, his face is hers, his heart is her own.

Sometimes stellar companions are not fated to remain together in this world. Other duties may call. But there was no sadness for this pair. They had something many may never know.

Every night she still says a prayer for him... there are nights he enters her dreams even now. There are times she still pictures his dear head on the pillow next to hers. But mostly she looks forward to the day she'll rejoin him in that garden, naked on horseback except for the wild violets she'll wear in her hair. Her horse is speckled white, his is black with a star between its eyes, and they'll greet each other with a knowing smile and silently ride side by side into the light.... from whence they came.

All you need is "Love"....

When I heard the track, driving home with groceries in the back seat, it took me by surprise. I wanted to pull the car over.... turn up the volume, sit back, close my eyes and soak it in....

It blew me away.

The song was one we've all heard a million times... "Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band" by The Beatles. But this was from the new Beatles "

Love" album released in 2006.

I didn't know it until later when I researched it online, but "Love" is a controversial album that's a compilation and remix of actual Beatle recordings for Cirque du Soleil's production honoring The Beatles.

The album was produced by former Beatles manager George Martin and his son Giles who tells us... "What people will be hearing on the album is a new experience, a way of re-living the whole Beatles musical life span in a very condensed period."

Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr have both responded with enthusiasm for "Love". Paul commented that "This album puts The Beatles back together again..."

The ending of Sgt. Pepper on the album is incredible, beyond description... the familiar strains we know and love are woven together into this mounting, cascading, monumental explosion of horns, voices, drums, strings and so much more. It's the Beatles encapsulated into an explosion that keeps mushrooming, blossoming, growing. It becomes a sound so large, so infinite that it truly seems to embrace the universe.

I know... I know... it's almost a sacrilege to tamper with the Beatles. But please, hold your judgement until you hear it... it's PURE Beatles, every note. Every single sound on the album came from actual Beatles recordings.

It gave me chills... "Love" is a powerful, masterful, respectful tribute that does justice to some of the finest music ever written...

An inflated embarrassing moment....

It seems as if I get more than my fair share of embarrassing moments in life! Here's one of the worst of them....

For awhile I worked for a friend, Carol, who owned a furniture store. With small children, she needed help managing her store. And this was during my extended separation from my husband. It was reassuring to have a stable income and insurance while I tended to my business on the side.

One day, to thank me for a job well done, Carol gave me a reward. It was a Pilates ball! She knew I'd been trying to strengthen my back and glutes with Pilates exercises. The normal Pilates routine hadn't been helping. My sore back had been bothering me more recently. So the inflatable ball seemed like a perfect gift!

That very night, we went to a party together at Kelly's (another employee) home. There was a guest there we'd never met, a bubbly woman named Judy about my age. We sat around making chit chat while the hostess and a few others worked on getting the food ready in the kitchen.

Judy looked on politely on as Carol and I talked....

Me: Carol, I can't wait to try out my present!

Carol: I thought you'd enjoy it, let me know how it works.

Me: How do you inflate it?

Carol: It comes with its own pump.

Me: Very cool! How big does it get?

Carol: See that card table? It's too big to fit under that. It came in different sizes, but I got you the LARGE one.

Me: Wow, sounds GREAT! I can't wait to ride it. Maybe a little bouncing too!

Carol: I wanted to get you something I knew you'd use.

Me: Oh I'll use it. I've wanted one of those a long time, I need it BAD. I've been in a bad way lately.

Then I turned sideways and gave my butt a few playful spanks.

Me (to my backside): Don't worry honey, you'll be feeling better VERY SOON!

At this point, the other guest, Judy, who had been listening this whole time, looked at us with her jaw dropped. She turned to me.

Judy: I have NO idea what you're talking about. Did Carol give you a blow up boy toy?

Oh my! Suddenly Carol and I looked at each other and let out squeals followed by hysterical laughter. My face turned six shades of red. I think my entire body was beet red. We both realized (too late) how incriminating our conversation had sounded! I was mortified and more embarrassed than I've ever been....

Judy: Well? Was it a blow up doll or some kind of kinky sex toy?

(Be glad I cropped this photo!)

We stammered between giggles and guffaws looking at each other, trying to answer.

Judy: Hmmmm... well I know this much, Dottie won't be single very long!!!

Oh my goodness... this was too much, we practically were rolling on the floor laughing so hard we snorted and choked. Tears rolled down our faces. Each time we'd look at each other we'd start laughing all over again.

I pointed my finger at Carol...

Me: YOU, you, YOU!!! You got me into trouble again!

We finally managed to tell Judy what we were talking about... by this time others had entered the room and we all were laughing.
For days... weeks... each time I'd remember that night I'd laugh out loud, in the car or when talking to someone about something else. And I'd suddenly turn red at the thought, even in meetings!

And I've never seen Judy again... .whew!

Pressure... and a moment's pause....

"....And love dares you to care

For people on the edge of the night

And love dares you to change our way

Of caring about ourselves

This is our last dance

This is our last dance

This is ourselves under pressure

Under pressure...."

Lyrics from "Under Pressure", David Bowie

What is it they say about "best laid plans"? Mine were foiled one day this week. I headed out to the Merchandise Mart downtown, a one hour drive, parked in a $22 lot, and made my way to the sixth floor. Most of the showrooms were closed! I'd forgotten, it was President's Day today in the business world, too.

So, walking, I did a slow burn thinking about it... all that time LOST, all that gas money LOST, and $22 for parking, wasted.

(I could hear David Bowie in my head...."Bah bah bah bah bah bah... Pressure... pressing down on me... ")

But one showroom was open, I decided to make the best of it.

Mike, the showroom manager smiled and greeted me as I came in. He's the kind of guy who remembers everyone, always has a joke and a smile ready, yet is very professional when he needs to be. The day suddenly seemed better thanks to Mike's cheerful demeanor.

I had my "to do" list. So I went to work. It was not a large showroom. The phone rang and I heard Mike pick it up. In a moment I could tell from his end of the conversation that the person on the other end was irate. It went from bad to worse. Each time Mike tried to say something the caller shot him down. I couldn't hear the other person's words, but I could hear the volume and tone projecting over to where I was.

Poor Mike... he tried to be polite, tried to be patient. It was a no-win situation. He was in the hot seat and his butt was being fried. He tried reasoning, suggested the caller contact the N.Y. office where someone had authority to resolve the matter. To no avail. The other party ranted on and on then abruptly hung up.

I saw Mike put the phone down and then he just sat there, staring without focus, deflated. His shoulders slumped, he looked as if he'd been up all night. That phone call had brought about a total shift in him. Gone were the smiles and sparkling eyes. He looked numb, far away, like a zombie. I wondered if the person who had called had ANY idea what his angry words had cost this man.

And I too felt distracted and uncomfortable.... and helpless. The energy in the showroom had changed.

Why do we do this to ourselves and each other I wonder. Why do we shoot the messenger who delivers bad news? Why can't we be better at thinking before we speak? Why can't we use our words less recklessly? Feelings are everywhere. When will we be able to see that we all are connected, that acting in love and kindness in any situation creates a more effective result?

Words can be bullets we shoot at others to bring them down, make them weak, so we will appear strong. But deep down I'm certain it's ourselves we are destroying when we lash out to hurt others.

In my heart of hearts, I do believe we're all capable of doing the right thing, if we could only stop and think first. As our days become pressure tanks and our lives feel time crunched, it gets harder and harder to pause, count to 3, think, and then speak.

Recently I had to call a client to tell her that the fabric she'd fallen in love with had been discontinued. I dreaded that call. Before making it I did everything I could to find any remaining yardage. No luck. But my client said this to me when I called and told her how sorry I was:

"Don't be sorry, it's not your fault. I'M sorry that YOU have to hunt again for more fabrics, busy as you are. And really, when you stop to think about it, it's ONLY fabric. It's a small thing compared to what a lot of people have to deal with in life. I know you'll find something else that's just as wonderful."

A weight was lifted, I felt so grateful for her understanding and anxious to find something even better for her. Even now as I remember, warmth and gentle appreciation fill me.

Words. Just words. But so powerful.

At nature's door, here in suburbia .....

"In the hope of reaching the moon men fail to see the flowers that blossom at their feet." Albert Schweitzer

The other night I was sitting on the sofa with my bead tray in my lap working on another jewelry creation. My eye caught something outside the patio door. A skunk was drinking from the heated birdbath! I stopped and just watched him awhile, so fluffy, a little waddle to his walk, so delicately sipping water.

It never ceases to amaze me how much wildlife there is in suburbia. Of course, they were here long before we were... and I for one am glad they remain. They honor us with each visit. This small house is unusual in that the living room faces the back yard. My garden is a year-round delight, not because it's the most beautiful yard around, but because part of me is always out there in spirit with the little creatures and the beautiful growing things. Look at yesterday's visitor, a sweet possum in his luxurious winter coat!

One thing that I continue to discover is that no matter how beautifully I decorate someone's home, it cannot begin to compare with a single leaf trembling on a branch outside the window, or with a single feather on the bird that sits on the branch. THAT is beauty.

Sometime in the 80's I became engrossed in the writings of Albert Schweitzer. He is one of my heroes. He was born to a family of means, yet when he was just six years old he came home from his first day of school and realized that many of the children in his class were poor. He informed his mother that he would not wear his best clothes to school again, so as not to make the other children feel self-conscious or ashamed. In these days when children can't wait to go to school flaunting the latest, hottest shoes or jeans, it's hard to imagine a boy like Albert, with so much compassion and sensitivity for his fellow classmates.

Albert Schweitzer was many things... a theologian, humanitarian, philosopher, medical physician... but in everything he did he revered life and sought to ease suffering on this earth.

I thought of Albert's words this week when I noticed ants in a corner near the kitchen door.

"A farmer who has mowed down a thousand flowers in his meadow to feed his cows should take care that on his way home he does not, in wanton pastime, switch off the head of a single flower growing at the edge of the road, for in so doing he injures life without being forced to do so by necessity." (From "All That Lives")

I am the kind of person who catches a fly and sets it free outside. I do the same with spiders, bees and any other creatures that wander inside. "Nice of you to stop by, but it's time to go now." And the thought of killing these ants saddens me so. Ants are amazing animals who work together and who "bury" their dead. Yet I know I can't allow them to continue to live here... it's a matter of keeping things clean, healthy and sanitary in my home. I tried several natural repellants which only caused the ants to relocate a few feet away. And so I was forced to use a bug spray. With remorse and resignation I quietly think... "I am so sorry and wish there was another way." I am not proud of these actions. I'm a nature lover, I recycle and do what I can for the environment. Everything about pesticides goes against my beliefs, but I had to do it. I thought of Albert's words... and felt he might understand the full range of my emotions.

And to dwell on it would diminish my enjoyment of the wildlife right outside my door.

This winter I've so delighted in the birds and furry friends who have come for food or water. Some of them seem to know me, looking up to see me yet somehow understanding I'm safe.

For most of my life I've longed to live in the country... to be closer to nature. As a little girl I'd ask my father for a horse. Now I know how impractical and impossible that request was! But bless his heart, he never said no. He said "When we move to the country and have lots of land we'll talk about it." It may never come to pass, but that's all right... right here, if I look closely, I find nature all around me

Nick knacks.....

In July of 2005 my kids, Monica and Stephanie, went to New Orleans to attend a wedding. (This was pre-Katrina.) Monica had spent a summer in New Orleans at Tu Lane University and knew the town well. She was looking forward to visiting and showing her sister some of the sights!

So they decided to go on a two-hour architectural walking tour in the historical Garden District that included the famous Lafayette cemetery. This was taken that day....

As the group of ten gathered, my daughters were stunned to see Nicolas Cage had joined them! There was no mistaking it, everyone knew who he was. (Well, almost everyone. One guy on a passing tour bus pointed and shouted, "Look, it's Bruce Willis!") But everyone played it cool, no one hounded him for autographs or photographs. It turned out that he had purchased a home recently in New Orleans and told the group he was there to learn more about the town.

Of course we were excited to hear about Monica and Stephanie's encounter with Nicolas Cage. What was he like? What did he say? How did he act?

Well... they said he was odd, eccentric, and very overdressed for a steamy summer day in Louisiana! He was wearing a "Chopper" tank top, an odd black trench coat, boots and black cowboy hat. What a strange outfit. His body was lean, his features hard, concentrated and his eyes penetrating. They described his behavior as very intense, very focused and somewhat distant. He was full of questions once they went to the cemetery, asking questions that were not the usual... many of which had nothing to do with the architecture. At some times, he was more quiet, standing arms crossed, legs apart, coat flaring. Nicolas Cage remained aloof, to himself, seeing things and lost in thoughts of his own that had nothing to do with the group. At the end of the tour, he suddenly "disappeared", stole an opportunity to sneak away.

Below, the shadowy figure in black on the far right is Nicolas Cage. It was the only photo they could get with him in it.

Monica and Steff described their encounter, and we found it all fascinating and entertaining ... and never gave it another thought until last night.

Stephanie was in town and we went to see a movie. They showed a preview for "Ghost Rider", Nicolas Cage's most recent film. Steff nudged me and whispered... "He was researching and rehearsing his role that time in New Orleans! He was totally that character when we saw him, down to the trench coat, hat and biker tank top, things he said and the way he behaved! Monica and I are totally convinced."

It turns out that in "Ghost Rider" his character has key scenes in a cemetery, much like the one in New Orleans! For some reason, I found all of this incredibly interesting!

What do I know about the methods actors use to develop a character for a role? Not much! But it makes complete sense! "Ghost Rider" was filmed in 2005. The time line fits, and so does everything else. He'd practiced his part in a similar cemetery setting, with real people and worked through aspects of his role. The stance, the body language, the look, the demeanor.

Nicolas Cage is a very talented performer, but I always thought he just had a knack for acting. If this little glimpse is any indication, I now know it takes much more than a "knack". Those two hours on that little tour provide a deeper insight into the level of commitment he gives in preparation for a role. It will make me appreciate him even more in the future when I see him on the big screen.

Anna Nicole, a few thoughts...

One belief I hold dear these days is that each of us is born with qualities, talents and inborn traits that are meant to serve a purpose. Each life is important, no matter what it looks like. Anna Nicole Smith's life is no exception.

It's very difficult for us to be interested in lives that are bland, flat, monotonous and uneventful. We are increasingly a society that needs constant stimulation... mental, physical, emotional, intellectual. How often do we hear someone say "been there, done that" as if doing something more than once is a waste of time? How often have we heard "same old, same old" as the reply to the query "how are you"? We want everything faster, improved , bigger and better.

The same is true of our celebrities... the more outrageous they are, the more we clamor for more. Gone are the days of the slow seduction, the sideways glance or the subtle art of innuendo. Gone are the long, leisurely kisses, the slow unfolding of a love story. Now we want blatant displays of flesh and blunt sexual language, we want wardrobe malfunctions and starlets going "commando" as they exit a car. We love to see celebrities get paired up, but we're never surprised when it doesn't last. It seems as if we are in part, co-creators of the falling standards so prevalent in our times.

And so I tend to see Anna Nicole Smith as a woman who gave us what we wanted.

Did it serve her well?

Did it serve us well?

She couldn't have attained her celebrity status without us supporting it.

I see us as one humanity, and when one falls or suffers, it affects all of us. It might harden our hearts or add another brick to the walls we've built. It might add another layer to the armor we wear, it might carve new places for cynicism inside us. It might dull our sensitivities or sharpen our edges. Whatever it may be, when someone falls or suffers, we all share in it. We share in the cause and the effect. There no use in pointing fingers.

It's sad. It's sad for a baby who will never know her mother. But what saddens me more is to see how we treat each other.... how we (myself included) are entertained by the misfortunes of others. Even as I write this I know I'll read the next article I see on Anna Nicole in the paper.

I wonder why we are this way?

Booby traps....

"I didn't discover curves, I only uncovered them." Mae West

In the middle of a design presentation to a client today, lost in the moment's excitement over a perfect combination of fabrics and trims, I suddenly felt myself being held at knifepoint. The tip of the razor sharp blade was poised right between two ribs. I dare not exhale, lest my side be pierced by the weapon poking so rudely, so menacingly embedded in my flesh. Afraid to breathe, afraid to move, my stream of thought switched in an instant from total delight and accomplishment... to relentless misery and dread.

The underwire inside my bra had escaped its confinement. The escapee was free and on the loose. I was doomed. There is no way to nonchalantly rearrange my female anatomy in such a situation. It's not as if breasts can be discreetly flexed a few inches higher or lower, to the right or to the left to dodge the wayward underwire. I did what any woman might do... stood straighter, crossed my arms in an attempt to tame the beast as I squeezed my arms into my sides. The point of the underwire only increased its pressure.

And so... for the next hour, I suffered in silence, my mind half on the project at hand while the other half fantasized about what I would do to that bra the moment I was alone with it.

On the left... an unfortunate woman reveals the underwire that poked through right into her cleavage!

Aren't they HIDEOUS! (Underwires, I mean... not breasts!)

I cannot tell you how many times this has happened. At $35 and more a pop I don't buy cheap bras. It's hard enough to wear a bra, but built as I am, going braless is not an option. Why can't it be a comfortable, "uplifting" experience in every sense of the word? This is 2007 for gosh sakes... technology being what it is, why can't the lingerie industry come up with a decent bra?

Bra manufacturers:

Don't tell me that straps are not supposed to support breasts, or that they are there to simply keep the bra in place. The grooves in my shoulders tell me otherwise!

Don't tell me I don't know how to select a bra that properly fits. I've had consultations with women trained in this, followed every guideline and I STILL have issues!

Don't tell me that the underwires have protective tips, to prevent stab wounds. I've pried more than one protective tip out of my irritated flesh.

Don't tell me that I'm not shaped like a normal woman. With my clothes off I look like a classic artist's rendition of the female form.

We cannot blame men for our bra related miseries. We love pretty lingerie, we love the satin and lace and beautiful details. We love how silky smooth if feels against our skin. We love how our clothes fit when we're dressed beautifully underneath. We love to feel womanly and alluring, and pretty lingerie contributes to that. Men would be just as happy if we all went braless I suspect?

I remember the bra burning craze of the 60's and early 70's. "We've come a long way, Baby"... but why are our bras still torturing us?

If anyone wants to read a good horror story, read The History of the Bra.
You will wonder how women ever withstood the pulleys that were used to tighten a corset, or how they endured the deformed ribs and inner organs from wearing those contraptions!

I must admit I own a few of these.

....::::SIGH::::..... it's hopeless

Hosing down "Wild Fire"....

"There is no great genius without some touch of madness."

Seneca (Roman philosopher and statesman)

This week, braving the snow storm, our book club got together to discuss this month's selection... "Wild Fire" by Nelson DeMille. Most enjoyed it, although it wasn't as much of a thriller or cliff hanger as some of his other works. It was more of a mental torture chamber. I disliked it... really, really disliked it. Ok, I hated it. And I read it cover to cover.

"Wild Fire" describes what could happen if a handful of wealthy, powerful Americans managed to get their hands on a few Russian suitcase nuclear weapons of mass destruction and brainstormed a plot to use them.

It's based on several key facts:

* Nuclear bombs are missing and unaccounted for. No one knows where they are.

* Certain secret government plans already exist, should a nuclear attack occur on American soil or anywhere in the world.

* Certain anti-terrorist extremist organizations already exist, which are ready, willing and able to take matters into their own hands. They are not going to trust our own government to act in our best interests. They are cunning and wealthy beyond our wildest imaginations. They are well connected with foreign nuclear scientists (paid handsomely under the table) and high-powered Washington officials who have access to top secret information. They are angry, they are insane and they are not unlike Osama Bin Laden in their objectives, but instead of Islam, their religion is power.

Nelson DeMille says in his introduction: "Indeed, this is a scary book for scary times; but it's also a cautionary tale for a post 9/11 world."

What troubles me about this book is that it exists. I could see a twisted mind somewhere latching onto DeMille's brilliantly detailed plan, tweaking it, funding it and destroying all of us. There are those who have speculated that two Tom Clancy novels "Executive Orders" and "Debt of Honor" might have inspired some of the terrorist plans that were executed on 9/11.

So perhaps my fears are justified.

And so what terrifies me most about "Wild Fire" is the potential it holds for inspiring a "copy cat" crime of horrific proportions. Nelson DeMille became a top-selling author for his ability to thrill his readers. Is it reckless and irresponsible to mastermind these horribly evil, incredibly researched, massively destructive story lines and put them out there for all the world to see?

I don't know. But maybe I'm completely wrong... consider THIS view.

"Knowledge is power. Information is power. The secreting or hoarding of knowledge or information may be an act of tyranny camouflaged as humility." Robin Morgan

It makes sense. I guess that if the right people in "Homeland Security" are reading novels like DeMille's, it could assist them in matters of prevention and defense.

As for me, no more novels like this for me... never again.

Moon dreams....

"I like to think that the moon is there even if I am not looking at it." Albert Einstein

Lots of people make a list of things they want to do before they die. I keep such a list. It changes from time to time, but bit by bit things are getting scratched off as I find ways to make my dreams come true.
Maybe it's a mid-life crisis that is to blame for the ambition I've had the past few years. But one dream persists and here it is:

I want to moon Amtrak.

I want to stand waiting by the railroad tracks until I see the train approaching. Then I want to drop my pants and bend over as the Amtrak train passes by.

And I'm not alone. Each year HUNDREDS of people come from far and "wide" (excuse the pun) to flash their butts to a passing Amtrak train.

As described on EccentricAmerica.com:

"This has to rank among the wackiest event to ever have originated in a bar. Moon Amtrak draws hundreds people to a chain link fence between the Mugs Away Saloon and the railroad tracks on the second Saturday in July. Otherwise respectable people then do something they normally wouldn't dream of doing - they drop their drawers and "moon" the two-dozen passenger trains that pass by that day. When it gets dark they moon by flashlight and by lanterns hung on the fence, hundreds of bare buns glowing in the flickering light. The mooning, which has been going on since a bar challenge started it all 25 years ago, draws crowds to both sides of the fence. The trains are booked solid months in advance for moon day. No one actually sponsors or organizes this event; it just has a life of its own."

When I first found out about the national "Moon Amtrak Day" I was living alone, separated from my husband, looking for fun things to do in reclaiming my life. What better way to demonstrate my newfound freedom? It was something he'd NEVER do, never be part of. He wouldn't judge those who do it or criticize the event. It's simply not his style. He's a very reserved, proper, modest, wholesome kind of guy. And I can be those things too. But come on... doesn't it sound FUN?

I decided I'd do the "Moonlight Moon"... it's hot in July in California. And last thing I needed on my pale, delicate derriere... which has NEVER known the sun to cast a single beam upon it... is the acres of sunburn I'd be sure to get.

Yes, my buns would be toasted. And because I've never mooned anyone or anything in public before, I'm a little bit shy about it. I'd feel less exposed under the cloak of darkness. I'd feel a bit more anonymous, with just a flashlight aimed at my butt.... my grinning face and eyes full of wicked mischief would be hidden in the safety of night.

And I'd wear a thong, a little one, something pretty, maybe something fun. My cheeks would be free and that's what counts, right?

I had finally found a friend to take the road trip with me, but she lives in another state and we couldn't seem to make it happen. It's still possible... but even if it doesn't happen with her, it's something I'm determined to do before I die.

Hearts that melt...

Happy Valentine's Day!



Browsing photographs, I found these... especially appropriate for today. In the Chicago area we have quite a bit of snow on the ground...

This snow ... it's beautiful, it's tranquil, it's a canvas for many who use it to convey their messages of love...
Enjoy these...

I know there will be men who trudge to the jewelry store, confectionary, card shop or florist to find something special for their beloved. Those gestures are sweet of course... but something unexpected is sure to melt her heart. (It would mine!)

Out of pocket investment? Zero.

Romantic value? Priceless.

Chicago has SUPER BOWL FEVER!

Today's the SUPERBOWL!

And our BEARS are playing!

I don't understand much about football, but I love the excitement of it. And Chicago is going CRAZY with delerious joy and button-popping pride over it.

On a big scale or on a small scale, we're all plugging for DA BEARS! Check out just a few of the ways Chicago is showing its spirit!

Bear down, Chicago Bears! Good luck today! We love you!

(And to my dear friend, Leslie, who sent me an email saying "Go Colts!"... pfft, we'll see!)

Hangin' with George Costanza...

My daughter, Monica, is working in London where she managed to get a great job at a fancy bank as a "risk modeler". She's a mathematician. She was a student so long, going to grad school, that she watched many friends go off to find great careers while she was still hitting the books living the life of a poor student. Now it's finally her turn. She goes to work each day in a business suit and nice pointy shoes and deals with other people in suits as they all handle enormous amounts of money. I can't picture it, she's a hiker, a biker, a creative cook, a fabulous photographer, an outdoorsy camper kind of girl.

Then I think of myself. At home I wear jeans and a hoodie with a tank top underneath. The minute I'm in the door off come the work clothes and heels. In a rumpled heap on the floor is my professionalism. There have been times I've taken off my panty hose in the car waiting for a train to pass. I'm not into hair and make up. It's not unusual for me to leave the house with my hair still wet. A drip dry lifestyle suits me fine. So I know where my daughter gets it.

I came across a picture taken in November, when Monica and I went into the city to get her tattoo done. (Her tattoo was my design!) We had a GREAT day! We were clowning around at the tattoo parlor and Monica snapped this picture of me in the waiting area and later added the infamous beefcake photo of George Constanza from Seinfeld.

I laugh every time I see it! It captures me (and my personality) more than most pictures do. It's true... Girls just wanna have fun!

So every day, Monica dresses in her suit and hides her tattoos and true-est self and merges into the world of business and finance. And I put on my skirts, boots and fancy clothes, keeping the playful me safely tucked away when I meet with clients who expect me to decorate their homes in "good taste". I wonder if people sense anything when they meet us, something there that they can't quite pinpoint, telling them there's more to us than meets the eye.
Sometimes I'll look at a person and sense that "something" about them too. I'm drawn to such people, intrigued by the complex, fascinating combination of qualities they possess. They are people who are full of life, interested in almost everything, excited to learn new things... and they exude a certain confidence and happiness. They know who they are, and they also know how to get what they want in life.

For some people, the job IS the person. Work is their life. For others, the job is the means of paying the bills, making it possible to live a great life apart from the job. As much as I love my job, I love not working even more.

It took me awhile to figure that out! I suspect my daughter's learning it now..

My encounter with a palmist...

In June of 2000 I accompanied my daughters on a trip to New Orleans. On Royal Street, a few blocks from Bourbon Street, Stephanie and I stumbled upon an enchanting courtyard. Tucked in the back was a sign on a door that read "Palmist". Neither of us were into the occult or ever had a palm reading. You could say we were skeptics. But New Orleans had put us in another more adventurous frame of mind. We decided to inquire.

We met

Colo Milling, a respectable, scholarly-looking middle-aged man who seemed more like a college professor than a palm reader. I'm not sure what we were expecting, but there was nothing kooky about him, and when he spoke he was very articulate and sincere. He explained that what he did was a science, he was not a fortune teller and not involved in the occult. New Orleans is home to all kinds of fortune tellers, tarot readers and voodoo practitioners, but he made it clear he was not part of that.

Mr. Milling explained that the lines on our hands are electrical diagrams of the two hemispheres of the brain. The shapes and lines are the living picture of the forces that make each of us who we are. It's an ancient science, but also an art.

It made sense, so we decided to have him analyze our palms. Steff went first. She seemed a little wide eyed when she emerged, but she was smiling. It was my turn.

The next hour was extraordinary. The room was comfortable, well lit, with beautiful art work on the walls and a library of books. I wish that I had recorded our session when he offered. It was remarkable to hear a complete stranger describe in such detail the most complex aspects of my personality, and he did so with amazing accuracy. It was as if he could see deep inside my head, my life experiences, my heart and my spirit. When I left, I too, was wide-eyed. I looked at Stephanie, our eyes meeting in a silent "wow" of mutual awe. We discussed a little bit of what he had said, but mostly we were quiet for a long time... lost in thought. I wanted to be alone to digest it all, to write it all down. And I did, that night...

Here is a brief summary of what Colo Milling told me:

"You are inventive, it's one of your most prominent qualities and it's unusual to be so strong in a woman."

"You are an "old soul", re-incarnated many, many times and spiritually evolved."

"In prior lives you worked through most worldly issues, like fame, money and sex, with a positive outcome. Now what remains is the inner work. Your outer work is done."

"You are humorous, you have good timing."

"In relationships you grow to love slowly, and you test your partner for patience and stability, but you do commit and stay committed."

"Men enjoy how you love them."

"You get angry twice. First your anger flares, then you get over it. But then you start to think about it some more and get angry again. That's when you can let it go. You'll discuss your anger several times, even after it passes, to make a point."

"You've already taught your children the most important things you were sent to teach them."

"You need to become more selfish, meaning you need to be more true to yourself. Think of yourself as an actor in a play. 50% of your performance is your own role, but the other 50% is responding to the other roles. You've not spent enough time developing your own role. You've responded too much to others."

"You are a soft person, you cannot bear the hard, sharp edges of life."

"You have a tendency to worry, especially at the beginning, but it does not hinder your success."

"You have an active nervous system, producing high electricity, even at rest. It never shuts down, you're always analyzing, thinking and processing."

"Think back to when you were 9-14 years old. What did you discover about yourself at that age? Return to that focus now. Your life has become too worldly and it's taken you away from your focus. Be more selfish, do more inner work. Remember, the outer is done."

"You are capable of producing a successful invention."

"You are not a good subject for hypnosis."

"You could attain fame, but you don't seek it. You are still highly respected and admired."

Interesting, isn't it. Ages 9-14 were pivotal for me, really defining years. He hit the nail on the head when it comes to how I deal with anger. I've been working on a book of designs that I plan to eventually publish, is that the successful invention he spoke of? Although things like reincarnation are not significant to me in the way my faith works, I find such concepts useful. Stephanie's consultation was entirely different but equally impressive.

Given our experience I would certainly give Colo Milling's hand analysis a strong recommendation. I would honestly say that his words did come into play when I had some decisions to make in my life in the years that followed. It was invaluable insight he provided. And it resulted in strong decisions on my part, with good outcomes.

A quote from his web site....

"God seals up in the hand of every man so that all may know his work" Job 37:7

And, should anyone be interested... Colo Milling does "long distance" readings if you're able to get a good xerox of your palms, right and left.