Cave of Pythia

repeating the past repeating the past repeating the past . . . when does it end?

2011-12-02T21:47:00.001-05:00

People who have done certain things . . . are obviously capable of doing those things. But if they have sought forgiveness, found peace and moved on - are they still capable of doing those things? Are they more or less apt to repeat past mistakes? Once the sweet flesh of the apple has been tasted (and even if a piece lodged itself in the throat) will the sweetness be temptation enough to taste again?
Cheating or lying, stealing or betraying, philandering or partying, adultery or murder . . . whatever the sin - will it happen again?

MPI Open Houses

2011-08-18T00:28:00.000-04:00

worlds apart

2010-12-28T20:53:00.011-05:00

My life is
not of this world.

I wear the dress, the lip stick, the face.
Speak the words, walk the walk, keep the pace.

At times I get lonely.
And at those times I indulge in the role-
so well so
that even I forget what's real-
absorbed in the comforts -
conformity's embrace
her arms like an octopus.

My house is slipping out of order.
Everything around me-losing its place.
Socks in with t-shirts
Pencils in with the lipsticks
Acquaintances in with my friends . . .
Friends in with my people.

My worlds are colliding.

I am dizzied by the imbalance.
I am flattened by the squeeze.
I am flipping the apple cart and watching it all roll away.

My world - her light barely visible from the thickness of this atmosphere.

She calls my name . . . calls me home.

And I alone, hear the call.
And I alone, must answer.

and me in my kerchief

2010-12-13T12:52:00.004-05:00

and I in my cap

have just settled our hearts down

for a long winter's nap.

Hoping Santa doesn't forget...

"Baring Sole" my thesis film

2010-07-18T00:08:00.004-04:00

THERE IS BEAUTY IN OPENNESS; GRACE IN VULNERABILITY

After becoming unemployed from the only job she has ever known, Sophie, a plain and modest thirty year-old women, stumbles upon an online ad for an unconventional job that changes the way she sees herself.

Starring: Hope Cobb Crenshaw; Victor Pytko; Bradley Michael
Featuring the music of: Kelli Scarr; Moby
Art & Photography by: Patricia Izzo
Catering by: The Bronx Deli; Cloverleaf Pizza

Going into production July 22.

...because merry-go-round-and-round is not so merry

2010-05-09T14:00:00.005-04:00

I love roller-coasters.

I have never enjoyed the rides that go around and around and around . . . making me dizzy, upsetting my stomach. The same images blurring by me again and again and again. Screaming to get off - I've had enough.

I like the butterflies, the adrenaline rush before every curve and dip, the excitement when I've reached the highest points . . . and the magnificent view from the top.

The once around. And when it's over - I get back in line to experience it all over again - because no two rides are ever the same.

I never saw that twinkling light on the top of water tower before.

Love . . . corralled and stabled

2010-04-28T00:47:00.011-04:00

Love . . . corralled and stabled.

I keep it close these days.

It escaped once;

Wild horses running -

like they've never felt the wind in their manes before;

like they've never kicked the dirt up so high under their feet before.

Galloping

unbridled,

without thought or contemplation.

A heroic sight.

A breathtaking plight.

And then

came, the fall -

broken legs, blood, pain

and yet, I could not bear to shoot

and yet nothing was the same.

"All The Wild Horses"

All the wild horses
All the wild horses
Tell her with tears in their eyes
May no man's touch ever tame you
May no man's reigns ever chain you
And may no man's weight ever defrayed your soul
And as for the clouds
Just let them roll
Roll away
Roll away
As for the clouds
Just let them roll
Roll away
Roll away

Ray Lamontagne

where it hushes

2010-01-24T08:28:00.007-05:00

Hanging out on the Planet

2009-10-04T00:37:00.005-04:00

Well . . . I am beginning to get it. Yeah, I am just hanging out here soaking it all in. Back in school as many hours as will fit into a week.
I am living my dreams. I am happy. I am truly grateful.
PS Just wrapped the 100% Michigan made, full-length feature film "Annabelle & Bear" (worked in Hair/Makeup/Wardrobe)
Lots more to learn in the film industry and hopefully . . . lots more time here on this beautiful planet.

...and 20 years later...I fell in love with Mickey Rourke all over again

2009-02-24T00:15:00.006-05:00

Ahhhhhh . . . what can I say? He is the ultimate bad boy, Harley-riding . . . good-hearted, dog-loving, passionate, artistic, spiritual, introspective Catholic boy . . . a hero from the depths of hell . . . a man's man . . .a lady's man . . . man!
Way to go, Mickey Rourke!
You are 'hope.'
God Bless you and keep you.

Distortion

2009-01-29T09:20:00.009-05:00

Jessica Simson, the most recent (celebrity) woman to be attacked and accused of hiding her mortal, human skeleton (and soul) behind healthy, beautiful, protective, mortal HUMAN flesh. The names of Jennifer Love Hewitt and Trya Banks (to name a very few) have also appeared on the ongoing and ever growing list of women (particularly celebrity women) who have been accused and attacked for the same dysfunctional society's social crime. I am sure that in this very moment; somewhere in the United States (where our Hollywood standards for women vs what real, healthy women look like are the equivalent to Disney vs the Brothers Grimm . . . worlds apart) a young girl is doing something to ensure she will fit inside the tiny plastic mold of the ideal woman as she grows (but shrinks). And somewhere else in the United States - a young woman is dying or has died from an eating disorder.
And we all must take responsibility for this thinking. Every time a woman strives to live up to these airbrushed, photo-shopped, nutritionally starved, cosmetically altered (NOT enhanced, for enhancing is completely different than altering) . . . every time . . . we give POWER to the image and take the POWER from ourSelves.
Every unnecessary piece of clothing we strip from our bodies in order to expose more and more flesh to the world (for profit and for vanity) - we also strip away at ourSelves and our souls. This may sound prudish to some - but that is only because our standards have bottomed out - we have lost our class and our self-respect. I am not referring to art . . . I am referring to INTENT - the intent behind our actions and our thoughts.
I don't have to say more. Not only because I don't have the words to express my sadness, my anger and my outrage for this modern day 'witch hunt,' but rather because there is nothing more to say. It's preposterous - contrary to nature, reason, and common sense. It is absurd.
I don't want to partake in a society that thinks this way.
I don't want to live in a society that thinks this way.
I am ashamed of this society.
If we, as a society, do not collectively shift our thoughts about body image, and return to love, acceptance and GRATITUDE for our outer shells, our God-given flesh and bones . . . the temples of our SOULS - then I wish not to participate in this ill-minded, man made society.

Letting

2009-01-23T18:07:00.006-05:00

The palms of my hands opened
and out they flew.
After all these years
They were still there -
Call it a miracle.
Or call it a miracle I opened my palms.

The Three Keys to Peace, Joy and Harmony

2009-01-12T13:35:00.003-05:00

"Know Thyself," carved into the temple at Delphi (circa 440 BC)

"Nothing in Excess," The second motto of the Temple of Delphi.

And for me, the third key to bring about peace, joy and harmony into my life is
The Golden Rule. . . . which dates back to ancient times and encompasses a wide range of world cultures and religions.

The ancient GREEK meaning of the Golden Rule:

"What thou avoidest suffering thyself seek not to impose on others." Epictetus

"It is impossible to live a pleasant life without living wisely and well and justly (agreeing 'neither to harm nor be harmed'), and it is impossible to live wisely and well and justly without living a pleasant life." Epicurus

Other translations of the Golden Rule" are:

Buddhism

"Putting oneself in the place of another, one should not kill nor cause another to kill."

"One who, while himself seeking happiness, oppresses with violence other beings who also desire happiness, will not attain happiness hereafter."

Baha'i Faith

"Ascribe not to any soul that which thou wouldst not have ascribed to thee, and say not that which thou doest not."

"Blessed is he who preferreth his brother before himself."

Christianity

"Love your neighbor as yourself."

"Do to no one what you yourself dislike." ("Do unto others as you would have done unto you.")

Confucianism

"Never impose on others what you would not choose for yourself."

Taoism

"Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain, and your neighbor's loss as your own loss."

"The sage has no interest of his own, but takes the interests of the people as his own. He is kind to the kind; he is also kind to the unkind: for Virtue is kind. He is faithful to the faithful; he is also faithful to the unfaithful: for Virtue is faithful."

Hinduism

"One should never do that to another which one regards as injurious to one’s own self. This, in brief, is the rule of dharma. Other behavior is due to selfish desires."

Judaism

"That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."

"Thou shalt not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the children of thy people, but thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself: I am the LORD."

Islam

“That which you want for yourself, seek for mankind.”

“None of you [truly] believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself.”

Jainism

"Just as pain is not agreeable to you, it is so with others. Knowing this principle of equality treat other with respect and compassion."

GOD BLESS YOU ALL AND MAY THIS NEW YEAR BRING US CLOSER TO OUR ORIGINAL SELVES . . . OUR TRUE SELVES. MAY WE FIND OUR MEANING WITHIN. AND MAY WE ALL ASPIRE TO LIVE BY THE THREE KEYS TO PEACE, JOY AND HARMONY.

Side Note - I left this blog post even though it was meant for my Sacred Footing blogsite. You see, I had just published the Violin article and was writing this for Sacred Footing. When I discovered that I had made a "mistake," something had happened and I could no longer delete it. (i.e. a comment arrived literally seconds after I hit the publish button and I did not want to not delete the comment) I did post this on my Sacred Footing blog as well.

Stop and Hear the Flowers

2009-01-12T11:07:00.008-05:00

. . . and smell the music.

For a ticket price of approximately $100.00, one can attend Boston's Symphony Hall to hear world renowned musician-violinist, Joshua Bell, play one of the most intricate classical pieces ever written - Bach - with his handcrafted 1713 Stradivarius violin (worth 3.5 million).
For a price of approximately $100.00, one can transcend the minutus details of daily life and immerse oneself in the beauty and the splendor of the sound of art.
For $100.00, one can STOP to smell the music.
But, apparently, without this price attached, one is blind and deaf and dumb and, well, just too preoccupied and busy to actually see and hear and appreciate Joshua Bell play incognito, on a busy Washington DC metro during rush hour.
He played for 45 minutes. Only about six or seven people stopped to take notice, mostly children. His biggest fan, a six-year-old boy, was quickly whisked away by his mother. Twenty people threw money in a till - a total of $35.00. Only one person recognized him. And when Joshua completed playing the six intricate pieces by Bach . . . the familiar sounds of silence (except for the noises in their heads) comforted the ears of the passengers. No applause. No recognition. Silence.
This was all part of a social and marketing experiment by Gene Weingarten two years ago today; January 12, 2007, proving that people will designate one of two identical items as being distinctly better than the other simply because it is packaged or presented more attractively.
Weingarten set the event as an ,"experiment in context, perception and priorities - as well as an unblinking assesment of public taste: in a banal setting at an inconvenient time, would beauty transcend?"

breathing, heart beating, eyes open, smiling

2009-01-05T22:35:00.006-05:00

Happy, Blessed, Healthy, Loving, Prosperous, Peaceful, Abundant . . . New Year!

Chisel in hand, intent in heart, design in mind . . . and I have not yet carved my resolutions in the stone.

These first five days of the new year escaped in an exhale.

I am larger these days . . . the world around me, tiny. Days like seconds. Miles like steps. Obstacles like pebbles.

I am smaller these days . . . the world around me vast. Seconds like lifetimes. Steps like eternity. Me . . . a speck of blue in the sky.

I have found my place. I have found my space. I have found me in this place in this space.

Understanding

2008-09-13T12:48:00.003-04:00

Yes . . . I UNDERSTAND.
For ten years I have been gathering knowledge and sowing its seeds.
For ten years I have been in the knowning. But knowing is NOT understanding.
I NOW understand
and the pieces are coming together.
I am still assimilating the all of it
. . . I am still descending upon the planet.
I AM ALIVE AND LIFE IS GOOD.
I AM . . . forever grateful

Painting Myself into Existence

2008-07-02T16:13:00.004-04:00

Finding myself within the stone . . . painting myself into existence . . . such is life . . . such is reality.

All the Signs Indicate the Halfway Point

2008-06-12T13:31:00.005-04:00

If a flower, if a plant, if the seedling of a tree . . . is aware when it is halfway to the surface . . . then I suppose I can say I am half-way there.

I don't know know though if, when I arrive, I will arrive as a flower or a plant or a tree . . .

I do know I am on my way to finding out. And that is what I want . . . to know . . . to know.

In time I will know.

Time in patience.

Patience is a virtue.

Patience builds character, and having character eliminates the want and need of being a character.

Waiting to Bloom

2008-05-08T21:35:00.000-04:00

The magnolias have bloomed! I have not. Last year served to prune me back to near nothing. My roots have kept me breathing and silently living. My dormancy has proved to have been a much needed rest from the constant desire to flower.
I am well. I will continue to blog and write when I have something to say. For now, I am silent; I watch nature's mystical, magical changes as they embrace me, affect me, inspire me and speak to me.

Happy Spring. Happy Blooming.

The Philosophy of a Dog: During our walks; Emmy walks along side of me without a leash. I keep the leash in my hand and quickly snap it to her collar if and when we near passersby. When we get closer to the home, I remove her collar altogether. I noticed; when I remove her collar, she runs about as if she had just been freed. I realized . . . it's not the leash that restrains the dog, but the wearing of the collar. Mmmmm????

Orthodox Holy Week

2008-04-24T10:34:00.004-04:00

Greek Orthodox Holy Week . . . Blessings to all . . . I shall return after Pashca (Easter)

Kali Anastasi!

I will be writing more about Holy Pashca in my Sacred Footing blog - for all who are interested.

The Sins of the Winless

2008-04-07T15:46:00.014-04:00

Ok, so as it turned out, I was not the needed 'good luck' charm to help the Detroit Tigers end their - now six game - winless streak, when they played against the Chicago White Sox last night. Or maybe it was a no-luck combination of me, my daughter and two of her friends who went together. Or maybe it was the fact the White Sox played an exceptional game. Or maybe it was the fact the Tiger's did not play such an exceptional game. Or maybe the Tiger's are still acclimating and will soon get into a winning groove that will bring them up to first-place which is where they belong. Or maybe the seventh time will be the charm. Or maybe or maybe or maybe.

"Let's Go Tigers!"

I wonder about the 'fans' who are fortunate enough, wealthy enough, connected enough to sit in some of the best seats in the park . . . like the seat I was lucky enough to sit in last night . . . I wonder about those very quiet, dignified "fans." Some were busy doing late-night business deals and introductions while their teenage daughters were getting up and down and up and down to walk around and shop for candy, peanuts, coke and pizza all while text messaging every one of their friends. Some looked bored. Some very proper. Some looked like they were there because they were important enough to sit in those great seats. Some looked like had they had a remote control they would have surfed the channels. Yes, some were Sox fans. Some were jeering, booing fools, while some others, whose lives may have been on the line depending on the outcome, were just plan crabby. And then there was me and my gang. We were there to cheer on and support our team - The TIGERS - and we were cheering them on. YEAH!
oh, was that too loud? Come on people! Support our team! It's not like we're asking you to paint letters on your bare chests! The game was televised on ESPN and my sister and some friends informed me that we on on TV - good thing I did not eat any ice-cream - a little Seinfeld humor; George Costanza style.

Carpe diem

2008-04-06T15:12:00.007-04:00

Lovely Sunday here in Detroit . . .
Seizing the day

That is Canada across the lake

Emmy and I are enjoying this DAY
Tonight is 'taken me out to the ball game.' Let's hope I can be some kind of a 'good luck charm' for the Tigers!

There is Pain in the Knowing

2008-03-29T12:52:00.010-04:00

The annual seal hunt is on in Canada . . .

Good St. Francis, you loved all of God's creatures.

To you they were your brothers and sisters.

Help us to follow your example

of treating every living thing with kindness.

St. Francis, Patron Saint of animals,

watch over the Harp Seals

and keep them safe and healthy.

Amen.

“Blessed are you, Lord God, maker of all living creatures. You called forth fish in the sea, birds in the air and animals on the land. You inspired St. Francis to call all of them his brothers and sisters. We ask you to bless this pet. By the power of your love, enable it to live according to your plan. May we always praise you for all your beauty in creation. Blessed are you, Lord our God, in all your creatures! Amen.”

Heavenly Father, the bond we have with our friends of other species is a wonderful and special gift from You. We now ask You to grant our special animal companions your Fatherly care and healing power to take away any suffering they have. They trust in us as we trust in You. Give us, their human friends, new understanding of our responsibilities to these creatures of Yours. Our souls and theirs are on this earth together to share friendship, affection, and caring. Take our heartfelt prayers and bless these ill or suffering animals with healing Light and strength to overcome whatever weakness of body they have:

The Harp Seals and all animals being tortured, killed and sacrificed in the name of fashion, vanity, greed

Your goodness is turned upon every living thing; Your grace flows to all Your creatures; Your Light touches each of us with the reflection of Your love. Grant long and healthy lives to our special animal companions. Bless their relationships with us, and if You see fit to take them from us, help us to understand that they are not gone from us but only drawing closer to You. Grant our prayer through the intercession of good St. Francis of Assisi, who honored You through all Your creatures. Empower him to watch over our animal friends until they are safely with You in eternity, where we someday hope to join them in honoring You forever. Amen.

March 28, 2008: Canadian Fishermen Have Started
Killing 275,000 Harp Seal Pups

HARP SEALS .ORG

I love my Canadian neighbors, and I mean NO disrespect to you, my friends, across the river from me . . . I am sure many of you are against this cruelty . . . I am NOT attacking Canadian people - I am simply exposing a terrible thing endorsed by their government.

VIDEO FOOTAGE
Extremely disturbing images

I'm bringing back the MULLET

2008-03-27T14:30:00.020-04:00

I vote to bring back the mullet. Yes, I actually said that. No, I am not remaining anonymous. Yes, you heard me right . . . “Bring back the mullet! Bring back the mullet!” (Must be eighteen or older to participate. I will not be party to the damage which may or may not occur when forcefully cutting and shaping a small child's hair into a mullet - although I do admit subjecting my own children to wearing them, in my defense, I am a professional.)

Lately, given the everyday violence, the ongoing war and the poor economic conditions that have been wiping out an entire class of people, my people - the middle class, I was remembering the finer times of grander decades past – like the decadent eighties - a decade of abundance; prosperity; Dallas; Dynasty; the birth of MTV (when they actually played music); kick-your-ass shoulder pads; bright neon colors and bold eccentric patterns; save-us-looking-at-your-crack parachute pants; cheap gas and heavy metal; sexy exercise apparel without the hard work of actually working out; lots of makeup (on the women too) . . . and of course; big, BIG hair.

I’ve been in the beauty and fashion industries for over thirty years; I have seen many styles and trends come and go; I have experienced the underlying moods and attitudes that came and went with them . . . as art imitates life.

So, I was thinking of the possibility of the process in reverse: ‘life imitating art’ by taking the current depressed times back to a trend that would lift our spirits. And what better time or trend then the light-hearted days of BIG HAIR?

Hair, hair, long and big, beautiful hair has, through history, signified abundance, wealth, power, strength, freedom, sex and fun.

From kings and queens, politicians and barristers to wrestlers and bounty hunters. . . big hair makes a big statement.

One shaves his or her head to rid oneself of materialistic thoughts, to simplify ones existence, to minimize ones ego for spiritual purposes and to ignore the fact that one simply doesn’t have enough of the luscious adornment on top to make a statement. (Exception to the rule: Telly ‘Kojak’ Savalas . . . he was born bald and sexy)

Samson, whose power and strength came from his long hair, loses his strength when Delilah orders a servant to shave his locks.
Now what do you think about my idea of bringing back the big hair of the eighties, namely the mullet, and the philosophy of the mullet which is one we desperately need to re-adopt if we are to regain our sense of play during such sad and serious times . . . the philosophy being of course: “Business in the front; party in the back!”

A side note of history: David Bowie - the epitome of cool, the ultimate pop cult hero - wore the first mullet I can remember back in the seventies, and in all my excitement I cut my sister’s hair just like his (although she wasn’t really going for that much of an extreme and I had to pay for her Slurpies for a long time afterwards). Then, Florence Henderson shagged out the mullet and made it too mom-friendly and almost destroyed it forever.

Until along came our hair hero . . . Billy Ray Cyrus.

Billy Ray is, of course, the most recognized poster boy for the mullet. His poor achy breaky heart was ne’er broke again after he smiled a mischievous smile and turned around. Oh yeah! He wore his secrets down his back. We girls loved the party he had goin’ on and the fact that he was sharing the fun with us.

Now his daughter Mylie Cyrus - aka the mega-sensation Hanna Montana - has brought the Cyrus name back into the spotlight inspiring the younger generation of tweens and teens with her own special talent and style. But where does that leave us? What about us; the generation stuck between braced-teeth youthful optimism and not-yet-exhausted-social-security benefits? We need a hero. We need more laughter in our lives. We need something to occasionally take our minds off of the constant influx of bad news. We need more HAIR. We need a hair hero!

All I’m asking is for Billy Ray to step up to the plate and into my chair; to fulfill his duty as an American citizen; to help boost the economy and the morale of the American people by once again sporting a mullet . . . and wearing it proudly.

So, what do you say, Billy Ray? Don’t break my heart . . .

And while I’m on the subject of big hair, how about them Mall bangs . . . now that would definitely boost mall traffic, retail sales and lift the economy. Plus, it would put a fun, retro-spin on people watching.

TTYL...My BFF is in town! BBL

2008-03-21T10:36:00.005-04:00

I'll be back later (BBL) . . . my best friend forever (BFF) Kim Woolery is in town and staying with me. We are doing the girl-friend thing - each other's hair (it helps we're both stylists); watching 'chick flicks ('Atonement' last night); eating snacks, drinking wine, then switching to coffee; talking, catching up, talking talking talking until four in the morning last night.
Today we are hitting the road, meeting up with other friends and going to breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Talk to you later (TTYL)!

Yes Lindy . . .There is LOGIC in TECHNO - it just comes at the end

2008-03-14T14:39:00.004-04:00

Alleluia . . . I merged my e-mail . . . I merged my e-mail. Alleluia!
Yes, I'm a spiritual being by nature - a spiritual being having a beautiful, technological experience - for today, anyway.
Technology can sink me to the depths of the Underworld; snorkeling through the murky murk of Styx for lost cyber files, crashed out hard drives, frozen-in-time hourglass cursors, downloading errors and every other type of high tech malfunction dysfunction. Or, technology can have me soaring to heights of angelic ecstasy . . . flying on the wings of uninterrupted streams of wireless capacity for endless hours upon hours.
But today; today, whether it came of my pure determination and will, mental clarity, a little extra time and energy or some combination of all the above mixed with a tad pre-Saint Patrick's Day Irish luck: Today I finally merged my aol e-mail with my Comcast e-mail into my Windows (aka Outlook) Mail. A lovely marriage of two mail servers living happily ever after in one safe, neat domestic household. A menage a trois of organized convenience . . . for moi!
So, as I was singing . . . Alleluia . . . I merged my e-mail! Ain't life grand!

I Know What I Did Last Sunday

2008-03-04T20:18:00.012-05:00

What do you get when you combine a 14,000 square-foot ballroom of an award winning 800-million dollar luxury casino resort - the first of its caliber outside of Las Vegas; a starting lineup of an NBA championship winning team; a surprise guest performance by a world-famous artist / hip hop legend; and a man with a name familiar to most in the city of Detroit?

You get Dennis Archer Jr. hosting Pistons’ Richard “Rip” Hamilton’s 30^th birthday party at the MGM Grand Ballroom with Busta Rhymes leading the invited guests (like Rasheed Wallace, Tayshaun Prince, Chauncey Billups) in a toast and a traditional rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.” You get a night worth remembering. I did. The night of March 2, 2008. And, the heart of Detroit gets defibrillated back to her natural, soulful rhythm (after being brought close to death over the recent damaging rhythms within her political ventricle and law-enforcing lobe)

The night began with my first visit to the MGM Grand Detroit Resort Hotel and Casino, which opened in October 2007 and was named as one of the "Top 10 new U.S. hotels of 2007" by Gayot and mentioned as one of "53 places to visit in 2008" by The New York Times. I was, to say the least, very impressed by the elegant, elaborately designed award winning structure - the MGM Grand Detroit was also recently awarded the prestigious distinction of "Development of the Year 2007" on January 29, 2008 by the 2008 Americas Lodging Investment Summit.

On the way to the Grand Ballroom, I passed by two Starbucks; numerous retail establishments; a relaxing, elegant piano-style bar; tranquil waterfalls; the V lounge – which was recently named in Nightclub & Bar magazine's list of Top 100 Nightclubs of 2008; Wolfgang Puck’s Grille; and (Michael) Mina's SALTWATER Restaurant which was recently awarded "Restaurant of the Year" by the Detroit Free Press.

That was on the way to the party.

When I arrived at the doors of the Grand Ballroom, also referred to as the Grand Salon, I ordered a Cosmopolitan from the nearest bar to ‘break the ice.’ But, as I soon found out, the only ice that didn’t immediately melt in the ‘hot’ ambiance of the Miami-themed room - tented with white linens and filled with palm trees – were the ice sculptures of the number 30 next to a likeness of Rip’s face which decorated the strolling buffet tables.

Between deejay Mick Boogies' retro-disco, R & B and hip hop beat mixes; the announcement of the guest of honor's arrival, “Rip Hamilton is in the building!” called for another drink! But I had to wait before stepping into an oncoming entourage that blocked me from getting to the bar – Rasheed Wallace had also just arrived.

The night was still very young at 11:00pm as we had just begun to celebrate one year older in the life of Rip.

Emcee Kenny Burns and rapper Doug E. Fresh called for Rip to join them up on stage. So, I moved with the other guests, in a solitary mass, behind him. Everyone wanted to personally wish Rip a ‘happy birthday’ and hopefully get a photo opportunity – I was no different – and Rip graciously complied. It was then I realized that Rip was a baby when I worked for the Piston's organization under the leadership of Dick Vitale . . . Rip was a baby when I was a Classy Chassis! I'm not sure if that memory sent me back to the past or speeding into the future of this moment.

There is something about Detroiters and the way we love our athletes and support our sports teams; the way we remain real and true to our musical roots and the way we take pride in our city’s new developments, renovations, history and progress . . . . Well, the night combined all of who we are, what we are, and much of what we hold dear. The night was magical and getting better by the hour.

By now, I was in the front; the extreme front. My thighs were intimate with the edge of the stage. I was there to take photos and video clips, but what I did not know was that I was also right there at the precise moment when, to our surprise, Busta Rhymes was introduced. The mere mention of his name brought screams and shouts, a rhythmic motion of the mass crowd and hundreds of flickering camera flashes. He is, after all, a legend in his own right. And whether or not one loves or despises hip hop music, Busta Rhymes has achieved world-wide recognition and success in a multitude of artistic vehicles from television to film as an actor, writer, director, singer, performer and soundtrack composer. He does have a commanding and magnetic stage presence about him. And there is nothing quite the likes of raising a glass in a birthday salute to Rip Hamilton while joining Busta Rhymes in a “choir-like” rendition of “Happy Birthday to You.”

The evening was made possible by Dennis Archer Jr. - the name speaks for itself - and Ambassador Magazine. I call Dennis, 'Detroit’s Event Mayor and Public Relations Man.'

Rip was the man of the evening. Busta was the man of the hour. And Dennis was and is the man of Detroit.

I know what I did last Sunday. I won’t soon forget what I did last Sunday.

24

2008-02-29T11:56:00.005-05:00

A gift. A day. Twenty-four hours extra.
What will you do with today?
Twenty-four hours may not seem like much -
but to Kiefer Sutherland, it is an entire season.
So, do something today that you would not ordinarily do.
Celebrate this refund of time.
Unwrap this day with gratitude.
Yes,I agree, why February?
Why an extra day in February?
Why not an extra July 4th every four years?
But, it is here. It is today. It is yours.
It is mine.
Enjoy.
HAPPY LEAP DAY TO ALL.

The Nature of Me

2008-02-26T09:42:00.017-05:00

I was born in Detroit, Michigan. I was nurtured here. I grew up here. Detroit is my native soil; the perfect balance of minerals, alkalinity, water and sunlight that nurtured my body from infancy into adulthood. This is where my feet first walked the streets. This is where my childhood memories live. This is where, long ago, I buried things in an unmarked grave. This is the sacred place where the Earth mothered me into physical existence. Detroit is my home . . . no matter how far I roam. My roots begin here. And this is where I return when I seek the comfort of familiarity; when I need homemade chicken soup; when my ears long to hear the foghorn of a Lake Michigan lighthouse; when I am missing certain ingredients essential to my growing forward. Detroit in my nurturing force. Detroit is my sure thing.

Greece . . . is my spiritual motherland; the place my soul finds solace, answers and then, more questions. Greece is where the muses dance around me and where my feet also dance. It is here where I first heard my life calling me - in a tongue foreign to my ears yet understood by my heart. This is where my true nature was born; where I originate; where my creativity laughs from the belly. This is the place from where I can see eternity atop a limestone hill; where my ancient umbilica remains connected to the amniotic fluids of the Aegean Sea; and where I have yet to unbury all the mysteries of me. Greece is where I come when my canvas has become muddied from color on color and needs to be alabastered white again; when the world is so loud that I cannot hear my own voice. This is where I come when a solo clarino - clarinet, a glass of Retsina and a cotton dress is all that is needed to have my heart leaping with joy.
When I ventured away from Detroit to find what fates awaited me, it was then that I thought I had found Greece . . . but I found I had never really left Greece. And she never left me.
It was in Greece where my growing pains matured into wisdom and where I began to understand the knowledge I had collected from my experiences and education.
The nature and the nurture of life; we need to respect them both and love them equally if we are to have the ultimate experience and honor of birthing ourSelves.

Pythia is preparing to emerge from her womb after a long, quite, beautiful pregnancy.
Spring is just a few longitudes and latitudes away.

God's Living Canvas of Perfection and Beauty

2008-02-22T12:46:00.001-05:00

Moon rise over Lake Saint Clair - February 20, 2008 - the night of the lunar eclipse. This was the actual sight; what it really looked like. No editing or special effects. The colors were unbelievable. Gorgeous. Surreal. God truly is the Greatest artist and creator. The beauty of this moon rise made my evening.
Then, of course, there was the amazing lunar eclipse later that night . . . the red glowing veil over the moon . . . my camera could not capture that sight.
During times like these . . . tough times . . . times of transition . . . these glimpses of perfection that I see all around me are the things that keep me breathing, smiling, living, laughing, loving, dancing, writing, believing, hoping, dreaming, knowing . . . it is all good . . . everything is good. Ahhhhhh.

This image is poetry rising . . . and I'll post a poem (when it spills forth onto paper) on my Sacred Footing blog.

YOU HAD ME AT “HELLO . . . “ THIRTY-SIX YEARS AGO

2008-02-01T08:53:00.000-05:00

Just when I thought I had packed my teenage obsession with Todd Rundgren away with my jean cutoff short-shorts (the ones with the butterfly patch sewn onto the bum – the ones I couldn’t wear around my dad); my roller skating jersey; my gold wrap around snake arm bracelet; my emotionally blown out mood ring; and the dried-up powder blue carnation - a corsage from my first formal Junior High School dance (FYI: it will always be “Junior High,” not “Middle School,” to my generation) . . .

Just when I thought by packing away my old LP’s and 45’s in exchange for CD’s and Mp3’s; (cassettes – not worth mentioning - came and went with little hoopla; 8 tracks were alright, but I never really bought into them much) . . .

Just when I thought by growing three babies into adulthood; by finally committing to wearing sunscreen, faithfully; and by accepting the fact that my last name would never be Rundgren . . .

Just when I thought I had come to see Todd through the eyes of a fully matured, real woman (as I wrote about last November 2006 when I saw him perform with The New Cars). . .

And just when I thought IT WOULDN’T HAVE MADE ANY DIFFERENCE at this point in my life . . . he comes to town in his familiar, charming, silly, witty, intelligent and incredibly talented Todd way . . . turning up the heat (without the needed aid of a warm-up band) in a small corner of Detroit on a minus twenty degree Fahrenheit night . . . and twists my plot.

By the time I enter The Magic Bag, promptly at eight o’clock for doors, having stood outside in a line, a smile is already frozen to my face. And, even after I melt, it remains. I can’t help myself. I admit it’s a bit over the top for me to carry on this way. But it feels so good. It feels like all those years, all that time elapsed, every trial and tribulation along the way were erased in one fell swoop (and swoon) for one evening and one day of afterglow. I am, once again, in my skinny, prepubescent twelve year old body, sitting Indian-style on my bedroom floor, brown braids running down my shoulders, burning Nag Champa (wait, I still do that) and playing Todd albums over and over and over again on my record player. Even the mention of ‘record player’ feels electrifying. (But since plugs were not polarized back then, that may be adding to some of my ‘memory electric’).

So, here I am with about three-hundred people: loyal fans of four decade's worth of music (and An Elpee's Worth of Toons). Todd is our number one highest common factor and, per his request, our No. 1 LOWEST COMMON DENOMINATOR (tongue in cheek symbol inserted here. TR fans will understand). We have gathered together on this thirtieth day of January in the eighth year of the third millennium for an up close and personal, “Freeze Your Ass Off” tour. Some of us are seated at tables, others chose to stand, in this big living room atmosphere; drinking, singing, laughing and swaying our hips when we couldn't help ourselves any longer. We converse with Todd from our seats and he banters back at us about our city’s recent embarrassing political scandal, his non-political-non -endorsing-political-views, religion, public MySpace secrets, and other common dinner table conversation topics. He strums his music into existence and sings to us from his soul . . . he is our most gracious and generous host. And, he is a huge talent on a dangerously small stage, as he quickly finds out when “some of his best guitar riff footwork” during “Buffalo Grass” - the first song on the set list - almost sends him into the Snare of drummer Prairie Prince . . . a mere two steps behind him. Todd has always been too big to be limited by space or time . . . too big to be held down by gravity.

His set list included a little something from the past three decades - dating back to 1970 up to the new millennium - with a little more Something/Anything than anything else: He played Black Maria, SLUT, and one of his signature hits; I Saw The Light. As big of a hit as that song was and as much as I loved it back in 1972 . . . nothing has changed. It is a timeless piece of musical beauty and my heart remembered its every note. Todd surprised me with No. 1 Lowest Common Denominator, but not until after he half joked about seeing the young looking “angelic face shoved right up front.” Lowest Common Denominator is a sexually metaphorical song (electric eel and great equalizer) that includes a recitation of an erotic ‘poem of love.’ Todd continues; “I know for a frickin’ fact that this is not an all ages show, ergo, we may speak frankly because the thing I hate is being the first one to give your youngins a talk . . . You’re cramping my style!”

Even though he played for almost three hours, (he really put his heart and soul into his playing - he was energetic, passionate . . . phenomenal on the guitar! He was having a lot of fun with it.) he could not possibly include all of his many songs, or even all of his many hits. He did not have a keyboard with him on stage and did not do some of his pop hits like, “Hello It’s Me,” and “A Dream Goes On Forever,” and “It wouldn’t Have Made Any Difference,” to name just a few. But, we didn’t come to see Todd to hear Todd imitate Todd . . . (that's what separates the real man fans from the boys) for he is in a constant state of metamorphosis and evolution and I’m surprised he even has a set list at all.

He truly is A Wizard A True Star who landed right here at The Magic Bag on the (OOPS) right PLANET, bringing us a glimpse of Utopia and casting his musical spell and wizardry over us - his tireless, faithful fans – by kindly reversing the clock (much like Superman) and restoring to us our youthfulness and our original heads of lustrous, pigmented hair . . . if only in our own minds . . . and if only for one night.

Of course, on stage, Todd could not play every instrument and sing every part himself as he can do in studio and did on three of the four sides of his third solo album: Something /Anything circa 1972. So, he was in the company of three respected, accomplished, talented musicians: Extremely gifted drummer (and artist) - Prairie Prince - who banged out beats for The Tubes; Jefferson Starship, The New Cars and created a solid foundation . . . a canvas for audible art (He has also recorded in studio with Todd and Brian Eno, David Byrne, to name a few); guitarist extraordinaire, performer, educator, author and former music editor of Guitar Player, Jesse Gress who really rocked that stage and impressed all of us with his amazing skill and talent; and bass guitarist – Kasim Sulton.

Kasim (who also blogs a journal ) is highly recognized for his incredible talent as a musician (which is more than obvious when you see him live) singer, songwriter and producer. He has worked with a diverse group of musical artists from Meat Loaf, Patti Smith, Joan Jett and Mick Jagger, to Hall and Oates, Celine Dion, and Patty Smyth. But of course, me being the Todd fan I am, I recognize and appreciate him most for his thirty something years with Todd Rundgren and Todd’s band Utopia. Kasim has a seemingly effortless way of playing . . . as if the instrument is a natural extension of his fingers. He also has a palpable charismatic charm that could do serious damage to the female heart. His name should really be Kasim Sultry . . . because he oozes passion and sensuality. I admit, I was taken by his charm and, of course, his amazing talent, although I tried very hard to resist his hypnotizing eye contact. I won’t say whether or not my efforts worked.

Please, God, I do not want to trade one obsession in for another . . . although, really, I am not obsessed in an unhealthy, crazy way with Todd . . . only another tried-and-true fan would understand my loyalty and passion. By tried-and-true fan, I mean someone who, when they think of TR, the first thing that comes to their mind is NOT only ‘Hello It’s Me.” Like Zappa, Rundgren chose truth to Self and heart over pop culture and top forty. And for that . . . I thank him.

Rundgren Radio

The following is taken from the IMDb website. I do not take credit for the content nor do I take responsibility for inaccuracies. I included it purely for its interesting information.

Mini Biography

Considered by many to be the "Ultimate Rock Cult Hero", Todd Rundgren has maintained a legion of fans through four decades, rivaled only by The Grateful Dead. Todd was raised in the Philadelphia (Pennsylvania) area, and his first professional bands, Money and Woody’s Truck stop, achieved much regional success. It was in the late 1960s, however, that Todd's searing guitar work reached a nationwide audience, in his role as lead guitarist for the blues-psychedelic band Nazz. he wrote and arranged almost all of the work that went into the three albums the group produced. Their music ranged from Southern blues to hard rock to heavily orchestrated symphonies. Nazz broke up in the early 1970s and Todd released two solo albums under the name of Runt. His first big solo success was in 1971 with "We Gotta Get You a Woman" and in 1973 from the double album "Something/Anything?" he scored big on the charts with "I Saw the Light" and a revision of a Nazz song, "Hello, It's Me." Perhaps the superstardom that seemed imminent at this time eluded Rundgren due to his reluctance to be pigeonholed into any single type of music. He still released albums with great love ballads, but they were also laced with heavy guitar rock, and occasionally mini rock operas. Rundgren has scored huge as a music producer, most notably on Meat Loaf's "Bat out of Hell" opus. In the late 1970s and through the 1980s Todd formed the group Utopia, each member an accomplished musician and vocalist. In recent years Rundgren has become a computer enthusiast, marketing many new innovations, some in conjunction with his music. He has also been called on by films and TV for his musical scores. Todd also maintains his own website.

IMDb Mini Biography By: Buxx Bannr

Spouse: Michele Gray

Trivia

Liv Tyler's stepfather.

He was with the rock group, "Utopia".

Co-inventor of the Flowfazer, a computer program that generates visual effects.

Several of his compositions, notably "Hello, It's Me", "I Saw the Light" and "Bang the Drum All Day", are standards known by bar bands across the USA.

Recorded and produced an album entitled "a cappella", which featured only his voice, processed through various electronic devices, to emulate various musical instruments.

Sons: Rex, Randy and Rebop.

Incorporates the song "Bang the Drum All Day" into his concerts, often when the audience is least expecting it.

Since moving to Hawaii, he has taught himself to play the ukulele, joking that "...if you're a musician, it's required by law".

His album "No World Order" has the songs linked together as two long mixes. Because many disk jockeys requested, he released an alternative version of the album, "No World Order - Lite", which has the same songs but mixed as separate tracks.

His album "With A Twist" (a nod to the "retro lounge" movement) features bossa nova versions of his most popular compositions.

Season 1, Episode 1 of "That 70's Show"(1998) known as "The '70s Pilot" AKA "Teenage Wasteland," features a plot revolving around Eric going to see a Todd Rundgren concert in Milwaukee. Two of Rundgren's songs are also featured in the episode, "I Saw the Light" and "Hello It's Me".

He presented the first live nationally broadcast stereo radio concert (by microwave), linking 40 cities around the country, in 1978.

His 1981 "Time Heals," video was the first music video to utilize state-of-the-art compositing of live action and computer graphics. Produced and directed by Rundgren, it became the second video to be played on MTV (after The Bugles' "Video Killed the Radio Star").

He gave the first live national cablecast of a rock concert in 1982, which aired on the USA Network. It was simulcast in stereo to over 120 radio stations.

His creation of the first color graphics tablet in 1980 was licensed to Apple Computers and released as "The Utopia Graphics Tablet."

In 1982 he produced the first two commercially released music videos, one of which was nominated for the first-ever Grammy awarded for Best Short Form Video in 1983.

In 1979 he opened Utopia Video Studios, a multi-million-dollar state-of-the-art facility. The first project produced by Todd there was Gustav Holst's "The Planets", commissioned by RCA Selecta Vision as the first demonstration software for its new videodisc format.

In 1978, he performed the first interactive television concert, broadcast live over the Warner/QUBE system in Columbus, Ohio (the home audience chose each song in real time during the concert by voting via QUBE's 2-way operating system).

BMI Million-Air Awards were also awarded to Rundgren for his other two Top 10 hit records, "I Saw The Light" and "Love Is The Answer".

Digital Hollywood Awards 1996 - Best Music CD-ROM for "The Individualist".

Best Composition Arrangement for "No World Order" from the Interactive Academy in 1994.

Well, this is not the best quality video, taken with my digital camera on Jan 30,2008 at The Magic Bag in Ferndale, Michigan (just outside Detroit). Todd Rundgren, headlining, finally, after years of my waiting in anticipation for his solo return to the stage.(He toured with The New Cars - I saw that show in Nov '06)
I had to move around - get closer to the stage - sing, dance, soak it up...so the video is a bit shaky and the sound is somewhat muffled, but true Todd fans will enjoy it anyway!

Pythia is in her cave

2008-01-11T12:40:00.001-05:00

I am here...present...but not visible at the moment.
I have retreated to my cave and am floating in the amniotic waters...waiting to be conceived.
Quiet. Slow. Patient. Peaceful. Waiting.
This IS a new year in every way.

Looking Back . . . My Photo Montage

2008-01-03T02:10:00.001-05:00

MY NEW YEAR'S PROJECT

Photo montage in and around Detroit, the suburbs and Michigan...featuring the Detroit River and Lakes Michigan, Huron and Saint Clair; urban decay and the regeneration and renaissance of Detroit; the cycles and seasons of life - from winter to winter.
The montage, set to the music of Moby, includes photos of my family, my friends, my city, my state...including: legendary bike-builder: Ron Finch; guitar great: Jim McCarty; WRIF Radio Host: Big Daddy Arthur P; Mike Fasano (drums) with Jani Lane in concert at "Pine Knob;" local artist: Chris Kime; local club DJ: Adam Lenk...
The montage also includes places and events: The "Renaissance Center;" The River Walk - celebrating Detroit's 300th Birthday; The Belle Isle Bridge; The 2007 Detroit Belle Isle Grand Prix; Alice Cooper playing to his home town crowd at the Michigan State Fair; popular vacation spots: Caseville, Frankfort and Traverse City; The Trowbridge House - The oldest house in Detroit (post fire); The oldest church - Saints Peter and Paul; Dr Bob's Innate Cafe and Center for Holistic Healing; Campus Martius at Christmas time; Greenfield Village...
"TO EVERYTHING THERE IS A SEASON. A time to plant...a time to heal...a time to die...a time to weep...a time to laugh...a time to dance...a time to LOVE..."
Rest in Peace with GOD: Diana J. Lenk (my beautiful, loving mom) and Steven Michael Smith (my gentle, kind son-in-law)
PS To Detroiters, some things shall remain carved in stone...Hudson's, The Renaissance Center, Pine Knob, Tiger Stadium...they may change the signs but never our memories.

cHRistMas PAsT and PreSENt

2007-12-24T10:19:00.000-05:00

MERRY CHRISTMAS . . . MAY THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS BE WITH YOU DURING THIS HOLIDAY SEASON . . . MAY YOU HAVE ALL THE EXCITEMENT AND WONDERMENT AND JOY THAT YOU HAD AS A CHILD!

All in a Morning's Day

2007-12-21T16:19:00.002-05:00

Ok, so today I spent my morning caring for an ill Beta fish named Nemo. Technically, he is my grandson Nathan's pet fish, but Nemo has been in my care for about a year now. My daughter rescued him from a party as he was part of the table's centerpiece; swimming in a vase of flowers for everyone's amusement. I won't go there right now, but I was proud of her for rescuing him before the props were disassembled and packed away. That was three years ago. How long do these little Beta fish live?

We thought he was dying at Easter time. He lay, almost lifeless, at the bottom of the bowl, not interested in eating his breakfast nor in watching the comings and goings of our colorful and gigantic bodies as he usually did. We would stop to tap gently on his glass house to get him to move . . . we were checking for signs of life. We said some prayers around him. I put a few drops of holy water in his bowl and I even gave him a Reiki treatment. Soon he was his old bouncy self again. A Miracle!

Well, he has had a case of the icks lately . . . fin rot. I have been treating him for that, but the medicine has not healed him completely. I was about to try a stronger medicine today, but, after I changed his water and cleaned his bowl, then I put him in the new water, he would not leave the top. Betas can breathe the air at the top. I quickly re-changed the water, fearing the medication was too strong and therefore suffocating him. I continued observing him. He was still hanging, listlessly around the top gulping air.

I went online to look up Betas and Beta health problems. Along with fin rot, swim bladder and constipation are the three most common ailments, with swim bladder and constipation going hand-in-hand. The information provided suggested I do not feed him his Beta food for a day or two, but I was to peel and mush a couple of frozen or canned peas and see if I could tempt him to eat them. The high fiber would help unblock him. The 'pea' treatment is preferable to the good old-fashioned Epsom Salt bath, which should be my last option due the the extra stress it would create. Now remember, I am still referring to a little Beta fish here . . . not me.

Nemo did not go for the peas and I am going to hold off on the Epsom Salt bath and the medication for the time being. I'm praying that nature takes its course and within a day or two he will be pooping with the best of them. I'm praying for a Christmas miracle much like the Easter miracle.

(Don't doubt for a minute that a little fish won't steal your heart - Nemo actually has a personality, he comes to see me when I'm near his bowl and he bubbles with love. I love that little guy!)

So, that was my morning - diagnosing and treating a Beta fish named Nemo with constipation and swim bladder. Two nights ago, my friend rescued a cat that was trapped in her window well and she spent her afternoon at the Veterinarian's office. Tonight I'm going to rescue and treat myself . . . I'm meeting a friend for a drink. Salute!

Down with Santa! created by: StoveStomper on 12/23/03”

Snow Day

2007-12-17T10:33:00.001-05:00

Emmy was like a child on Christmas morning when I took her outside.

Just two days ago, the sun was shining, the lake was blue, the water was rippling against the shore. Now, shades of gray, sheets of ice and a thick white blanket of freshly fallen snow are decorating December's canvas.
Ahhhhh, the beauty of Michigan.

Time to go inside . . . I made a pot of Northern Bean soup. Sunday was definitely a hot soup kind of day.
This evening my sisters are coming over - to my nest - for our annual Christmas get-together. My theme is Oprah inspired: "my favorite things." We are each preparing one of our favorite dishes, and in lieu of individually chosen gifts, we are bringing three of the same thing - one of our favorite things - to gift each other. I thought that would be fun; sharing and giving and receiving something we each personally love.
I'll be back to writing and posting regularly in about a week or so, but for now - as a woman, a mother, and a 'gammy' - the holiday season keeps me very busy. I'll keep in touch with these little updates until Time gives me her gift.

Trimming my Tree and Decking my Halls

2007-12-13T11:57:00.000-05:00

While I prepare for the Christmas holiday . . . send out my cards (the one above - for all of you - is our "Christmas in July photo taken 7-25-07 on Luke's 18th Birthday), bake cookies, wrap gifts, fix the top strand of lights on my fully decorated tree that went out . . . here's a bit a holiday cheer and spirit:

I stopped believing in Santa Claus when my mother took me to see him in a department store, and he asked for my autograph. Shirley Temple

Christmas at my house is always at least six or seven times more pleasant than anywhere else. We start drinking early. And while everyone else is seeing only one Santa Claus, we'll be seeing six or seven. W. C. Fields

Santa Claus wears a Red Suit,
He must be a communist.
And a beard and long hair,
Must be a pacifist.
What's in that pipe that he's smoking? Arlo Guthrie

It is good to be children sometimes, and never better that at Christmas, when its mighty Founder was a child Himself. Charles Dickens

The Supreme Court has ruled that they cannot have a nativity scene in Washington, D.C. This wasn't for any religious reasons. They couldn't find three wise men and a virgin. Jay Leno

"Santa Claus has the right idea. Visit people once a year."
Victor Borge

I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play
And mild and sweet the words repeat,
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

I thought how as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had roll'd along th' unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

And in despair I bow'd my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong, and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."

'Til ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
first published in 1863

I wish you all a festive, stress-free, pre-holiday season!

AND . . . A Festivus for the rest of us!" From Seinfeld

Aquainted with Evil - Innocence Lost

2007-12-03T15:50:00.001-05:00

As a people, have we changed at all? Have we evolved at all? To loosely quote from one of Castaneda's books; "If you think you've changed a little, you haven't changed at all."
When I think back . . . back centuries . . . back millennia . . . I have little hope left. Little hope for all of us, for mankind as a whole, and for me who is a part of this whole.

For as far back as we can collectively remember through historical writings, art, stories . . . from the beginning of our existence we have continued to make the same ill-fated errors in judgment over and over again. To our detriment, we have continued to be the same 'people' we have always been, regardless of the difficult life-lessons we have experienced, the pain, the sorrow and the obvious karmic outcomes of our doings.

Since our beginning, we have engaged ourselves in wars, religious and political conflicts, prejudices, social hierarchies, poverty, rape, pillaging, addictions, greed, sexual exploitations, immoral and unethical behaviors, ignorance, denial and indifference causing us to be uninvolved.

Sure, we can argue that there also exists 'good' people: generous, caring, concerned, involved . . . just as there has always been.

WE HAVE NOT CHANGED. And that is fact.

A few days ago, the body of a young girl, Emily Sander - just eighteen years young - was found. She was a college student. She had her whole life ahead of her. She needed extra money. She found a popular-by-demand side job in the dark world of pornography; a world that would not exist if we were truly an evolving species. But, unfortunately, pornography does exist (as it always has) and it is raping us, especially our children, of the gift of innocence. It is an ever-growing business and our appetite has become insatiable. Pornography, for one, is destroying the fabric of mankind. I know from my own personal experience and the experiences of friends around me.

And then there is the recent news story of the eight-day old infant girl - sexually abused and murdered by her twenty-eight year old father. We can say, "He is a sick @*%&, " but the questions of "How could he . . . ?" or "Why did he?" should really be a question of "What happened to him that he, one of our own, became so filled with darkness and evil that he would ever have thoughts like that in his mind - thoughts that would lead him to do something so cruel, horrible and ungodly?"

The news continues to report the horrific stories perpetrated by mankind - stories we do not want to hear about, but must know about if we are to fully understand the crisis we are facing in this world.

All I can say, with much sadness and despair in my heart, is GOD HELP US ALL.

December 23, 2012 is quickly approaching. While I'm not a 'doomsdayer' by nature - I am actually an incurable romantic and optimist - I don't know where else we can go, what else we can do . . . except PRAY and clean our own minds and hearts of the trash and toxins that have accumulated within us by means of our mere existence and co-inhabitance among our fellow man in the outskirts of the garden.

Thomas Cole. Expulsion from the Garden of Eden (detail). c.1827-1828. Oil on canvas. The Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MA, USA.

Definition of Precious

2007-11-30T14:08:00.000-05:00

There are few events in life as precious and blessed as witnessing the sparkle of wonderment in a child's eyes.

My grandson, Nathan, is in his peak years of enchantment - he is eight years old. I don't think there is another time in one's life when the world is that magical, purely unprejudiced and openly awaiting discovery. A time when spider webs and fossil-like rocks are the coolest, most awesome finds; when superman ice cream is the best food in the world; and when press credentials bearing T.rex's photo - purchased at a souvenir kiosk - can grant our entrance into worlds beyond our imaginations.

About a week and a half ago, Nathan and I took a trip back in time . . . way back . . . about 250 million years.

We picked up our tickets at the window and a couple of hot dogs at the snack bar. We sat, eating while watching the clock. At 6:00 pm, we gathered some bottles of water and snacks in preparation for the journey ahead. With travel brochures in hand and our hearts thumping a little louder, we took our seats and waited. I took a couple of flash photos before our journey took us back to a time long before digital photography was invented.

Before long, most of the seats were taken up by anxious time-travelers such as ourselves. Strobe lights began flashing and a voice came over the loud speakers: "Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, please take your seats . . . will begin in ten minutes."

Nathan's face lit even up brighter and he turned to me, "Thank you, Gammy!!!!! Thank you so much! You're the best Gammy!"

I couldn't have been any higher with bliss then in that moment.

Before long, the first dinosaur of the Triassic Period came out from behind the huge teeth that acted as a portal between our two worlds.

The sounds of these magnificent and mysterious creatures, as well as their commanding and majestic presence, swallowed our senses whole. For one night, there was nothing else except Nathan, the dinosaurs and me. I was completely immersed in the present moment of an ancient past.

That was the night of 200 million years. That was night Nathan and I walked with dinosaurs.

Walking With Dinosaurs

Say Your Name . . . SAY YOUR NAME

2007-11-24T16:12:00.001-05:00

Some years back, the musical group, Destiny's Child, sang a popular song, "Say My Name . . . say my name . . . " The song was about a woman telling her boyfriend to 'say her name' because she suspected him of cheating and needed him to 'say her name' to assure her that he was being faithful. She wanted to be sure that he had enough love (for he) to say her name . . . to call her by her name.

That song came to mind this morning as I was watching Suzie Orman on the local PBS station. She was speaking to an audience of women about women & money. As most of us know by now, financial problems and the way we handle our money stems from personal issues as well as from a lack of financial knowledge, so Suzie was encouraging the women to be more self-giving and self-loving; to be more assertive and confident; to build up their self-esteem.

Near the end of her show, Suzie brought up a valid point about names - especially womens' names because we acquire different names and titles throughout our lives. We start off with our 'miss' maiden names. We change our names to 'mrs. husband' when we get married. And If we get divorced, we change our names back to our maiden names. All of these changes to our original name causes us to be uncertain about who we really are. We don't even know which of the prefixes - 'miss, mrs or ms - we will or should use anymore.

So now we have the name prefix uncertainty blended into the melting pot of the many more 'titles' we accumulate; like mother, daughter, wife, ex, etc. This causes us to be more unclear and leaves many of us incapable of saying our own name, with confidence, out loud to another person. Because we have become unclear about who we are, we cannot even say our own name.

In thinking about my many 'names' and titles over the years, I know the name that fits me perfectly and feels the best is the name I have had since birth and childhood. The day I reclaimed my name from the archives, I felt empowered. But even still, I rarely introduce myself using both my first and last name.

There is power in a name. There is a unique vibration associated to every name. There is a numeric value in each letter that makes up a name and is of great significance, especially in the system of numerology. There is historical value and ancestral knowledge and strength in every name. And for all parents who took time carefully choosing their baby's name; there is meaning in the chosen name . . . the 'given' name.

This 'name' theme actually began last week when I heard Maya Angelou stress how relevant it is for one to ask for (and remember) another's full name. She phrased it in terms of 'courage;' to have the courage to ask a person for his or her full name - not stopping at Staci with an 'i.' And then, to have the courage (and respect) to remember that name.

So, what's in a name? More than we know. More than we realize. More than we give attention, relevance and respect to. We are our names more than we think we are. I have always used the excuse that 'I'm not good with names.' But I am now aware that I haven't given the name nor the person in front of the name, my time, energy and respect. I can no longer use that 'I'm not good with names," excuse. God help me if there's no room in my brain for a new name. But even if that were the case, regardless of the fact that a name can be stored in a brain - it is remembered in and recalled from one's heart.

My name is LINDY LENK.

SAY your name. Say YOUR Name. Say Your NAME.

The photo: The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. He and his name did not go completely unknown - "Known only to God" as inscribed. He, himself had a name and he, himself, knew his name.

Non-Members Only, Please

2007-11-19T20:05:00.001-05:00

The Smoking Redhead Club - I am not a welcome member. Need I be sad? I am a brunette now. I'm sure there's a club for (non-smoking) brunettes out there. Or, I could apply to redhead club, after a trip to the salon or the Clairol aisle of my local drug store. But for what? Comradeship? Sounds too Communistic for me. Respect? No, respect is earned not learned. Acceptance? Friendship? Popularity? Because of the color of my hair? Sounds too conditional and inconsistent for me. Too insincere. Then why? Power in numbers? I own my own power. Protection from the blondes? The only protection I really need is from a group's group mentality. Cool by association? As for coolness - well, much like class, 'coolness' can only be achieved going solo . . . being an individual. Most guys wanted to be like the "Fonz," but the "Fonz" did not want to be like anyone else or belong to anyone but himself. Most women wanted to imitate Audry Hepburn's class and savoir faire, but Ms. Hepburn imitated no one. She was her own woman.

I dislike groups, clubs, cliques (an informal and/or restricted social group formed by people who share common interests or patterns of behavior). I am seriously scared by anything resembling mass mentality, especially when the common denominator is hatred (aka misunderstanding) towards another group or individual, which is the case with most groups (though it it well hidden - i.e. the going to heaven club versus the everyone else is going to hell club - although the fear induced latter of the two is the real glue that binds)

I remember how my children would ban together and help each other clean up as long as they had one angry thing in common: being upset with me. They appeared cooperative, helpful and productive among themselves when they formed the "mom's mean" club. They felt safe within the group - safe from being singled out or held accountable for their individual behavior by being punished or rewarded. But, the group mentality was not as strong when the commonality was based on a positive / good goal such as a trip to the ice cream parlor if they worked together to clean up after themselves. Eventually, two of them would point fingers and blame the third for not doing his or her fair share. A sub-group was formed based on blame and the third was sold out for the 'good' of the group. Goodness and fairness seemed to segment the group while anger made them stronger.

So, it sounds like groups with a common dislike for someone/something is actually a good thing. I guess it is from the view point of society and government and religion. Think about it. As a mother, I admit, I used the mom's mean club to my own advantage. Their bedrooms got cleaned up and no one bothered me, the mean mom, in the meantime. And, I did not need to buy any ice cream.

I suppose there are some groups that will never gain popularity, like Posers Anonymous

The Corner in Between

2007-11-11T15:03:00.000-05:00

Standing at the corner.

One foot left of it. One foot right of it. I can't stand here forever (not in this outfit, anyway). And I can't do the splits anymore (surely, not in these jeans). I've been down each of those roads . . . the Wall Street of it . . . the Broadway of it. Occasionally, I high kicked when I should have been trading up and I traded down when I should have been kicking high. Overall, I did most things right. I played the game according to the rules.

But the lights are still brighter on Broadway . . . that is, if I can afford to pay the increasing electric bill.

Ahhhh, the starving artist. Ahhhh, the tortured artist. I'm over it. And as for the high stakes and fast pace of the Wall Street society; that wall keeps getting higher and higher and I don't want to be anther brick in the wall.

So, basically, my left brain is watching me starve while my right brain is drawing pictures of figs and sushi and tomatoes and Gouda cheese . . . you know, healthy food for the soul.

What's next? Is this all there is? What's my third option?

PS Thank you friends and readers. Thanks for your patience. This upheaval has left me without internet for the time being.

Nesting Before Flight

2007-10-30T09:56:00.000-04:00

My son Adam, as he was lifting one end of my huge, heavy sofa bed out of the U-haul said to me:

"Mom, I hope your next house is the house I'll bring your grandchildren to visit you."

Of course it won't be. I am not like most of my family. I am like my dad's sister, Wanda. My mom used to joke that she wrote my Aunt Wanda's phone number in pencil rather than pen in her address book. (I think those books are all but obsolete these days.) I used to get excited to see what new, great apartment she had found. One of my favorites was a loft-like place; there was one big bedroom upstairs that overlooked the living room and as a young girl I thought that was so cool. I'm sure her brothers were not as impressed with the floor plans. In fact, I'm sure they thought she was a bit flighty for moving around so much, but I understand. She is flighty and so am I . . . if flighty refers to birds.

You see, I have realized that, although there are many different types of people in this world, we can be put into two major categories: trees and birds. Of the trees there are many kinds: oaks, figs, olive, apple, maple, lemon, palm, weeping willow, pine, etc . . . . Of the birds there are many kinds: doves, ravens, owls, chickens, eagles, hawks, peacocks, sparrow, crow, etc . . . I have come to learn that I am a bird like my Aunt Wanda. I am still discovering what kind of bird I am.

Trees root, for they need to root deeply if they are to survive and thrive. Trees depend on their location - rain to supply water and soil to supply nourishment. They have all they need within their reach. Occasionally, trees may uproot and move to another location. But there is always a plan, a time-line and they re-root quickly. I love trees and I have great respect for their strength and beauty in their constancy. They teach us that we each have an important part in an intricate system, even though we may not be able to see the entirety of the forest beyond us. Trees provide shelter for birds to nest and take rest. Trees provide fruit for birds to eat. Trees bend allowing the wind to pass by. Sometimes they break under the stress of the storm. But, even a dead tree gives. It either remains a skeletal sculpture of art against the horizon or it is lumbered for many other uses. Trees represent life . . . the tree of life.
Psalm 1:3 He will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in its season and its leaf does not wither; And in whatever he does, he prospers.

And then there are the birds. Birds are creatures of flight. Occasionally gliding effortlessly through the air while resting their wings . . . going with the flow of the breeze. . . riding on the wings of something much bigger - faith. There comes many a time when birds must use every bit of stored energy to fly against the wind, to weather the storms, to watch for predators, to look for shelter. A bird's life is both agile and fragile at the same time. They build their nests, raise their young, teach their young to fly off and be independent . . . and then they migrate - fly off to a new, sometimes sunnier location and nest again. Birds provide stories for trees to hold onto. Birds are scouts. Birds are messengers - for it was a bird, first a raven, then a dove, that Noah sent out to check if the storm had passed. Birds remind us to keep the faith. Birds represent the big picture. Birds are watched.
Matthew 6:26 "Look at the birds of the air, that they do not sow, nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them . . .

Trees root. Birds nest. I always tried to be a tree, thought of myself as an oak, but I discovered I am a bird . . . I am somewhere between a blue jay and a crow
And I am finally at peace with that.

Photo image by: Russ Hansen

A note of interest: Birds should never own sofa beds. Sofa beds should never be uprooted!

After writing this, I did some research on the internet and came up with some fun ideas about my Tree/Bird theory . . .

BIRD SPIRITS
Blackbird - Understanding energies of mother earth, insight, vitality
Bluebird - Modesty, confidence, happiness, plaintive song
Blue Jay - Proper use of power, adaptability, fearless, resoursefullness
Canary - Power of song, voice, sensitive
Cardinal - Vitality, recognizing self importance, camouflage
Crow - Mystic, secret magic of creation, intelligence
Dove - Feminine energies of peace, maturity, maternity, prophecy
Duck - Emotional comfort and protection, affection
Eagle - Illumination of spirit, healing, creation, spiritual power, vision, wisdom, connection with the divine
Finch - Song, energy of variety and multiplicity
Flicker - New rhythm of growth and healing power, love, balance
Goldfinch - Awakening to the nature spirits
Goose - Vision quest, travel, new adventure, fertility, communication
Grouse - Sacred dancing & drumming, creation, energy, protective
Hawk - Visionary power, guardian, messenger, leads to lifeÕs purpose
Heron - Aggressive self determination and self reliance, balance, wisdom
Hummingbird - Tireless joy and happiness, the nectar of life, healing, strength
Magpie - Proper use of intelligence, occult knowledge, adaptability
Meadowlark - Cheerful journey inward, sublimation, imagination, courageous
Mockingbird - Finding your sacred songs, recognition of your innate abilities
Owl - Mystery of magic, omens, silent wisdom, visions
Parrot - Sunshine and color healing, mimics
Peacock - Resurrection, watchfulness, protective, wisdom
Penguin - Lucid dreaming, out of body experiences, creative energy
Pheasant - Family, fertility and sexuality
Pigeon - Return to the love & security of home, fertility
Quail - Group nourishment and protection, ability, fertility, spot danger
Raven - Magic, creation, shape shifting, vocalizing, playfulness
Road Runner - Mental speed and agility, running
Robin - Spread of new growth, song energy
Sparrow - Awakening, triumph of common nobility, ability to multiply
Stork - Birth and unspoken communication, dance, protective
Swallow - Protection & warmth for home & proper perspective
Swan - True beauty, sensitive, powerful, grace
Turkey - Shared blessings, harvest, energy, sharing
Vulture - Purification, death, rebirth, new vision
Waxwing - Gentleness and courtesy, polite
Woodpecker - Power of rhythm and discrimination, new inner rhythms
Wren - Resourcefulness and boldness, medicine for own environment

What Tree Did You Fall From?

Find your birthday and its corresponding tree.
Then, see the meaning behind it below. Do you recognize yourself?

Dec 23 to Jan 01	Apple Tree
Jan 02 to Jan 11	Fir Tree
Jan 12 to Jan 24	Elm Tree
Jan 25 to Feb 03	Cypress Tree
Feb 04 to Feb 08	Poplar Tree
Feb 09 to Feb 18	Cedar Tree
Feb 19 to Feb 28	Pine Tree
Mar 01 to Mar 10	Weeping Willow Tree
Mar 11 to Mar 20	Lime Tree
Mar 21	Oak Tree
Mar 22 to Mar 31	Hazelnut Tree
Apr 01 to Apr 10	Rowan Tree
Apr 11 to Apr 20	Maple Tree
Apr 21 to Apr 30	Walnut Tree
May 01 to May 14	Poplar Tree
May 15 to May 24	Chestnut Tree
May 25 to Jun 03	Ash Tree
Jun 04 to Jun 13	Hornbeam Tree
Jun 14 to Jun 23	Fig Tree
Jun 24	Birch Tree
Jun 25 to Jul 04	Apple Tree
Jul 05 to Jul 14	Fir Tree
Jul 15 to Jul 25	Elm Tree
Jul 26 to Aug 04	Cypress Tree
Aug 05 to Aug 13	Poplar Tree
Aug 14 to Aug 23	Cedar Tree
Aug 24 to Sep 02	Pine Tree
Sep 03 to Sep 12	Weeping Willow Tree
Sep 13 to Sep 22	Lime Tree
Sep 23	Olive Tree
Sep 24 to Oct 03	Hazelnut Tree
Oct 04 to Oct 13	Rowan Tree
Oct 14 to Oct 23	Maple Tree
Oct 24 to Nov 11	Walnut Tree
Nov 12 to Nov 21	Chestnut Tree
Nov 22 to Dec 01	Ash Tree
Dec 02 to Dec 11	Hornbeam Tree
Dec 12 to Dec 21	Fig Tree
Dec 22	Beech Tree

APPLE TREE (the Love) - of slight build, lots of charm, appeal, and attraction, pleasant aura, flirtatious, adventurous, sensitive, always in love, wants to love and be loved, faithful and tender partner, very generous, scientific talents, lives for today, a carefree philosopher with imagination.

ASH TREE (the Ambition) - uncommonly attractive, vivacious, impulsive, demanding, does not care for criticism, ambitious, intelligent, talented, likes to play with fate, can be egotistic, very reliable and trustworthy, faithful and prudent lover, sometimes brains rule over the heart, but takes partnership very seriously.

BEECH TREE (the Creative) - has good taste, concerned about its looks, materialistic, good organization of life and career, economical, good leader, takes no unnecessary risks, reasonable, splendid lifetime companion, keen on keeping fit (diets, sports, etc.)

BIRCH TREE (the inspiration) - vivacious, attractive, elegant, friendly, unpretentious, modest, does not like anything in excess, abhors the vulgar, loves life in nature and in calm, not very passionate, full of imagination, little ambition, creates a calm and content atmosphere.

CEDAR TREE (the Confidence) - of rare beauty, knows how to adapt, likes luxury, of good health, not in the least shy, tends to look down on others, self-confident, determined, impatient, likes to impress others, many talents, industrious, healthy optimism, waiting for the one true love, able to make quick decisions.

CHESTNUT TREE (the Honesty) - of unusual beauty, does not want to impress, well-developed sense of justice, vivacious, interested, a born diplomat, but irritates easily and sensitive in company, often due to a lack of self confidence, acts sometimes superior, feels not understood loves only once, has difficulties in finding a partner.

CYPRESS TREE (the Faithfulness) - strong, muscular, adaptable, takes what life has to give, content, optimistic, craves money and acknowledgment, hates loneliness, passionate lover which cannot be satisfied, faithful, quick-tempered, unruly, pedantic, and careless.

ELM TREE (the Noble-mindedness) - pleasant shape, tasteful clothes, modest demands, tends not to forgive mistakes, cheerful, likes to lead but not to obey, honest and faithful partner, likes making decisions for others, noble-minded, generous, good sense of humor, practical.

FIG TREE (the Sensibility) - very strong, a bit self-willed, independent, does not allow contradiction or arguments, loves life, its family, children and animals, a bit of a social butterfly, good sense of humor, likes idleness and laziness, of practical talent and intelligence.

FIR TREE (the Mysterious) - extraordinary taste, dignity, sophisticated, loves anything beautiful, moody, stubborn, tends to egoism but cares for those close to them, rather modest, very ambitious, talented, industrious, discontented lover, many friends, many foes, very reliable.

HAZELNUT TREE (the Extraordinary) - charming, undemanding, very understanding, knows how to make an impression, active fighter for social cause, popular, moody, and capricious lover, honest, and tolerant partner, precise sense of judgment.

HORNBEAM TREE (the Good Taste) - of cool beauty, cares for its looks and condition, good taste, is not egoistic, makes life as comfortable as possible, leads a reasonable and disciplined life, looks for kindness and acknowledgment in an emotional partner, dreams of unusual lovers, is seldom happy with its feelings, mistrusts most people, is never sure of its decisions, very conscientious.

LIME TREE (the Doubt) - accepts what life dishes out in a composed way, hates fighting, stress, and labor, dislikes laziness and idleness, soft and relenting, makes sacrifices for friends, many talents but not tenacious enough to make them blossom, often wailing and complaining, very jealous but loyal.

MAPLE TREE (Independence of Mind) - no ordinary person, full of imagination and originality, shy and reserved, ambitious, proud, self-confident, hungers for new experiences, sometimes nervous, has many complexities, good memory, learns easily, complicated love life, wants to impress.

OAK TREE (the Brave) - robust nature, courageous, strong, unrelenting, independent, sensible, does not like change, keeps its feet on the ground, person of action.

OLIVE TREE (the Wisdom) - loves sun, warmth and kind feelings, reasonable, balanced, avoids aggression and violence, tolerant, cheerful, calm, well-developed sense of justice, sensitive, empathetic, free of jealousy, loves to read and the company of sophisticated people.

PINE TREE (the Particular) - loves agreeable company, very robust, knows how to make life comfortable, very active, natural, good companion, but seldom friendly, falls easily in love but its passion burns out quickly, gives up easily, everything disappointments until it finds its ideal, trustworthy, practical.

POPLAR TREE (the Uncertainty) - looks very decorative, not very self-confident, only courageous if necessary, needs goodwill and pleasant surroundings, very choosy, often lonely, great animosity, artistic nature, good organizer, tends to lean toward philosophy, reliable in any situation, takes partnership seriously.

ROWAN TREE (the Sensitivity) - full of charm, cheerful, gifted without egoism, likes to draw attention, loves life, motion, unrest, and even complications, is both dependent and independent, good taste, artistic, passionate, emotional, good company, does not forgive.

WALNUT TREE (the Passion) - unrelenting, strange and full of contrasts, often egotistic, aggressive, noble, broad horizon, unexpected reactions, spontaneous, unlimited ambition, no flexibility, difficult and uncommon partner, not always liked but often admired, ingenious strategist, very jealous and passionate, no compromise.

WEEPING WILLOW (the Melancholy) - beautiful but full of melancholy, attractive, very empathetic, loves anything beautiful and tasteful, loves to travel, dreamer, restless, capricious, honest, can be influenced but is not easy to live with, demanding, good intuition, suffers in love but finds sometimes an anchoring partner.

Celtic tree meanings

The Rowan
Protects against enchantment. Magical Associations: Healing, personal empowerment, divination.

The Ash
of the Ogham alphabet is the Cosmic Ash, or World Tree. Magical Associations: Prosperity, protection, healing.

The Alder
magical associations: Spirituality, teaching, weather magic, duty, mental prowess.

The Willow
in the Tree alphabet stands for the female and lunar rhythms of life. Magickal Associations: Romantic love, healing, protection, fertility, magic for women.

Hawthorn
Magical Associations: Fertility, peace, prosperity, binding.

Oak
Magical Associations: All positive purposes, magic for men, fidelity.

The Holly
symbolizes paternity and fatherhood, has always been regarded as a potent life symbol. Magical Associations: Protection, prophecy, magic for animals, sex magic.

Hazel
Salmon are associated with the Hazel in Irish legend. The Hazel is also strongly associated with meditation and mediation. Magical Associations: Manifestation, spirit contact, protection, fertility.

The Vine
Magical Associations: Fertility, inspiration, prosperity, binding.

The Ivy
puts you in touch with your own inner resources, giving you the ability to see through the eyes of the soul beyond the everyday world. Magical Associations: Healing, protection, cooperation, exorcism

Reed
Magical Associations: Fertility, protection, love, family concerns.

The Elder
is linked to the eternal turnings of life and death, birth and rebirth. Magickal Associations: Exorcism, prosperity, banishing, healing.

The Birch
This tree starts the Celtic tree calendar, and so represents the energies associated with new beginnings. Magical Associations: Protection of children, purification, creation.

What kind of bird are you?

Owl

Like the wise owl, you are a night person and love knowledge.

Click Here to Take This Quiz
Brought to you by YouThink.com quizzes and personality tests.

Ok, so maybe I just don't know what kind of bird I truly am!

Stuff, Junk, Treasures and the Coffee Pot

2007-10-26T11:17:00.000-04:00

MOVING DAY, giddy up!

Sorting it. Giving some away. Throwing some away. Packing up the rest. Moving it. Storing it. All of the STUFF. I have a one track mind right now - move my stuff. Boxes and packing tape and scissors become extensions of my hands. Coffee and Coke and Wendy's crispy chicken sandwiches become the sum of my diet. The U-Haul truck becomes my stagecoach. Gasoline feeds my ponies. I load up and take to the road.

But, where does all of the stuff come from? And, do I need all of this stuff? Of course not. And as I look around, beyond my stuff, I see signs of our materialism everywhere. Storage units are growing and multiplying as fast as shopping malls. And, they have evolved from the old outdoor garage-looking units to comfortable, climate controlled indoor rooms. So comfy that my son joked about taking a nap on the couch after we unloaded the last of it (for that day). Have we reduced ourselves to the sum of our stuff? And while I moved my stuff from point A to point B, the California wild fires grew daily while being continuously fed all of the stuff in their path. I thought about the mixed blessings of starting over. Starting with almost nothing . . . and would I make the same mistakes? What memories would I carry with me were they not reliant upon photos, souvenirs, family heirlooms and other memorabilia? How much of my energy have I invested into every object I possess? Would I regain that energy little by little with my letting go of the stuff . . . object by object? Of course I would. But we'll all probably continue to buy and buy and buy until we run out of space . . .
And when we've once again had enough, at least for a while, we'll call in someone to take it away for us.

If I were to guess, I would guess that storage units and junk removal companies (along with trash yards and recycling centers) are the businesses to be in these days, considering the growing amount of STUFF. And when the trash piles are high enough and grass covers the hill, then a concert venue is born. And in the end, ART, my friends . . . ART! Soi la vie!

After Love, There is Only Art

2007-10-20T10:53:00.001-04:00

It is my feeling that the reality in which we live is not real at all. Our struggles, our battles, our wars, our religious beliefs, our political stances, our morals, our societal rules . . . We have been programmed. We have been overcome. We no longer have access to our own minds, our original God-given minds. Everything we feel, see, do, think, is being dictated to us in doses proportionate to our energy. We are helpless pawns in a game of chess played out by something we cannot see. Something we cannot comprehend. Something that the majority of us deny with every molecule of our being; with every vague and distant memory we erase; with every breath we forcefully take; but "it," the invisible transplanted mind exists, nevertheless. When our suspicions surface as anxiety, extreme discontent, depression, madness, or the likes, we are deemed ill or crazy and our symptoms are quickly sedated . . . masked.

All of this, our proverbial downfall, has its roots in the story of Adam and Eve and the Garden of Eden - a story that has a deep-seeded truth within its core: God (the Universe, our Higher Power, our Creator) gave man and woman everything by bestowing upon (us) the freedom of expression; the powers of co-creation; the God mind. We were once expressions of infiniteness . . . in other words, He gave us art - heart - and it was good. Our hearts and our minds were, once upon a time, ONE, and one in the same with God.

Then, the serpent "the foreign mind" appeared and offered man and woman a new mind, separate from God. . . the chance (risk) to attain knowledge without having to look to God. "It" led us to believe we needed to find answers to questions that do not and never did exist in the completeness of our original mind. And with that new foreign mind came our first belief: the belief we that are separate, that we possess an individual mind. We created that belief because our new mind gave us a new freedom; the freedom to conjure perspectives, opinions and judgments. We had fundamentally created our ego. And with the ego, came our second belief; self-awareness - we are different. We found ourselves naked and ashamed of our own skin. Then, our third belief; that we are better than . . . God . . . We learned how to compare. We created arrogance. We now had a foundation of beliefs . . . we are separate (ego); we are different (self-awareness); we are better (arrogance). As creators, we were on a roll. But, it was not our own mind doing the creating, for we no longer had access to our own mind.

Subsequently, we banished ourselves from the Garden of Eden, and since then we have spent the rest of our time on Earth blaming God or blaming the serpent or blaming ourselves - which is actually our favorite pastime: indulging in self-reflection and self-pity.

So, here we are; call us zombies, call us pawns, call us puppets, call us food for thought (the thought of a foreign mind, that is). Call us Pavlovian dogs that cry when stimulated in particular ways, that laugh when stimulated in other particular ways, that fight when stimulated in yet other particular ways . . . and we blindly and so foolishly call ourselves individuals.

Our only way to salvation is to release ourselves from the grip of this predatory mind; whether you call it the serpent in the Garden of Eden, or the devil, or societal values, or political beliefs, or religious creeds . . . whatever you wish to call it is irrelevant. What is relevant is the fact it is real, it exists, it controls us; it is the reality in which we live.

"Wake up people! Stop being Pavlov's pets!" Easier said than done, I know. For allowing something else to do our thinking and the rule-making and the moral setting, etc. takes the responsibility off of us and gives us more time to do what we do best; breathe . . . exist . . . pay the bills . . . cry at the horribly sad stories on the news . . . scream out against the war . . . point fingers at Bush or the Pope . . . make it to church on time . . . shop the sales at Nieman's . . . drink another cocktail . . . bitch out the cable man or the grocery clerk or the waitress . . . complain about the high gas prices . . . reflect upon what terrible people we are, you know, all the really important things that affect our lives every day. All the things we deem as real in our lives.

But NONE of that is real. None of that is important in the BIG picture - in the grand scheme of life. None of that exists - all that exists is love and all that is real is ART.

Art is our only true freedom of expression as creators. It is possibly our last and only link left to our original GOD heart/mind. It is how we express and acknowledge the suppression of our minds. It is how we express the love we are struggling to remember. It is how we express our deepest, most intimate, REAL selves . . . the real selves that we fighting to regain (whether we know it or not) as our own (while engaged in this cold war).

Art is our true expression of our infiniteness.

In reality, there exists no religion, no politics, no borders. There exists only love . . . and it's purist expression, art.

For every painting, for every crayoned picture hanging on a refrigerator, for every symphony and musical composition, for every 5th grade flute concert, for every opera, every ballet, every preschool tap recital, every song sung, every pastry baked, every reduction sauce perfected, for every undercooked cake from an easy bake oven, for every novel never published, for every poem misunderstood, for every floral arrangement on a dinner table, for every variety of fillings inside each chocolate in a box, for every engine ever built to be more powerful than the last, for every scarf ever knitted, for every letter ever written, for every snowman ever rolled, for every angel made by a child in the snow . . . Art is the finest, purist expression of love.

Above: Guernica by Picasso depicts scenes of death, violence, brutality, helplessness, suffering people and animals, buildings wrenched by violence and chaos.
One might say, this does not look like an expression of love and I say to that; this is the highest expression of love for this is the TRUTH. This is the reality we have chosen with our free will and the subsequent loss of our original God minds.

How the Blues Heals my Blues

2007-10-16T11:58:00.002-04:00

Music heals the soul and my soul is in dire need of healing. So, I have been submerging myself in music as if it were a body of water. I have been diving into the sounds, swimming through the chords, floating on the rhythms, surfing the ripples and waves.
I am truly blessed to be surrounded by friends (guitarist Jim McCarty - above; Johnny "Bee" on drums) who also happen to be extraordinary musicians. And I was fortunate, this past weekend, to witness a rare event . . . to immerse my soul into Blues, Jazz and Rock and Roll . . . to hear four of the most talented musicians in the country who for two nights called themselves The James Montgomery Band. They played Sunday night (Oct 14) at Dylan's Raw Bar and Grille (previously Tom's Oyster Bar) on Mack in Grosse Pointe. The owner, John, is also James' brother (below)
James Montgomery - blues legend, harmonica and lead vocals - grew up in the Detroit area (he now lives in Boston) and learned first-hand from James Cotton, John Lee Hooker and Jr. Wells. He has recorded with Gregg Allman, Kid Rock; he has toured with Aerosmith, Springsteen, Steve Miller, Allman Brothers, Bonnie Raitt; and has jammed on stage with B.B King, Patti LaBelle, Charlie Daniels, Mick Jagger, and many other music legends.

David Hull - (above - on tour with Aerosmith) bass guitarist - resides in Boston and has played with the Buddy Miles Express, Joe Perry Project (he wrote many of their songs) and most recently toured with Aerosmith - filling in for bassist Tom Hamilton while he was recovering from throat cancer - during the first part of the 2006 Tour. (He played for a time in Jimi Hendrix's Band of Gypsies and is rumored to have played at Hendrix's funeral.)

Johnny "Bee" Badanjek - Detroit's greatest rock drummer extraordinaire - originally from the band Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels - who were known for their hits; CC Rider, Devil in the Blue Dress, Sock it to me, Jenny Take a Ride . . . played and recorded with Alice Cooper (Welcome to my Nightmare); Edgar Winter (Free Ride); Dr John, Bob Segar, Bruce Springsteen, Ronnie Montrose . . . Co-founded the Rockets and wrote almost all of their material.
(Left: Johnny "Bee," Ryder and McCarty during the Wheels days)

And then we come to my friend and one of the top ten guitarists in the country (the world): The legendary guitarist Jim McCarty. Jim played guitar with Mitch Ryder and the Detroit Wheels;

Cactus (left- also called The American Led Zepplin; of Long Tall Sally fame); the Rockets (Oh Well); Buddy Miles Express; Mystery Train (his current band); he also played and recorded with countless legendary musicians like our own Bob Segar and he played one-on-one with the one and only Jimi Hendrix. Jim has been an inspiration to many rock guitarists who looked up to him and learned from him - like Eddie Van Halen, Ted Nugent. In fact, Ted was quoted in a 2006 VH1 interview as saying: "I'm the only guy in Rock'n'Roll that plays that hollow body jazz guitar and it's because in 1960 I saw Jimmy McCarty creating those big fat full chords like I do on "Stranglehold"; I learned that from Jimmy McCarty. Remember the name Jimmy McCarty. He is as important as Bo Diddley and Chuck Berry and Les Paul ...A god on guitar."
"Oh Well" I recorded this on my camera - it is dark and not the best sound since I was right by the speaker - but Jim's solo is amazing!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lFSCMiBy6-s
Well, need I say how phenomenally well these guys played together and how amazing the music sounded and how fantastic of a time I had? Words can't express it anyway. I will never forget it - that is for sure. And to add more fun into the mix, my dear friend Monica Reed had an afterglow party at her lake view home in Grosse Pointe Park. She is such an amazing woman - with so much energy, charisma, beauty and talent. I will write more about her - an admirable woman of integrity - in the near future on my Sacred Footing blog.
Jim McCarty continues to entertain his fans (blow us away with his incredible talent, skill and passion) around town at places like the Blue Goose Inn in Saint Clair Shores and Memphis Smoke in Royal Oak. He is even better these days, if that is possible, according to one of his close friends; well-known guitarist and studio musician: Vince Knight.
Jim and Vince will be playing together Wednesday, October 17 at the Blue Goose Inn at 28911 Jefferson Avenue, St. Clair Shores. Michigan. For information call 586-296-0950.
If you live in Michigan, especially the Detroit metropolitan area; or you will be traveling through - do not miss the opportunity to see and hear one of the greatest guitarists of all time, Jim McCarty.

Now, getting back to how music heals my soul: it's funny how sad music, like the blues and songs written to invoke the pain hidden inside, can actually heal one's heart and soul in a gentle and loving way. One of my girl-friends and I had a code saying; "It's a Sarah kind of day," when things in life were less than good . . . when things in life had us depressed . . . referring to Sarah McLachlan, the melancholy goddess of gloom and contemplation.

Bernie Taupin said it best when he wrote the lyrics for the Elton John song: Sad Songs

Guess there are times when we all need to share a little pain
And ironing out the rough spots
Is the hardest part when memories remain
And it's times like these when we all need to hear the radio
`Cause from the lips of some old singer
We can share the troubles we already know

Turn them on, turn them on
Turn on those sad songs
When all hope is gone
Why don't you tune in and turn them on

They reach into your room
Just feel their gentle touch
When all hope is gone
Sad songs say so much

If someone else is suffering enough to write it down
When every single word makes sense
Then it's easier to have those songs around
The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you
and it feels so good to hurt so bad
And suffer just enough to sing the blues

Sad songs, they say
Sad songs, they say
Sad songs, they say
Sad songs, they say so much

And that's how the blue's heals my blues.

Signs, Omens or Nothing at All

2007-10-10T14:06:00.001-04:00

And in today's news: The All American Calvary had to be sent in to rescue a damsel in distress (played by ME) and her loyal lady in waiting (played by Emmy Lou), from the hills of green in the Royal land of Oak. The recent drop in temperatures chilled me to my bones whilst my cloak and its warmth teased me from the far side of the glass of my carriage windows. For an hour, Emmy and I were forced to wait amongst the peasant squirrels and their nutty shenanigans.
But, we held our heads high, sat, leaning against a tree, and waited. Occasionally, Emmy would protect my dignity and chase the curious peasants away.
In other words . . . I locked my keys in my car when Emmy and I went to the park today. . . I called AA and they sent "The Calvary Locksmith" out to open my door.
Ok, so this is the third time I have needed help getting inside my car this year. I think I locked my keys in my car once before - in my entire life - and now three times in this last year. Something about my 'keys' . . . some significance . . . I don't know?
But, on the way home, a truck pulled up next to me at a light . . . the name on the side was: I am the Phoenix. Ok - now in that I see the significance.

Remember Me . . . By Lizzie Palmer (age 16)

2007-10-09T18:30:00.000-04:00

This needs no introduction - no words - just watch . . . (5:23)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ervaMPt4Ha0

The "Nice" Vice

2007-10-09T00:06:00.000-04:00

It is said that 'nice guys finish last,' but I think it should be said; nice guys finish first, and if any one group does finish last it would be the kind guys.
Nice and kind are not interchangeable - their meanings are not the same. And yet, those two words have been misused and interchanged time and time again, with "nice" being the more popular of the two.
"He's such a nice guy . . . "
What ever happened to (one of my favorite sayings), "Nice people suck."
Because it's true - they do . . . they suck and they suck up.
"Nice" is of a social nature - and anything of a social nature is anything but genuine. Niceness is pleasant and agreeable in appearance, and appearances can be deceiving. Niceness is appropriate and fitting for the occasion.
Kindness is a virtue of the heart . . . kindness is real and palpable; loving and thoughtful, patient and forbearing; respectful and honorable. Kindness is born of intent. Kindness is an action . . . of the heart and soul.
I know a 'nice guy.' He is the 'yes man' to all of his friends. He knows the 'right' things to say and he's always around to give them (his friends) a helping hand. Nice. Nice guy . . . in public.
His friends don't hear his complaints and criticisms before and after his niceties. I do. I hear them. He is not usually kind. But he is usually nice . . . a nice guy . . . but usually not to me.

Three Days and Nine Steps

2007-10-06T11:00:00.000-04:00

Three days and nine steps . . . Neil Armstrong became the first man to walk on the moon . . . he became an overnight sensation! Right.
If it were really that easy. If dreams manifesting into realities could happen so quickly and effortlessly. If there really was such a thing as an overnight sensation - well, I guess it wouldn't be so sensational.
In 1969, I was young and had no real appreciation for the magnitude of such a feat - walking on the moon (or even getting there for that matter).
I grew up in the era of Science Fiction and had assumed I would be wearing a cool silver and white space suit and flying around like Judy Jetson by the time the Millennium - the futuristic year of 2000 - rang in. It was not such a big thing for me - it was expected. Those old expectations fell to the wayside. I'm still wearing cotton, driving on the ground . . . kind of still waiting to lift off.
Now, much older and a little wiser but still not able to fully understand (therefore not fully capable of appreciating) what it means to dream such an incredible and seemingly unattainable dream and believe it into existence through determination, research, knowledge, diligence, persistence, assistance, blood loss, sweat, fear and tears . . . and eight years.
J.F.K did not live to see the dream he dreamed for the nation come true - but his dream gave us and the entire world hope that we can do the same in our own worlds.
Yes, I saw "In the Shadow of the Moon," last night. And I loved it. And I needed it.
If we can put a man on the moon then . . . fill in the blank with your own personal dream.

You Are Beautiful

2007-10-05T02:14:00.000-04:00

For all of us who need to be reminded today...

For anyone who needs more than a reminder . . . if you have been brought down by words - abusive words by your partner in a relationship, seek support and get help. You don't have to live in that situation. Visit this blog Dangerous Liasons
Because sticks and stones can break your bones, but words can break your soul. I know, I lost 21 grams somewhere in the last two years. Now, I'm trying to gain it back. Anyone have some "diet" suggestions . . . food for the soul?

The Elders of our Family Tribe

2007-10-02T02:29:00.001-04:00

My Uncle Leonard celebrated his 80th birthday over this past weekend. He celebrated for the first time without his twin, Richard, who recently passed away. But the rest of the family gathered around him for Polish food, cake, ice cream and piñata fun.
Below are the remaining patriarchs of my family: My father, Jim; his brother Leonard; his brother-in-law Ted - who will turn 85 on his next birthday; and Uncle David, the youngest brother.

The matriarchs (all except one, my father's sister, Wanda who lives in Savannah) have left this world for a better one - one free of pain, sadness and hardship.

Things are different these days . . . something is missing . . . but I can always look at my own hands to remember the story of the women of my family, for my hands tell the story that has been passed down for generations. For women, our hands, not our faces, tell the real story. (like the quote reads at the end of the latest posting on Sacred Footing)

No Longer Cinderella - On Becoming The Fairy Godmother

2007-09-25T16:24:00.000-04:00

I have revised my blog, Sacred Footing, and given it a new direction. Sacred Footing - The Ancient Path to Wisdom for a Modern Female Warrior is now dedicated to my personal physical and spiritual journey in this lifetime... The musings of an ageless, boundless feminine energy passing through this contemporary and sometimes unforgivable world in an aging and limited female body. Here I will post my most intimate writings: my thoughts on womanhood and aging; on love and relationships; on motherhood and all things womanly.
This change has come about due to the fact that my inner female voice and my aging woman's body have been very restless lately. So, I am giving that very important, magnificent and vital part of mySelf a voice . . . a forum to speak her mind, body and soul . . . her thoughts, dreams, desires, hopes, fears, dislikes, pains, complaints and all things in life as seen through a woman's eyes - the real female perspective - no holding back.
I will be posting on both blogs - The Cave Of Pythia and Sacred Footing. Good luck to me, right!
Thanks for visiting and reading.

The Summer's Last Hurrah

2007-09-05T11:20:00.003-04:00

Here in Michigan, we talk about the weather a lot . . . but usually the conversations are about the freezing temperatures . . . when is this cold spell going to end, we need rain, we need it to stop raining, no more snow, please . . . but over the Labor Day weekend the talk about town was how absolutely perfect the weather was and has been. Clear, blue skies, sunny and hot, temps in the mid to upper eighties. The Labor Day holiday weekend in Detroit is always celebrated with many great city and family events. We Michiganders mourn the ending of the summer season (and begin dreading the colder months ahead) by partying all we can. Here in the Motor City we LOVE to party and being blessed with this beautiful weather in September only added to our celebratory spirit.

I tried to fit in all that I could, but not nearly everything, for that would have been impossible. I did not make it to the Jazz Festival (read Erik's Blog) or the Arts, Beats and Eats Festival or the Romeo Peach Festival . . . but I did get to Belle Isle for the Grand Prix qualifying races on Friday. The roar of those engines is such an adrenalin rush. We rode out to Belle Isle with legendary Bike Builder (Discovery Channel's Biker Build Off winner) Ron Finch. We hung around with Big Daddy Arthur P. from WRIF. Anyone who has lived in Detroit during the past 30 more years has heard Arthur's voice, "Baby!" on the radio. On the ride back we stopped off in Hamtramk for the Polish Festival to grab some food . . . pierogis, city chicken, potato pancakes, stuffed cabbage, kraut, and of course, the firefighters famous chili (not Polish but a tradition nonetheless).
Family gatherings and birthdays filled Saturday and Sunday . . . and I ended the long weekend with the Alice Cooper concert at the Michigan State Fair on Monday. Alice, another one of Detroit's homeboys, comes home every year to perform a free concert at the State Fair. He still rocks - he sang for two hours.

So, after a day of recovering - yesterday - it's back to the daily grind (or not). But, the weather . . . well, the weather is still absolutely beautiful and I'm soaking in all of this ninety degree heat before the blue skies open to gray and the autumn chill fills the air.

Crossing the Belle Isle Bridge

The gang at the Grand Prix on Belle Isle

One of the qualifying races

Detroit icons Ron Finch and WRIF's Arthur P.

Luke and his 'big' sister Alexia at the Labor Day birthday parties

Nathan (my grandson) practicing his basketball skills at the family bbq

Adam making a beer run before the Alice Cooper concert begins

The best I could do as the night fell over the crowd

Luke, Rich and Adam placing their bets

My friend Debbie, her daughter Zoe and me (back to my brown)
at the Michigan State Fair

Happy Birthday Adam

2007-09-03T13:02:00.001-04:00

Wow, so many Virgo birthdays in my family! Yesterday we celebrated my niece / Goddaughter Melissa's birthday (pictured above with Adam) and today is my son,
Adam's 22nd birthday. I named him Adam because he was the first male into my maternal side of the family in a couple of generations. I have three sisters - no brothers. My mom had two sisters - no brothers. And my first child was a daughter, Alexia. So, when Adam came around, he was ADAM, without a doubt. The story is much more mystical than that - but I'll leave it at the simple explanation for now, for Adam knows he chose his name and me as his mother.

Adam, you are a wonderful man, a fantastic son, and a great friend. I truly enjoy your company and our conversations, even though they get heated sometimes, as we are worthy debate opponents.

You came to me before you were born - I knew you were coming long before you arrived. People thought I was crazy - but we proved them wrong - because out you came and here you are. I always knew you came with a clear purpose. You have struggled with knowing that purpose - I understand more than you know. You will do it all one day, but for now, enjoy your youth, your life and your music. You have talent, abilities, intelligence and knowledge beyond most people's grasp. From the time you made campaign signs around the house for Dukakis and you cried when Bush Sr. won (you were two or three) to the time you won the Invent America Contest (all on your own, I might add) for your school in first grade (and gave a speech about your passion - The RecycleMobile) to the time you switched your political views to the Republican party (then, back to Democratic party again!) - You have never ceased to amaze me! Your first word (well almost) was "Why?" "Why is the sky blue, mama? Why is the moon full, mama?" . . . You had a fascination with space and stars and UFO's (even saw one with Grandma) and also with the Eiffel Tower and Statue of Liberty . . . "Mama, is that as big at the Eiffel Tower?" "Is a dinosaur as big as the Eiffel Tower?" You loved architecture (you taught me all about the streets of Detroit and showed me the beautiful, historical Art Deco buildings) at a very young age and, as a child you stacked every Matchbox car you had as high as you could to make a tower. You also knew everything about cars, even at two years old! You adored Henry Ford. It blew my mind. You also had a passion for history, especially the history of the United States of America. I used to joke with you that you were one of the founding fathers reincarnated. (Well, not completely joking ;)

As your mother, I know I sound biased, and of course I am, but you know I have never been the type of mother who patronizes her children - I hate being patronized so I would never do that to any of you. I have always been honest to a fault - I have expected a lot, especially from you because I knew you had it in you. I never let you slide - I never let you off the hook easily. No two people are alike and therefore, no two children are alike - so as a mother I mothered you each in a way unique to each one of your needs. I always felt you needed me to be a rock - an unwavering, strong force in your life . . . and a lighthouse to guide you in when you needed to wander off on your own and when you needed comfort.

Grandma was with me the day you entered this world. You were the strongest baby the doctors had ever seen. You flipped over the moment you were placed in the bassinet after birth - telling the world they could kiss your...! We all laughed. You have not changed much - your are still strong, determined and, yes, a bit arrogant at times! But you know that.

You are a born leader - and your blessing is your curse - be careful with your power and your gifts - here I go again, trying to guide you - the man! Whatever you decide to do in life, I will support your decision - I know you will invite me to Amsterdam to watch you create and mix music at your opening of a trendy club, or you will invite me to a dinner in the country for which you are the Ambassador or Minister of Foreign Affairs . . . or something to that tune or the other. Keep on with the doing . . .

I love you so much and I am so proud of you. I can't believe I am so blessed for you are my son, my Adam. Happy Birthday

Creating and mixing music for Luke's graduation party

Adam took me to a Tiger's game in May

Signing Alexia and Steve's wedding guest book

Out to dinner with Luke and family

Above, Adam mixing his unique blend of house and techno at 5th Avenue in Royal Oak

Happy Birthday Dad

2007-08-30T11:09:00.003-04:00

Happy Birthday Dad.

We give you a lot of credit - raising four daughters! (sister Judi pictured below)
All those hormones . . .
curling irons, maxi-pads, strawberry lip gloss kisses, rebel boyfriends, rides to and from the rollerskating rink, money lending, heartbreaks and tears, marriages, grandchildren, divorces (speaking for myself only!) the list goes on!
You were a gorgeous young man (still are gorgeous!) with black hair and baby blue eyes . . . strong and athletic - on your way to a possible career in pro baseball. An excellent golfer and bowler. You gave up your dreams (and your brand new Chevy convertible) for us at the tender young age of 20 years old.

You were a strict father (making us strong) and you expected a lot from us. You showed us how to do everything and because of that we are extremely independent women. We can do everything from laying tile and sod . . . to changing a tire and our oil. We know the difference between a standard and a Phillips . . . and a gear or socket wrench from needle nose pliers.
Now, with mom gone, you have become our official chicken soup maker - the Polish panacea. But you still need us for pierogi.
Happy Birthday Dad. We love you. Thanks for all you have done for us, all you have sacrificed and all you have taught us.

Alexia and Grandpa at Alexia's wedding

Luke and Grandpa caught in the rain after the
graduation ceremony at Freedom Hill

Adam, Lisa, Luke, dad, Alexia, Marcie, Judi, Aunt Pam, me
on March 15 -remembering mom on what was her birthday

Dad and Aunt Pam - my mom's little sister at cousin Jon's wedding

Anna's Russia

2007-08-28T11:06:00.002-04:00

Ann Politkovskaya was known as "Russia's lost moral conscience."

She was born August 30, 1958. Her life was constantly being threatened. Her family pleaded with her to leave the country for her own safety. She refused to give into threats and be shadowed by a bodyguard. She was poisoned and almost died aboard a plane - on her way to Beslan to report and possibly act as negotiator during the school siege. She lived in constant danger. She was courageous. She was fearless but never reckless. She continued reporting on the plight of the Russian people under the rule of Putin. She continued to expose the human rights abuses in Chechnya of which she accused Russian security forces of the abuse. She felt it was her duty to accept the risks involved as a reporter in order to uncover and report the truth (she compared it to a doctor's duty to aid in the healing of ill patients). She authored two books: "A Dirty War: A Russian Reporter in Chechnya," (2001); "Putin's Russia: Life in a Failing Democracy" (2004) and had just completed her third; "A Russian Diary." Her last article, an investigation into the torture in Chechnya, was never finished. Ann Politkovskaya was murdered by a gunman while leaving her apartment on October 7, 2006. She died at the age of 48, leaving behind her son, Ilya and her daughter, Vera. She became the thirteenth journalist to be murdered in a contract style killing since Vladimir Putin came into power in 2000. She was the third murdered reporter from Moscow's Noveya Gazeta.

Colleagues at the Novaya Gazeta, published a special issue promising that "her killers will not sleep soundly." The paper also offered a one million dollar reward (£534,000) to solve her murder.

Mr Putin called the crime "horribly cruel" and stated that Russian authorities would strive to find and punish the perpetrators.

But he also played down the significance of Ms Politkovskaya's work.

"This journalist was a severe critic of the incumbent authorities in Russia; she was well known among journalists and human rights campaigners and in the West. However, her influence on the country's political life... was minimal."

At a cemetery near Moscow, hundreds of mourners waited for hours in the rain to pass her coffin and say their last goodbyes.

"I think this was meant to show what happens if you speak out against the authorities. Unfortunately, we have very few journalists like her in Russia now." a women in the crowd said.

So much for Putin's theory that Anna's influence on her country's political life was minimal.

Her last article was released unfinished. It dealt with the horrific abuses of human rights, torture and humiliation in Chechnya by the Chechen Prime Minister Ramzan Kadyrov. Much of the footage of two Chechens being tortured was too bloody and distressing to broadcast.

Ten suspects have just recently been arrested in connection with her murder.

An excerpt from her book, "Putin's Russia:" This massacre of the innocents did not raise a storm in Russia. Not one television station broadcast images of the five little Chechens who had been slaughtered. The Minister of Defense did not resign. He is a personal friend of Putin and is even seen as a possible successor in 2008. The Commander-in-Chief himself made no speech of condolence.

"Living streets full of dead eyes."

In one of her interviews Anna warns us: " Putin is very influenced by the Western opinion . . . So, it means that only the West now could change him, could change him from tyranny to democracy."

I sit here, safely behind my computer screen, writing about this and that and THIS. THIS makes me want to do more. THIS makes me wonder what I have done so far? THIS is more than a story to me. THIS makes me see the importance of the written word. What are my responsibilities as a human being to other human beings, to my country, to all life in general and to this planet? What if all of us took a stance for human rights. What if we would not - not ever and under any circumstances - tolerate human rights abuses . . . indignity, suffering, torture, humiliation . . . untreated illnesses, homelessness, hunger, loneliness, despair, hopelessness, sadness, ignorance, illiteracy . . . any unkindness?

Are my glasses hopelessly rose-colored or will there ever come a day?

Anna Politkovskaya was a brave human being.

Expected Disasters of the Ordinary Kind

2007-08-25T12:09:00.000-04:00

(Updated 8-26-07 at the bottom of this post)

Don’t call these “acts of God” because God is not the One who is destroying our Earth mother.

Don’t call these “natural disasters.” Because how can anything of a destructive, catastrophic nature be looked upon as something to be expected and accepted . . . as something that is normal and ordinary?

That is, unless, we as human beings, are fundamentally stupid. That is unless we, as human beings, are merely apathetic cells that are combining in cancerous mass and killing our most vital living organ - the very much alive planet Earth - that generously and abundantly sustains our human lives, allowing us to experience the life God gave us. But, I know in my heart we are better than this. I know we can do better than this.

So, the furies of storms and tornadoes that created a path of destruction in parts of Michigan last night and the forest fires that raged in Southern Greece ending 44 human lives are all something of our doing. We are responsible for the illness of our fading planet.

I wrote about prayers of healing in my previous post . . . and I feel it necessary we come together in a collective effort and pray for the healing of our planet while actively doing what we can to stop and reverse the damage we have already done. We need vigilance, diligence and impeccability at this most critical and final hour . . . these which could be her last breaths.

The AP photo above was taken by Petros Giannakouris of an iconostasis in the Greek village of Kato Samika, about 200 miles south of Athens. An iconostasis is a small church-like building - ‘icon’ means holy image or symbol, and ‘stasis’ means a stop – as place to stop and say a prayer, to reflect, to pause on the busy path of daily life and show gratitude to God. (The walkways throughout Greece have thousands of iconostasis - each is an oasis of hope)

Please hold the healing of our living planet Earth
in your hearts and prayers

Also in the news today it was revealed that Mother Theresa struggled with her faith. Why is that so shocking? How does that come as such a surprise?

Mother Theresa was human like the rest of us. If she never had doubt, if she never felt the pains of despair and hopeless, if she lived a life without personal turmoil and strife . . . she would have not lived an honest life. She would not have been real. The fact that she had doubt - great doubt at times - and yet never gave up or gave in is the true testament to what faith, perseverance, selflessness and love can conquer.

8-26-07 UPDATE ON FIRES IN GREECE: The fires, which are now ravaging half of the country for the past three days, have ended 51 human lives and are quickly spreading - consuming more than a mile in only three minutes - due, especially, to the strong August winds. The fires are racing toward the village of Ancient Olympia and the 2,500 year old Temple Of Apollo in Epikourios. There are hundreds of fires - all believed to be intentionally set (some people have already been detained regarding their involvement). This is a catastrophe of biblical proportions threatening to destroy most of present day Greece and her people . . . while also threatening to leave the preserved ruins of antiquity in a charred state of ruin beyond recognition.
Among the burned remains of bodies found in cars, along roads and in fields was a mother hugging her four children.
This is a news story. But for me it is also a personal story. Having lived in Greece and having friends and family living in Greece, and having walked the land that is being swallowed up by flames . . . it is a very personal story for me.

A Moment of Healing

2007-08-23T11:33:00.001-04:00

This very moment is about healing.

It is not an International Day of Healing, (although that is a beautiful thought) it is about this moment and taking this moment to think about ourselves and the people with whom we have come into contact with: family, friends, acquaintances, passersby, friends of friends . . . fellow bloggers (especially Jon and Maleah) . . . and sending out powerful prayers of healing.

Maybe you or someone you know (or know of) has suffered a loss . . . a death of a loved one, an illness, surgery, unhealed scars from past traumas . . . pray for healing and comfort and peace.

Take a moment
a moment right here, right now
close your eyes
inhale slowly and deeply
exhale slowly and completely
bow your head
in what way do you need to be healed?
who (in your life) needs healing?
ask God, the Universe, a Higher Power
to surround you and those people in a white light
open yourself up to the healing energy
ask for healing in specific areas
and ask to healed in any and all ways
unspecific and unknown
give thanks for your many blessings

A Day Like Today

2007-08-22T11:14:00.001-04:00

Days like these . . . when the last roll of toilet paper can put someone over the edge...
when I miss my mom more than usual...
when the road ahead is gravel and I'm walking barefoot.

Days like these . . . when the rain won't let up...
when sushi won't do the trick...
when I know the world is flat because my toes are curled over the edge.

Days like these . . . when the knowledge I've acquired doesn't give me a better understanding...
when I can't find myself in the crowd...
when I fall like a tree and no one hears a sound.

Days like these . . . when what I thought it was is not what it is...
when I rebelliously grind the coffee a few seconds longer...
when the coffee tastes the same anyway.

Days like these . . . when my heart is still...
when my mind is racing...
when my soul is aching.

Days like today . . . when I realize my stripes were painted on.

A Groupie of the "Formerly Ofs"

2007-08-20T11:44:00.000-04:00

We pulled into Pine Knob Amphitheater early; about 5:45 pm. (I know it's called DTE now, but only by the corporate suits - it will always be Pine Knob to all of us here in Detroit, Michigan!) Great White was headlining the concert that evening. The first band, L.A Guns, was to go on at 7:00 pm, so the parking lot was still quite empty for the most part. About sixty cars were scattered throughout the lot and coolers of beer (my guess . . . "Bud") were being unloaded and opened as eighties metal rock played from car stereo speakers. The tailgating parties were about to ensue as the mood of a decadent decade was re-created.

Debbie (my crazy rocker chick friend - Janice's incarnation) and I walked up to the "will call" window to get the tickets my friend Mike left for me.

Mike Fasano is a lead drummer from L.A. (Burbank). He played with the eighties band, Warrant. Among his many other current musical projects and band gigs, Mike is now back together and touring with some of the original Warrant band members, including lead singer Jani Lane (pictured in the above photo taken back stage after the concert. I am the 'groupie' in the shot).

Debbie and I passed through the gates, bought a couple of seven dollar beers from the Budweiser welcoming committee and walked around to enjoy the water falls and gardens. The evening was beautifully typical of Michigan summers; partly sunny and very humid with the temperature being in the high eighties - everything was in or from 'the eighties' that night (with 'high' being optional).

People watching was especially entertaining. Big hair everywhere . . . mall bangs, long rock-n-roll hair and the eighties signature look - the mullet (as it had been said: 'business in the front, party in the back!'). I was truly transported back to 1986, that was until some karaoke guy started singing a horribly flat crappioke rendition of Bob Seger's "Old Time Rock-n-Roll."
Can't someone shut him up? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeease?

The crowd also consisted of many younger fans - children's arms being rocked and rolled about by their enthusiastic parents and teenage boys who are wise enough beyond their years to know rock and roll will never die.

And the outfits! I guess a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to get the attention of the rock stars . . . unless the girl's lucky and has a friend in the band like me! So, that saved me some cash and a trip to Lover's Lane - I wore my worn in and dearly loved jeans and my old Harley boots. Oh, and of course a shirt. But, the rock fashion spectacular was a hoot to watch. A hoot I say!

(Below) Mike doing his thing
The L.A Guns opened the show. They really warmed us all up - but then rock and rollers are always ready for a reason to jump and scream and get all hot and sweaty.

Jani Lane and the "Formerly Ofs," (that's Mike's band) were up next. I took some great shots from the second row. Everyone that close closely eyes everyone else . . . girls sizing each other up competition style to see who will get further and farther back stage; guys looking for potential after show action with the mindset that since they are so close to the stage they themselves are rock stars to the second degree. I was so proud of Mike and so happy to see him perform with his old gang at a big venue again. This is what he does - he is an L.A. rock musician/drummer - and he loves it.

Lane, Shawn and Dario ( the boy wonder at the 'just turned' age of eighteen)

The meet and greet signing after the show

Did I feel guilty not having to stand in a long line for this hug? Hell No!

After some more beer, a few Doritos and a Twinkie backstage, (yes, that's how rock stars party! They eat Twinkies - and that folks is the real answer to how and why Rock and its Rollers will live forever - have you ever seen a molded Twinkie?) Debbie and I went side stage to catch some of Great White's act.

To see that sea of people - the packed crowd - from that angle is amazing! I could feel the energy being poured forth from all of the appreciative fans who were slowly pushing their way toward the stage as the night got later and later.

And that was my groupie experience.
A former groupie of the "Formerly Ofs."
The end
No further comment

The Sounds of the City

2007-08-15T10:44:00.002-04:00

A couple of months ago I moved a few miles south - to Detroit. Not into a trendy lush loft or a gated community or even the historical district. I moved to a hundred year old brick home on an average street in the city limits.

The few streets south of me are well maintained and semi-protected by a neighborhood watch. Day lilies grow tall in front of beautiful old brick homes. Cars are off the streets and neatly parked in driveways or garages. Children play on mowed lawns under a parent's watchful eye.

The few streets north of me are the ones that come to mind when one hears the words; the hood, the ghetto, or 'Detroit city' for that matter. Broken appliances and ripped up couches perpetually wait at curb-sides with other garbage to be cleaned up at the next big trash pickup. Abandoned vehicles, some resting on a pile of bricks where the wheel once was, line the streets leaving only enough room for one car to pass one way. Vacant, burned houses are left to rot, adding to the city's decay. They are welcome invitations to un-welcomed disaster in an already fragile community. Stray dogs wander between houses sniffing for food (when they are not left dead in the road for days) and skinny stray cats dart back and forth between cars. Young children walk around looking for something to do as if none of this harsh reality exists in their eyes (probably because it's all they know) while crack heads, prostitutes and drug dealers go about their daily routines. The other day I saw the Detroit Police Gang Squad down that way making an arrest. Things I never really saw before or cared to know about while I lived in my comfy yuppie town just a few miles north.

I have learned to decipher the difference between the sounds of firecrackers and shotguns. Yes, the sounds of shot guns are real, and within my earshot.
"Those were bullets." I can now say, proud that I am correct.

The kids play basketball on my street. They ride their bikes and try to keep busy during the lazy, mundane summer days. There are no beautiful parks or community pools. Occasionally, the neighborhood kids might hop a fence to play in the yard of the empty house for sale across the street. My next door neighbor owned that home but the taxes got too high for him to be able to keep. Pity, uh, the city needs people to buy these homes and maintain them, but the taxes are so high for the little or complete lack of services that the residents receive here. Suburbanites don't want to trade their comfort, safety and taxpaying services for what exists behind door number 313. (Detroit's area code for those of you unfamiliar with the "three-one-three.") Gone are the days of pizza delivery for me, but the ice cream trucks do come by frequently. They add their musical twangs to the woofers and tweeters and the heavy bass of hip hop that beat and vibrate through the rivers of cement - the city's pulse.

The other night my white cat, Thea, got out as I let my Golden Retriever, Emmy, in. My son, Luke and I ran around the street for almost twenty minutes trying to catch her. She is used to being outdoors, but I have not let her out since we moved to Detroit; for safety reasons. Here I am, no shoes running with a can of cat food to try to bribe her or trap her. I was on a mission and I didn't feel like I was in harm's way by frantically running barefoot down my street and between my neighbor's houses. The street lights were on and some of the kids were still out playing ball. Some neighbors were sitting on their stoops - I can finally use the word 'stoop.' Love that word! Needless to say, we finally captured her. But not before I smashed my hand into the brick of a neighbor's home in the process of grabbing her. It took two of us to bring her squirming body and meowing mouth home safely. Those were the sounds of city two nights ago.

Last night, the sounds of the city had a different beat in mind for me. No, not the normal fire truck sirens, helicopters scouring the neighborhood, loud car radios, or even gun shots . . . the sounds of downtown called me out this time.

My friend, Dennis Archer Jr. hosted a party at Coach Insignia on the 71rst floor of Marriott Hotel in the Renaissance Center. I almost did not go. I have become (too) comfortable in my semi-reclusive present state (sitting in pajamas in front my computer, reading, writing or just staring at wordless pages on a blank screen) and I did not want to venture out, especially to a city gala, alone. I changed my mind (due to some external urging and internal dialog).

I showered, did the hair and makeup routine, got dressed up and left my cave. I wanted to support my friend in his efforts to shine a positive light on Detroit by planning and hosting these trendy city events as well as publishing the very glossy and beautiful Ambassador Magazine. I have to say, I am so happy I went.

The 180 degree view of the city's lights, the Detroit River and Windsor (Canada) from the 71rst floor was spectacular. I almost forgot how wonderful it is to be out with the beautiful people at the 'who's who' events. The ambiance of the party was lovely . . . dimly lit with candles . . . giving us, the guests, the illusion of looking like the Ambassador cover models who were moving around as objects of art. And Michael Jackson's "Rock With Me," among other dance tunes, gave more rhythm to the night and inspired the statuesque goddesses to dance upon their thrones. After a couple of hours, a glass of Chardonnay and a few hors d'oeuvres, I slipped out quietly and unnoticed. I could not remember the exact time my cocktail dress would change back to my writing pajamas - and to my horror. So, those were the sounds of the city last night.

Tonight, I may meander down to the end of my street and join the hippies - as we call them - in their weekly drum circle and bonfire. Dr. Bob's holistic Center for the Healing Arts and vegetarian 'Innate Cafe' add an eclectic charm and much positive energy to our block. That good energy radiates outward, I'm sure, sending a vibe of peace to the surrounding communities of Detroit. Tonight, the beat of the drums will be among the sounds heard. I love the many sounds of this city.

Now, I must go and water my flowers and feed the birds - the Cardinals are calling me out. As my son, Adam, said to me when I moved here; "So, you're bringing a little positive energy to the city, uh, mom?"

Well, all I can say is that I am taking care of my little corner of the world - and God knows that this corner can use the TLC.

And yes, my flower garden has brought a few more butterflies and birds around here. They don't care what city they live in and they have no prejudices or opinions . . . a flower is a flower and a gardener is a gardener.

Sometimes life . . .

2007-08-14T15:54:00.000-04:00

"Mom . . . Steve died"

The middle-of-the-night voice on the other end of the phone; my daughter.

I didn't quite understand.
"What? Steve who?"
"My Steve!"

Her Steve, Nathan's daddy, my son-in-law.

Steve died while sleeping in his brother's chair. The irony of it: his brother lives in their childhood home - the same house Steve and his twin brother, Robert were brought home from the hospital as newborns . . . and the very same house that his twin brother died of SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome) . . . in his sleep. Steve never let go of his connection with his twin brother. Their bond was mysteriously strong. I feel in my heart that Steve never felt deserving of life - a life he felt Robert was robbed of as an infant.

I will always remember Steve's kind and generous heart, his infectious smile, his love of music and cooking and animals (especially his dog Zeus who died some years before) and his love of sleep! Like Nathan said, "At least daddy is doing what he loved to do - sleep!" Though he so enjoyed spending time with his friends - and he had many - he also valued his moments of quietness, solitude and contemplation. I will miss his big, warm hugs, the way he said, "I love you, mom," and the loving dinners he cooked for me. I miss Steve.

I have so much I want to say, but the words just won't release themselves from the tight grip of my heart.

Steven Michael Smith died on June 9, 2007 . . . at the age of Christ; thirty-three.
This past Friday, August 10, 2007 would have been his thirty-fourth birthday.

Sometimes life . . . insert sentiments here

The Wall

2007-08-14T15:43:00.001-04:00

writer's block

writer 's block

w r i t e r ' s b l o c k

w r i t e r ' s b l o c k

w r i t e r ' s b l o c k

The Family Tree - When the leaves fall and all that's left is a song

2007-08-08T12:16:00.001-04:00

One of my oldest proven ancestors on my maternal grandfather's side was a man by the name of Stefan Nicolaides (which means 'sons of the victory people' in Greek). He was born in 1743, possibly in Hungary and moved to Kameral Ellgoth, Austria in 1782. There, he became the first Lutheran pastor and founded a chapel - which was later enlarged to a church - and wrote the church's parish history. He also built a parsonage (in essence, his home), a house for the sexton and a school. After serving as pastor for twenty-six years, he died at the age of sixty-five in 1808.

Stefan's eldest child, a son, Karl Josef (born in 1780) married a (polish?) girl, Sophia Kordiak and they had three children: Rosa (November 10, 1808), Henry (June 13, 1813) and Alexander (October 22, 1815).

Many letters were written by Sophia to (her son) Henry and by Rosa to (her brother) Henry. They were kept by Henry, preserved by his son, William, then translated from Gothic German to English around 1967.

The following is a letter that was written by Rosa (Mrs. Thomas Wodiczkal) to Henry on October 17 in 184? (Due to historical time lines the year was probably sometime between 1852 -1855). Rosa had received word that Henry left the army (due to illness) and emigrated to America with his new wife, Maria Josepha Tacchini (whom he met while stationed in Milan, Italy).

(The original letter)

Dear good brother,

I feared you were dead! I can only expect death, which seems to follow me. I am so lost, with my poor children.

You know we were in Pest (Budapest) during the Revolution (Began early 1848-1849 - Russia joined with Austria to crush the Hungarians). My dear unforgettable husband described the whole Revolution to you. After that we were transferred back to Gross Karuly. My husband became an official then we were happy, knowing life would be better for us. But suddenly my husband got an acute inflammation of the bowels. After a day and a half he passed away despite all the efforts made to save his life. I buried him four years ago, in July.

I wrote you three letters but never received an answer. After that I wrote to Mr. Killia. He wrote that I should write to you and send it to him; he would try to forward it to you. He also wrote that you are well off and also healthy.

I've had a very hard time with my poor children. Winter will soon be here and I don't have suitable clothing for them. I, alone, cannot make enough money for all of us. Everything is very expensive here; a loaf of bread costs four gulden, a basket of fruit - thirty florins, corn - twenty florins, one egg - four xr (coins), one pound of butter - twenty-four grapfin.

You can well imagine my position after the death of my dear husband. No money and no bread. I was very ill and too weak to walk. I wrote to Trempfin, to Wagner and Langa asking for help, and also my husband's mother and brothers. No one answered.

If only I could send my Emerich (Rosa's son Henry) to you. He could help you on the farm, and he would love to come. I want to send him now to learn a trade. Ludwig and Karl (Rosa's other sons) are still in school. They will have a hard time this winter because they have no winter clothing.

Day before yesterday my employer called for me, saying he had very pleasant news for me, and he gave me a letter from Wagner in Pest (Budapest).

Dear brother, if we could walk over the wide ocean to you, we would do so. I feel I could die easier if only I could see you again. We haven't seen each other for such a very long time; it hurts me for us to be so very far apart. I would love to talk with you and also to complain about my problems. are you truly happy in America, dear brother? Wagner writes that you are homesick for your homeland. Farewell, dear brother, and many greetings to you all. We kiss you many times. Truly yours,

Rosa.

I await your answer with great longing.
I send many kisses, write soon.

I don't know what happened to Rosa after that . . . Henry and his wife landed in New York (in 1846). Their first child, a daughter, Sophia Eugenia died in New York in 1847. They moved to New Jersey, then to Pennsylvania where William (1848), then Henry (1849) were born. They left Pittsburgh, traveled down the Ohio River to Mississippi, then down the Arkansas River to Little Rock where they settled in Pulaski County, Arkansas. They remained there during the Civil War - while Arkansas was under martial law. All of Little Rock became a military base camp; with a huge hospital and a prison for captured Confederate soldiers. The territory was swept by raiders, supply scouts, guerrilla forces and troops of both sides. Banks became unsafe, stagecoaches ceased and private transportation did not exist. Ex-guerrillas became bandits and Indians reverted to savagery. The southern people were starving - Living in Little Rock became very expensive. Sometimes supper was a corn pone, carefully divided to give each a share. Life in the America suddenly became very difficult.

The Nicolaides family eventually settled down on farm in Caney Creek, Union County, Illinois where Henry (pitured below) died on December 28, 1879.

And just when I thought my life had become difficult!

My Coffee Scenes Get the Red Ink

2007-08-06T12:42:00.000-04:00

Aaaaaaaaaand - ACTION . . . then exhale, then inhale . . . write it all, damn it . . . or simply don't think it and definitely don't live it.

If life is book, and we're penning our stories as we go along, then I need to focus more on my plot. If life is not a book, but a path we have chosen to follow, then I need to take a closer look at my current path's direction. If life is not a path, but a classroom on this planet, then I need to rethink this semester's study agenda.

But, back to the 'life is a book' metaphor. . . since we're writers here. Jon's latest post got me thinking, about story-lines and how they either contribute to the plot or they don't - and in a good story, should everything contribute to the plot. And if so, what choices might I make differently - what scenes would I edit out or omit altogether?

So, I thought about my plot; it's been all over the place for a while now. Then, I thought about the action scenes in my story and how I always thought action scenes where pretty much above editing . . . the more action the better the story . . . and how I seem to treat the little nuances in my story with disregard and red pens.

"Ah, she breathed too long, boring, take it out . . . and that cup of organic, shade-grown, fairly traded coffee, she nurses it far too long . . . no one cares about that . . . she's just sitting there drinking that damn cup of coffee when she isn't out watering her garden or peeling potatoes for dinner or talking to her father on the phone or brushing her Golden Retriever or sweeping up dust bunnies."

just some simple, quiet thoughts. nothing action-packed. nothing edited out or spell-checked or corrected for punctuation and grammar. just a perfect moment inside my imperfect story. you are now part of that story . . . part of my plot for today.

Thanks for reading these paragraphs.

But, then again . . . what if we don't have to take responsibility for our lives at all? Just blame it on the Fates, the God's, the exes, the person who took your parking spot, your parents, school, the fact that you ran out of ink at the good part.

Follow The Rabbit-Proof Fence - And Another Landmark To Follow

2007-08-02T10:34:00.001-04:00

For nine weeks and 1,500 miles, three young Aboriginal Australian girls followed a rabbit-proof fence (originally constructed to prevent rabbit infestation) to route their return home to Jigalong. In 1931, the girls were removed from their parents and taken to the Moore River Native Settlement, as part of the Stolen Generation. (From 1915 to 1969 the Australian Government made Aboriginal children wards of the State, denying all parental rights and sending the children to Internment Camps and orphanages where many were adopted out to white families.)

In 1996, Doris Pilkington Garimara, the daughter one of the three girls, Molly Craig, wrote a book about her mother's ordeal; "Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence." The 2002 film directed by Phillip Noyce, "Rabbit-Proof Fence," is based on that book. The film, visually stunning, presents a story of courage, perseverance and love in a quietly powerful way - without unnecessary dialog, overwhelming despair or tearful manipulations. It is one of my favorite movies.

THE GOOD NEWS

So, what brought all of this on - talking about a movie that is five years old - the good news that came over the BBC yesterday: Bruce Trevorrow, a fifty-year-old Aboriginal man who was taken from his family as a baby was awarded A$525,000 compensation, a judgment delivered by Justice Thomas Gray in the landmark case. The Supreme Court of South Australia found that Mr. Trevorrow was treated unlawfully when taken from his family in 1958 and put into foster care with a white family. Justice Gray established that the taking of a child from his or her family in these such circumstances was indicative of wrongful imprisonment. This is the first time that a child from the "Stolen Generation" has been recognized as having been unlawfully imprisoned due to the Australian Government assimilation policies from 1915-1969.

"I thought that we would never get there," Bruce Trevorrow said. "But the day's come when I've got the peace of mind to start my life." The judgment alone took eighteen months to be delivered.

Although, outside of the court, Mr Trevorrow also said it was not possible to put a dollar value on the pain he had endured.

For more information on the movie: Rabbit-Proof Fence
For more on Australia's Aboriginal People and The Stolen Generation

The Things We Leave Behind

2007-08-01T16:43:00.001-04:00

Last summer,
while walking
along the shore
of Lake Michigan,
I came upon a gifted sight;
a face carved in the sand.
I thought it was rather spectacular.
So simple and so mysteriously complex at the same time.
Kind of artsy.
Kind of philosophical.
The tininess of each grain of its sand.
The vulnerability of its form.
The certainty of its ruin.
And yet, it was lovely and unaffected.
The ideal way to be.
No name attached.
No credit to be taken.
Nothing sought in return . . .
The pleasure of its moment
for both its creator
and its immediate contacts.
It was really a footprint . . . something left behind.
Something beautiful and unselfish.
Something generous.
Something much more significant than the empty bottle of water left behind by someone else just a few yards up.

After reading Jon's beautifully expressed comment, I edited this post to include his words. He is a brilliant thinker and writer. Please visit Jon Zech's blog.
It's a sacrifice of sorts, this sculpture and this post. But there is something more. Your photo and poetic tribute has saved the sandman from destruction; like taking a flower from an alter and pressing it in a book. Is the flower saved or the sacrifice denied?
Both and neither. The sacrifice is completed with its giving. The salvation is completed when the object is raised above its token existence.

Frank Zappa was the REAL poncho

2007-07-30T15:59:00.000-04:00

"Now is that a real poncho or is that a Sears poncho, heh?" Frank Zappa asks the 'mystery man' in his song, "Cosmic Debris." And he should know - he did know - 'cuz he was the REAL poncho. He was as real as it gets down here.

Friday evening, I went to hear Zappa Plays Zappa (ZPZ) at Meadowbrook Theater . . . that's Dweezil (Frank's son) Zappa's band - his labor of love, blood, sweat and tears to continue the legacy of his father's brilliant music. They were amazing. Dweezil, with still yet a little guidance from above - his father on guitar and vocals for a couple of songs via the big screen in the sky (above the stage, that is) - never missed a beat, which is saying MUCH more for his own talent than a simple "awesome job" compliment with a pat on the back. Because, anyone familiar with the huge, though mostly non-commercial, success of Frank Zappa (he recorded and mostly self-produced over a hundred albums) and The Mother's (actually motherfuckers - since the term also refers to skilled musicians) of Invention, knows that Frank was one of the greatest, most talented guitarists of his time. He was also a composer; a conductor; a musical genius; an intelligent, knowledgeable and outspoken political advocate . . . a prolific mad man. And it is impossible to imitate him and nearly impossible to play his intricate compositions. (Among other serious and acclaimed orchestral works devoted to Zappa's music, the London Symphony Orchestra, in January of 1983, released a double album of Frank's compositions.) Especially difficult is "G-Spot Tornado" from "Jazz From Hell" which was originally executed, by Frank, on a Synclavier. He was skeptical whether humans could actually perform it, but Dweezil and ZPZ did. For three hours they played other favorites like, Dumb all over (a little ugly on the side); Dupree's Paradise; Willie The Pimp; Joe's Garage (wind up working in a gas station); San Ber' dino; Muffin Man; and Yo Mama:

"Maybe you should stay with yo' mama
She could do your laundry 'n cook for you
Maybe you should stay with yo' mama
You're really kinda stupid 'n ugly too"

When I was about seventeen, I went to see Zappa himself, in Detroit. After the concert, my friends and I went around back to the stage door and, as fate would have it, we met Frank. He was a most gracious person and took a few minutes of his time to actually look at us and talk to us. It is a moment in time that I treasure - and even more so now that he is no longer here on this planet making new music (although his unreleased recordings are being newly released to the public).

"I don't give a fuck if they remember me at all."

Notable Zappa Quotes:

"It isn't necessary to imagine the world ending in fire or ice – there are two other possibilities: one is paperwork, and the other is nostalgia."

"Remember there's a big difference between kneeling down and bending over."

"Drop out of school before your mind rots from exposure to our mediocre educational system. Forget about the Senior Prom and go to the library and educate yourself if you've got any guts. Some of you like Pep rallies and plastic robots who tell you what to read. Forget I mentioned it. This song has no message. Rise for the flag salute."

"On a personal level, Freaking Out is a process whereby an individual casts off outmoded and restricting standards of thinking, dress, and social etiquette in order to express creatively his relationship to his immediate environment and the social structure as a whole."

"If you wind up with a boring, miserable life because you listened to your mom, your dad, your teacher, your priest or some guy on TV telling you how to do your shit, then YOU DESERVE IT."

"The most important thing to do in your life is to not interfere with somebody else's life."

"The rock and roll business is pretty absurd, but the world of serious music is much worse."

"Being interviewed is one of the most abnormal things that you can do to somebody else. It's two steps removed from the inquisition."

"Let's not be too rough on our own ignorance, it's what makes America great!"

"May your shit come to life and kiss you on the face."

"The first thing you have to do if you want to raise nice kids, is you have to talk to them like they are people instead of talking to them like they're property."

"The creation and destruction of harmonic and 'statistical' tensions is essential to the maintenance of compositional drama. Any composition (or improvisation) which remains consistent and 'regular' throughout is, for me, equivalent to watching a movie with only 'good guys' in it, or eating cottage cheese."

"There is more stupidity than hydrogen in the universe, and it has a longer shelf life."

"Information is not knowledge. Knowledge is not wisdom. Wisdom is not truth. Truth is not beauty. Beauty is not love. Love is not music. Music is THE BEST..."

"Beauty is a pair of shoes that makes you wanna die."
AMEN BROTHER!

The Hardness of Objects

2007-07-26T12:34:00.000-04:00

While re-reading Castaneda's, "The Art Of Dreaming," last night, I came upon a phrase that felt so real to me, "the hardness of objects." I had to stop reading and sit with that for a few minutes. That's it! That's what it is about life that makes life so difficult most of the time . . . the hardness of every perceived object in our midst. Don Juan said to Carlos Castaneda:

"It's unquestionably a world of objects. To prove it, all we have to do is bump into them . . . I am saying that this is first a world of energy; then it is a world of objects. If we don't start with the premise that it's a world of energy, we'll never be able to perceive energy directly. We'll always be stopped by . . . the hardness of objects."

The world is an obstacle course and we have created the obstacles. I understand we create them and/or accept them as our reality while we travel along our paths. But, do we create them because we are conditioned by our ancestors to believe they must exist? or because we need to suffer and feel pain in order to truly feel alive? or do we, on a primitive level, strive to conquer the constant threat of being overcome? or perhaps it's because we subconsciously want to obstruct our view - making it nearly impossible to really see what is before us? I think it's a combination of all of the above, with the latter of the possibilities being the scariest of all. What really is in front of us as well as all around us? What if we focussed on seeing energy by looking beyond the physical manifestations and our limited perceptions of them?

Years ago, I went on holiday to Jamaica. I stayed at one of those beautiful, all-inclusive resorts. One day, my partner and I decided to venture off the resort by walking past the security booth that separated the real Jamaica from the romanticized version. We were asked to give our room number (in case we did not return safely, I presume) and we were instructed on the possible dangers of leaving the immediate area. We took our chances and walked further away from the abundant buffets of pineapple and jerk chicken, the umbrella-ed rum cocktails, the laughing, limboing bikinis and the Disney-like piped-in reggae music. Although the same beach stretched for miles along the same ocean waters, my first step onto the unsecured sand literally felt like I had passed through an invisible forcefield. The energy shifted drastically. The darkness began to attach to me like leeches on my skin. We encountered two locals selling something that looked like carved knives and they asked us if we had a cigarette or a bottle of booze from the hotel. A little further down the beach, we came to shack-like booth about the size of a lidless wooden coffin standing upright. Two gypsy women lured me, with their seductive powers of persuasion, to sit down and have my hair braided at a very low price . . . monetarily. The older woman grabbed an old dirty comb that was missing some teeth and began running it through my hair. I wondered if the comb was poisonous and would put me into an eternal state of sleep. I wondered if the braiding was part of a sacrificial ritual and my lifeless braided head would one day wash ashore, wrapped in seaweed and debris. I wondered if Medusa's fate would become my own as each braid felt like a snake growing from my brain.
"Ah, beautiful . . . you know you have much hair . . . this takes us much longer. You have more money?" The older one said.
We had only brought a very limited amount of money with us to be on the safer side. Suddenly, it didn't feel so safe not to have enough.
"I can bring you more." I said, knowing full well that I would keep my word - for I knew that this was not an average human exchange of money for services rendered. I somehow knew that this was an energy exchange, and I needed to 'buy' back what was being taken from me. I knew I could not afford the non-monetary price of my vanity in wanting to look like a modern-day tourist or Bo Derek in 10.
I noticed that the younger woman was getting the small rubber bands out of an old worn out Estee Lauder cosmetic bag - one of the bags the counters give away free with a purchase.
"That's an Estee Lauder bag." I said. The contrast of the two worlds collided at that split second. Was this the far-off future and the bag was from an ancient time - long, long ago - a time when my world once existed? Or was this long ago and my world did not exist yet? Nothing felt the same anymore - but it did feel real.
"I work for Estee Lauder." I said.
"You can bring me something? A lipstick in gold?" The older one said.
"Yes. I can bring that back for you! I can bring you the rest of the money and the lipstick." I had something they wanted . . . something that would assure my safe return back to Jamaicaland. Now, I would have to tread carefully as I left, in case they changed their minds or doubted my return.
Once I was back safely in my room, I struggled with the idea of having to go back out there. It took a lot of energy to get out of that sort of hell, now I was actually going to go back bearing gifts . . . paying the devil to keep my soul. And though my fears were overcoming me - fears of the knowing rather than the unknown - I looked through my bag of toiletries, found the Estee Lauder signature gold lipstick tube, gathered a few more dollars and we walked, slowly, back to the edge of this flat world. The evening was overcast which darkened the mood. The security guard looked at us strangely and warned us not to take any bottles of alcohol to the locals. We assured him we had nothing like that and we proceeded to enter the other side.
With a few dollars, we paid off - a non-verbal protective measure - the two men who had approached us before; hosts of the underworld, lunchroom bullies or two local panhandlers depending upon one's perception.
The two gypsy women welcomed me with a smile, but I knew that I had to act quickly before they decided it was not enough. I gave them the extra twenty dollars and the gold tube - a souvenir from the other world. I thanked them and we walked away - each step fighting not to be any quicker than the last. We never looked back . . .
I knew I was lucky . . . and I wished I didn't know that.

Happy Birthday, Luke

2007-07-25T11:52:00.001-04:00

My Lessons as a Mother
To my firstborn, my daughter Alexia, I gave her the dreams I dreamed
To my second born, my son Adam, I gave him directions on how to dream
To my third born, my son Luke, I gave him a white canvas and a brush

My baby is eighteen today! I know he would cringe at the "baby" part of that . . . but, nevertheless, he is my youngest child of three . . . and eighteen years ago today, he came into this world with the courage and strength of the lion he is. He has been with me through a lot - the many major changes in my life - and he has taught me so much about life . . . acceptance, patience, kindness, honesty . . . He is very wise for his years. Happy Birthday, Luke. I love you!