I'm bringing back the MULLET

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.

The Nature of Me

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.

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

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!

Looking Back . . . My Photo Montage

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

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!

Definition of Precious

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

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

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




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

The Elders of our Family Tribe

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)

Happy Birthday Adam

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

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

Sometimes life . . .

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

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!

Frank Zappa was the REAL poncho

"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

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.

Dee Dee's Fab Four - AKA "The Four Corners"

May 25, 2007 marked the third anniversary of my mother's early departure from this life. And although we miss her more than words can express, my three sisters and I choose to honor and celebrate her life by taking our annual three-day trip to her favorite spot, Frankfort, in Northern Michigan.

My dad came with us in 2005; the first year we went. That's the year we took some of mom's ashes and scattered them into Lake Michigan from the Frankfort Pier. We even put some in a little boat with a tea light candle and set her off to Sea, as she always loved the idea of a Viking Funeral.

Last year was the year we had a bench dedicated in her name. It sits on the beach, with others like hers, looking out to the lake and the lighthouse just as she always loved to do.

This year was a quieter year. We were out of ritual, except for the trip itself and the Margarita toast at the moment of her passing . . . and the burning of a bundle of sage around the bench.
I guess we are creatures of habit . . . ceremony . . . ritual. But, my sisters and I are also party creatures! We know how to have a good laugh (mom taught us well!) - but, what goes on in Traverse City, stays in Traverse City!