Hanging out on the Planet

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.

breathing, heart beating, eyes open, smiling

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.

Orthodox Holy Week

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.

24

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.

cHRistMas PAsT and PreSENt

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!

Trimming my Tree and Decking my Halls

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

The Summer's Last Hurrah

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

The Hardness of Objects

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.

Six degrees of Chuck Woolery

My friend, Mike, went a little 'click' happy with Kim's new camera toward the end of Kim and Chuck's wedding reception last July. I guess one could call this my "official MySpace weird angled photo." (MySpacers will understand) We all snapped a lot of photos during that weekend in Vegas . . . CLICK . . . "This one's going on my MySpace."
A small gathering of close friends stayed at the Bellagio in Las Vegas to witness and celebrate the wedding of my best friend, Kim Barnes to (my new best friend) Chuck Woolery.
I remember when she phoned me a few years ago to tell me that she had been on a blind date with Chuck, We never would have thought that this was her true Love Connection (of course, fun/pun intended).
For anyone who saw the wedding clips on Entertainment Tonight, I was the woman in the mint green dress, front row left, snapping photos of the ceremony.
What a great and memorable time. Chuck has now become my (ever so frustrated) date/relationship adviser and worthy political/religious debate opponent.
If you like Metal Rock check out my friend Mike Fasano's music page on MySpace
Due to popular demand - I have added my YouTube video

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qs4K5T4OiJw

The clothes on my back

"All you own are the clothes on your back." Father Michael said during the Homily a few weeks back. "Everything in your closet belongs to those less fortunate." He was speaking about the life and words of Saint John Chrysostom who lived a modest life and gave a large portion of all he had to the needy; and Saint Paul's second letter to the Corinthians 9:6-11 which says: 'he who sows sparingly will also reap sparingly . . . "
I started thinking about all the stuff I have . . . stuff that I keep 'just in case.' I felt greedy and selfish having so many extra things, especially clothes, coats and blankets packed away when so many people are in need of those things to keep warm during these brutal winter months. (As I wrote in my very first blog here, I have trouble cleaning out my closet.)
Then, a few days ago, I learned of the fire that destroyed a Saint Vincent de Paul warehouse, and at a time of year when so many people depend on it. Channel seven news announced that they were having an emergency donation drive all day Wednesday to be held at Lawrence Tech. Well, that's all it took - a reason beyond any excuse and a deadline. I have always worked better under the pressures of deadlines.
It took me less than two hours to come up with ten bags along with some other miscellaneous items. My son and I loaded two cars (not mine - it's still kaput) and we drove over to Southfield, waited in the long line of cars. So many people brought donations. As we pulled up and parked, young volunteers helped us transfer the bags and boxes into huge Art Van trucks. The snow was gently falling and sparkling under the lights that illuminated the parking lot. I felt the true meaning of Christmas.
I felt lighter . . . my closet, my home, my heart, my spirit.
I did not post this for anyone to comment on how great it was of me to do this. This was nothing, but helpful to me as much as to those who need help. I posted this in the hope that someone reading it may be inspired to do the same. Give what you can. Give what you have that is not of immediate need to you. Give the best, not your leftovers.
Countdown to Christmas . . . 18 days!
God Bless Everyone.

Beyond the Blurred Images and Holiday Guise

Well, my Christmas trees are lit up and decorated. My home sparkles of gold and smells of pine. I am a ‘home for the holidays’ type of gal. I know, old-fashioned and completely un-cool.

Now, I know the “in” thing these days is to point out all the commercialism that encompasses the holidays, kind of like a word search or a Where’s Waldo. It has become almost amusing to sit over a Starbuck's latte complaining about the holiday shit this and that while watching people do the hustle and bustle. Ahgggg . . . there’s the shoulder-to-shoulder shopping in the crowded malls; the bumper car parking lots; Santas who are too skinny; the one hundred or so renditions of “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” played over and over again; higher rates of suicide and depression; news papers exploding with advertising inserts; pounds of catalogs; no friggin’ roasted chestnuts or open fires anywhere to be had; long lines; long lists; short tempers.

I realize that this time of year brings out extremes in behavior, character flaws and a Pandora’s Box of emotions. Oh, the pressures. Oh, the headaches. Oh, the heartaches.

So what am I so happy about? I definitely feel the financial strain, the pressures to get it all done and still look shiny and new - to get my cards out on time, my cookies baked and my gifts bought, wrapped and hidden away. I have many moments of nostalgia, thinking about Christmas’ past and all of my loved ones who are not here with me to celebrate the present one. At times I do feel melancholy and a bit overwhelmed. Wow, I think I am beginning to convince myself that the holidays suck!

But, on the other hand (the one still resting in a full and quiet pocket) I love this time of year. The crazy holiday pace dizzies me just enough that I step off and rediscover my real point of reference . . . mySelf. And in doing so, I stop the planet. I see beyond the blurred images. I see the beating of compassionate hearts. I see the gift of the Nativity. I see God incarnate.

This time of year evokes the virtues of compassion, helpfulness, thoughtfulness, thankfulness, love and generosity lifting the human spirit to the place it really lives. ‘Tis the season of giving. Volunteer services are filled to capacity; people are donating to organizations such as Toys for Tots, Coats for Kids and homeless shelters. Soup kitchens have more than enough help; hospital and nursing home patients are entertained by carolers. There is a lot of good in the air . . . even if some of that good air does get blown around by high pressure gusts of fervor.

If we could extend those giving hands and compassionate hearts into each New Year, Christmas would not come in with such a bang (and on the tail wind of a witch’s broom November 1) only to leave in the blink of an eye and ten pounds later. Christmas would become state of mind rather then a time of year. That is what the spirit of Christmas is really all about.

For a beautiful and heartfelt posting on Christmas, visit Laura’s blog

Insignificant Insanities

Well, I made it through Phase I of the holiday season - Thanksgiving - without any noticeable hitches. Could it be that as a family we have learned how to do this stuff better through years of practice, or have I become blinded by large quantities of spiked punch and my own dysfunction so much so that the small insanities now go unnoticed . . . or worse . . . they have become a normal part of the celebration?

Maybe my sisters and I have finally come to realize that we are essentially all we have, and in doing so, we have let go of the small and insignificant things? Perhaps we have grown up and into the fine women we dreamed we could be. But honestly speaking, we were pushed to the front of the line.

This was our third Thanksgiving since our young mother passed away, and things have never felt the same. We are now the elder women of our tribe. I did not want that title for many more moons, but things had already been written . . . and therefore . . . done. We are the mothers and the aunts whom I remember looking to for comfort during my childhood years. Whether we are ready for that role yet does not matter. We are it.

I know I do not have all the answers like I thought my mother to have all my growing days - she did a flawless job of pretending things would always be alright. Things are never always alright. Things are as they are. There are no rites of passage into this role of female elder, aside from promotion by death. There are no guidelines or rules. There is no help.

This is difficult in the sense that I do not come from the generation of women who believed Betty Crocker was creating recipes from her shiny kitchen with chrome appliances; that there was no such thing as pre-marital sex (to speak of); that dirty laundry was never to be aired and linoleum floors shined with polyurethane wax while dust bunnies grew ferociously under the furniture.

I come from the generation where Martha Stewart, as close to perfection as a woman can get on one hand while the other was slapped for five months for fooling us all. (Was she punished for deceiving her shareholders or for deceiving those who held her in perfect woman status?) In other words, I am not good at pretending things will always be alright. I am not the kind of a bosomy role model that can squeeze demons out with a tight hug. I am an imperfect woman fighting off demons daily and praying to be better tomorrow.

So, as a family elder, role model and mentor I have this to say to the youth of my tribe . . . I love you. Maybe that is really all it takes.

On a quirky note . . . while my sisters and I cleared the table after Thanksgiving dinner and began rationing off the leftovers into Ziplock bags and Chinet paper plates, we came upon a bag of empty containers. Apparently, my father was prepared having labeled, with mini post-its, each individual container with its desired contents. (An engineer always) We each grabbed a container and began filling: sweet potatoes, turkey, stuffing . . . I grabbed the one labeled: Misc. Was this a test, dad? Damn it! Ah, maybe pie! No, my niece had the one labeled pie. We all laughed. The only thing left was mashed potatoes. That was our one missing miscellaneous dish. That puzzle solved. We all felt wiser.

Something . . . Anything

"You happy now?" Todd toyed with the audience after he played one of his old songs, "I Saw the Light."

"Me happy now, Todd!" my voice still able to scream at that time.

Since I was twelve, I have had a mad crush on Todd Rundgren. I imagined that one day we would be married (couldn't he feel that this was so right?), so I practiced (over and over again) writing my first name in front of his last name, just in case.

When I was seventeen, I saw him in concert for the first time. Towards the end of the concert I made a mad dash for the stage (storming the stage as we called it back in the day before so much visible brute security). There I was running down the main isle like a teenage bride in blue jeans and a T-shirt. I made it all the way and managed to grab his extended hand. I held Todd's hand. I could live with that if nothing else.

The years went by - boyfriends, husbands, children, life in general - but no signs of Todd. Oh well, I knew I couldn't have everything I ever wanted. Still, deep inside was that teenage girl with a crush and a dream that lived on, and no one could deny me that painful pleasure.

Now, some thirty years later I am sitting a few rows away from the stage at the State Theater and on the stage Todd is playing guitar and singing lead vocals for The New Cars. I am thrilled; a giddy teenager all over again. I look at the aisle. I try to cast the thought from my mind. I am an adult woman now. I can't go screaming down that isle. Stop it.

In the end, I didn't do it. I kept my composure and God rewarded my newfound mature behavior. After the concert, as I walked along the outside of the building towards to parking lot, Todd exited the stage door to get into his tour bus. There were only about five or six of us (fans) around and we called for him to come over. He did, ever so graciously. And in that moment, my teenager with a crush became a woman filled with respect for this man who has gifted the world with his musical and songwriting talents, his creativity, innovativeness and genius mind. And with that, I shook his hand and had him autograph my ticket stub (thanks to a man who had a pen). I met Todd Rundgren. I could live with that if nothing else.

Now, with an hour and a half into the official day of giving thanks, I can add to my long list of things for which I am grateful to God: Todd Rundgren, the end of a very long teenage crush, and, oh yeah, the man with the pen.

So, back to life. Ah, but what a sweet slice of the pie that was, and before dinner. (That's not cheating, that's called living!)

And no matter what happens from this point on . . . wherever life takes me . . . I will still remain hopeful in some quiet way because as Todd once wrote . . . A Dream Goes on Forever.

Today's blah, blah, blahs and yada yadas: Lions and turkeys and yams oh my!

Ok, when I can't be clever, creative or anything in between, I will blah and yada.
So, today is Monday, November 20, already! Thanksgiving is three days away.

Last night I watched a program on the History Channel about the history of Thanksgiving Day. I found it to be quite interesting - most things I did not know. One fact surprised me (though, it shouldn't have): back in the 1920's when football was gaining popularity, it was the good ole Detroit Lion's who combined Thanksgiving Day with the game and made it the big event that it has become. I know that the Lions play every year on Thanksgiving Day, because, coming from a family where football ranks higher than almost anything, our turkey dinner is always after my brother-in-laws return from the game . . . pissed off and hungry.

I am fortunate this year, since I had the big Halloween bash, my sister is preparing Thanksgiving dinner at her home and all I have to do is show up. Sweet!