I Don't Know

I'm the kind of person who tends to philosophize the things I don't understand, or in drastic situations those things that simply make no rational sense to me.

Like death. At my age I've finally come to terms with the death of loved ones. Let's face it, by the time you've reached my age, a fair amount of people have passed on--grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, mentors...

I've also faced my fair share disappointments. MORE than my fair share. Which brings me to the subject I want to broach today. When it comes to life, just what is an individual's "fair share"? Some people seem to have a relative easy ride in life, while it's a constant struggle for others. It's easy to explain this away with arguments that boil down to self-esteem, expectations, education, family history, and behavior, even fate or "The Will of God", but none of these make sense to me. While I do agree that making the "right" choices in life play a part in most cases, that doesn't hold fast and true in all of them.

Take my dad, for instance. He worked his whole damned life, not stopping until cancer put him in a hospital bed a few days before his 74th birthday. He had no choice about "dying in harness" because my parents, despite their hard work, never really had anything. He never had the luxury of dreaming of retirement. Their lives were a typical case of living check-to-check and he always knew that he'd have to work until he dropped. The other side of this coin is the 24 year-old rapper showing off his "crib" and conspicuous consumption on MTV, or the bimbo driving her pink Benz to the plastic surgeon's office to throw down money for a new set of breasts or to get her rectum bleached. Did the former just get "lucky" and was the latter "blessed" to be born into a family with money? Did any of these, my dad included, simply "get what they deserved"?

There are people who lay out thousands of dollars on their education and put countless hours into studying, and then graduate to find the only job they can land includes saying, "Would you like fries with that?" Then there are others who never go into college at all and retire from good-paying unskilled positions with great retirement benefits.

My point isn't to infer that some deserve the good things in life and others don't. My point is, what determines these things? One's first inclination is to think that it's the choices we make in life, but that can't be true. Again, what about the guy who decides on a good education and winds up not being able to put his degree to work? What about the guy who decides to spend those years goofing off and then ends up in a blue collar union making lots of money hammering nails or sealing PVC?

The next place my philosophizing takes me is learned behavior and learned expectations. If my parents worked hard and died with little to show for it, perhaps I learned from them. Nope. I was always different. I've always had loads of ambition to be more, do more, accomplish more, and... where is it? I'm still living check-to-check and none of those dreams came true, regardless of how much hard work and believing went into them. And if I get all the things I want in life and others who have worked harder and believed more (and actually need those things more than I do) don't, what determines that?

The last place I go then is to the Fates, the Will of God, or Destiny. Usually Karma joins them, as well as my belief in reincarnation, but that always leads me to a sense of futility. If our quality of life depends on those, then why bother? Why work? Why even get out of bed?

The older I get the more I realize that I know squat-diddley about Life. If ambition doesn't give us what we want, if creative visualization, believing, and working don't, then what does? Is Life just a crap shoot then? Is there no order to the universe? Is it just serendipity?

I don't know.

Ach du lieber Gott

Jump on this roller coaster
Ride along with me
Grab a seat in the car of life
Get ready to fly free

Take off slowly, climb that hill
Reach the very top
At the crest now barely moving
Not wanting life to stop

The car of life plunges down
Pulling at your soul
Scary but quite exciting
Fast out of your control

You speed around that hairpin curve
Gasping for your breath,
Hold on tight we are not done yet
That curve was just a test.

You'll climb back up once again
Weary days ahead
Reach the top of a high plateau
Before you plunge ahead

Up and down life always goes
As your day begins
Just when life is most exciting
You tumble down again

(Sherry Gibson)

Wednesday Weirdness

I was having a rather ordinary dream, something to do with being outside, walking. I passed two men who were talking and who didn't notice me. One had a dog with one of those white cone collars on it and I overheard him say to the other man, "She bit him with a chockle-chuck." The weirdness of the phrase woke me up.

Any ideas what that's supposed to mean? Have fun!

Tuesdays With Mozart - "What's your point?"

The Holidays Have Arrived

The tree is trimmed...

The halls are decked...


And the stockings are hung on the mantle.

I can't take any credit for how beautiful our home looks because the kids did the tree and Nettl did all the decorating. Looks like I'll be the one to take it all down after the new year... But until then, the mood is festive around here and we're loving the holidays! All our best wishes to you, too!

Cozy

After enjoying a dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers, we noticed that it had started to snow. The first snow! Then, turning around the channels we found that "White Christmas" was on, so we watched that while lying on the bed still keeping one eye on the snow outside.

It has been the perfect Thanksgiving. Nothing special, not formal and no big to-dos. Just cozy and homey and relaxed. Tomorrow evening we're decorating for the holidays, and with the promise of more snow, we can't wait to get to it!

Answer Me These Questions Eight

Because I'm fat, sated and lazy after the feast, here's a meme I got from Jaquandor, who didn't specifically tag me but rather tossed out an open invitation. It's "Eight Things" of various sorts.

8 Things I Am Passionate About:
1. Music
2. Writing
3. Nettl
4. My family
5. My friends
6. Having fun
7. The proper use of the English language
8. Web Design

8 Things I Want To Do Before I Die:
1. Live in Vienna.
2. Compose a masterpiece.
3. Learn to play viola.
4. Take a trip through the British Isles with Nettl.
5. Spend a month all alone either in a beach or mountain house.
6. Feel that I've amounted to something.
7. See my screenplay translated to the Big Screen.
8. Have a beer with Ellen Degeneres.

8 Things I Say Often:
1. "Fartknockinpieceadad!"
2. "Absolutely."
3. "I love you, too."
4. "Schazbottafwasonufafragalet..."
5. "Kitty, no! Ssst!"
6. "Cool!"
7. "Dude..."
8. "F***in' A!"

8 Books I’ve Read Recently:
1. Sylvia, Rachel, Meredith, Anna by Bob Slentz-Kesler
2. Why Beautiful People Have More Daughters by Ann S. Miller and Satoshi Kanazawa (a book that the publisher asked me to review)
3. Auto Repair For Dummies by Deanna Sclar
4. The Fairy Godmother by Mercedes Lackey (still reading)
5. The Complete Mozart by Neil Zaslaw (an ongoing reference)
6. Mozart and His Circle by Peter Clive (an ongoing reference)
That's it!

8 Songs I Could Listen To Over & Over:
1. "A Whiter Shade of Pale" (doesn't matter what version)
2. The entire B-side of Abbey Road by the Beatles
3. "Lascia ch'io pianga" by Handel
4. "Sweet Is The Night" by ELO
5. "Ave verum Corpus" by Mozart
6. "Looking For Space" by John Denver
7. "Gloria" by Vivaldi
8. "I Touch Myself" by the Divinyls

8 Things That Attract Me To My Best Friends:
1. Their eccentricities.
2. Their sense of humor.
3. Their ability to "get me".
4. Their loyalty.
5. Their openness to new people and ideas.
6. Their optimism.
7. Their laughter.
8. Their earthiness.

8 Things (or more) That I am Thankful For This Year:
1. Nettl.
2. My family.
3. My friends.
4. My uncle.
5. My lawyer.
6. My Dell.
7. My dreams.
8. My tenacity.
9. My blog friends.
10. Wine.
11. Revelry Vintners, who sent me 3 free wines just in time for Thanksgiving.
12. Slippers.
13. My work-from-home job.
14. Our home.
15. Life itself.

Gobble-Gobble

From our clan to yours!

Stop Calling Me

There is a man I know who lives in California. He detests computers and has never had an email address. He's one of the sweetest people you'd ever want to meet and is incredibly spiritual, basically an old hippie, now 70 years of age.

He somehow glommed onto me and now he calls me every single day of the week. And he'll talk on and on for one or two hours. The same things over and over again. And he's growing increasingly demanding. He asked me to build him a website to sell a CD he made, and I agreed and charged him a nominal fee. VERY nominal. Like, RIDICULOUSLY nominal. Nearly FREE.

Next, he asked me to critique one of his songs, because he plans to remake the CD and wants it to be more palpable for a younger audience. I critiqued it quite thoroughly and he was very pleased. Now he wants me to basically rewrite it, sing it, and record it for him so that he can take it to the studio as an example of what he wants. He really wants me to play it and Lynette sing it, but that's not going to happen. What's next? He wants me to take it on the road? Every time he calls there's a new plan, and something that he wants me to do. He's driving me crazy. I got an answering machine, but he left l-o-n-g messages, so now I've even unplugged that.

Now, he's inviting himself along with us when we move to Vienna and has asked me to research apartments, doctors, and everything it takes to move abroad, and mail the info to him. I haven't and I won't. I just spent 13 years taking care of my parents in their turns and 37 years as a hands-on in-home parent. If I go to Vienna it is to finally get a life of my own. So call me selfish.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that he's lonely and that he's taken a shine to me, but what to do! I wouldn't hurt him for the world. And it's nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise to say, "I really have to go, the house is on fire."

Last night I dreamed that I was on the phone with him. All frickin' night. I woke up feeling frustrated and grumpy.

What would you do?

Wowser Browser

One of my clients has a Mac and uses the Safari browser. Because he sees his site a bit differently than how I see it in Firefox and I.E., I decided to download Safari for Windows so I can better help him realize the look he wants.

First off, I have to say that I really like Safari's interface and overall look and functionality. The only drawback I can see at this point is that this blog has some visual issues, namely, the header graphic drops down over most of the nav bar and is situated a little off-center. The other problem is that the sidebar content is offset a bit too far to the right. Another issue is that pop-up photos (on the sites I've created) don't appear. The thumbnails are there, but the pop-up window remains blank.

These aren't horrendous problems, but some that I'm going to look into since I've had four clients that use Safari.

If any of you have some advice, I'd be more than grateful to hear from you!

Life as Idiom

Excuse my French, but, my so-called life! When it rains, it pours. It's either feast or famine with me. Just when I was about to give up the ghost because I was suddenly struck as poor as a church mouse and began beating the pavement to get a real job, I was hit up-side the head with a mountain of work. I've been as busy as a one-armed paperhanger with a number of paying jobs, for which I'm jumping for joy. Most of these have to do with web design, but one is musical, although I haven't had the time of day to dedicate myself to it.

I spent the weekend working at a feverish pace on one site and I've burned the candle at both ends, setting in as soon as my feet hit the floor and working into the wee hours, say, 4:30am. Yesterday, I got out of the wrong side of the bed and was really grumpy because the phone rang off the hook all day. You all know how I love the phone...

Although life is a journey, I have no time right now to stop and smell the roses because I'm working like a dog, and because of this, I'm dead tired. Still, time is money and time flies.

Happily, Thanksgiving is this week, Nettl will be home for 4 days and we'll eat, drink and be merry! Oh, it will be a feeding frenzy, I promise you and the 20-pound turkey that's sleeping in our fridge will be finger-lickin' good!

Last but not least, the people across the street have flown the coop. We passed an entire weekend without the Richter Scale worthy boom-boom car stereo. Ah! Silence is golden! He's back today, but only to pack some last-minute things. But to everything there is a season and to make a long story short, I'm ecstatic to see them hit the road. Don't let the door hit you on the way out!

Well, back to the salt mine!

End of story.

All Tanked Up & Nowhere to Go

I can't remember the last time I sat here at my desk with a glass of wine, in the mood to blog. I've been going to bed earlier lately, and if I am at a computer at night, it's usually my laptop because I can surf both the web and the TV channels at the same time. Lazy sod.

But here I am with a glass or three of wine, listening to Radio Stephansdom through my headphones, enjoying Schubert's Mass in F-Major. God, I love being up late at night when everyone's asleep and the world is quiet! Tumbleweeds is closed, so the après-Jack Daniels crowd has already driven past, on their way home. Tumbleweeds is a huge Country-Western roadhouse-styled bar here in Stillwater (read "Urban Cowboy"), only a mile or so down the road, famous for their annual "Testicle Festival". I've never attended. Can't say I'm sorry.

Nettl rented La Vie en Rose, starring Marion Cotillard as the great Edith Piaf. I really like biopics regardless of how good or bad they are, so my estimation of this film may not agree with that of other people who have seen it. I liked it, but it was too choppy. Cotillard's performance was flawless, however. I swear she was channeling Piaf. I think I'm going to watch it again; this may be one of those films that will improve now that I know the story and won't have to work so hard to keep up with the subtitles (the dialog often passes very quickly and my French isn't what it used to be).

I find myself once again in the uncomfortable position of not being able to tell you about something important that's going on in my life (like when our documentary was in its seminal stages, and when I was on location filming The Ocular Effect). It's my lawyer, you see. It involves a will and trying to keep my balance while waiting for the outcome. No matter what that will be, I want to be prepared and not lose my center. Good news? Great. Bad news? Oh well. This is almost impossible for me because I have no inner balance! We Libras (the Scales) are not balanced people, we're always searching for balance. A lot of people get that mixed up. Anyway, in the words of George Carlin:

"Could be meat, could be cake. Could be meatcake."

Whatever the fates have in store, I don't want to fall off my bike, as it were, and bung myself up.

Which brings me to something I was thinking about today. I was thinking about us bloggers. What the hell are we thinking? We sit in our private space and literally expose our thoughts, feelings and experiences to people all over the world. And some of this stuff will still be around long after we're sitting in that big Internet Cafe In The Sky. Who knows? These entries could show up hundreds of years from now. Well, I was thinking about why some of us live our lives in the public forum so candidly, and I came to the conclusion that we're trying to connect. I know that's true for me, anyway. Connecting with other people in hope of attaining a SETI-like connection with a kindred spirit or two is why I spill my guts here. This is on a sub-conscious level, of course. Consciously, all I think I'm doing is wasting time writing about ME, ME, ME! Then I wondered, would Henry Miller have blogged? Or Anaïs Nin, Mark Twain, Virginia Woolf, or Shakespeare? Hell, yeah! What blogs those would have been. Some writers I can't imagine blogging, though: Hemingway, Dylan Thomas (damn!) and George Sand. What about F. Scott Fitzgerald? Would he have kept a blog? What do you think? James Boswell, definitely, as well as Pepys. Oops. He has a blog.

Do you know how wonderful it is to hear the Beautiful Blue Danube Waltz when it's being transmitted live from Vienna?

I have to tell you that I'm disgustingly out-of-shape. Wednesday's cleaning of #2 daughter's bedroom did me in. I spent all day Thursday feeling like I'd been on horseback; I was literally saddle sore. (I used to ride, so I know first-hand the misery that is saddle soreness.) I'm too young to be that old! Unfortunately, since being hit so hard with Hashimoto's Disease the past few years, my physical exercise has become non-existent. Well, I do trot up and down the stairs, but it's obviously been no help. The shit-thing about getting older is that you get tired. Seems to me life has it all bassackwards. We don't need energy when we're young, we're YOUNG, for crying out loud. We need that energy when we hit middle-age and are sliding into the abyss that waits yawning open for us. Kids need less energy so that they don't wear us old farts out, and old farts need more energy so that we can keep up. Sounds simple to me...

Well, I think that's it for tonight. I probably won't tell you a Saturday Story in the morning. But then again, who knows?

Silence - The Purest Music

I've complained for nearly three years about the ongoing road construction by our house. They're now getting close to the end, I think, because they're paving it. That sounds nice, but the noise that has been invading our lives for the past week is finally driving me nuts.

The asphalt paving machinery emits a loud, low frequency that makes left ear flutter, and quite painfully.

Maaaaaaaa-whoom-whoom-whoom-whoom...
Maaaaaaaa-whoom-whoom-whoom-whoom...

My left ear has always been ultra-sensitive. Sometimes, someone's voice will trigger the fluttering and I'm forced to stop my ear with my fingers.

I'm the first to confess that I'm a nervous person by nature -- that I'm as high-strung as a violin -- and ongoing noise like this only exacerbates this, making me jumpy and grouchy. I know that all the noise (which begins early in the morning) has to be getting to Micah too, because, like me, he's a sensitive musician and his bedroom window faces the road as well.

The world was a quieter place before the Industrial Revolution. There were none of the household noises we don't even hear anymore, but that are still there eating away at our subconscious: no refrigerators, no heat and AC. There were no cars and trucks going by, no boom-boom car radios, no airplanes, no jets, no sirens. There were street noises, but not those of the mechanical type. It's not the noises of life that get to me, but the steady whirring of machinery. There was no "musak" in stores and cafes, no voices shouting over intercom systems, and no high-pitched squeal from florescent lighting.

I'm currently working on a website for a client who owns a vacation cabin that hangs over the Upper Sacramento River at Mt. Shasta in California. It must be blissfully quiet there, outside of the river.

How I'm wishing I could spend a week there all alone! Just my guitar and my writing tools. Heaven!

Straddling Fences

I admit that I'm a fence-sitter when it comes to dogs and cats. I love both. I've never understood the argument that arises when someone asks, "Do you like cats, or dogs?" In fact, I've never understood the question. I also like carpet and hardwood, summer and winter, mountains and ocean, coffee and tea, etc, etc, so don't force me into a position where I have to make choices that limit my enjoyment of life.

We have a cat, and I enjoy her very much, but lately, I've been really missing the presence of a dog in my life. I miss the face-licks, the tail-wagging and the exuberance they display when you walk in the front door regardless of how long you've been gone. I miss having a dog in my car and I miss having a little fuzz ball on my lap in the evenings.

We're planning on getting two dogs once we're settled into our Viennese apartment. (Did you know that dogs rule Vienna? They're welcome everywhere, including cafes and restaurants, as log as they've been professionally trained in social dog etiquette.) Lynette wants a Miniature Schnauzer and I'm torn between a Papillion or a Yorkie. Yeah, I know. I like the yapping "drop-kick" dogs...

We're still not sure if we want to get a cat. If we do, it'll get Soft Paws. In fact, I think we'll get them for the dogs, too.

Looking at those two faces I cannot make a choice. I've had a Yorkie, so I understand their temperament issues, so I'm leaning more toward the Papillion. Still, I think a Yorkie would get along better with a Miniature Schnauzer; they have a great deal in common. And here I am on another fence!

Sorry I've been rather incommunicado this week. There's a whole lot going on, and nothing I can write about here. Just know that it's all good and Vienna is looking closer than ever!

Tuesdays With Mozart: "Encounter"

If It Feels Good, Do It!

Nettl posted this to her blog last week and I just have to pass it along to you. We've been doing the Gratitude Dance all weekend and it really feels good. These are the people I'm thanking in advance:

1. That kid at the bank who was only doing his job,
2. Lynette, Lawrence and Mary,
3. Charity,
4. My lawyer,
5. My mother, and
   
6. My uncle.

This dance is for you!

Saturday Story Time: The First Big Audience

Last week I told you some things about the Laurel Canyon commune I lived in for a while. Founder Rick Strauss had a vision of his talented hippies as a troupe of entertainers, whom he wanted to spotlight in concerts, television shows and neo-vaudeville variety concerts, and called us The Shady Oak Family. Our largest efforts were free weekend concerts on Venice Beach, for which we were interviewed by the L.A. Times for a cover spread of the entertainment section of the Sunday edition.

Up until this time I'd only performed in coffeehouses, so the idea of playing at an outdoor concert in this very public place was exciting. Rick wanted to promote me as a kind of Peter Pan of music, because I was really tiny and gamin-like, and his wife designed some outfits for me that were nothing more than tights, a turtleneck, and a suede, hand-painted deerskin tunic bound around the waist with an elven-styled belt. She'd also designed medieval shoes to complete the look.

When we arrived at the beach, ready to set up the concert (complete with rented generators), it was a scene right out of a 1967 love-in (it was only 1970 after all). The beach was full of colorful people and the Mr. Natural catering company had been hired to sell food. Their truck was decorated with paintings of R. Crumb's famous cartoon character, and I remember that they served pita pocket sandwiches and bottles of juice.

I'm going to be totally honest here and tell you what happened. Imagine the scene I've described and try to remember that for all intents and purposes it was still the Sixties.

As I stood around with my guitar, wondering what the heck was going on, a beautiful, long-haired Adonis who looked like a cross between Jim Morrison and George Harrison struck up a conversation with me. We shared a bottle of Martinelli's apple juice and a joint, and after an hour of really "connected" conversation, he asked me if I wanted to go back to his apartment. I accepted, and well, you can imagine what happened. Hey, that's the way it was back then. Afterward, we went back to the beach, where my manager was frantically looking for me.

On stage was songwriter Peter Gallway, who wrote "Good Lady of Toronto", which was recorded by Kenny Rogers & the First Edition on their "Transition" album. I was to follow him as a warm-up act for the headliners, a group that was called "Pud", but would soon change their name to "The Doobie Brothers".

When I was finally introduced, and I went to the microphones to begin my 20-minute set, I couldn't believe the size of the audience I saw. A rough headcount later determined that there'd been no less than 2,500 people. My adrenalin began pumping and I gave them a hell of a show. My voice was spot on, my personality was vibrant, and I received tremendous applause when my set came to its end. When Pud took over the mics I heard one of them rouse the audience to another round of applause for me and I was brought back out on stage for a second bow. When I walked down the steps from the stage, Adonis was nowhere to be found, but that was alright. I was immediately surrounded by people, who wanted to meet me.

I remember that my face got really sunburned that day.

Laptop Cafe

It might not be a big deal to some people, but it's one for me. Today, I'm doing something I've always wanted to do: I'm sitting in a cafe, drinking a cappuccino and writing this on my laptop (no, that picture isn't mine -- I left my camera at home).

While out doing some "special shopping", I decided to duck into Hastings Bookstore's Hardback Cafe and fulfill a tiny ambition of mine. If I had access to the car in the day times (and a little more spending loot), I'd do this at least once a week.

I have to tell you that The Secret effin' works! I won't go into details, but trust me. And I'm a real skeptic. Well, no more. Not in this regard, anyway. I'm a true believer now. Yesterday was a phenomenal day!

And now that I'm here doing this, I can't think of anything worthwhile to write. Isn't that always the way?

On November 9, 1974

~ I was wakened a little after 8:30 with nausea and a mild backache.

~ The day before was your due date and I took Joel (in his stroller) for a long walk through the newly-opened Levitz showroom, hoping to speed things up a bit (your brother had been 2 weeks over-due and I didn't want that to happen again!).

~ That day, your dad had to put my shoes on me because I couldn't reach my feet!

~ The night before I was up mopping the kitchen floor (nesting instincts in full "go" mode).

~ I called the doctor, who told me to go to the hospital. I argued with him, not thinking I was anywhere near labor.

~ We dropped Joel off at the home of some friends and drove to St. John's Hospital in Oxnard, a good 15 miles from home.

~ After getting settled in a labor room, your dad and I played cards.

~ I still wasn't sure I was in labor and as they wheeled me into the delivery room, I asked if I was, and were they going to keep me. They assured me this was the real thing.

~ The doctor, thinking I had a long wait ahead of me, left to play tennis. The nurses ran after him and caught him before the elevator took him downstairs.

~ Only a few minutes later, your dad appeared not fully gowned, and the doctor delivered you at 11:00 am, still in his tennis clothes. You were in a hurry!

~ The entire process, from the time I woke up to the time you were born, took only 45 minutes.

~ I jokingly asked the doctor if we could have our "Bradley Method" money back, since we didn't get to use any of what we'd learned in the classes.

~ You had a little round red mark on your "3rd eye" -- just like your brother had when he was born! Were you guys Hindu in a past life???

~ Afterward, I had lasagna for lunch, feeling great.

~ When we left the hospital two days later, I was back in my normal clothes and weighing 103lbs, only 3lbs heavier than when I got pregnant with you.

~ You had steel blue eyes and auburn hair, weighing 8lbs 12oz and measuring 18" tall.

~ You were an absolute joy then, just as you are now. I have always been madly in love with you, and that will never change.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

Waller on Floyd

Why do I like this guy? His dishes don't always look that great, I'll probably never use one of his recipes, and he desperately needs a hairdresser. Still, whenever the Food Network runs his series, I watch.

Maybe it's because he cooks on the streets and harbors of Mediterranean cities, drawing crowds that he never chases away. Or maybe it's because he doesn't give a damn about presentation and drinks wine while he cooks. Maybe it's because he seems to be suppressing a slightly irascible, alcoholic personality.

Whatever it is, I like watching "Floyd on Food", not because of the food, but because of Keith Floyd.

Come on. Wouldn't you enjoy emptying a few bottles of chianti with him?

A Papa's Wisdom

My father (whose family hailed from the St. Wolfgangsee area of Austria) used to tell a little story about a boy named Hans. It seems Hans' father found his son outside every morning digging up piles of manure. Finally, he called out, "Hans! Why do you keep digging that manure every morning?"

To which Hans replied, "Well, with all this Scheisse, Papa, there has to be a pony somewhere!"

That pretty much sums me up in a nutshell.

Nocturnal Esne

I really don't mind having to get a job stocking shelves to get us through this period before my inheritance arrives. In fact, I'm looking forward to it in a strange way. Working a night shift is perfect for me because it won't cut into my working from home; I seldom get to bed before dawn and only sleep 4 or 5 hours. The time I spend from midnight to bed time is generally time spent in front of the telly or surfing the web anyway.

Besides all this, there's something about this stage of mid-life crisis that rejoices at the thought of physical work, like, "Hey! I'm not old yet! I can do this!" Besides, I'm always more creative and productive as a writer and composer when time is an issue.

So don't cry for me, Blogsville. It's only temporary. Four months, tops.

OK at 100

A choir made of the Stillwater Honor Choir, Stillwater Junior High School Choir, Stillwater High School Pioneer Chorale and The Stillwater Chamber Choir sing “We are the Music Makers” on Monday evening at the "Oklahoma at 100 Gala Concert" at Stillwater High School’s Performing Arts Center. (That's Nettl, by the way -- click to enlarge)

Read full story here...

Tuesdays With Mozart: "Playing by Ear"

Kicking and $creaming

I began working during the summer before my senior year, in 1968. After eight years in factories, department stores and restaurants, I finally got a job in the financial department of a music company handwriting receipts for mail orders (yes, before computers, we actually used ballpoint pens). I stayed with that company for the next 14 years, moving through the ranks from "Girl Friday" (terrible term, that) to Financial Secretary to Data Entry, Accounts Receivable to Accounts Payable to Junior Accountant. I sometimes worked second jobs along the way slapping pizzas, pouring cappuccinos and, best of all, as Maestro Salazar's assistant with the symphony and his TA at the college. I was a single parent and did whatever it took.

In 1990 I was earning enough musically to drop the desk job and I felt like I'd finally attained something: freedom from the Ant Farm. In 1992, however, my father was diagnosed with colon cancer and as my mother wanted to continue working, my parents asked if I would consider moving to Denver to take care of Dad. In return, I could live in their basement apartment free of charge (fortunately, I was debt-free and had no credit card bills). They would even pay me a little. Anyone who knows me well knows that I am all about kith and kin, and in my thinking there was no decision to make. My family needed me and that was all there was to it.

After my father died in 1993, I went back to work, which was hard because, at the age of 42 I'd been out of the loop for three years and potential employers couldn't quite understand my explanation when they wondered why my resume had a three-year gap in it. The first job I got was sitting in a cubicle at a sanitary supplies company, alphabetizing invoices that had accumulated for two years. Talk about spirit-sucking grunt work! I, a junior accountant! (If I were a man that wouldn't have happened, I'll bet.) I stuck with it all the same and within the year I was moved to Accounts, where I worked as the A/R's assistant.

When I moved back to California in 1995, I immediately landed a 6-month contract as a technical writer in the safety department at Procter & Gamble. That was a cool job; I love technical writing, especially when it involves creating illustrations like that job did. When that contract was fulfilled I was hired at a company that manufactured connectors and cables for NASA, as the executive administrative assistant to the vice president of the company. That was a real challenge because I was in charge of a dozen departmental checkbooks, requisitions, orders, work orders, etc. I loved the work, my co-workers and my boss, but I hated how the company was run. It was downright prison-like: no food or drinks at our desks, no music, no personalization of our desk and workspace. Hell, we couldn't even go to the restroom until a bell rang. When they closed down I went on to a job at a carpenter's union. That was fun... complete with death and bomb threats, sexism and paranoia... My doctor made me leave for fear that I was going to have a nervous breakdown. Since then I've worked temp jobs at a major investment firm, a headhunter corporation, the local Mercruiser factory, and a couple of minor desk jobs.

In 2000 my mother had a stroke, and when I learned of my brother's plan to dump her in a fleabag nursing home, I beat a path to Denver and brought her here to live with us, where I stayed home to take care of her for the next four years. Toward the end of her life my own health took a bad turn and I was unable to go back to work. I still had an income, however, thanks to a mutual funds account and my own work as a web designer. It wasn't a lot, but it was something.

Last week I learned that my uncle died and that I am the next of kin. Due to mix-ups with the will (which are being ironed out) the mutual funds account has been frozen, leaving me with no real income for the next three or four months.

Now I am being forced back to work. I don't mind working, but I am concerned about how the hell I'm going to do it with my health in the state that it's in. As it is, I can barely walk the first 4 hours of my day because of pinched nerve pain due to Degenerative Disc Disease (the good news is that once the disc is gone there's no more pain! I know this is true because I've already had one go out on me). Then, there's the ever-present Hashimoto's Disease. But my meds are working excellently right now and I feel pretty darned good, so I really don't think that's an issue. Until my next blood work is done, anyway, and my doctor messes with my doses again.

I have only one request: because I really don't want to leave semi-retirement and because this is only a temporary situation, I'd really like to just alphabetize invoices again, please...

When I Live in Vienna

When I live in Vienna and am bracing for my first Winter there:

I shall wear a long wool coat,

...black leather gloves,

...a cashmere scarf,

...and a jaunty fedora.


And when I'm old I shall use a stylish walking stick,

...and carry a flask because one can always use a little fortification against the cold!

Option Se7en

Cafe Writing instructs:

"Give me seven of your favorite words. You don’t have to explain them, but it’s more fun for readers if you do."

1. Gossamer: The first time I really took notice of this word was in a letter from Dee in 1970. She was describing her view of the mist that lay over her back yard.
   
   
2. Lugubrious: I think I've only used this word twice in my life, but I'm always looking for a good reason to.
   
   
3. Facetious: My mother, the daughter of a literature teacher, used this word frequently, so I was already using it before I got into middle school. I was also made fun of by other kids for my use of "big words". I still don't think this qualifies.
   
   
4. Macabre: As much fun to say as it is to read.
   
   
5. Level: Because it looks exactly like what it means.
   
   
6. Absurd: In my private hours I often refer to my life as the Circus of the Absurd.
   
   
7. Parsimonious: Something I know that I shall never be.
   

Saturday Story Time: The First Time I Said the "F Word"

I spent the last half of 1971 in an exclusive commune in the Hollywood Hills in a mansion at 3615 Shady Oak Road (view vicinity & inset) that was owned by Peter Tork of the Monkees. This is a famous house in rock & roll history. It had been rented by Stephen Stills during the making of Crosby, Stills & Nash's greatest album, Déjà-Vu (Crosby, Stills & Nash, Dallas Taylor & Neil Young). In fact, there were two rooms off of the pool that had been their rehearsal and recording studios and it was easy to imagine the likes of Joni Mitchell, Judy Collins and the entire Laurel Canyon rock & roll enclave hanging out there.

The house had been originally built for 1940s band director Carmen Lombardo (brother of Guy Lombardo) and was later bought by actor Wally Cox. Peter Tork bought it next and rented it out to various musicians, including the Rolling Stones when they were on tour. During my stint there, I met some of rock's greatest legends.

The commune was run by sci-fi writer Rick Strauss and his wife, fashion designer Simone Strauss, and we who were fortunate enough to be invited to join were all talented in some way. In fact, there was a kind of unofficial audition process during which the new inductee had to "show their stuff" after dinner as the entire family sat around the sprawling living room that overlooked the San Fernando Valley. This was informal, of course, and your "stuff" could either be a musical performance, a reading of poetry, a description of a film idea, a concert tour idea, or just a flow of creative thoughts that set you apart from the mainstream.

One of the people who lived there was Jeff Levin, who became my manager. He was a cold bastard with me, and I say that without reservation, but he got me booked at concerts at Venice Beach, Griffith Park, the Aquarius Theater, the Ashgrove, and on various television talk shows.

I don't remember what month it was, but the last gig I did through Jeff was a concert at Griffith Park. My friend Deni was there to see me perform and sometime that morning I got the big idea to have her join me on stage to sing "I Shall Be Released" (Bob Dylan). After my set, I left the stage and prepared to leave with Deni and her then husband to get something to eat. Jeff caught up with me in the parking lot and yelled at me for having Deni on the stage with me. I'd already had it with him; I'd found out that he'd been pocketing the money I was making, telling me that the gigs were all freebies, and I'd been waiting for the right moment to tell him to get lost. Because there'd been no contracts, it would be easy.

A verbal row ensued there in the parking lot and as he stormed away, I yelled over the cars, "Fuck you!" I'd never used the "F word" before because I hated it, but it felt really good to use it at that moment. Jeff looked a little stunned, but he walked away and I never saw him again.

Just another day in Hollywood.

They're Back!!!

You die-hards won't read anything I'd like to write about this because you'll be looking for the link, so I'll just give it to you to read for yourself:

MST3k (with the original cast in NEW episodes) is back!!!

Coffee or Tea?

Okay, I tried. For the sake of health, all week I've had tea ("Earl Grey, very hot") in the morning instead of coffee. I really love both, but tea just doesn't do it for me when I first wake up. Drinking tea feels more civilized and gentle, but, due to the time I spent in England years ago, I suppose, I think of tea as an afternoon, not morning, drink. I decided to drink tea upon waking because my ulcer started to act up. The other reason was that I heard a woman on telly say that those afternoon naps are due to caffeine let-down.

Nevertheless, I'm going back to coffee. It's not because of withdrawals, because I haven't experienced any symptoms (I only drink two cups a day), I just miss the morning clarity. I miss the aroma and the body of coffee. Tea comforts, coffee bolsters, and in the morning I need the latter.

Medical experts generally agree that 16 ounces of coffee a day are fine -- never more than 32 -- depending on body weight and other health factors.

Pluses of Coffee:

• Reduces risk of Parkinson's Disease, liver cancer & Type II Diabetes
• Enhanced alertness, productivity & creativity

Pluses of Tea:

• Prevents inflammation of the blood vessels
• Reduces risk of cancer

Apparently, both coffee and tea have their benefits when taken in moderation and if one must make a choice, tea should be the first. However, if coffee is part of the morning routine -- and one doesn't over-do -- there's nothing to worry about. And if I drink tea in the afternoon, I can't lose.

Good morning. I'm going to get a cup of coffee.

Remembering to Remember

I force myself to believe that recent events are merely birth pangs that are opening the floodgates to the things I have asked of the universe.

I force myself to be strong so that I may continue to bolster the faith my family has in our dreams.

I force myself to see these "setbacks" as signs of promise, not harbingers of doom.

I will persevere.
I will draw goodness and bounty to me.
I will have the emotional, spiritual, mental and physical strength to do what I must.
I will believe.

"Without exception, every human being has the ability to transform
any weakness or suffering into strength, power,
perfect peace, health, and abundance."