Rest in Peace, Butch

Butch Schrier Passed Away -- August 17, 2008

I was walking into work from the parking structure, checking e-mail on my BlackBerry. It's not a great one, and I couldn't quite make out the e-mail from an address I didn't know, but the subject was Butch Schrier.

I only had a tiny screen to read a few lines at a time, and I'm not very good with the trackwheel so I scrolled down and just saw bits and pieces. I was sure that it was a message that Butch's mom had died. She was probably close to 95. I saw obituary, Norwalk, services, "our loss."

By the time I got upstairs to the office, I was sure it was about Butch -- that he had died. There was no mention of how. I walked into my office, stunned. When I got to my desk, I checked my e-mail and there it all was on the big screen . . . an obituary with viewing and funeral information. Butch died on Sunday in Anaheim.

It didn't seem right. He was just 52. I thought maybe an accident had happened. Maybe his diabetes got bad.

The e-mail was from his ex-wife, and she had an e-mail address. So I sent a note of sympathy to her and her boys, and asked how and where it happened.

We don't know more than what we observed...he was coughing and complaining of shortness of breath last week and was taking some meds for that. He lost his mother on Friday so he made the trip out here to start the planning on Sunday. On Sunday morning he again was having trouble breathing and 911 was called. That's it...that's all.

Wow. Unbelievable. And so strange that his mom had died on Friday. And him on Sunday.

Here is what was written for Butch's obituary.

All,

Thank you all for your heartfelt wishes for our loss. I have included below the obituary which will be published on Thursday in the Press Telegraph (local paper in Norwalk CA area). Please send flowers if you wish, although in lieu of flowers the family is requesting you make a donation to the charity of your choice in his name or contact Barbara Redick who will be setting up accounts for his children and grandchild to be used for education purposes. If you require additional information, please contact me.

Albert John Schrier, Jr.
August 17, 2008 – Anaheim, CA

Albert, known to his friends and family as Butch, was born in Southern California in June of 1956 to Frances and Albert J. Schrier Sr. Butch grew up in Norwalk and attended Santa Fe High School in Santa Fe Springs. He started his career in the automotive industry at an early age as one of the youngest drag race crew chiefs. His love for all things automotive continued throughout his life, including hot rods, riding dirt bikes, drag racing, building engines and developing new automotive technologies.

He was survived by his daughter Tammy, sons A.J. and Robert, and grand-daughter Kamryn. Butch was a Brother, Uncle, Father, Grandfather to some, but most of all he was a friend to all.

Viewing will be held on Thursday, August 21, at 5:00 p.m. at Chapel of Memories. Services for Butch will be held on Friday, August 22, at 11:00 a.m. at Bethany Church in Long Beach, CA. He will be laid to rest at Little Lake Cemetery in Norwalk.

Wow. I feel like I do want to go to the funeral. I really hate the viewing part, and believe it should be for family. It might help make it more real. It is so hard to have this sink in -- when someone goes suddenly.

I keep wanting to share with someone who knew him. I always believed God brought me into his life for a purpose. I guess only Butch knows if I did my job. I guess I am now glad I visited him in North Carolina last December, even if it didn't turn out how I had hoped.

He had just e-mailed me on Wednesday, asked me to keep in touch. I sent him some news and mentioned I had known him almost 5 years. Either yesterday or Sunday, I wondered about him and thought about why he had not e-mailed back. I thought about him this morning even. It's going to be hard to think of him as gone.

August

I need a hobby. A hobby that does not involve a screen -- as in the computer or TV.

The hobby should be gardening, but in the August heat, not so good (although I did manage to prune ALL my rosebushes to remove the dead flowers last Sunday).

The hobby should be scrapbooking since I have one ton of photos from London and Paris, but I just can't muster up the wherewithall. Is that how you spell it? And where can I buy some?

The hobby should be cross stitching since I bought a kit last year, and never managed to get past sorting all my floss colors. Hmmm. Maybe if I become bedridden . . .

The hobby should be walking. I just can't manage to drag myself up the steep inclines of my neighborhood. There is always the new gym they built at the bottom of my hill, but that costs money!

The hobby should be cleaning, but that really is a chore, not a hobby, right? We are doing okay. And no one visits lately.

Okay, I'm back to TiVo and Internet. And it's a lot like work using the Internet -- uses all the same muscles. Well, TiVo IS my true love, but I'm thinking I should break TiVo's damn heart! I gotta branch out.

Well, there's always shopping, but again -- the $$$ thing.

ARGH.

Everyone should have a river run through the middle of their town.

Sitting by the Seine.


Courtney and the pyramid court of the Louvre


ME! Happy as a clam in front of Nike and her fans.


It's funny what you remember about a whirlwind day tour of Paris.

I remember getting up wicked early to catch a black cab to the station to catch the Eurostar.

I remember the beggars outside Notre Dame, "Do you speak English."

I remember the cute little park next to our bateau mouche dock. So cute.

I remember the butter and ham sandwich! And my cold Heineken, waiting for the boat tour.

I remember the crazy girls in front of us, taking videos of each other, all the way down the Seine.

I remember walking into the first courtyard of the Louvre and being wowed. So big.

I remember the statues brought up from the basement, covered in a gauzy fabric, looking sad.

I remember the deep crimson walls of the Italian painting hall in the Louvre.

I remember being so frustrated, trying to buy a ticket at the Orsay, only to find out it was free.

I remember sitting with some statues outside the museum after it closed, drinking water.

I remember when we couldn't find the Metro station near Musee d'Orsay.

I remember sitting on the steps of Sacre Coeur with hundreds of folks, listening to some African guy play Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen on his electric guitar and little amp. It became a singalong. I wonder if they know it means Praise the Lord?

St. Stephen's Tower

Pillars of Royal Naval College, outside the Painted Hall


Looking back across the River



Sunset after 9:00 p.m. Crazy, right?

Royal Observatory Cafe Terrace

St. Stephen's Tower (aka Big Ben)

It was a long day. We missed the Shakespeare walking tour because we had not planned for train delays. Avoid South Kensington station in the a.m. That's all I'm going to say about that.

I took advantage of the moment and avoided pouting about the missed tour. We went down the pier and bought tickets to Greenwich. It was such a nice day in the sun on the River Thames. We got to see so much from the river. It was a slow and lazy trip down and such a lovely place once we got there.

We saw the Royal Observatory, the Prime Meridian, the fabulous park full of grass and trees, the Queen's House, and the Royal Naval College. We managed to load up on cash at an ATM and hit the gift shop just off the Greenwich Pier. We had lunch at the Observatory Cafe and looked at the park. Just beautiful.

When we returned, we walked around Westminster Abbey, down Whitehall Street with the war memorials, peeked at the Royal Horse Guard area and looked toward 10 Downing Street . . . all before embarking on our Westminster by Gaslight (London Walking Tour). We had a really great guide named Angela. She had a very dry humor and a quick wit and had loads of stories about Parliament, the House of Commons, the House of Lords, the history of the places, and a little bit of politics thrown in for good measure. We shared in the Bush bashing, and walked all around, across the River, and back.

One of my best, most unique experiences was sitting in on the House of Commons. I guess it was a debate about Food Security. We heard a lot about Bovine TB and badgers, and how they do things in France and the States. I was fascinated by the set-up and figured out the smartest folks were on the Front Benches.

What a day. I'm sorry we missed Shakespeare and the Globe Theatre and Bankside, but I was so grateful to have a day in Greenwich. (Three people had recommended it to me, and it seems it was meant to be.)

Random Shots

Prince Albert & Queen Victoria (Theed 1867)


Stairs in National Portrait Gallery


St. Martin-in-the-Fields Church (Gibbs 1726)

Have you ever seen this lily? I hadn't.

I Guess

I guess I am easily disappointed. I am very enthusiastic and get excited about new possibilities. I spin them in a string of positive expectations, and then all it takes is a good strong dose of reality to dash my hopes.

My immediate reaction is to push to get my way. I think, “I can make this happen.” If they see my good intentions, my great idea, the plan for something great . . . they will surely come around and join in. Nope. Reality. It can bite – hard.

The question is . . . what then? What do you do next? Pout? Stomp your feet? If you’ve explained your reasoning, that’s all you can do, right? That, and wait.

I guess I have a hard time waiting. That great plan is just sitting there on the horizon, waiting to be realized. I can’t get anyone to play with me, so I sit, looking at the great plan – alone.

I guess that’s the time when a certain sadness sets in. Unrealized hopes are a hard pill to swallow. Or maybe it slides down real easy? And if you do swallow the bitter pill, it can kind of take over and steal your energy and enthusiasm.

There are a few choices at this point. Escapism is good – entertain yourself with movies or books or whatever tickles your fancy. Substances are bad. Altering yourself to a different sort of escape enough times, you either learn or lose.

I guess I should rally to be productive, get all the things done that need doing and cannot be escaped. This is tough. I am more energized when I’m part of the great plan with hopes being lived out. I get sluggish and lethargic and keep looking for escapism. I end up in a TV marathon of movies on TV, TiVo, or DVDs, avoiding the chores and real life.

And so I sit here writing about it. All I can say is, “I guess,” when I’m sure I should be working away. After working all week through the drudgery of sitting in front of screen, here I am in front of a screen.

I guess I’ll take a break from my week of work, and watch a movie. Yeah, I guess that will be great. That, and a cup of coffee. If only I could hire a maid and a gardener. Life would be a bit more perfect. Then, I could sit in a clean house or out in the tidy garden. Dang. I guess I shoulda been born rich.

Buck House

London and Paris

We did it. We turned our dollars into Pounds and Euros, and toured a little bit of Europe. It was my second time to Paris and our first time ever to see London.

Here we are the Royal Observatory in Greenwich - the site of 0 degrees longitude and Greenwich Mean Time. What a lovely place.

Does this observatory not remind you of some crazy professor living up on the hill near Mary Poppins? It must have been built around that time.

We especially liked having lunch near the back of this building, with a view of the Royal Park.

Horrorscope

This is a good time to follow that urge to express your deep inner changes in your personal growth and publish or write your own books.

Wow.

Nice.

It doesn't say anyone will read it or buy a book, now does it?

My Yahoo Horrorscope is often very insightful and strangely accurate. I try to ignore it. I don't really believe in running your life according to how the planets and stars align. God surely doesn't appreciate the worship of creation more than Creator.

Sometimes, I think we look for signs in all the wrong places. Well, at least I do. I tend to look for signs and wonders everywhere -- just more evidence of being a romantic idealist, full of faith and enthusiasm. Too bad that all my entusiasm is getting bashed by reality, and it's is taking a toll.

I try to BE REAL. Just be real with me. Yeah. If you are real enough for long enough, it will dash even your highest hopes. Maybe that's why we love movies and music so much. It's not real! Films take us away to another place, someone else's story full of beautiful people on a flickering screen. And the best music is a rhythmic, rhyming, idealize version of someone else's story that tickles your ears and your heart.

Yeah, I guess I like to live in that place -- movies and music, more than real life. Well, my love horrorscope for this month also said . . .

By the 14th and 15th, you could be tapping into a whole range of deeply-felt emotions: Passion, jealousy, moodiness, possessiveness. Sure, not all of these are comfortable, but you'd do better to explore them than to ignore them.

Yup. My 50th birthday on the 15th and I'll be feeling deeply. No doubt. I have plans to go hear my first ever Philharmonic Symphony -- Beethoven's Third. He changed the course of classical music to Romanticism. I bet he felt something very deeply to compose this one.

Yay. And Happy Birthday to me.

Senior Prom

I should dig up my senior prom portrait. I think I wore a ridiculous wreath of daisies in my hair, and carried a little bouquet of daisies, too. I loved them and the yellow lace dress I designed and my mother made for me. I think it was some of her finest work.

However, all the kids at prom pegged me as Mother Nature. Oh well, better noticed than not noticed? Of course, it didn't help that my date wore a YELLOW PLAID TUX. Guess he wanted to be noticed, too.

So I did my darndest to make sure my baby girl, now 16, looked beautiful and elegant and not like a bad margarine ad. I was sweating it out on Saturday afternoon with the curling iron upstairs during a heat wave, putting on the heaviest makeup she's ever worn, complete with eyelashes and three kinds of eyeliner. This, after weeks of planning which dress, which accessories, what kind of hairdo, and determining can we make do with the shoes we have?

She was a goddess in gold.

Next stop . . . Graduation. To celebrate . . . a trip to London! And Paris!

Eat at Joe's Diner. Have some pie!

"Dear Baby, I hope someday somebody wants to hold you for 20 minutes straight and that's all they do. They don't pull away. They don't look at your face. They don't try to kiss you. All they do is wrap you up in their arms and hold on tight, without an ounce of selfishness in it."

I rented the movie "Waitress" last weekend, and this is the BEST quote from it -- a special moment when the kindest man in her life does hold her for 20 minutes without expecting anything in return. You just have to see it.

I was very touched to learn that the writer/director, Adrienne Shelly (who also starred in the film as one of the waitresses), was murdered just before the film was a hit at Sundance. She was just 40, a wife and the mother of a beautiful little girl. It's so sad to think about it. She just hit her peak for love and life, and then was taken away senselessly.

So see the movie, and wait for the moment. It is so worth it.

Happiest Place on Earth

We had free tickets! Yay!
We ate giant corn dogs and candy! Yay!
We went on Space Mountain and Big Thunder Mountain twice each. Yay!
We waited in line for the Finding Nemo ride at 10:00 p.m. It was great. Yay!

Un Jour, Je Voudrais Visiter Paris Encore

Today, I bought a ticket to Paris.

Sitting on my couch in my living room, the signal left the laptop and travelled however the internet gets me to the London office of Eurostar.com. I got that weird feeling in my stomach when I know I am about to make a purchase I can't quite afford. I pushed the button anyway and charged two non-flexible tickets for the express train under the English Channel. Yup, non-refundable. We ARE going! That wasn't so hard, was it?

I probably wouldn't have pushed the button, except that the tickets were selling out (three months in advance!) and the dollar gets worse each week compared to the GB Pound or the Euro. Selling out? Nooo!!! The prices climbed a bit since I last checked, and we want to go on Friday instead of Monday since The Louvre is open late on Fridays. I guess everybody wants to go to Paris on Friday? It's probably the equivalent of a Friday flight on Southwest to Las Vegas, right?

Now, how to see Paris and the whole damn Louvre in one day. Hmmm. Not really feasible, but we are going to give it a go. If we get back by midnight, we can sleep in before the big concert starts in Hyde Park at 2:00 in the afternoon. We GOTTA be there early enough to get a good spot to see John Mayer open the show. With Sheryl Crow and Eric Clapton to follow, I might just be in rock n roll heaven. Live music . . . in the park . . . in the middle of London, England . . . the day after roving around Paris. The anticipation is almost too much.

I am having fun, researching the trip online. Remember the days when all you had was a brochure or a book?

Okay, back to reality and my spreadsheet of the costs of this monster trip.

And If I Had a Million Dollars

Twice today, I was asked how I would spend a million dollars (after taxes).

Typical response for the $1 million . . .

• $600,000 for a decent house (prices are dropping yanno)


• $50,000 for a fab car (will that pay for a basic Lexus?)


• $100,000 for college tuition for the kid (is that enough?).

I would love to find a way to help others rather than just be selfishly prudent. 10% won't go very far, but I would definitely give away at least that much ($100,000).

What do I have left? $150,000? I might buy a flower shop business, and live happily ever after as a shop owner and oh-so-creative floral designer -- even if I do have to work every Mother's Day and Valentines Day and every Saturday in June.

Of course, the kid would end up wanting to go to grad school, the car would get old, the house would need painting and new plumbing. Wait, how do I pay for my big property taxes?

Now, see how I can worry -- even about how to spend money I don't even have?! Makes me want to say, "Oy, keep the million. I'll do fine on my own."

But I would love that flower shop dream to come true.

What Fingers?

I'm a suspect -- a glaucoma suspect. Who knew?

I went in for my second round of glaucoma testing this morning. They never mentioned anything about dilating my eyes AGAIN, but they did! ARGH. It’s such a sunny day! I was going to get stuff done today, but now I'm hiding out from the sun and sort of nauseous with my giant pupils again. It feels like a migraine when I get sensitive to the light.

I guess they got a lot of nice retina scans to look for "cupping." She probed me for the thickness of the cornea with some tiny ultrasound device. I am not sure how that measurement helps. They repeated a vision test with my glasses on and took the eye pressure and blood pressure.

I did the visual fields test and it seemed like there was A LOT OF NOTHING in the middle of the test for my right eye. That really shook me up, and I made little muffled groaning noises. Surely there must have been little lights I just could not see.

I wanted to cry. It's a scary moment to think that whatever part of the eye was being tested . . . is just blind. Like the traumatic moment in the movies when they ask the blinded hero, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

And the dreaded response is, "What fingers?"

So I feel like I failed or something. It made me want to take the test again. I kept thinking I could do better. I hate failing tests. Thinking about it now, there's nothing to be done to avoid failing. If I can't see the little lights, I just can't, but I really do feel like they should have been there.

Dang.

Like the Mexican-American nurse told me when she checked me in for my first round of evaluation, "Eet's not lookeen good for yuuu."

Nice.

Thanks.

February 15th: After the Hype is Over

Yes, I survived Valentines Day, thank you very much. What a frantic rush of commercialism in the name of LOVE!

I saw couples heading for dinner last night. I checked them out. Do they MEAN it? Do they love each other every day? Or do they set aside their differences for the night? Is that as dressed up as that guy gets?! Is he really taking her to SoupPlantation as a special occasion? In a suit? (I'd pass if I got that invitation.)

So. Much. Hype.

Gosh, there is a lot of pressure to produce on February 14th. Although I'm not sure which is worse . . . to expect something and be let down, not to expect anything because he always lets you down, or not to have a Valentine sweetie at all.

Here is how I survived:

- Hid a small box of See's candy and a fabulous sparkly fairy card in the cereal bowl cabinet the night before for
my Valentine. (She smiled, but did not seem impressed.)
- Got kid ready for school.
- Realized that she had not finished her 15 Harry Potter Valentines with stickers and little boxes of conversation hearts the night before.
- Realized at 7:31 a.m. (we leave at 7:30 a.m. for school) that she could not print her super-custom valentine as the printer was out of black ink.
- Discovered that the spare "photo black" ink cartridge I had purchased for such an occasion would not help. We need the other black!
- Realized on our way to school that I was not going to get anything -- not even a kind word or the leftover box of conversation hearts -- from my sweet little Valentine girl. Geez.
- Had words and tears over this. (It's hard being 16. You just naturally ignore your single mom who sacrifices everything for your happiness and well-being!)
- Held my tongue when she wrote "Mamma" on the spare box of candy hearts.
- Realized I have PMS and gave up sweets for Lent -- so there will be no joy in Mudsville today.

- Drank coffee out my Beatles/Cirque du Soleil LOVE coffee mug! (Possibly the best moment of my day.)
- Drove to work, and got caught in traffic behind 3 accidents on 2 freeways.
- Fed 15 people or so for a lunch meeting. Tangy Tomato Salad is a hit again.
- More work, work, work.
- Drove in hideous, Valentine dinner time traffic. Everyone was going somewhere.
- Picked up kid at boyfriend's house -- fully loaded with a basket stuffed animals, chocolates, silk roses, mylar ballons. He got her a little bracelet. Ah, puppy love. How sweet.
- I drove through Weinerschnitzel (second time this week) for a Polish Sandwich and Iced Tea. (I had 10 minutes to get to my next stop and was in the wrong part of town for good food.)
- Headed for the Drum Line performance for parents so I could pass out the lastest fundraising propaganda. This Band Parents volunteer thing is killing me -- 3rd night this week.
- Went home and treated myself to pistachios -- remember, no sweets!
- Got to watch Eli Stone. That show is a treat for me.
- Looked at last year's heart-shaped See's candy box (sitting on a shelf under the TV, now holding greeting cards), and realized that all of this loneliness without an official "Valentine Man" is better than enduring the abuse of Mean Drunk Guy who thought I owed him big time for any such gifts, and it was okay to beat me up if he got drunk enough.

Yeah. I survived. All of it.

Hard Rock Calling 2008 - Hyde Park, London - June 28-29

YAY! We're going to London.

It's the kid's graduation gift -- the experience of a lifetime, complete with Eric Clapton and The Police, and our other favorites John Mayer and Sheryl Crow. Check out the Hard Rock Calling website. We have weekend tickets. We have plane tickets on Air France. And we are so very, very excited. Woo hoo!

And now, if you all could think good thoughts and try to get the dollar to come back in relation to the Pound and the Euro. Geez, we may not be able to eat over there! I read that Starbucks coffee and muffins for two is about $30. Whoa. And don't even get me started on hotel prices. The ones I can afford actually have enough fleas to be called fleabags. So we are going to pay the ransom asked by one of the cheapest Hilton Hotels, I think. Unless I can come up with an alternate plan.

Once in a lifetime -- together at least.

I am hoping to take the train to Paris. Those tickets are $105 on the Eurostar. I didn't realize it was only 2-1/2 hrs. to Paris under The Channel. Awesome. We are heading for the Louvre for sure with possible pit stops at the Tour Eiffel and Notre Dame. Hmm, what else can we do in one day? That's probably the limit.

Any helpful hints? I am all over Trip Advisor for cheap touring tips, but I can always use more!

Hundreds of Great Thoughts

And yet, none of them are here in my blog. I guess I've been too busy with life to post anything here. No one reads it anyhoo. Just me. My little dalliance. And after my dismal failure at NaBloPoMo, I got discouraged.

I have also been busy trying to jump start some resolutions. I really want to be healthier [read lighter] and I resolved to join the gym they built at the base of my hill for me -- but only after the New Year's swell in gym attendance dies down. Okay, now it's Valentines Day, and I need to get in there! I will.

At least I resolved to give up all sweets for Lent. Never been Catholic, but I like the tradition. Some things only come by prayer and fasting, you know. I messed up last weekend in the excitement of a big Filipino family party (family of my daughter's boyfriend). I wolfed down some Devil's Food Cake and something called a Turon (banana in a deep fried egg roll wrapper, covered in stickiness). Yum. When I automatically restrained myself from a second Turon, I stopped to ask myself why. Oh yeah, I'm off sweets. Damn. I messed up.

Well, I'm back on the wagon, and surely craving anything that resembles a cookie. The only problem is . . . we always have cookies, and candies, and donuts at work. This is hard. I have substituted corn nuts, dried peas, and a few nuts. It is really not the same.

So . . . that is my world. Restraining myself, working, and getting the kid to Colorguard practice and competitions, and serving on the dang Band Parents Association -- torture of the highest order. Seriously.

Here is the result of many hours and days of practicing . . .

Oh, and we're going to London!!

Been There

Okay, I've been to North Carolina and back. It even snowed on me. Somehow, I thought there would be a lot more kisses involved. Turns out I'm his buddy. Yeah, buddy. There's a prefix on that buddy bit, but I will not dignify the term with a mention here. Let it suffice to say . . . I'm a fool for love. And when there's no love involved, I refuse to be fooled any longer.

I saw a lot of trees, not many with leaves, but lots and lots of trunks and branches. I kept trying to imagine the branches with greenery. I guess it's like imagining my buddy sprouting fresh new signs of life by adding some love. Some things are not meant to be. Some things are meant to be, but you can't get the man to cooperate. Yeah. That's the moving on time.

I should know better. Look for signs of life and love and light BEFORE investing your heart!

Extra Credit

Okay, I'm going for extra credit to make up for my Sunday failure.

Here is the long-awaited Homecoming Dance photo post. Ah to be 16 and that damn happy. So few mistakes have been made. The world is your oyster. (Is that a good thing? I'd rather have the world be my own personal Toys R Us, I think.)

OMG I Failed!

I missed Sunday! I was going for streak of blogging every day in November.

Well, I achieved a personal best of like 3 days in a row. Wowie. Dang. What are the rules? I'll just keep going. I don't really need a prize or anything. What would I do with WordPress help of any kind when I can't even function this Blogger account, really.

I've learned in life that the FREE prize is not really all that great. It is a powerful motivator to get anything for free. I have put out some big effort for even a CHANCE at a prize. I have worked hard or achieved some silly thing just to get a little prize that I don't want.

I guess this kind of wisdom comes with age. And yes, I am pretty damn old . . . on a slippery slide down to 50 next year. I looked at my hands this morning, and they are the hands of an old woman. Of course, it doesn't help that I rarely give them any good moisture. I might try drinking more than 8 ounces of water to hydrate the skin, but NOOOOOOOOO!

Anyhoo . . . all that is to say I'm no prize. I will not win the NaBloPoMo prize. I don't want a prize (other than the Mega Millions winning ticket or perhaps a late entry Prince Charming to spend my old age with). And I'm going to think of some prize to motivate someone.

Oh yeah, $20 to my daughter and her boyfriend was offered this afternoon if they'd rake, mow and sweep our little condo yard. Now, if you raking those damn Sycamore leaves out of every bush and border, it doesn't really seem like a small task, but it is a smallish L-shaped yard.

I'll let you know how they did. They were pretty excited about the offer of money. And that's a prize we all go for, eh?

Memory Triggers

I got stuck on VH1 today, starting with an hour on Freddie Mercury, followed by an hour of Elton John. I skipped most of Pink Floyd and Syd Barrett, but saw some interesting moments. The best part I am saving on TiVo . . . The Amazing Journey of The Who.

I was such a Beatles and Stones girl that I never really got into the history of The Who even though I love them and have seen them twice now (finally! it took until the new millennium!).

Watching old 60s stuff triggered my earliest memories of where I was when I heard certain music. Embedded in my mind is the time my best childhood friend's mother took us for a ride in the dad's baby blue Mustang. It was the coolest car in the neighborhood and she was the mom who was the most fun. The Beatles were on the radio with Come Together. Cool. I guess it was from the 1969 album Abbey Road. What a great song -- so obtuse to an 11-year-old. And riding around in a Mustang, singing along? So. Very.

We were totally into the Beatles, my best friend and me. Of course, we were too young to have our own records, but we would sneak into her sister or brothers collections and play their albums before school. We acted out all the songs and listened to them over and over while we tried to figure out the album covers and liner notes. We would also smoke cigarettes, but that's another story for NaBloPoMo.

When I finally got to buy my first record, it was The Ballad of John and Yoko, which was a single in 1969. I guess The Beatles were about to break up if you hear the name Yoko in the actual title of the song. I remember my second 45 as The Doors' Love Her Madly, but that didn't come out until 1971. Surely there was something in between.

I used to get out my little phonograph and 45s and play them alone in my room. I would save my allowance for trips to Sears where they had a display of the top 25 singles. I remember the cost being 49 cents, but it might have been 99 cents. Around the same time, we used to go see two movies for 49 cents. My folks would give us $1 and we could get in and buy popcorn or candy, too.

I wish I could remember more of the singles I bought. We were pretty poor, so maybe I just didn't have that many, but I remember a small stack. And who could forget putting in the little piece of plastic in the big hole of the 45 rpm records? I think I had a cylinder that would let me stack them, which would drop one at a time. Wow. Good times.

Now back to The Who on VH1.

Friday Yuck

The day that will not end. It's only 2:30 and it feels like 6:00. Maybe I am anticipating the time change. Maybe too much has happened here today. ARGH!!! I'm fed up with this day that drags, and the mail has not even arrived.




I have sent way to many e-mails, rearranged the storage closet, called the building engineers when the kitchen drain backed up. Now I have to pay some bills, and return some parts that were ordered according to spec., but are wrong. The boss left for the day, two other people are out, and I want out myself! At least I have the mail to look forward to.



Okay, I will find you a lovely photo for today that has nothing with office drudgery. How about a nice Puss N Boots playing the clarinet on Halloween. You don't see that everyday!

New Month - All Month

Okay, it is once again National Blog Posting Month (NaBloPoMo). Check the link there to see who thought this up. The challenge of the month is to post every day. I have NEVER attempted this superblogger feat, but I am going to do it . . . no matter how short the entry.

I guess I can enter photos since I have been more actively taking photos and getting them onto the computer. I just looooooove blogs with photos. (Lately, I am thinking I am way too visual.) Of course, the camera is not with me at the moment or I'd have some cool high school homecoming photos of my daughter's pep band performing and her semi-formal outfit for the dance, AND some interesting Halloween shots.

Let's see what I DO have here on this machine . . . okay . . . how 'bout first day of school, senior year, for my 16-year-old? Nice shot of her, I thought.

Carry on. I'll be back tomorrow.

Mute, but not Deaf

Okay, I have no voice. It seems like a cosmic message . . . . "Shut up!"

I have been sick, then sicker, then what-the-heck-is-going-on sick. I had to make a deal with God in the dark of the night when I couldn't stop coughing, it made me throw up a little and pee my pants a lot. Sheesh. I think I had to give up two secret crushes and agree not to have sex for a month -- or some terms like that. Actually, I think I had to clear my mind of all distractions and pray for healing.

The main problem was that I was working, leading a tour of 30-40 people all around So Cal and over to the desert of Las Vegas to visit Hoover Dam. Climbing hills and dealing with desert heat, I had to be "on" when I wanted to be down and out and sleeping in a bed. I was up very early, organizing breakfast, lunch, dinner and drinks on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, then rearranging hotel rooming list on Saturday morning. Sheesh.

I hit urgent care once my plane landed at home. I got good drugs which have a whole set of side effects you don't want to know, but I am on the mend.

Maybe now I won't have to learn sign language. Maybe a week later, I'll have my voice back?

Maybe if I turn in my 17 hours of OT, I'll feel better?

It Must Be Me

He was lovely, and just my type -- tall, blond, blue eyes, friendly, casual, talkative. Just my age. Single parent of a teen like me.

We talked, we laughed, we shared. All great, right? Well, he didn't buy my drink. Now, it might seem okay. I got there first, and bought my own glass of wine since I seriously needed one. They were small and expensive, so I needed another one after an hour or so, and ordered it.

"That'll be $9."

He did not reach, he did not offer. He did not intend to pay. I reached for my purse after that painful pause. "Let me see if I have another $9."

You know, it could be that he wrote me off as not his type the second he saw me. I hate that, but it could be true.

His son called his cell phone. Maybe it was a rescue call. Call me at this time, and if I don't like her, I'll have a reason to leave. "Yeah, I have to go. He needs me to make him dinner."

Okay, I have a 16-year-old. She knows how to make soup, Easy Mac, hot dogs, grilled cheese, and a few other items.

Oh well. He was very lovely. I enjoyed the whole hour-and-a-half immensely -- even if I did have to buy my own wine.

Kismet?

I remember hearing this word back in the 60s. I guess people said that like we say Karma. Now, we're not really Hindu and we don't really believe that way, but we DO believe what goes around, comes around. Well, Kismet is some sort of Muslim word for the will of Allah. Okay, now. Erase, erase, erase. I will have nothing to do with that form of religion. I will just look for big blessings. And they come every day, well -- at least small ones. I was thinking of Kismet in a wonderful romantic way of meeting. I'll have to find another word.

In the beginning of what is now the Internet, I used to prowl Love at AOL. This was like in 1994. I met a dozen or so people in person and never had a second date. And, yes, I got a complex.

I have looked on Yahoo Personals for years, and even married one in 1999. YIKES! That's another story for another day. It didn't last long, but it's a long and sad story. I'll tell you about that later.

I met a very lovely, emotionally unavailable, blond-haired, blue-eyed, hunk of a man way back in 2003 on Match.com. It was under miraculous circumstances, and I was sure. He was The One. Coulda been, but he decided I was not The One. He still wants to be buddies if you know what I mean.

After adjusting my brain or getting it around all of that, I met Mr. Wonderful from my high school class reunion. Coulda, shoulda, woulda got very serious. Then I figured out he was actually Mr. Mean Angry Drunk Man Who Must Control All. We can't have that. We really can't. No one should. The cost is too high. With emotional abuse comes the most unhealthy form of destruction. It starts on the inside.

Not to worry. I drew a line and stood my ground, defending my life and rejecting all hate. That is not love and you can't sell me on it. My life was good before I met him, miserable with him, and good again now that he's gone. It sure makes you appreciate those days alone, cleaning your place, watching a movie, and doing any damn thing you please without fear of retribution.

Okay, I've been laying low, working hard, cleaning the house, volunteering, and going to church. I have peeked at Yahoo, Match, and even BBW personals. I have looked a couple times on Craig's List to admire the work of the perverts. On Saturday night, I saw a friendly CL ad which was just my speed. I don't know where I mustered the courage and confidence. I guess it mostly came from my buddy who called me vivacious. After four years as a friend, he called me vivacious. Nice.

On Sunday afternoon, I found a response. This was his only post and he got no local responses, except mine. He doesn't like to e-mail much, so how about we meet to determine chemistry. Well, last time I heard chemistry, it was preceded by the word "no." Or was it fireworks he wanted? Can't quite recall. So, you never know, but I think it's a good match.

Tuesday. Magnolia. I'll let you know. Maybe fate?

P.S. He sent photos and he is adorable.