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.
 
 

One of Those Fried Days

It was a wild and wacky week at work. Home alone and tired — and happy to be both. So I watered the lawn and read a bit and fell asleep in my comfy reading/napping chair.

I woke up at 8:53. OMG!! I was late for work! I am always the first one there — by 7 a.m. — because I'm an early riser. The early bird. (So shoot me. I like worms.) And at my age, I NEVER oversleep.

So I called the office and voicemail answered — our Executive Director. OMG!!! She wasn't in and neither was my coworker! But wait. That couldn't be right.

Oh. It was Saturday morning. Whew.

OMG!!!! I had to be at Walmart in 30 minutes to meet a volunteer and sell raffle tickets. I hadn't even had a shower!!!

Ran into the bathroom and turned on the water. Peeled out of my clothes. And realized it was Fried-Day night. OMG. Whew again.

Who could sleep after that?

I'll probably oversleep. Again. Which I never do.

June

Well, they hauled off and piped in our open irrigation ditch, practically without notice. I was not happy. I LOVED that little concrete stream of constant river water all summer long. We still have the water, but we can't see it or hear it.

Now it's just dirt. The trees along it are gone; the river rock border is gone; it's all gone. I guess after grass—or at least something green—grows, it'll be fine and much easier to keep mowed and neat looking. Seems small consolation now.

So, what's good, you might ask. I have sold some stuff, finally breaking the procrastination. However, didn't sell much and the venue I used did not work out. Still, it was a psychological and emotional triumph; I started and made a little money and don't miss what I sold. Even my oak secretary desk I've had for 50 years. Yikes. Everything must go!!

For now, summer is getting into full swing here in the high desert. Watering, mowing, cleaning up, and fixing things that need it. Always something!

My sister and I will drive back to Missouri (hoping for the best, not misery) at the end of June/4th of July to visit our family. We have all been a bit estranged, so it will be a good time to reconnect...or it will be the longest road trip and visit of all our lives!

We have nieces and nephews and spouses and their kids that we have never even met. It's a family reunion with the four of us Frantsen Firsts also coming back together for the first time since Dad died in 1997. Should be about 21 of us, and we'll have old friends drop by, too. First Grandson Ben will drive over from Georgia with his wife and two daughters. The others all still live in MO. Should be a grand time. We'll see....

At the very least, it'll be one for the books. Our get-togethers always are, in one way or another, and not always the most fun or pleasant. Maybe we've all grown up a bit and can make it good for everyone. Then it's up to the Next Gen to keep on keeping on and staying in touch...or not.

Blogger: The Missing Year

Yikes. I knew it had been a while since I blogged, but a whole year?! I am shocked, yes, shocked! that it's been so long since I wrote. I had a hard time even finding myself, so to speak.

I've been writing, but not blogging; thinking, but not doing. Gotta do. So I'm back. With a vengeance . And a bad haircut.

I went in for a trim and shaping and got the Marsha's Haircut Massacree. Still, I didn't cry. I know hair grows. Two days later, a little local newspaper I write for called and said they wanted to take a photo of me -- for the cover.

I'm too old for this shit. 

It's all so high school/old school. But bad haircuts never die...they just kill.

The reason for the photo is an article on The Beatles that I wrote last year about their 50th anniversary, just now making it to print. Actually, the focus of the article is Karen Kosinski, a woman who went to Liverpool and got a master's degree in The Beatles. But I'm in there, too, with a personal part about 1964 and what the lads meant to me as a teenager.

1964. I remember getting a similar bad haircut back then, compliments of my dad, who thought cutting girls' hair was like cutting boys' hair. Since then, I've mostly gone with the "Give me lots of hair, long beautiful hair" philosophy of the Age of Aquarius. Damn the torpedoes and trends -- full hair ahead! Teach me for forgetting my roots.

So, you may see me tonight with an illegal smile...and also on the full-color cover of the Beacon Senior Newspaper for March, with distribution far beyond my wildest nightmares on a bad hair...day? I wish I were a dream for a day or even just the cover girl of the month.  

But some things last forever, as in newsprint. And the Internet. And the apparently everlasting sagas of bad haircuts. (Don't these people get training?)

O h, well. Next up on the playlist: David Crosby's "Almost Cut My Hair." I'm listening.

Year One for Mama

Mama, what do you wish when you see a falling star
Or when you blow the candles out on your birthday cake?
Do you wish you'd followed different dreams when you were still a girl
Or are you happy with the way things are?
Mama, what do you wish when you listen to your heart?

It's been a year since I put my song on YouTube, and so far it's garnered a pretty respectable, for what it is, hit count of 4,150+...and counting. Peanuts to some, but I'm happy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6sJfrr5r6Kk

I've even gotten some nice comments from across the sea -- Ireland (it's a great crying-in-your-beer-over-your-sainted-mother song) and Norway. Interesting on two levels, since my husband has Irish roots and I, Norwegian.

I think I got those through my connection with Till Zuidema, a cowriter from the Netherlands. Here's our first collaboration:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zcua0_0qN74

Anyway, thanks for listening!

Pitching a Hit

I write words
Put music to them
And toss the songs into the wild
Of Nashville.

I have infinite faith in the power of the Universe
To starve my hopes but feed my dreams.

I've been regularly pitching my three little demos and some lyrics without music to folks in the biz. Long shots, to be sure. But I've got a feelin', a feelin' deep in side, oh yeah. (Beatles) This is the year I get into gear and focus more -- much more -- on creating, no matter the cost.

My energy's returning, desire is burning, and I'm still learning how to channel it all into a laser beam of intention, action, and success. Wish me luck!

Every Single Day

The Year

What can be said in New Year rhymes,
That's not been said a thousand times?

The new years come, the old years go,
We know we dream, we dream we know.

We rise up laughing with the light,
We lie down weeping with the night.

We hug the world until it stings,
We curse it then and sigh for wings.

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

There's a couple more stanzas to this poem , but I don't like them. These seem to touch on the hopes and fears we have for new years.

Of course, hope starts out as the strongest emotion of each year, and, with luck, each new day. Because all we really know we'll have each year is each day we're lucky enough to live.

And I think that's exactly what I'll focus on -- living the happiest, healthiest, best I can every day. There's my sappy yet sincere wish for my new year.

What's yours?

Time Changes Everything

He brought me a tree
And strung it with lights
He's trying real hard
To make everything right.

My husband and I had lost connection, not affection for each other. So we decided after 5 weeks of separation and just talking and seeing each other rarely, to spend a few days together over the long Christmas weekend.

He surprised me with a little Christmas tree, knowing I love them most as part of Christmas. Love to sit in the dark with no other lights on other than the tree. We decorated it, and I'll enjoy it every day until it comes down.

We talked some, played music and games some, and watched movies. Just had a fun, relaxing time together. We'll see how things progress; so far, so good. Counseling helps; reading helps; time helps.

Till and I ended up in third place in the "Make 'Em Laugh" category of Broadjam.com's contest with our song 'Til I'm 93! We're happy.

So onward to a new year, the symbolism of which is more hopeful this year than others.

My mother would have been 85 today. Happy Birthday, Mama! I love you and still wish you were here.

Twenty's Plenty

TWENTY’S PLENTY.

Today’s the day I stop denying

Knowing love’s been slowly dying.

I’m so done that it ain’t even funny.

Honey, TWENTY'S PLENTY.

This is the chorus to a song I wrote a couple years ago -- when I'd been married about 20 years. I guess my separation has been brewing for some time. Still, after 25 years together, it's a weird, sad, and uncertain thing to not be living with the person you've lived with for so long.

As if I'm the first person to go through it! First time for me, so it's fresh.

Singer-songwriter Till (see prior post) entered our first experimental song in a contest, and we did pretty well! I've finally found someone to write with -- we click and will steam ahead...maybe even 'Til I'm 93! (the name of our song).

Till and Tillie -- T 'n T -- the bomb; dynamite, explosive. What a hoot!

Go to her site and take a look/see/listen: http://www.tillsounds.nl/Home.aspx

And stay tuned; lots of changes in the air.

Grab for the Gusto

Through every season, turn, turn, turn.
From every lesson, learn, learn, learn.
Everything changes, churn, churn, churn.
But where there is life, burn, baby, burn.

This is fun: I belong to SongU.com as a way to learn more about songwriting, pitch my songs to real industry people, keep me motivated and moving, and taking advantage of fun opportunities that they provide.

Currently, that's called "Over and Under," in which they match you with someone in another country, and you write a song together. By December 15. Long-distance, to say the least.

And I got matched with a cool woman named Till. (Those of you who know one of my nicknames is Tillie may find that amusing.) We have e-mailed and Skyped already.

She's much more accomplished than I; she can do it all -- write lyrics, compose music, and sing. Whew! Lucky for me.

And she's in Amsterdam. Eight-hour difference in time. Good thing I'm an early bird. She caught me this morning on Skype. I told her I'd just gotten up (5:30 a.m.); she said she had too (lunch time!). There's a real musician for you!

Anyway, we will ponder growing old as a theme -- not a new subject to this blogger -- and see what happens. Stand by for a link to another song later this year.

"Mama" is doing great on YouTube! Thank you very much.

Another Chronological Year Bites the Dust

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is fair and wise and good in every way.

I was born on a Sunday, 62 years ago today, and I'm heading full tilt into the last 3 decades of my life...god willing and the creek don't rise.

October 9 is Leif Erikson Day. I'm Norwegian on my dad's side -- Frantsen -- born in Minnesota, so it was interesting to just now discover I was born on the day that old Leif actually discovered America.

Forget Columbus. Norwegians were the first Europeans to set foot in the New World. According to Wikipedia, a Norwegian ship named Restauration landed in New York Harbor on October 9, 1825.

Anyway, it's the start of a new world for me, too, what with no dogs and no boy for the first time in 25 years. Exciting, scary, sad, liberating...and definitely a new frontier in my life.

What will I do with it?

Dear Diary

Dear Diary, Dear Diary,
Dear Abby, Dear Ann,
Please help me think through things
As fast as you can.
Life is not going according to plan.
Dear Diary, Dear Diary,
Dear Abby, Dear Ann.

Nobody told me there'd be days like these. Or years, even. Of course, there have been signs, what with changes coming faster -- and more furiously -- the older I get.

Loss has me reeling emotionally. As well as the hindsight that slaps hard with the realization that I probably should have followed the rules about working for retirement. Now I'll be working instead of retiring.

Time to overcome the stress and paralysis and blog on.

One of my best friends in the world died of cancer at age 54. The last of our most recent four dogs just died. My marriage is dying. And I'm facing middle age alone, sad, and lonely. Who'd-a thunk?

At least I have a job. Hahahaahhahahahaha

This, too, shall pass. But it feels pretty bad right now. Still I know things will change, and I can't wait to see what happens next. I've got one arm up for protection.