What Happens Next?

If a blogger stops blogging
Or ceases to be,
Will the blog still live on
Through eternity?

Cyberspace still boggles my mind. All those pages and pages of stuff — words, images, music — somewhere in time and space, but physically untouchable, untactile, unreal in a sense.

Without a computer connection, you have no access to all that stuff that you know exists somewhere in space and time. What a weird library. What a weird way to journal, for everybody with a computer to read.

What a weird way to communicate with...you don't even know who!

To me it feels more like essay or memoir writing, rather than a diary or journal. Who the hell wants to know what I had for breakfast?

Then again, who the hell even wants to know what anybody else thinks about anything? There's certainly a human need to communicate, though, even if you don't know who — or whether anyone — may be reading/listening. I guess that's what drives cyberspace interactions.

Once upon a time, people talked face to face, not Facebook to Facebook. I miss those days. And I feel like I'm going to be forever boggled.

The Missing Year

And so this is Christmas
And what have you done?
Another year over
And a new one just begun.

From "Happy Christmas" by John Lennon

Have you ever had one of those years where you look back and ask, "Where the hell did THAT go?" That was 2010 for me. Yes, it happened, and yes, I remember it. I worked hard; stuff happened; I remember it all. But there's something about it that leaves me feeling it's MIA.

What have you done? What did you do? Or is the real question: What did you accomplish?

And what is accomplishment; success; indeed, time? It's different for all of us...the trick is figuring it out for ourselves.

That takes time, and it changes over time, and time is on your side.

Happy Christmas! And happier New Year.

Inside My Mind

And inside her mind, she is running in the summer wind.
Inside her mind, she is running in the summer wind
Like a child again.

From "Child Again," by Beth Nielsen Chapman (a wonderful song about aging; listen to it!)

Some friends brought over two mares and a little filly (still nursing sometimes) to graze on our winter pastures for a while; they're eating it down and getting what little nourishment is left in the grass. They'll leave soon for a small paddock where they can get fed hay and grain, but while they're here, it's great.

I grew up with horses — watching them, raising them, riding them, even taming and training one from a baby, for riding. So it's really fun to see them right outside our windows again. It reminds me of my wonderful childhood...and also the fact that I won't live like this again. So I treasure it every day; all of it. But now, especially with the horses.

I got a pony at age six...the usual recalcitrant, pinto pony. Stocky. Headstrong. Stubborn. Fun. I loved that pony. Mom seemed to name a lot of our animals, and that pony became Twinkle-Toes. Twinks for short. One of my earliest memories is the excitement I felt getting that pony.

Dad taught me how to ride. He got a big buckskin mare of his own, named Honeygal, to ride as part of his work with the sheriff's posse. Volunteer position. He did it for fun, sort of. He did get to carry a gun, so I guess he was playing cowboy a bit. So was I. (And I still have his gun, a neat little pistol.)

I rode the legs off that pony. It wasn't too long before I graduated to Honeygal. I was fearless and free on horseback. I could ride off on my own almost wherever I wanted, and I did. I spent endless hours riding alone, often early in the morning and in the evenings, before and after school, and all summer, of course. Until I left college and moved to Texas. Then the horses stopped.

Dad got it in his head to raise Appaloosas, so we did that for quite a while. Dad and I loved the horses best; the rest of the family tolerated them; sometimes my brother Scott rode, too, but not much. Not like I did. Horses shaped my life in a big way.

So I guess now in my mind, I'm riding in the summer wind, like a child again. And it's great.

All the Lonely People...and Other Living Things

Only the lonely know
The loneliest number is one.
That's how life goes,
And loneliness is no damn fun.

In the World According to AARP, loneliness is fast becoming the new American plague.

I think loneliness has always been the saddest thing a living being can experience. It's tied to loss, but it's much deeper and much worse. The saddest sights, to me, have always been a lone horse, head down in a barren lot. Or a dog with a too-tight collar chained to a post, either barking in frustration or unfeeling in defeat. Or a kid sleeping on the street because he was thrown out or ran away from a horrible home.

The sadness in the world is overwhelming, which is why so many of us avoid seeing it, believing it, and certainly feeling it. We don't want to feel sad, or feel helpless to stop sadness, or feel guilty when we see sadness.

It's time to recognize that the saddest thing in the world is loneliness. And we have to try to do something to make it better whenever we can. The sad part of that is, we often can't. Or won't. And that makes our own souls sad and lonely too.

All the lonely people and pets — where do they all come from?
Uncaring homes.
Where do they all belong?
With loving friends and family.

Or even with loving, caring strangers who become friends and family, if even for a moment.

Retire, Retired, Retiring

When life takes the wind out of your sails
And everything pales in comparison to impending death,
It's time to reassess and do your best
To appreciate every moment...every breath.

Tough job, that — remembering to appreciate life when you're depressed about dying, even if it's not your own death that's immediately looming. You hope.

Lately I've been getting up very early. I usually wake up early and lie in bed, eventually falling back to sleep — or not. But a couple of times now I've gotten up and watched an old move on TCM, and it's been fun. (I'm talking the 4 a.m. movie...or earlier on occasion.)

Oddly, I've been feeling like I'm retired. The reasons don't matter, I guess, but the feeling is strange. No demands on my time. Free to do whatever whenever with no negative repercussions. Although, it's a bit disconcerting to have no pressing daily work or direction. Takes some getting used to.

Feeling retired makes me feel tired. Guess the thing to do is retire to bed and get more sleep.

Or get more work so I can really retire. Aaack!

My Memory Is Becoming a Memory

Where am I going? Where are my keys?

Can you help me find my glasses, please?

What in the world did I come in here for?

I cannot remember anymore.

It's so easy to say the past is dead and gone...but it's not. Our past is our memory — and a big chunk of our lives.

And it's true that tomorrow may not come, and that now is all we can experience, affect, and effect — but now is NOT all we have. We also have what we had. And we have dreams about the future — which means we also have what we don't have.

I can't imagine living with amnesia or Alzheimer's. If you can't remember your past, then who are you now? If you can't dream about the future, who will you become?

I'm not sure that just living in the now and for the moment would really be all it's cracked up to be. I know what people mean when they say that , but they also assume that you get to bring "you" with you.

What would you-me-we be in the present without a past and a future to fuel our lives? I wonder...but I don't really want to find out for myself.

Winging It Home to Texas

I spent my birthday at the bedside of a friend

In the hospital, and whose life, I'm afraid, may end

Before anyone would have ever believed.

Still, she rallied under the growing threat of cancer

That has spread and for which there's no certain answer.

And for now, we are all grateful and relieved.

I wanted and needed to go to Austin to support my dear friend Janet. Stage IV cancer is nothing to face alone...and she does have a wonderful support system. I just wanted to be there for her too, at least while she was in the hospital.

She made a remarkable turnaround in a few days as she responded well to the surgical "cementing" of several of her disintegrating vertebrae. She was weaned off liquid painkillers to oral meds. And she went from unable to move to walking with a walker.

A lot of Jim's family is still in Austin, and they took good care of me. Now I'm home. Janet got to go home. And there's no place like home.

She has a long row to hoe, but she's upbeat and determined. Time will tell.

I'm grateful for many things — including growing another year older.

Losing It

I lose it when I think about losing you.
I lose it when I think about your pain.
You should always choose love
But you can always lose love
And after that, your world is not the same.

No, nobody's died recently, but I have friend battling cancer and our last dog is close to its last legs...and you just know what's coming sooner than later. Sooner than you ever expected or dreamed.

I figure it'll be the same with my own life and death. Sooner than I ever expected or dreamed. And definitely sooner than I ever want!

So day to day is a great way to go...until you go. The bad part is...you must go.

The really bad part: I'm starting to feel like Woody Allen.

Happy Blogiversary to Me

"I've been blogging for a year!"
I proclaim ecstatically.
I'm trying to persevere —
Though somewhat erratically.

I was lying in bed last night, thinking when I should have been sleeping, as I do much too often for good sense or good health, when it occurred to me that I've been online for a year. Actually, to the day today! Cool.

I say "online" sheepishly. I still don't know what the hell I'm doing half the time. And I now have 3 semireal websites...always in progress.

But blogging is fun and fairly easy. So why don't I do it more? Why am I a slacker-blogger? I'm lazy.

But I'll do better this year! I promise. And I'm sure my Magnificent 7 followers will be thrilled.

I started this blog last year when I was about to turn 60. Obviously, I'm about to turn that corner, which was a biggee for me. I've still got the prime of my life to live through — no downhill slopes, for me, please.

Except for the inevitable losses. Stuff. Friends. Pets. Abilities. Sleep.

Stella Van, my mother-in-law used to say, "Life's a day-to-day thing with me." And she was calm and right and okay with the time she had left...no matter how long that was.

We have her ashes on our living room side table, and they're a comfort and a caution, just like she was.

Jim's sister brought them to us to keep for a while, because she's had them since Van died in 2005. It's nice to share! Thanks, Gig. (She's a great response poet; look at the comments.)

I have my mother's ashes, too, and those of one of our dogs. My fave, Ansel.

I have more to say about ashes and all that loss shit and whatnot, but later.

Today I celebrate my 1-year blogiversary!!

You're in the Jailhouse Now

Now if I had the wings of an angel
Over these prison walls I would fly.
I would fly to the arms of my poor darlin',
And there I'd be willing to die.

From "The Prisoner's Song," by Guy Massey

This was a song verse I remembered from childhood for some reason. And it came back to me when I was planning the next journal topic for the women in my writing workshop. It was our second session.

They wrote eloquently about the topic "If I Had Wings." A poem and a narrative description. They were all wonderful and all different. I'm learning so much from them every week.

The first week, they wrote about "What I Believe to Be True About Me." Wow.

You may recall I'm a volunteer with the Literacy Center at the Mesa County Library. Last time, I taught a US Citizenship class. This time, I'm launching a pilot project in the jail. The women said they wanted to do journaling and poetry. Write (ha!) up my alley.

So I went into a jail for the first time in my life. (And was even more grateful I hadn't been caught doing things in the past that would have landed me there.) It was weird.

The prison movies came alive, and it wasn't pretty. But it was different. It was empty.

Every week I walk through a series of doors so heavy they still startle me when they slam shut, even though I expect it. It's clean; too clean. Too white. Too stark.

I have to wait at each door until my buzz is noticed by "the tower." And in between each door, I'm isolated. Stuck alone between two doors I couldn't open myself if I had a grenade.

Then I walk to our classroom, which is big and empty and echoes everything. Plastic chairs. Bare walls. Three small tables for the women to use as writing surfaces. I have to sit in the sight line of the tower. If I don't and they don't see me for a while, COs (Correctional Officers) will come running. Thankfully.

But I'm not afraid. The halls are wide and empty. The seargent's office is close by. Heavy doors separate me from the population...as far as I can tell. Still, it's strange.

The women — we started with 7 — are great. Mostly in for drugs, theft, and domestic violence. (Yes, women hit, too. Escpecailly if they're violent alcoholics.) I can't tell you about them individually, but I like them all.

Last week when I showed up, one had been shipped off to prison in the early morning hours, and one woman had decided the workshop wasn't for her. The remaining 5 will stay, I think, until they peel off without notice as they are sentenced or go to fill their sentences.

Until then, we'll act like everything is normal. Because it is...we're the first, so whatever we do is what is normal. We'll see. I''ll let you know more as we go on.

###

It's All Bigger Than Us

Well, I woke up Sunday morning with no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad, so I had one more for dessert.

Okay, make that Saturday and a double dessert. Tomatoe. Tomato. Mox nix. It's results that count.

Anyway, so early it was still dark, I popped a bottle of Tecate, squeezed in some lemon juice, and went out on the front porch with Tess, our dog. Thinking of Janet and Mom and Dad -- losses you live with and losses to come that you'll also live with.

And as I tipped my head up for that first tangy, cold swig, I saw them. Millions of stars. And it was comforting to be pulled out and out and out of my head for a minute, remembering that, in the end, the only thing that really matters is love.

I think the thing to do is tell the people you love -- and who surely must know when they are dying -- that you'll love them and think about them and miss them every day of your life.

Though death will eventually pull us apart
The love that I feel will live on in my heart.

And if I'm lucky, someone I love will tell me that before I die. We have to learn to talk about the uncomfortable, scary, and sad fact of death...because we all have to live with it and, at some point, experience it.

It's hard to really wrap your mind and feelings around that when you're sad and sorry and feeling terrible loss...and lost because you don't know what to do or say to comfort yourself and the dying person.

But we owe it to ourselves and them to try.

Lyric credit for the opening lines: Kris Kristofferson, "Sunday Morning Coming Down," one of the greatest songs in the history of the universe by one of the greatest songwriters. Fact.

###

High or Low; Hug or Blow

Life can smack you in the face
Anytime, anyplace
Something good or something bad
Makes you happy, turns you sad
And honestly, you never know
How or when your life will go.

Janet, my friend and writing partner of 20+ years, was just diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer. She's 53.

She'd been complaining of severe back pain that just kept getting worse, until she couldn't work and became virtually incapacitated with pain. She's not a complainer, so I knew it had to be bad.

An MRI showed a shattered vertebrae, with lesions on her pelvis and her liver. A scan showed breast cancer. Oh, and she'd had a breast lump for some time that she had ignored while attempting to find health insurance.

She said that looking back, she realizes one of her cats had tried to warn her. He had unexpectedly jumped up on her chest and nipped at the cancerous breast. She was stunned because it was so uncharacteristic of him.

Looking back, she now understands why she couldn't get motivated to write on our stuff even when she had time away from her freelance work.

Looking back. With too many unpleasant things now to look forward to. She sees an oncologist this week and will have to miss her niece's wedding because she can hardly move.

She lives in Texas, so I'll go there whenever she wants me to come. She's in charge now of what she wants to do when she knows the options. But I'll also go there when I feel the time is right, no matter what she says.

###

More Stuff About Stuff

She has a hole in her soul
That she tries to stuff with stuff.
But no matter how much stuff she gets
It never is enough.


It's hard to convince other people that you really, really don't want any more stuff — no matter how nice it is. Because they love stuff, and they love you, and they love to give you stuff.

And when they give you neat stuff anyway and you like it, it makes it even harder to convince them that you really didn't want it in the first place.

And suddenly, you have even more stuff you will eventually have to get rid of — and feel guilty about doing it because it's neat stuff that someone you love gave you.

And then there's the existential problem: sometimes you need stuff, so you do want it. Or you do decide you want something, and so you violate your own stuff message and "rules."

As Chris would say, "If you have neat stuff, just relax."

Don't sweat the small stuff.

###

Paul McCartney, Part 2 — The Show

"Close your eyes and I'll kiss you, tomorrow I'll miss you..."

A Beatle. Living legend. The cute one.

Yep, Paul is still all of that...although I think they were ALL cute as hell, and he wasn't my favorite. Still, it was fun to see him in concert and hear a lot of songs I have loved for so many years. And "All My Loving" is one of my old faves, so when that came shortly into the first set, I was a happy girl.

Jim thought the concert in Denver was truly and totally fantastic, and the greatest show he's ever seen. So I'm sure he'll have an extensive, well-written, more informative, kinder and gentler review than this short, lukewarm thing I'm writing. Just go to to MessinWithTheKid.blogspot.com. If it's not there yet, it will be.

I'm a huge Beatles fan. You have to love the group who changed your life as a teenager! But only John and George had what I consider great solo careers afterward. Mainly John. I'm a die-hard Lennon loyalist. A staunch Lennonist.

So Paul's songs from his Wings days were sorta lost on me, although I recognized many of them from radio airplay. He did a slew of Beatles tunes, though, which was a treat. He also had a streaming video of clips from the Beatles days, his time with Linda, and his kids. Very nice.

He sang a song for Linda and one for John, which made me cry. But a highlight was a long, gorgeous tribute to George Harrison while singing "Something"...terrific stuff. Very generous of him. Although I don't think he mentioned Ringo, and he only said "Beatles" once, commenting that kids in Russia tell him they learned to speak English by listening to Beatles records. Yeah, yeah, yeah.

He played well to the crowd and the ubiquitous camera. Shook his mop top in gentle Beatles fashion a couple of times -- not hard enough or blatantly enough to make the girls scream, though heh heh. His band was remarkable; the show well staged.

He tore it up with a searing rendition of "Helter Skelter," a surprising delight. The big show-stopper was a thunder-boomer fireworks-type display during "Live and Let Die." The sounds scared the shit out of me -- twice. The boy can still rock out, that's for sure.

Two long encores, one headed by "Day Tripper" -- which I found ironically appropriate, considering my "day trip" on the way there. He was onstage the entire time, except when he left briefly before the encore sets. Lots of stamina, and you can tell he just loves the crowd.

And he's a charming, energetic performer and masterful musician, still with a great voice. I love him, admire him, respect him, and salute him. After all, he was a Beatle.

But he's no John Lennon.

###

Paul McCartney, Part 1 — Day Tripper

We went to see the Walrus
(The Walrus was Paul).
But on our way there
I took a bad fall.

Paul who?

Jim and I were walking to the Pepsi Center from our hotel...less than a mile. There was a nice, wide sidewalk all the way there, smooth and flat. Not. Instead of looking where I was going, I assumed the ground would stay beneath my feet, not rush up and smack me in the head. Wrong again.

I tripped on an asphalt patch in the sidewalk and skidded head first into the concrete. It happened so fast I could only watch it coming. I must have tried to break the fall with my left hand, because it bore a big brunt of the crash. My glasses went flying. My lip swelled up immediately; I could feel it and Jim yanked out his hankie to stem some bleeding.

And that seemed like the extent of it. I put my glasses back on -- they hadn't cracked or anything -- and I got up, and we went on our way to stand in line. (The Walrus was late.)

The line was a mile long, we were a mile high, it was at least 100 degrees, and I was hurt more than I had thought. There was but one thing to do.

I fainted.

Jim said it was a good thing there was a split-rail fence in front of me, or I would have pitched face first -- again -- onto parking lot pavement. This time, unconscious and unable to break my fall. As it was, I crumpled a bit backward, and he was able to sorta ease me down.

So he says. I knew nothing until I came to on the ground, looking up at a circle of concerned faces, one with a walkie-talkie calling for the medics. Just like in a movie. And I said, "Did I faint?" Duh.

So I checked out okay; they asked for my name and other info; I told them I had tripped on the sidealk and joked that I wasn't going to sue them. They insisted I get in a wheelchair and go to a first-aid station. I resisted at first, saying it wasn't fair, but they won. If they hadn't, I probably wouldn't have made it to the concert at all.

As it was, we were the first ones in! They took us to the station closest to our seats, and I sat with ice and water and recovered in about half an hour. During that time, my left eye began to swell up. Jim noticed a piece of plastic stuck under my eye and removed it. The swelling stopped, and he could see a tiny slice in my skin and could also tell that my lip hadn't split, just been scraped. Still fat as a sausage, and my eye was turning black.

Got to our seats and decided to clean my glasses. Then I saw the chunk out of the bottom of the left lens and realized the plastic was from my glasses. The stem on the right side had popped loose. Still, I was able to wear them to see everything.

During the concert, my left hand and shoulder, which had saved me from more horrible things, both began to swell and bruise. The hand eventually grew to twice its normal size and was immovable without serious pain.

But I'm fine. Feel like I've been hit hard all over by Maxwell's Silver Hammer, but I'm healing fast. A little puffily lopsided, but it'll resolve. All in all, I was PDL -- pretty damn lucky. Nothing broken to send me to the hospital. No chipped teeth to make me wear dentures. No plastic in my eye to make me blind. Nothing that kept us from the concert. PTL.

But I may have just book-ended my long concert-going career with Beatles. The first in 1964 with the Lads in Kansas City; the last with Paul in Denver. Not a bad run...for an old broad!

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The Bad Blogger

Back to the poetry muse and my music --
The musings amusing my mind...
If you don't use it, you'll certainly lose it
And it keeps getting harder to find.

Regularity, regularity, regularity. It's so important in so many areas of life! heh heh

It's really easy to wake up in the middle of the night (too damn easy!) and let your brain spin in many directions. Harder to get up and write the thoughts down. Of course, some are crap anyway, but at least you can sort through them -- instead of lose them -- in the light of day.

Faded Photographs...and Other Traces

"Memories light the corners of my mind...
Misty, watercolored memories of the way we were."

I don't believe in an afterlife in heaven or hell. I think you only last in the hearts and minds of the people who remember you, but maybe I'm wrong. Maybe the stuff we loved and touched and cherished contains a part of us that lives on beyond the memory of mortals.

I have kept tons of stuff from my parents and theirs and even of great-grandparents I never knew. Only some of them actually constitute treasured memories, and yet...it's hard to let that stuff go. Why?

I'm wrangling with these questions because of all the stuff. (Yes, I love and believe George Carlin's ramblings about stuff!) I love the stuff because it triggers memories and because it belonged to family and loved ones. But I don't need them to remember the person, and much of it has become a sort of psychic burden. Why is it so hard to let things go?

My friend Chris recently and admirably let stuff go with a vengeance. And she was an only child whose parents both died within six weeks of each other. She knows her extended family well, and still she has let stuff go. I'm in awe.

I'm actually dismayed at what I don't know and will never know about my family history. I didn't ask in time. I didn't care in time. So why does it matter now?

James Hillman, in his book The Force of Character and the Lasting Life, says:

"[Our] uniqueness is reflected in the stuff left on the dresser, the reading glasses on the nightstand, the trivial accumulations in the desk drawer that no one knows what to do with but are handed down as 'valuables.' Useless irrelevancies, yet now imbued with the specialness of art objects. Does the irreplaceable soul of the deceased pass into these ordinary bits of matter?...

"Is our image located only in the memory of those who remember us? Or does character remain in the objects collected, the tools used, the places inhabited. Perhaps history lives in the world's memory beyond human rememberings."

He wonders if we project onto the objects or if the objects reach out to us. Has the departure of these things' living companions transferred to the objects some of the person's former life?

He goes on..."Can a person become an epiphany? Can we entertain the idea that all along, our earthly life has been phenomenal, a showing, a presentation. Can we imagine that at the essence of human being in an insistence upon being witnessed -- by others, by gods, by the cosmos itself -- and that the inner force of character cannot be concealed from this display? The image will out, and the last years [of life] put the final finish to the image.

"We are left as traces...lasting no longer than a little melody, a unique composition of disharmonious notes, yet echoing long after we are gone. This is the thinness of our aesthetic reality, this old, very dear image that is left and lasts."

Perhaps this idea is reflected in the value of provenance when people sell old stuff.

In which case, no damage is done by letting all that stuff go.

Irrigation — the Stuff of Life

Heat brings desert conflagration
Cool is river irrigation
There's a line of demarcation
'Tween the green and brown.

If you fly into Grand Junction during the summer, you see a verdant valley rimmed crisply and abruptly in brown. This is the line between dry desert and irrigated desert. Life abounds in both areas, but it clusters in the green. Happy Valley. Pleasant Valley. Grand Valley.

The Grand River runs through it. That grand river is now known as the mighty Colorado. Canals off the river carry water to land that without it would be as brown as the surrounding public land, which isn't irrigated.

We moved here from Austin, Texas. Hot. Huge. Humid. Green. We'd never seen swamp coolers, or seemingly infinite amounts of public land, or ditch irrigation.

Irrigation is a miracle. A life saver; a life giver. Nothing new to most people, but to us, with a little ditch running through our property, it was a revelation.

I arrived April 13, 2001, and it was already running. A tiny but enduring moat that cut our main yard off from the front parking lot (it's big) and the pastures. I instantly became a Ditch Bitch. I loved it then; I love it still.

It runs from April to November, every year, all the time, a constant flow of Colorado river in our front yard. A miracle of human engineering as old as the desert itself. You expect a river to flow and flow, but a ditch? In your front yard? Water you can use tor seven months to make your little homestead a productive, living thing of beaury and bounty? For $100??!!!

Yikes. We have 5 acres, no small amount of land to keep from turning back to brown desert. And keeping it green through a hot and dry summer is no small feat to accomplish without pipe, knowledge, time, and perseverance.

But even if the land around it does go back to desert, the mere fact of two feet of water streaming endlessly through a tiny ditch is incredibly amazing. We can tell when it rains in the mountains above Aspen. The ditch runs red and muddy, colorado in Spanish. Then we have to clear the filter so our sprinkler system works.

No matter. It's all just wonderful. At night during the full moon, you can stand and look at your very own Moon River...and it seems as grand as the river that feeds it. I love it.

To Keep Us Free

Bill's daddy always said he paid an arm and a leg
To buy their piece of heaven.
Bill turned eighteen and never dreamed he'd ever leave their land
But then came 9-11.

And the rest of my song tells the story of how Bill enlists to go fight terror in Iraq, gets hit by an IED, and literally pays and arm and a leg -- to keep us free.

And then he spends the rest of his life learning how to live with missing body parts, psychological trauma, and the realization that war is, indeed, hell.

Not all heroes pay the "ultimate price" that dead soldiers have paid and get honored for on so many holidays. We set at least a couple of days specially for the dead.

What about the still-living soldiers who now must face a lifetime of disability and challenges beyond anything most of us can imagine -- with even greater courage and determination than it took for them to go to war?

They deserve honor and tribute. Not just on a holiday or two, but something lasting. So I wrote a song. As far I can tell, it hasn't been done yet -- at least not that someone has made popular so people actually THINK about these great people.

Heroes -- not in death -- but for the rest of their lives.

Golden Boy

Chow face, with a purple tongue
Part yellow dog (like me!)
He connected with my soul
Now his is running free.
He saw me through a lot of grief
And gave me years of joy.
I loved that dog beyond belief.
I miss my Golden Boy.


What a great dog! His name was Ansel.

My friend and animal advocate extraordinaire, Janet, found him at her school. She'd taken in so many strays that the principal had warned her to stop. So she stuck the little golden blob in her truck and called me with an SOS.

I'd only have to keep the dog until she found a good home for it. Uh-huh.

When I peeked in her truck window, there he was in the passenger seat. Calm as could be at about three months old. Just watching. Very self-possessed. Cute, but nothing real special about him. Or so I thought.

In fact, that was all she wrote. He'd found his home. I have many memories of Ansel and me, which will most likely leak out in later blogs. He only lived 10 years, and he died in 2008 on this date. So did part of my heart.

El Dia de Las Madres — Mother's Day

Mama was my lifeline to a lifetime full of love
From the moment of my first breath, 'til the day she took her last.

Love you, Mom! If you're lucky, nobody in the whole world will ever love you as much as your mother does or did. I was lucky.

Jim and I got married on Mother's Day weekend...on Kentucky Derby Day in 1988. We didn't know all that was happening that weekend when we planned it. Guess we didn't look at a holiday calendar.

It was a total blast, with loads of mothers there to celebrate with us, away from their own families. How great is that? Most of them came because they loved my very special mother.

I wish I'd known her better as a person and a woman, beyond her being my mother.

It's Jazz, Man!

To a musical family was born
A man of whom ladies be warned!
He'll play with a strumpet
As if she's his trumpet
That talented man with a horn.

And then there's what he does with a flugelhorn! But you can hear it all for yourself. Click here:

http://jazzonline.com/mike-metheny/mike-metheny-a-tapestry-of-sonic-delight.html

If you haven't listened to Mike Metheny, do yourself a huge favor and immerse yourself in the magic of melodic (mostly), moody (often), and mesmerizing (always) music that is his special kind of jazz.

Buy his new CD, entitles "60.1" (yes, he's "our" age, and the better for it!). Listen to it all in order. Then and only then -- after about 3 full times through -- pick and choose which cut you'll put where on your self-compiled favorites. You'll also want his other available CDs, so search them out and buy them as a treat to yourself.

I've known Mike since seventh grade, when our family transferred us kids from Lone Jack school to Lee's Summit. I believe it all happened because my mom made a surprise visit to my brother Dan's second grade class and found him teaching spelling while the teacher was taking the curlers out of her hair. That about tore it with Mom. But I digress...

Mike's always been a music man; it runs deeply in the family. He's a consummate musician, a nice guy, and, as you can tell from the limerick, a man with a sense of humor. (I think; he hasn't seen this yet!)

I believe in buying good music and in supporting friends...although NOT in sharing music with friends (or anyone else) who don't pay for it. (I REALLY believe in copyright protection.)

So, dear friends and music lovers, I hope your next CD purchase will be one of Mike's CDs.

Thanks!!! Love you! You're the best!....;-)

And They Call This Spring

The ditch is flowing.
I've been mowing.
April wind's blowing.
And...it's SNOWING!!!

Well, shut my mouth. I was almost feeling a little guilty for not blogging this whole dang month -- and I was gonna wait until May Day. Taking a little spring blog break.

But when I opened the shades this morning and saw it snowing, I just had to do something. Besides laugh, I mean. The world's wackiness is a continual source of delight, isn't it?

Holy shit! It's April 29. I've been mowing constantly. Was going to water the lawn today. Guess now I can just hole up in my nice, warm house and watch it snow. Again. Still.

Oh, it's beautiful on the green grass. Our daffodils made it; tulips too. We even had a huge young buck with sprouting antler buds yesterday in the back pasture. I was fixin' to go get pots and flowers and a cherry-tomato plant for a Topsy-Turvey porch planter.

April snow showers may mean no flowers. At least until mid-May.

WTF???

Indigestion, tummy troubles,
Rumbling in the bowel.
Thick round glasses make me look like
Some old wise, gray owl.
Turkey wattle, chicken skin,
Aging is most fowl.
Some days really make me feel like
Throwing in the towel.

Must be the snow. Yep. It's April 1, and this is no joke. It's snowing like a mo-fo. Hard.

Our daffodils are drooping;
Our crocuses may croak.
It is April Fool's Day,
But this ain't no spring joke.

Weirdest, wackiest, winter weather I've ever seen. And it's spring. As if.

Some Bridges

Some bridges need burning.
Some bridges come falling down.
Some tumble into troubled waters;
Some crumble onto cold, hard ground.
Some bridges begin to sway;
With more support, they would be okay;
They'd hang together, come what may,
And not fall apart.

Seems like relationships of all kinds are always in a state of flux from being buffeted by constant change. I think that too often, we get swept up in the impending potential mess and buy into it too soon. What if? What then? What now? What should I do?

Sometimes, it's best just to wait, as calmly as you can, and see what the hell happens if you don't do anything but stay calm and watch things...burn, tumble, crumble, sway...even fall apart.

No, I'm not getting divorced! Just thinking.

Springlight

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Emily Dickinson

Guess I'm getting lazy with my own rhymes...forgive me! Even this is just a segment of Em's ditty. But it's nice, doncha think? Daffodils and crocuses are poking up. the grass is greening, and, best of all, the ditch will be running soon. Yes, I get very excited about our irrigation ditch every year. I'll tell and show you why soon.

Here Comes the Sun!

Little Darlin', it's been a long, cold lonely winter.
Little Darlin', it's seems like years since it's been here.
Here comes the sun.
Here comes the sun,
And it's all right.

George Harrison

Yep, the ice is slowly melting here in the so-called Banana Belt of Western Colorado. Weird weather; wacky winter. Too long and too cold. But the earth has turned, and all is well.

My husband, Jim, had a birthday, and all he wanted was the Beatles' boxed mono set. So his family generously chipped in, and we got it for him. That's him on his Boxed Beatles Birthday.

He's a happy camper, and so am I. It's great hearing the songs — and the voices — that have sent me to rock-n-roll heaven since I was 14 years old, and done the same way. Minus the scratches and character of my LPs.

The websites are up and still babies, and the birth damn near killed me. But I hope I forget the pain once they're all grown up. Check them out and get cool free reports:

Cat lovers:
http://www.solvecommoncatproblems.com

Dog lovers:
http://www.solvecommondogproblems.com


Enjoy! Let me know what you think. Thanks!

Shift Happens

She came to me and said good-bye.

She cried, but her eyes were dry.

She said she'd never love another guy

Like me. Like me.

But soon the sun will shine again.

She will be mine again.

And everything will be all right again.

You'll see. You'll see.

I remember seeing Devo on Saturday Night Live as clearly as I remember seeing the Beatles on the Ed Sullivan Show. Both times, the world shifted a bit.

I never became a big devotee of punk rock, but it was interesting and energetic...and it was during that time I jotted this little song ditty. All I remember is that it had about three notes, a driving drumbeat, and a middle verse, which I have since forgotten.

Other shifts in the music world have rocked it, but not me so much. I guess we all tend to hang on to our musical roots, the stuff that shaped our lives as we were growing up.

I'm glad about that...because no matter what anyone else says, the '60s music rocked — and still does!

The Tangled Web

I'm caught up in the tangled web

That's called the Internet.

It eats my time and fries my brain

And makes me scream...and yet,

I'm learning a few basics

And slogging through the muck

And may create a website —

If there's such a thing as luck!

This online course I'm taking is a bigger bitch than me. And of course, it's because I'm ridiculously and embarrassingly web illiterate, so even the small stuff makes me sweat.

I'm working very hard to learn things that even kids today know almost intuitively, and all because I want to know how things work — at least a little bit — so I can join the e-commerce flood and maybe float some e-books into people's computers...for a price, of course.

But believe me, when I am making enough money to keep us in beans through our so-called retirement years, I'll be outsourcing, in a New York minute, the same shit I'm now struggling to master.

Bowling With My Thais and a White Russian

My citizenship students/new US citizens and I are maintaining our friendship outside of class.

As my loyal followers know, my students included people from Thailand, Laos, Russia, and Mexico.

This is a photo of Pawn, Mei, me, and Marina at the bowling alley. Cool, huh?

We had chatted about what to do for fun other than feasting on Thai/Laos/Russian food, and Mei/May suggested bowling.

Since my husband Jim has his own ball or two and loves to bowl, and I think it's okay, and everyone agreed, that's what we did. One of us couldn't make it; we may have to do it all again sometime.

Had a hoot. The tiny one, Mei/May, was the women's champ. She got many strikes; I just struck out. Someone finally asked what two gutter balls in a row was called, and I said, "Oh, shit!" Up until then they thought it was "Son of a bitch!"

The boys came too, and we had a good time. But we girls realized we wanted to talk more, and a bowling alley is not the best environment for chatting. Yelling was more like it. But we had fun...which, as you know, is one of my main goals in life.

So, success! Having fun, maintaining friendships, and swearing in context. Life is good.

Mei changed her name legally to May when she became a citizen, so I love calling her Mei-May. It makes her laugh.

May came here and spent six years in her apartment because she felt so disoriented and isolated. Then she began studying English at the library's Literacy Center and then ended up in my citizenship class. Her progress has been remarkable, and her outlook and enjoyment of life has grown exponentially. What a story.

If she can do all that, surely I can conquer the WWW. You think?

Hello. I'm Marsha Kearns, and I'm an Internet Idiot.

I got a website itch —

A dream-pie in the sky.

It's been a real bitch;

And, therefore, so have I.

As you know, I'm 60. I know I'm both creative and logical, a pretty good left/right brain cross for the most part. But there's a black hole in my left brain that sucks in anything relating to databases, spreadsheets, and research. And to me, the Internet is one big database.

I have spent much of the Internet's existence cursing it for most things and loving it for one: e-mail. So you regular blog followers — who know me more than from the blog — will understand that embracing the Web is a Big Deal.

So I decided to conquer my fear of the dreaded unknown — and the impending doom of no retirement unless I act now — and learn how to set up websites that can sell stuff (information e-books) that my friends and I write...in case my songs don't become hits right away. As if.

So far, I have been Holly Hunter in the movie "Raising Arizona" — bawling my heart out every five minutes. She was funny; Jim doesn't think I am yet.

So I'll keep you apprised of the latest adventure and trust you will sign on to my opt-in lists just because you love me. Thanks!

First Snow

Snow makes whiteness where it falls.

The bushes look like popcorn balls!

The places where I always play

Look like somewhere else today.

Marie Louise Allen

I can still hear my little sister, Polly, reciting this the Christmas she was about three years old. For several years, we had to write and/or recite a new poem at Christmas. This one is written in my mom's handwriting in the back of one of my old poetry books that I still often read.

I like snow. I like fresh, white snow. I like falling snow. I like fallen snow. For a while. But we've had the same dang snow on the ground since before Thanksgiving!! I'd really like it to melt off (as in warm up a bit for a while) and make way for new snow. Fresh snow.

A great book about winter is "Winter," by Rick Bass. I read it frequently; it's one of those you can and still enjoy. It's nonfiction and tells about his first winter in the Yaak Valley of northern Montana. Wonderful read.

Snow. Toe. Did you see my poet followers' fun rhymes in the comments? Thanks, one and all -- er, both. It is beginning to look less like a rotten, canned Vienna sausage and more like a swollen toe. Swell. It's getting well.

My Left Toe

Everyone knows when they've broken a toe —

It gets a good whack, and you know.

The pain is so great

You think you will faint

And all you can say is, "My toe!"

Sorry. I really wanted to talk about snow, but then I hauled off and broke my toe. That seemed to take precedence over the other inconsequential subjects on my mind.

I'm not sure I really broke my toe, and I'm not sure anyone who thinks they did, really did. Unless they see bone or get an x-ray, of course.

But the conventional wisdom (is that an oxymoron?) has always been: you can break a toe easily; there's nothing "they" can do about it but tape it to another toe and let it heal; and it will heal. That's always worked for me when I've broken a toe, except I could never stand the tape, so I skipped that step. It always healed.

The more fascinating thing to me with body damage is the bruising and pain. It is amazing sometimes where body damage shows up through bruising, especially when it felt like a bone being damaged.

I now have a bright-purple pheasant-neck-ring bruise around the top joint of my toe. It's the second toe, which is also strange, because my second toe doesn't even stick out farther than my big toe. (I have cute toes, relatively speaking.)

The paler purplish-blue bruise extends to the middle of my foot. I know, so what? The weirdest thing is...nothing hurts. Unless I bend the toe weirdly, nothing hurts. It about killed me when it happened, but now, the toe doesn't hurt to touch it; the bruises don't hurt; the joint connecting the toe to my foot doesn't hurt.

In fact, this blog entry is probably more painful to you reading it than my toe is to me!

Into the Wild, Wild Web

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.

To market, to market, to sell on the Web;

Home again, home again, writing my blog.

Time for new ventures before time runs out. Yes, I'm obsessed with the clock ticking down to my oblivion; I admit it. It's fascinating and terrifying at the same time. I can actually see it in my mind...and let's face it, 49 years left is not much!

So I've decided to go ahead and embrace the market economy by creating a nice stream of income that will see Jim and me through to the end...while still having fun without working too hard. It can, and shall, be done! (This is in addition to selling a song.)

I've embarked on a training program that will have me up and running on the Internet very quickly. I'm an Internet idiot, but I can learn and I can do. Stay tuned for e-books that you will want to buy and recommend to your friends.

HGTV Dream House

Since I got the lucky dime in my black-eyed peas, I figured I'd just go ahead and enter the HGTV Dream House Giveaway. Every day. My husband, too. How could we lose?

We're HGTV junkies...because of me. The Frantsens have always been house builders and house lovers and home improvement people. Besides, there's nothing else good on television. This is the first time I decided to enter this or any contest.

Anyway, the house is in New Mexico. The views are forever. I love forever. It's southwestern style. Not really our style inside, but...we can cope. It's got fireplaces inside and out. And it's only a day's drive from heaven on earth — Fort Davis, Texas.

The house is full of furniture and artsy-fartsy cool stuff. Figured we can sell most of that and bring what we want from our own house. And at the same time, sell what we don't want from there, too. We get a vehicle. Figured we can sell that. We get $500k in cash. Figured that would hold us awhile.

Then I read the rules. They give you a Form 1099 along with all these goodies worth about $2 million. That means, depending on what tax bracket a sudden $2 million puts you into, we'd have to pay at least $500,000 in immediate taxes. Bye-bye cash. And then some.

Figure we'd have to auction off all the home furnishings and maybe even the house — or ours in Colorado — to break even and pay the taxes. Then when we sold a house, we'd have to pay capital gains. And the housing market is not good.

I quit entering. I think it will cost too much to win. There's probably a lesson in there somewhere, but right now, I'm just worried about all those entries I sent in. I could end up in the poor house.

Don't Should on Yourself

I should do this

I should do that

I should work out

And shed my fat...

I should dress better.

I should cut my hair.

I should call my family and friends more often.

I should be more patient.

I should clean the house.

I should forgive myself and others.

I should write my congressman.

I should get up earlier.

I should bathe the dog.

I should stop drinking.

I should save more money.

I should work harder.

And on and on. Sound familiar?

I think I'll just relax and relish the fact that life works. How about you?

Carpe Dime. Seize the ... Dime!

You have to eat a black-eyed pea

To have good luck all year.

But if you get the hidden dime

You get more luck, my dear!

Our friends brought over a black-eyed-pea salad on New Year's Eve...complete with lucky dime stirred into it. Southerners know and follow this tradition; Mom sure did. We had black-eyed peas and cornbread every new year. Not always with a dime, though. Maybe that's why things went wrong....

But this year, I got the dime! I was the last to scoop out salad, and there it was. My bright and shining sign that this year will be different. This year, I'll accomplish things. This year I'll....oh, I know! Get too thin and too rich. Can't wait!

When you're young, you don't really realize that "the first day of the rest of my life" really means "the beginning of the end." I'm wondering how I'll live the rest of my life now that I see the end in sight. Some people say not to think about it, but so far, it's hard not to, when the time left is shorter than the time here.

"Such a long, long time to be gone

And a short time to be here."

The Grateful Dead

I still feel like I'm climbing up, though, not sliding down a hill. In fact, I think the end will be the peak. The toppermost of the poppermost. And it'll happen when it happens, but even so, it'll be too damn soon for me.

So I'm all carpe dime this year; y'all go ahead and carpe diem. That's good too.