Empty Calories

I'm only fractionally finished watching a You Tube video called The Bitter Truth About Sugar, so thank goodness this isn't a paper I have to write for school, because I'd probably get an incomplete. I promise to go back and watch the rest of it. The video is from the UC Educational Department and to tell the truth, I played Free Cell as I listened. I really didn't care about the charts. I got the point just by hearing the man speak.
Sugar is poison, and high fructose corn syrup is worse. Because of sugar, and its evil sister, high fructose you know what, we're all fatter and more unhealthy than ever before. Folks, we're all going to die! I'm sure he knows that, but he wants us to be healthier when we do. I am being sarcastic, because I know his concern is the emphasis on heart disease and diabetes for the present and upcoming generations.
The lecturer has been studious and thorough in his research. He actually named the man responsible for this blight on our country, and perhaps, the world. I said out loud, "oh come on, name a Republican." And sure enough, it was Nixon. I understood his logic completely because of the structure of politics and economics that he laid down. It had to do with Nixon helping the food industry maintain lower prices, but in turn, it made sugar go up, therefore, the Japanese invented high fructose corn syrup because it's sweeter than sugar, and cheaper to make. And, it has invaded everything from soda to bread, pretzels and fruit juices, and just about every processed food imaginable. That is why we and all our children are obese, or at least 20 pounds heavier than we were 20 years ago.
I have another theory, though it does work in nicely with the whole processed food deal. Want to hear it? OK. About the same time as the Nixon era, our divorce rates were skyrocketing, and the women's liberation movement was gaining tons of progress. I bought the first Ms. Magazine right about that time. And increasingly, faster foods, more convenient foods are being thrown on the table because Moms are working, and need the quick and easy breakfast, lunch and dinner. And what are kids getting at day care, anyway? The cheap stuff that goes into processed foods has gained an economic foot hold, and it just keeps going. It's a perverse supply and demand event. I have to go check my cupboards and read some labels. But I will always love sugar, please Mr. You Tube guy, don't take away my poison.

Googling Bees

I just heard an ad for bee removal. It was the kind of removal that saves the bees and puts them in a new environment where they can thrive. It makes me feel bad because a few months ago we had a huge bee swarm on our very small Japanese Maple. The swarm was the size of a football and I only noticed it because my Hubby had disturbed it a few minutes earlier by parking by the tree, then walking by it quickly. He didn't see it, either. When I looked out the window, there were a whole bunch of bees buzzing that tree. It freaked me out, and instead of looking on the ever trusty internet, I called the city. Too bad. Because after that, I read that the bees were there because the queen and her troops were resting. There is no honey, no babies to protect, so they are not aggressive. They would leave in a day or so. But since the city was notified, they had to kill the bees. On the city's behalf, they did tell me if the swarm was 10 feet or higher off the ground, they would have left them alone. So, I was the reason over 1,000 bees were killed.
I don't know what the status of bees are now, but for the last several years there has been a grim succession of commercial bee hive collapse. Oh, I just Googled and found this: ScienceDaily (Apr. 14, 2009) — For the first time, scientists have isolated the parasite Nosema ceranae (Microsporidia) from professional apiaries suffering from honey bee colony depopulation syndrome. They then went on to treat the infection with complete success. http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2009/04/090414084627.htm
I feel a little better now.
A lot of people just hate bees and fear them. The other night when we were at an outdoor party, my Hubby thought something funny was on his hand, and without looking, just sort of squeezed it, but it was a bee, and he got stung. Within seconds his hand started swelling. We went to the kitchen and put vinegar on it, gave him some Benedryl, and a bag of ice. The toxin in a bee sting is the same as the scorpion. It's just a smaller dose.
What a lot of people don't know is, bees are essential in the creation of food. They pollinate blossoms, flowers, yes, but all our fruits, vegetables and nuts. Anything that flowers and creates a fruit has to be pollinated. If bees go away, so do we. So thank a bee today.

Political Follies

I was born into a family of Democrats. My first memory of being political was the night of the Stevenson/Eisenhower election. I remember praying for Stevenson that night as I was falling asleep. I have no idea why I wanted it, only that my mom and dad wanted it. My parents actually never really talked politics to me. It was just those 4 year events that exposed their Democratic desires. In the earlier mentioned apartment house my sister called Peyton Place, my dad had a bet with one of the neighbors who felt as passionately about their candidate, Richard Nixon, as my folks did about John Kennedy. The loser would take the winner's family out to dinner. So off we went to a nice restaurant sometime that November.
How odd it was that I really didn't know the difference between the 2 parties. I just knew Democrats good, Republicans bad. Then, some 9 years later, a patient in the dentist's office where I worked, gave me this simple explanation of the differences between the Democrats and the Republicans. Democrats create lots of programs and government departments and Republicans believe in less programs and less departments. That was about the most I was involved in a political discussion, except the occasional Viet Nam protest, for many years. I would definitely vote in the national elections, and the first time I went to Washington, D.C., I felt deeply patriotic and fascinated with our history. It didn't hurt that Spiro Agnew had just resigned and Gerald Ford was being approved by Congress to become the Vice President. We sat in the upstairs visitors viewing area of the House, and watched our democratic policy in action. The whole Nixon debacle was mildly interesting to me, and I felt connected to Gerald Ford slightly because I had witnessed his confirmation hearings. The Carter years were punctuated by gas lines and the daily count of how long the hostages were held in Iran.
I remember feeling humiliated as I waited in line to vote for Jimmy Carter the 2nd time when it was announced that he just conceded to Ronald Reagan. I voted for him anyway, but the thrill was certainly gone. As the 4 years of Carter faded in the US collective memory, I really didn't care about Reagan, but I hadn't really cared about a president since JFK anyway, so it was all status quo. The 1st George Bush Presidency only stood symbolically as the year I remarried, bought a house with Hubby and gave birth to Sonny boy. Very Blissful. Oh yes, and "Read My Lips, No New Taxes."
Bill Clinton caught my eye as he got the "hook" at the Democratic convention in 1988. I seemed to love that guy. Then he ran for president on a platform of gays in the military and on his inauguration day, rescinded it to "don't ask don't tell." I was mad at him for not getting stem cell therapy going, and for not helping California with their medical marijuana issues. The whole Monica Lewinsky episode was pretty disgusting and I do remember calling Jiffy Lube with a billboard idea that would say...Lube and Ski. They didn't like it.
I never voted for George W. I had been listening to conservative talk radio too long and found him to be a terrible conservative. Al Gore, OK. A good looking dude, but people didn't seem to believe him or understand him until he came up with the whole global warming issue. John Kerry, no charisma at all. Why do candidates come up with these stupid chants? It reminds me of group think...yukky. His was "Bring it On." Oy.
Present day. Didn't vote for Obama. I had a cousin who asked me not to vote at all. She admits, she is a socialist.
Why do people distrust politicians so much, then when one becomes the President, all of the sudden, he or she, deserves our deepest respect? When I was reading the paper yesterday morning about California's imminent financial abyss and sighing loudly, thinking, how stupid our legislators are, my Hubby asks, "does anyone do anything right?"
"No!" was my declaration of independence.

DMV Delights

A cousin of mine on facebook writes about the DMV and her "you know who" is taking her driving test. I remember those days. Sonny boy took a 4 day class at the beginning of summer when he turned 15 and 1/2. Every morning I'd wake him up and he'd say, "Dear Lord." Not being a religious kind of guy, I knew it must be bad. Take a 15 year old, put him in a function room with 50 other people for 7 or 8 hours, and you've got one glazed over dude by 5pm.
When he gets his log in time for the class, he goes to take the written test. After he took it, he stood in line to get it corrected, noticing there were about 10 people in front of him who failed. He was so relieved when he passed, got his picture taken (nice picture) and was ready to drive with a licensed adult. I know I was a bad, nervous, horrible driving over see-er. Poor Sonny boy. But we all survived, and after 6 months he could go get his actual license. He actually wasn't in a hurry to get it, but we had a situation where he needed to have it, so I say, Buddy, book an appointment and go!
We drive up to the queue for the licensing, and I see a lady with a really big butt checking out the car in front of us. I almost said something to Sonny boy, but decided for once to keep a lid on it. I was really glad, because she was the one who turned out to be his tester, and that would have been kind of a "big" distraction. After checking the car for the appropriate functionality, off they go.
I was waiting inside, looking through the glass when they pull up. I see the tester talking to him with her hands gesturing in the air, and I think, "Oh no, he didn't pass." I walk out the door and Sonny boy is getting out of the car and sees me. He gives me a thumbs up. Oh Dear Lord!

Home Again Home Again Jiggety Jig

Sonny boy was home for 5 days in between the end of summer school and the beginning of the new semester. The intense pleasure of knowing he's on his way and the defining moment he leaves are the hardest times in empty nest. My sizzling Mommy DNA goes crazy on both ends.
His first night home I made pizza. Hubby was out of town, so sonny boy and I stood in the kitchen hovering at the island, devouring Webber grilled red onion and tomato pizza. We shared a beer, and talked about how hard his biology class was. The next day we drove to visit relatives and he spotted some bird poop on my windshield and told me the chemical makeup of the stiffened white spot on the glass.
At my sister and brother in law's house, after my son asked my brother in law, "What exactly did you do at JPL?" they headed to the computer and talked all their engineering stuff. At one point we were lounging in the big bedroom, across the bed or in the lounger, and sonny boy told us the name of one of his classes. It's called Mass Transportation and both my bother in law and I said at exactly the same time, "Beam me up, Scotty." Personal Jinx!!!
When Hubby finally got home the next night, we settled on the couch, chatting. Sonny boy told us some of the aspects of his chemical engineering major. It has a lot to do with moving vast amounts of different kinds of liquids from one place to another. He casually said, "I've really been interested in fermentation." My first thought was yeast and beer. Hubby says, "As in yeast."
Sonny boy says, "As in beer." Apparently he found beer making equipment in the basement of the fraternity house and got real curious. He told us how he sells his beer and covers his costs. He explained the process, the types of beer, the chemicals he uses to sanitize the equipment, and where this all takes place. College is very educational. He's been making it over a year, but waited to tell us of his experimentations until he was of age (or almost). He thought we would make a bigger deal of it. "What did we do?" I asked. He said we just were laid back about it. Aren't I proud?
On the way to buy a new shirt and jeans, sonny boy asks out loud, "How do neurons create a picture in my brain even when I am not looking at something? So if I say Duck, I can see it?"
"Oh, the mind's eye," I say.
And while pulling into the parking lot, walking through the double glass doors and up the escalator, it was all speculation of how the brain works, what is the chemical makeup of memories, and what about blind people's memories and mind's eye? I miss those everyday conversations with my local brainiac.

Stinky Sock Salad

It was too hot for soup last night, but I had the fixings, so I thought I'd turn it into a salad instead.
The soup is made with broccoli, potatoes and Gorgonzola cheese. It was still too hot to think about steaming the cute little red potatoes, but I did it, then I steamed the broccoli.
By the time hubby got home, everything was cooling in the frig. I started putting all the chopped ingredients in the bowl and hubby hovered in the kitchen, getting a beer, chatting, and giving me those sweet hugs that only emptynesters know how to do.
At one point he says, "What smells like stinky socks?"
"Uh oh, it must be the Gorgonzola," I tell him.
"It's going in the salad?" he asks with incredulousness.
'Afraid so," I say, then add, "You like the soup."
When he tasted the salad, he said, "It's much better than it smells."
I thought it was excellent.

Makes the World Go Round

What is your money consciousness? Mine's probably better now than it ever has been. How ironic.
When I was a kid, my folks went into bankruptcy. I had no idea what that really meant, but it sounded bad. My dad had to close his stereo store. He got a job back in the town we had left only a year and a half before, and for the first time, my mom had to get a job. It was during a very impressionable time in my life, and I have always worried about money since then. I know I'm not alone, especially now, but I always credit that time with how I frame the money concept in my head.
My hubby, on the other hand, never worries about money. His parents always had it and his dad taught them the value of it and the worthiness of saving. There were never conversations of lack, just stash.
Both our philosophies have worked together to keep us out of that evil credit card debt, urged us to buy used cars rather than lease new cars, and to save, save, save. It isn't near as fun as spend spend spend, but it is smarter. A few years ago I really begged him to use some home equity to buy me a new car, after all, everyone was. He wouldn't do it and now I am so glad for that.
In Religious Science, money is considered abundance. Every year there are 4 weeknight lessons
that cover different worldly aspects in a spiritual way. The one on money always captured a standing room only crowd. Everyone wants to know how to demonstrate abundance. Can it be ours for the asking?
If I took this to a political point of view I would say Republicans say yes, it is ours for the asking (and the work) in the greatest country in the world. And Democrats would say there are always so many poor people in this country, and only government can help these people out of their situations.
What is your money consciousness? Is it your thoughts and actions that create abundance in your own life, or is it the country's responsibility?

Kissy Face

This morning I heard a radio tech, Leo Laport, mention facebook. He said, "if facebook was a country, population wise, it would be the 4th largest country in the world!" I love that tidbit. I love it as much as I love facebook.
One of my friends wrote in her status that she disagrees with the CNN article today about 12 annoying facebook types. She likes everyones' free speech on facebook, and wants to know what her friends are interested in and what they are doing. Perhaps she thinks it's a blessing. I do. If I find someone too negative, I just remove them from my feed. It's quick and easy and private.
I have to admit, it hurts my feelings when someone removes me as their friend, or, they never accept my request. But, fortunately I am mature, so I get over it quickly.
Why do I love facebook so much? Because I have gotten lots of my cousins on board and can see how they are at a glance. I can comment on their pictures. I can laugh or cry at their situations. It's a nice way to connect.
The other day a cousin mentioned she couldn't find a particular school item. She called it an urban myth. She made me laugh. It dawned on me that I tried to find the same item when our sonny boy was in high school. I told her where I finally located it. I felt helpful.
I actually don't partake of the quizzes. But I read the results of my friends. I think we all know what kind of personalities we have. It reminds me of someone I met who read palms. He said I stopped doing it when I realized I was telling people what they already knew about their lives.
I did really enjoy the 25 random things about me. It's all about me! haha. I liked the clever things people wrote. I learned that one of my friends loves Tetris as much as I do. And when I said I won money on Password years ago, the same friend got a nostalgic hit because she used to watch the show with her grandmother years ago.
I've posted videos of friends and family, and a commercial of my long lost Mom and my recently passed step Dad. Now that was cool. For that split moment they are alive and healthy and smiling to the camera.
Lots of my friends and family play all the games like Scrabble, Scramble, Lexulous. I could add that to my agenda. I've seen people network for jobs or rides or tickets to concerts.
I think facebook is a lovefest.

And the lesson lies in learning

So we get our new plantation shutters from a great company, Danmer Shutters...and I take a picture and put it on facebook. Our budget allowed for only our family room to be shuttered, but that's OK. I am so proud. They look beautiful.
As soon as the picture gets on my news feed, the next picture up is from a friend who is posting the progress of her new house being built on the hills over-looking the Pacific. It's stunning and impressive, and I say to myself with a smile, "But his toy is so much cooler than mine."
It's a wistful reminiscence.
Years ago, when I first started working as an aide, I was in a kindergarten class. Those kids are beyond adorable. Their sweet faces greeting me everyday, their little legs crossed, sitting on the rug on their specified spot is heartwarming. They have so much ahead of them, and they are learning life's lessons along with, and from, their fellow classmates.
When it's sharing time they all bristle with anticipation waiting for their turn. One little boy, Roosbay, shared the toy that he had gotten at the 99 cents store. He talked about it with his 6 year old passion. I still see that face with big brown eyes and dark hair, his enthusiasm bursting from a toothless smile. When he was done, he sat down and the next boy got up to share his favorite robot. It was big and shiny, and it moved and made noises. That little boy loved his robot but wasn't bragging, he just wanted to share. After he sat down, Roosbay burst out, "His toy is so much cooler than mine." The teacher, finding an exquisite teaching moment, spoke to the class, but especially to Roosbay, and said, "Everyone has something to share, and no one's toy is cooler than another's." She looked around the room to see that she had every one's attention and said, "Roosbay, what you brought, you are proud of and you love it enough to share with us, and we are happy for you. Just like we are happy for everyone in this room." As a smart teacher, she didn't go on too long, because with kindergartners, you loose your audience in 40 seconds. For a moment the room was silent, then Roosbay spoke up, "But his toy is so much cooler than mine."
I doubt if he remembers that day. But I always will.

How Now Brown Cow?

When did people stop paying for their own health care? Or maybe it should be restated this way, when did people start thinking paying for their own health care is someone else's responsibility?
A year ago I traded massages with a young woman and I mentioned how my father had surgery 50 years ago, and my parents paid for it themselves. "People used to pay for their own medical bills?" she asked.
I was pretty young, but I remember my dad paying bills, and I know paying off that surgery was huge, and he said to my mom, "We're almost in the black." I could tell he was relieved but also proud.
When did medical insurance kick in? It's not like I don't appreciate our insurance. It has really helped us out. But I wonder if "free" amounts of money infused into a situation don't just escalate prices. Like what happened to the housing market.
When did medical benefits become the big draw in getting a job? In California, the unions have an amazingly sweet deal for its employees. I worked 30 hours a week for 40 weeks a year as an aide for special education. The school district gave me a medical plan that gave me 80% coverage for my medical issues, and sometimes 100%, and it included my family. Who payed for my medical insurance? California tax payers. What state has a 52 billion dollar deficit? California. There's so much more to say about this...I quit that job to assuage my guilt for soaking the California tax payers.
I still don't understand how our country, being in a trillion dollar debt, and growing, can think we can pay for every American to have health coverage. And that's not even my real question. My real question is, do we have enough doctors, nurses and medical facilities to supply all the demand that will be created when everyone with a US birth certificate has medical coverage? If 50 million more people have insurance and can freely go to the doctor's office, that's 1 million more people in each state, all states being equal. That wait time just gets longer.
And if the answer to covering everyone is cutting costs, what gets cut? It won't be the bureaucracy. On Meet the Press Sunday, it came out that in the House Bill, 87 new departments will be created, with over 100,00 new people to pay (plus benefits). Will there be a huge rise in taxes? Will the cost of pharmaceuticals be cut? I don't think so. Big Pharma, as it's called, is said to have made a happy deal with President Obama. Will it be cuts in care to sick people? Will it be the paychecks to doctors and nurses? I think our legislature is moving way too fast on all of this, and is not building a foundation that will support the plan.
A medical student comes out of school in tremendous debt from student loans. He or she is an intern, then a resident, and the hours and work load are horrendous. Will we encourage young men and women to work so hard to become doctors and medical practitioners when their pay could be less than doctors are getting now? It will take someone who loves medicine and the human race so much, that he or she is willing to be in debt for the rest of his or her life in order to serve the American People. That is so much to ask. healthfreedomblog.com/?p=737

Worse than the dog house

Michael Vick is sorry he was involved with illegal dog fighting, and now can feel how ugly and cruel his actions were to dogs. It's hard to believe that it took him not the involvement with bloodied, tortured, dying dogs, nor his jail time, but communication and bonding with animal lovers who were in pain because of his actions.
I think what he wrote about his transformation is sincere. I didn't see his interview, only read about it. When I had heard about his case and indictment, I remember I shook my head and made an under-my-breath-kind-of-that's- so-sad statement, and got on with my day.
But today, hearing about Vick and his life reminded me of the moment I learned about dog fighting.
I was 11 years old and we lived in an apartment complex that my sister used to call "Peyton Place." It was the first time I had ever heard the word divorce and learned of the concept of children born out of wedlock. The owner of the building was named Elsie. She was a divorced woman in her late 40's, I imagine. She had a son named Lee, and he was also divorced. Lee was a good looking, hip talking womanizer. There were about 5 other teenage girls in our apartment building and we all had crushes on him. He had a bulldog that strutted along with him from his sports car, up the stairs, and across the 2nd floor balcony. He was proud of that dog.
We loved Lee so we loved that dog.
I seem to remember Lee mentioning dog fights, but never saw any proof that that dog had ever been in a fight. He was a nice doggy, as far as I was concerned. And then one day, Lee came home holding his dog in his arms wrapped in a bloody towel.
What happened? We all wanted to know.
Lee could barely speak. He mumbled something about the dog fights. I looked at the trembling dog with the bloody wounds on his face and sides, and with wide eyed amazement asked, "Why did you let him fight?" He couldn't answer. He was humbled and broken.
Eventually, his dog healed and Lee moved.
Hopefully, like the Vick of today, he felt the pain he caused to his dog, and never let that dog, or any dog, fight again.

Calling Dr. Hubby

I smashed my left thumb today when I was taking care of the last task of my gardening session. I was putting away the trash bin, fitting it into the side of the house, when I maneuvered it with such a clumsy force, my thumb got caught between it and the side of the gate. At first, it felt like I just smashed it. So I wrapped my right hand around my thumb and waited for the stars to subside. When I looked down at it and saw blood, I ran into the house calling my hubby and ran to the sink to start rinsing it. My hubby came in asking me what's wrong. I showed him the bloody wound on my thumb, and he went to the hallway to get our various plastic bins of wraps, bandages, Bactine and antibiotic ointment. My thumb quivered under the running water. I sprayed Bactine on it and we gazed at the wound. It's right in the fleshy part of the thumb and looked like it's innards were spilling out a little. Hubby says, "your left hand." Perfect, says the south paw.
"The emergency room?" My hubby asked. "No, I don't want to go." He wrapped it in lots of bandages and helped me to the couch. I really felt faint. He's used to that.
Ever since I had our son, if I get into a fix like that...whether it's me, or my kid, I get faint.
Two summers ago, our son got stung by these toxic tiny black jellyfish in Mexico. All three of us got stung...we were not too bright. The sign said peligroso, danger, but we just wanted to feel the water. At local beaches, the jellyfish are several feet apart. These creatures dotted the waves like chocolate chips, and even touching our toes to the water allowed them to stick to our feet. A lady came up to us with a bottle of vinegar and we all used it, but our son got the least of it. He started getting a weird pain in his leg that traveled to his groin, and was in excruciating pain. We had to call a doctor. While waiting, he was on one lounge chair, and I was in another, nursing a fainting spell.
Hubby traveled between the two.
So today, after he got me on the couch, he got me some ginger ale, turned on the ceiling fan and gave me the remote for the TV.
I didn't want to start watching TV.
So, he started reading the Life of Pi to me.
When I injure myself I just get weird. I have visions of not being able to do anything without hurting myself again. It will pass.
Hubby made lunch and dinner. Yummy.

Nude Dunes

Oh no, there's a fire north of Santa Cruz in Bonny Doon. The fire is in the mountainous region of that area. There are many homes and structures in danger, not to mention the vineyards. I just heard a description of a smoke filled sky, a burnt orange sun and ashes falling on the ground like huge gray snow flakes. I pray that the fire will be contained without too much damage. A prayer for rain, perhaps?
I have a strong sense of imagery when it comes to that name, Bonny Doon. When I lived in Santa Cruz in the 70's, we would visit the beautiful beach of Bonny Doon. It was a nude beach. Nude beaches always include a hike from the road to the water. When we would hike the trail and come over the rise, the blue ocean loomed ahead and there were sandy sculpted dunes defining the terrain like an expansive new vista inviting us to indulge.
The interesting thing about nude beaches, besides the obvious, is how bodies sans clothing blend into the landscape. We are variations of sandy browns and beiges and we dot the ocean side like nature intended.
I haven't been to a nude beach in a long time, unless I count that short foray onto the lava beds on the ocean in Maui, where the sun worshipers played bongos and soaked in the tide pools. I probably won't go again. But those days were rather care free. No sand in the shorts, no tan lines, just me and my towel. As far as getting used to nudity, it's like one of the actresses said about the play Hair. She said, "eventually you realize there are two sexes, men and women."
So the fire season is beginning. I am looking forward to the year when we have the best fire season ever instead of the worst fire season ever.

The Old Country

I went to the San Fernando Valley today to help out my hubby's uncle. He needed a ride to the DMV to get an extension on his "temporary" license. He's lived in the Valley somewhere between 40 and 50 years.
"You're the only family member I have who still lives here," I told him as we drove past all the familiar street signs.
"Who were they?" "Where'd they go?" he asked.
They were my mother's immediate family, my father's aunts, uncles, nephews and cousins, my first cousins, and later on, my sister and her husband.
The things I remember the most are lots of family get togethers, finally going through one complete school without picking up and moving, starting to date, learning to drive, eating my grandmother's cooking, hanging with my aunt and my cousins, being taken to dinner with my aunt and uncle and eating escargot and frog legs for the first time, babysitting for my little cousins until their dad, my first cousin, moved to Ohio.
That's what started it...he moved away first. Then years later, my aunt and uncle moved to Beverly Hills. And people started scattering to different cities. My sister got her own place on the west side of Los Angeles (came back to the Valley, but left again). I moved to Beverly Glen Canyon, and my mom moved to the "Fairfax" part of LA. There were some hold outs for awhile, but the urge to move got to everyone.
I told my hubby's uncle, who had been a Hollywood makeup man for many years, that even I left the Valley twice. I was only 3 when I left the first time. I do have a vague recollection of talking to a man painting his fence who lived across the street from us. Turns out, it was John Wayne and he moved away not too long after that because the Valley was getting too crowded.
Even though the businesses are different, the storefronts more trendy, the traffic more intense, I will always feel nostalgic going into the Valley.

Where Free Will Begins

People take umbrage when I tell them that I believe we are born on a certain day and we die on a certain day, and in between those two events is where our free will exists. When I started thinking about it, I've changed it a little. Now I believe we are conceived on a certain day and die on a certain day, and so it is written. I changed the word born to conceived because there are babies who are miscarried, or die in utero, or are aborted.
I came to believe this concept in my early 20's when I met a a guy who had fought in Viet Nam and he said, "it just wasn't my time to die." He said they'd be in a skirmish with bullets flying everywhere, and when the fight was over, and he was alive, he'd stand up and there'd be bullet marks on his canteen, or his belt, or his helmet, but not in him.
That must have started me down that road. And then so many other examples just solidify my argument. For example, when my husband was in high school, he was hit in the head with a shot put. He was knocked down, he was cut and bled profusely, but he did not die. If it had been his day to go, that would have done him in. A 16 pound metal ball cracked his head open and he lived to tell about it.
Or this: One sunny fall morning my son and I walked to the bus stop for his 3rd week of kindergarten. We would usually meet up with another mom and her 2 kids. That particular morning, the dad came down the hill with the kids. We stood in a different place than we usually do, and were chatting and waiting for the bus, when suddenly a car skidded into the curb, turned on its side and came roaring at us at an unbelievable speed. Think the boulder in Raider's of the Lost Arc.
I grabbed my son around the arm and pulled him and ran as fast as I could away from the colliding car. I looked back, thinking the dad and his kids were doomed. He threw them into the bushes, away from the car, and when it stopped, we were all alive and shaking in the electrified air. The dad had enough presence to go to the car, which was laying completely on its side over the entire width of the sidewalk, and opened the passenger door to see if the driver was OK. He was fine, just smoking his cigarette and looking hardly worse for the wear. The idiot. It turns out later, he had had his license revoked a few months earlier, and wasn't even supposed to be driving. If we had been standing where the mom and the kids and I used to stand, it would have been all over for us. Plus, she was 7 or 8 months pregnant, and never would have been able to get those kids out of the way. When I later asked her why she didn't come down with the kids, she didn't know. She just thought the dad should have gone. Hmmmm.
There are other examples of not living through something that shouldn't have caused death. Like, a day at Disneyland. Like Steve Irwin and his friendly little stingray incident. Like the lady who was standing on her yacht, enjoying the blue Mediterranean when a stingray flew up, hit her so hard, she feel back and died and so did the stingray.
I know people say, how about airplane crashes, or 9/11? Well, I don't know all the answers.
But, strangely, my belief comforts me.

Starry Starry Night

Tonight is the Perseid Meteor Shower. It happens every August and I have NEVER seen it, no matter how I've tried.
I forgot about it this year, until casually cruising the MSN page. I felt that tweak of excitement until I read the whole story. In the northern hemisphere, the moon's brightness will diminish the meteor streaks, and that means the show will be underwhelming.
In 1995 when we lived in a tiny town in Massachusetts, I was convinced I would see it because it was the least light polluted place I have ever been. We had a neighbor who was a doctoral student in physics and he owned a couple of amazing telescopes. About 2 weeks before the Perseid Meteor Shower, he took out his smaller telescope and we looked at the beautiful crescent moon and Jupiter. The delicate vision of a planet dangling in space is a very special moment. I was tingling with enthusiasm for August 13. That night we were fogged out.
About 10 years ago, there was another meteor shower that I was determined to see. I don't think it was the Perseid Meteor Shower because it didn't happen every year. The best viewing was supposed to be around 1 to 2 am. My hubby told us, "wake me up." So, when the time comes, we wake him up, and it's another socked in night of fog. He went back to bed. Determined to see the shooting meteors, my son and I got in the car and drove inland. It was so foggy it freaked me out. About 30 minutes through the fog, it cleared up and we got off the freeway and found a hilltop to watch the streaming lights. There were a lot of people at the park that night. It was fun. I just remember driving back in that fog and feeling as if I were blind. We got back home safely, and I hope I didn't present my cowardly side to my son.
So, the showers' best view is about midnight tonight, but that's when the moon will be shining its brightest in the northeastern sky.

A 3rd Chin?

There was an article in the LA Times today about the world wide convocation that Self Realization Fellowship had last week. In the summer of 1970 I was a member of SRF and celebrated it's 50th year, and except for the change of hotel venues, last week's events sounded exactly like the one I went to. It's a week of meditating, listening, chanting and field trips to some of the most amazing real estate scores in Southern California.
Paramahansa Yogananda came to Los Angeles in 1920 and bought land on Mt. Washington, Sunset Blvd, both in Hollywood and Malibu, and a beautiful piece of land in Encinitas, right over the ocean. The surfers call it Swami's. I guess when you have the power of the Lord behind you, you have the keenest insight as to where to buy. Location Location Location.
As I gazed at the photograph in the Times of the people sitting with blankets wrapped around them, and their eyes gently shut, I remembered the feelings of calm and weirdness. The wool blankets provide insulation from the earth's pull as one meditates, and allows an easier access to the higher realms. The closed eyes are to keep the mind focused on the 3rd eye, the portal to see God's Vision.
As my sonny boy grew up, he had a birthmark right between his eyebrows. I used to call it his 3rd eye. He also had a birthmark just next to his chin, and his elementary school friend, Amanda, used to call it his 3rd chin.
Yogananda is buried in a crypt at Forest Lawn Memorial Park in Glendale. The field trip there was probably the most awkward for me. Everyone had a turn at going to his internment spot and could touch the brass plaque with their forehead, and say a short prayer. When it was my turn, clunk goes my head against the blessed plaque and those marble vaulted rooms really echo. I wanted to laugh. I might have. Yogananda had a magnificent sense of humor, or so I have heard. I hope he laughed with me.

Butter, Butter, Butter

We saw Julie and Julia yesterday afternoon. It's great entertainment, and lived up to the expectations the trailers created. My hubby loves Meryl Streep. She was perfect for the part. What I find the best about this movie is the fact that all through the movie Julia and her husband ate butter, butter and more butter and smoked, smoked, smoked and both lived well into their 90's. I have no idea what the state of their health was when they died, but certainly their love affair with these popularly modern demons didn't shorten their lifespans.
I don't smoke, but I do love butter. I am conscious of how much I use, but would rather use butter than any of the substitutes.
I have never studied something I think is called "The French Contradiction," or something like that, stating that the French indulge in butter far more than Americans, and have less heart disease. It has something to do with the red wine, or so I've heard. I realize this last paragraph reveals my thin investigational skills. Okay, I just googled, and wasn't satisfied with what I found, because I never really found what I was looking for. But if it does exist, it must have worked for the Childs'.
It was a pleasure to watch these two actors recreating what must have been fairly close to the reality of what it was like to be studying cooking in Paris and to delight in food food food with cream, butter, garlic, aw, delicious. I just think they loved food and lived for food. No government studies on if they were fat, no health care crisis, just the joy of gastronomic delights. (There were some bottles of antacids, however.)
The food in the film looked lovely. Julia and her husband and Julie and her husband looked happily married and supportive of each other, though when one person in a couple has a focused goal and deadline, that one person does seem to become egocentric...but there is an end date in mind. So all's well.

Flying to the Present

Dreams of flying have been a standard fare for my nightly reprieves. When I think about it, I can truly feel the sensation and how I can actually fly. It's not as easy as Superman does it. He zooms here, zooms there, his fists (in the modern Superman) squarely set, his red cape soaring. No, in my dreams, I have to work at it like the treadmill or the StairMaster. It's more fun than that, but it's still a little like exercise.
After many years, just this morning, I figured out what those flying dreams are telling me.
Because my hubby has become an intellect on New Thought, Ernest Holmes, and Science of Mind, he is always on the lookout for used books about the subject and the leaders of these religious/metaphysical movements. So last night when I was fixing him a dinner treat before his massage (I give him one every few months, or so) he read to me from his latest book. It's a collection of essays that Ernest Holmes wrote, and it's called Living the Science of Mind. It was a few paragraphs about leaving any sad past behind, or any past, for that matter. How ruminating on the past will destroy your future, and why our thoughts control our outer world. Hubby and I just love that stuff.
In my mental wanderings of what I would write about today, I started thinking about my flying dreams and Ernest Holmes' teachings. Suddenly my dream interpretation became clear.
I can leave the past behind, with a little work, and "fly" to a new height. Old hates, resentments, failures, the ugly stuff that can cloud my mind, can be escaped. A new world of good thoughts and pretty vistas are mine for the taking. Instead of replaying past memories of being so terribly harmed, I can change the directions of my thoughts. After all, I do choose my thoughts.
I must think that there's a pay off for staying in a negative, hateful, ugly mind set. Otherwise, why do it? But living in the past doesn't enhance the present or the future.
Letting go is a simple concept, but not easy to accomplish. Why isn't it easy? Simple is pure, basic, plain. Easy is that slide on ice everyone wants: the "take a pill" consciousness. Let something or someone else do it for me. I have to do this for myself and it takes some work, but the end is definitely worth the means. I can fly away to a vision and create an almost perfect world for myself. That's cool.

What's with this font?

Kids and parents alike come to the workshops at the museum sponsored by Target. They're Friday afternoons during the summer and we work in the Carriage House classroom, looking out at the ocean, crafting artistic works that are fun and consuming. The first time I helped, we had 30 people every half hour in 4 rotations. We constructed a sketch book with accordion pages and a cover. It took folding, gluing and following directions. It was a dynamic 2 hours with 99% success rate. There was one little boy telling me I was showing him incorrectly, and pushed me away, so I left him alone. His mother looked at his sketch book after he was done and said, "You did it wrong."
Today we had only 30 people for the whole two hours. It was relaxed and breezy as the wind from the ocean blew in at a gentle tempo bringing the salty scent of summer. We traced all kinds of shapes and portraits and modern abstracts with pencils, colored pencils and markers. No right way, no wrong way, just head down, hands on creativity. Genesis on a summer's day.
Two moms and I started chatting, one a teacher, the other a counselor. The counselor helped high schoolers find their interests and head off to college. The teacher was looking for full time work, but was settling for long term substituting duties with 3rd graders. It was all gab about kids, passions, letting the choices kids make for high school come from their inner vision not their parents. It was all about cool documentaries like Paper Clips, Word Play, and Spellbound.
We ended with the teacher getting information from the counselor about how one becomes an art therapist. It was a very satisfying day.

Skipper the Cat

I just peeked in on our cat. She's sleeping on our son's bed with her head on a pillow. It looked really cute. I'm checking on her a lot lately because she has a tumor in her eye, and I think any day it could do her in. Now, I could have her eye removed, but there are these issues to consider: she's 14, a senior, we've given her a great life, as a kitten, we snatched her minutes before she was carted off to the pound, and I have a $500 limit for any medical procedure. I've always joked that she and I have an agreement. My hubby says, "are you sure she agrees with that?"
When we were dating and 7 years into our marriage, my hubby always proclaimed he hated cats. I always told him, "it's because you have never lived with one."
Well, one day when our son was 6 and hubby had a job out of town, and was only home every other weekend, we got a cat. Sonny boy and I just went to the pet store to look at the Dwarf Russian Hamsters, the birds, the snakes and the guinea pigs. At the front of the store was a man asking if anyone wanted this black kitten. My son looked at me and said, "Please, Mommy?" The man said, "I've been here 4 hours, and I have to go to work. I'll have to take her to the pound if I can't find an owner." So we took her home and sonny boy named her Skipper.
When we met hubby at the airport a few days later, sonny boy says, "Guess what Daddy?" And hubby, without missing a beat says, "You got a cat." How did he know?
He acted mildly interested in her in the beginning. He would watch her chase leaves, or run through the house, or stand up on her back legs, which we would call "The Bear," and say, "she sure knows how to have a good time."
Now, 14 years later, it's "come here kitty, come to Daddy." And "how's my kitty?" And when he comes home from the gym, he lays on the floor cooling off, she likes to lick his balding head." They have a nice relationship.
So, she's had this tumor in her eye about 5 years now and I didn't know what it was until a year ago. For the first 3, I would ask the vets, and they would say, "nothing," or "it looks like a freckle." Then last year at her check up and shot time, a different vet said, "that's a tumor," and gave me the name of a veterinarian ophthalmologist. I did call, just to get a ball park figure of what could lie ahead. $2000.
She still seemed good at the time, slowing down a little, but eating, grooming, purring, getting a little feisty now and again.
Four months ago, we woke up with her curled up next to us, still as a stone. Her eye was glued shut and gooey. I thought the tumor exploded her eye, so I called the vet to have her put down. Low and behold when we got to the vets, she opened both eyes and meowed loudly at the doc at he lifted her out of her carrier. Her eye was intact, so he gave us eye drops and pain medicine and she got back to acting normally. 2 drops a day keeps the doctor away.
She was a fierce kitten. Born to a feral mother, she loved to fight. As she's aged, she's mellowed. Her agility was astounding. She could jump up on the top of the closet door or the shower door and look down on her prey. Well, us, her staff. She could jump from the floor to the top of our son's shelving that we called his museum because it had rocks, leaves, creature skeletons, mineral samples and dinosaur bones, and she wouldn't disturb a single item.
I'll keep up the drops and peek in on her when she sleeps.

To Be or Not to Be

I was going to write about how my hubby and I are perfect US citizens. Then I was going to write about how our lawn is like a spoiled child. Then I was going to write about the American consciousness and PILLS. But, I had a conversation with my sister and decided to save those for another day. She said something so interesting. She said, "Isn't it like Dad never existed?"
She said that because it's been 46 years since he died. He was 44 and we were teenagers and he died one month after the Kennedy assassination. It was such a tumultuous, traumatic time in our lives. I knew what she meant, and it brought up so many psychological issues, I thought I would explore the concept of existing.
It's like a magician's trick. It's here and then it's gone. Was it really here at all? But our father did exist and his memory, as bittersweet as that is, will have to do. We only have photographs and a few badly filmed old family movies without the sound. I actually don't remember the sound of his voice. I cannot conjure it up, maybe if I try really hard, I can pretend I hear it. I know he spoke very loudly. The Napoleon complex, or so I think, since he was about 5 foot 3 inches, he used his voice as his strength. I can visualize him in many ways, in many places, in many moods. So, he exists, but surely not in this physical realm.
I told my sister that my husband and I feel the same way about our sonny boy. He has grown into a man, and that cute little boy that we spent our every waking moment doing for, thinking of, or being with, is gone. How can that be? All the energy we poured into his growing up has evaporated. He did grow up with a great attitude, a funny sense of humor, a kind heart, a good work ethic, so we did our job, but we're still at the phase of empty nesting that makes us miss that little boy.
He did exist and has just done what all humankind does, grows up.
I guess my father did exist and has done what all humankind does, dies.
If we dwell on his loss, it's the negative use of our brain power. We can dwell on his memory of life and create a much better thought pattern. That's better, I feel better. Existence, love it or leave it.

My Friend

I just finished emailing a friend that I have had for 25 years. She is the mother of my ex-boyfriend from my 2 year stint on a cruise ship in Hawaii, and we only met after he and I broke up. She was coming to my town and just had to meet me, even though her son was in Hawaii and I was in California.
I was happy to meet her and we hit it off from the first moment we met. We stayed in touch with phone calls and letters. I kept her informed of my new squeeze, my engagement, my wedding, my pregnancy. When our son was 3 months old, she came to California for another visit. That was the last time I saw her until last year.
It took me 19 years to finally arrange a visit to her home in Minnesota. I asked my hubby first if it was OK, and he gave me his blessings.
We had a splendid visit. I was wined and dined and given the full treatment. I had to sneakily pay for lunch one afternoon at the arboretum where they are so heavily involved. What a gorgeous place. I asked her hubby if he visualized the beautiful green rolling hills into a 1st class golf course and he told me, "everyday." They really know how to grow trees in that state. What a funny, kind man my ex-boyfriend's father is. His parents had been politicians in his home state, and he loves to talk politics. We had some great debates standing in the kitchen, or over lunch at the St. Paul Hotel, where coincidentally, the Republican Convention was held (or thereabouts) last year. My friend couldn't care less about talking politics, but she tolerated our polite little discussions. Believe me, they were polite. That's practically a miracle when it comes to the passion of politics. We were mostly on the same side, so it was pretty easy.
Our 5 days passed quickly, and I would do it again in a minute. I hope I am the kind of host that people would want to come back to see me.

Married Minglers

I just took a break from housekeeping, bathroom scrubbing, laundry, dishes, to call my hubby's uncle to say hello. When he answered he told me, "Your hubby just arrived to take me to lunch." I had no idea what my husband was going to do for lunch today. We are so in tune.
When we were dating, we went to a party and were hanging together and being affectionate and someone said to us, "you two must not be married." We asked him why he said that. He said, "Because married people don't hang out together at a party." I revisit that little scene about once a year and observe my own behavior when we're in a group. Of course we mingle. Everyone should. I think he's a better mingler than I am. I remember this one party where I made a sarcastic joke to someone about her college, and then felt bad, so spent the majority of the party trying to win back the favor of this stranger that I really didn't care about at all.
My hubby, on the other hand, talked to all sorts of cool people who inspired him and entertained him. Damn, a missed opportunity.
So yesterday we were at a family barbecue where the air temperature was perfect, the trees shaded the lounge chairs, and the little cousins' high-pitched voices punctuated the celebration of the event. I remember going up to hubby 3 or 4 times throughout the party to give him a hug and a kiss and linger in his strong arms and snuggling close. Yes, I'm corny. But I think these mind melds are an essential component to a happy marriage. And maybe that stranger's comments affected me far into the future.