I'm Back...And Hell's Coming With Me!

I gotta have time to think now.

My genius young friend, Cloie Sandlin, plugged me back in.

More soon!!

The Tao and the Now, Willie's Way

Don’t think no negative thoughts.

Breathe, and then let things go.

Be true to your nature and true to yourself;

Live now and go with the flow.

We’re not in control.

Crown thy good with brotherhood.

Follow the Golden Rule.

Nature will certainly win in the end,

Until then, burn biofuel.

Trust and tell the truth.

That’s the Tao of Willie.

It may sound weird or a little bit silly,

But you know a man who’s smoked that much pot

Ain’t gonna say something’s true if it’s not.

That’s the Tao of Willie.

You can’t help but live by the Tao,

Because all it means is that you’re living now.

Today is the date my Mama died, twelve years ago that seem like yesterday. And her old friends who I keep up with are going, too. I miss her and all of them. You can see why on YouTube; search for "Mama, What Do You Wish?"

It snowed last night, and I rose very early, stepped outside in the dark, and smelled the freshness. Then I picked up my copy of The Tao of Willie to uplift my spirits, which it did in even better measure than the last time I read it, which I do regularly. As I do with Winter by Rick Bass. (Do yourself a favor and read these books.)

My mama was born in Abilene, Texas, and she was a true lady in the fine, lovely, and raucous semblance of Ann Richards and Molly Ivins. They all died too young. We all will, too.

But Willie ain't afraid, and Willie's got the right balance of lyric and melody and story in his thoughts and philosophy, just like in his songs. Thanks, Willie.

 

And thanks, Mama.

65 — the New 45...right?

Okay, I did it—I signed my Medicare card and got a new health plan. That's a good thing overall. I believe in socialized medicine and retirement; even though the government imposed prepayments of a sort, the benefits are also government provided and will probably be way more than I put into either program when working. I like getting a Social Security check each month. Glad it's not my only income, couldn't live on it, but still...it's nice.

After a long, snake-bit summer of construction, destruction, and reconstruction, I'm happy to get ready to sock it in for winter and prepare "stuff" for a series of downsizing sales next year. This time for sure.

It's also nice that nobody has called me "Medicare Marsha" or even "old lady"—yet. 

So happy birthday to me! I'll take every day I can get and love it.

Same old, same old...more old

I've taken my head out of the sand
And signed my Medicare card
Though growing old is indeed what I planned
My soul still feels young—but it's scarred.

Evolution takes too long to, well, evolve. William Goldman said "Nobody knows nothing," and it seems that's true, even after eons of life lessons that should teach us—especially the young—something, but doesn't. Circumstances and the world change, but human nature and people's ways seem to stay the same over time. We watch ourselves and others in dismay over repetitive behavior. What's up with that? 

Nobody listens to nobody else or learns from others' experiences. We each seem determined to have to learn every damn thing for ourselves. Generation after generation. And I'm certainly no different. Probably even worse than many. Sigh. 

I really would like a do-over so I can do better. Does Medicare cover 80% of do-overs?
 

Try Hard With A Vengeance...Soon!

Okay, enough's enough. It's been a "dark" year on the blog for me, and for the most part, that's okay. However, I got my Medicare card in the mail, (guess I better sign it soon), and it's time to pull my head out and look around...not enough precious time left. And I'm gonna miss this.

I will be starting my new and improved (as in, regular, ha) blogging off with the next family reunion...my husband Jim's, in Montana. More to come after it happens, soon. Stay tuned.

I took early Social Security, will soon be on the Medicare dole (although I'm totally healthy and take no prescription drugs), and if the government would just give me a work-from-home writing/editing job with benefits, life would be peachy beyond belief. As it is, it's still pretty good. 

So this July message is just to get me back into it a bit in preparation for the mid-August-and-onward blitz. 

If that's a promise now in writing, it must be true, yes?!  ;-)

We Pulled It Off--With Guts and Gusto

And they said it couldn't be done!

Well, we did it. The gathering went off without too much of a hitch and without any major blowouts or too much trauma. Almost 'nuff said right there. Whew!

The photo is of the four "original" Frantsen siblings: Polly, Scott, Marsha, Dan. Oh, and the youngest addition, Dallas Rose, who is Dan's granddaughter and the others' great niece and a perfect little Rosebud of a baby.

The weather was PERFECT; cool and dry for mid-July in MO...until, of course, it poured rain harder than I have seen in years on party night, forcing about 30 of us, 2 cats, and 4 dogs indoors. Yikes. But that's where the music was anyway, so no biggee.

My major personal contribution to peace-keeping was not slapping the shit out of Dan several times. Yay, me! Yay, him, for his own type of restraint through most of it. Family history. You don't need to know it all.

Suffice it to say, the entire clan had the time of our lives. To quote a nephew: "This has been the most fun I've had in a single week in my whole life." How cool is that?

Group picture to come. I'll pull together a photo CD for everyone, along with a list of contact/personal info, and off we go into the wild blue yonder of family connections.  

My good friend Mike gave me a night away from the madness/fun with a great chat and a couple of stiff drinks. Thanks, mm! (My good intentions really were to pick up that tab; sorry. Next time, I promise.)

Polly and I drove home straight through, even though we and the dogs were dog tired. Everything had worked; we were happy. Until I chipped a huge chunk out of a front tooth on the drive home. Shit. Now to the dentist. There's always something. At least it's only my problem to deal with.

Glad we did it; glad everyone had a blast; glad to be home. And so it goes with family reunions. I guess. At least this first time.

The Short Adventure Begins

Tomorrow my sister and I leave for Missouri. The trip to Lee's Summit is about 13 hours. She and I have been a bit estranged for several years, so this will be illuminating and perhaps freeing.

Her vehicle will be packed with stuff, lots of it presents and fun stuff for the kids and the Kickers, my brothers' band. And us and two dogs.

We have music, lots of it from Texas, and some audio books, which I've never listened to. Jack Reacher. I do read a lot and love Jack, so it will be fun to experience being read to aloud like a kid again.

Back at the LS home of my older brother, he and his wife are preparing for the onslaught. At least 14 of us will spend most of the time there...whew! Purple hearts all around. But it's big with a huge yard, so it'll be fine and fun.

My younger brother will be there. He has never met his daughter-in-law or his two wonderful granddaughters from Georgia. He's truly psyched. "Marsha, I can't sleep. This is gonna be the best week of my life!" He turns 60 in July. Hope he's right.

With luck, I'll come back with great memories and some good photos that we will always treasure.

Fingers crossed!


   

Frantsen Family Reunion

Summer in Missouri. What was I thinking??

I was thinking people would be likely to get at least a couple of days off in a row, rather than just a single weekend, so we could all spend varying amounts of time on varying days reconnecting.

I think we'll have about 22-25, especially if friends come for the celebration bash. It'll be wild, but everyone's psyched and been duly threatened to mind their behavior. Or else there'll be hell to pay.

My sister and I will hove off in her car a week from tomorrow, with her two dogs and a vehicle full of clothes, etc. We'll either be okay or not; I think we'll be fine. I'll certainly do my part to see to it that we are.

The last time we four "original" children were together was when Dad died in 1997. A couple of the nephews came, too. In between, I've seen just about everyone, but only because I traveled. Still missing some, though -- wives and kids not met yet. Should be a great adventure.

Some of the "second" layer kids haven't seen their brothers/sister in a couple of decades. Close family, huh? Not. It'll be a revelation; hope no revolution.

Dear Diary....sigh. TBC.

195 to 199

The title indicates how many pages long, max, a thriller/suspense/murder mystery book should be. Period. Unless the true author remains true to his or her style and soul. 

I trade books (real ones) with a couple of people who enjoy mainly the same type of reading. It's fun; I've discovered lots of new authors and found myself some new series to investigate and keep reading.

The books are mostly too long, and not because I don't like long books. I love them. But here's what happens: the story is great, moving right along and then boom. Around page 200, it seems the editor hands the book over to a romance novel writer and says: "We can't sell a book this short; read the story and add to it until we have 350-500+ pages so we can ask people to pay $7.99 to $13.99 for a paperback." And they do, and they ruin it. 

Even John Grisham seems to phoney it in these days. I'm currently reading 13 1/2 by Nevada Barr. She had me going great with this psychological suspense story up until, yep, you guessed it—right about page 200. Suddenly I'm reading  overdone descriptions of places and people and schlock like "...on the page in Red's sepulcher" and about hearts pounding bruisingly against ribs.

Huh? I'm a smart girl with a fine grasp of both vocabulary and good writing, and, if I had cared, I would have gone to the dictionary to look up "sepulcher." However, I didn't do that, because I was pissed.

Rule 1: if your writing sends your reader to a dictionary, find another word. A short, easily understandable one so their reading and supposed enjoyment of your book is not interrupted.

I was girl, interrupted, and William F. Buckley is dead.

If the story has interested me until then, I skim the rest to get the gist and climax and resolution. And I mark on my growing list of what I've read that this author is now to be accepted warily into the fold. Three strikes, they're out.

(Okay, just so you don't have to and I am not guilty of the same, "sepulcher" means, essentially, a tomb or resting place for the dead. Can be a noun or a verb, e.g., "If a book bores me or pisses me off, I sepulcher it to the sepulcher of bad writing.")

Life is too short and there are too many books to choose among to read crap you don't like.

And if you like romance novels, great! However, their authors and editors don't cross over well as writer/editors in suspense novels. And if an author is both, beware the "poisonous plant with fast-growing vines" that mixing genres and styles in the same book nourishes...as it kills.