The Happy Dread of the PFD

Well, it's about to be that time of year again. The time when it's advisable to avoid Walmart, Target, Costco, Sams, Best Buy, Toys R Us - and any other place that sells anything.

For those who don't know about the Alaska PFDs, they are not personal flotation devices (and, yet, for some people, I guess they kind of are - of a economic type). They are the Permanent Fund Dividends.

The PFDs are about to be deposited into bank accounts all over Alaska on October 3rd. People who receive the money generally lose their minds. The impulse shopping will commence. Or maybe I can't call it 'impulse shopping' if people have been sorta, kinda planning it from the second the amount was announced.

I was at the library two days ago when it hit the news that eligible Alaskans will be getting $900. People reacted in various ways. Some of them shrugged because they know what they have to do with theirs and it doesn't include the luxuries of saving or taking a vacation. (Mine, for instance, is going straight for medical bills and car repairs.) Some folks got on my nerves with their complaints about the "small" amount. Other people went right into shopping mode. I swear I saw the Amazon and Best Buy websites popping up on computers all over the library.

I use my dividend the way my sister and mother and I always did before. Needs come first, saving comes next, whoo-hoo last. (There was usually very little to whoo-hoo about.)

When the kids were still at home, my mother, sister and I would pool everyone's PFDs and use part for the house (paying extra on the mortgage or replacing a dying appliance). Part would go for stocking up the freezer with enough stuff to keep the kids in school lunches for months. The year that two of the kids decided they wanted to be the Dizzy Gillespie and Robert Mapplethorpe of their high school, we sprung for an band and photo supplies. (And the fees - you never count on the fees that come with any extracurricular school activity.) For our kids that were teenagers, we'd give them fifty bucks of their dividend to hold. If they were younger, they got a hotdog with everything the next time we were out somewhere. The rest of the money went in the bank.

We used to get criticized by some friends because we didn't give our kids their whole dividend. My mother shut them right up. She'd tell them that our kids got their dividend all year long - when we paid their medical bills and fed and clothed them. The love was free, but because we weren't their bio-parents, they weren't covered under insurance from our jobs. Let a kid break an arm and need the local E.R. You can go damn near bankrupt.

All our kids are grown now. The ones who live here and get a dividend are dealing with their own families to take care of. So far, they've remembered how we raised them and always use any extra money well. If we taught them nothing else about the PFDs, they know to avoid the stampedes going on outside every major retailer in town.

What do the rest of you plan to do with your dividend? Save, spend or split?

Peace
--Free

One Note vs Evernote

Okay, so it's been a few days since I started playing around with Evernote. I like it. I like it a lot.

Last night, +Gabrielle B and I were on the phone. I told her about my new-found love in desktop applications. The heffa suddenly reminds me about Microsoft's One Note. (I can call her that because we're family and I say it with love.)

I think it was when I was using Windows Vista that I first saw One Note. At the time, I just thought it was this annoying something (I didn't know or care what) that kept popping up whenever I tried to use Word or Excel. I silenced it. It was getting on my nerves. Never thought about it again.

When I got off the phone with my niece last night, I took at look at One Note. I wanted to compare it against Evernote. Is it nice? Looks like it. Does it have many of the same features as Evernote? Seems to.

Right off the bat, I have to say that I prefer Evernote. For one thing, it's easy to start using (and then learn as you go). It looks neater and more organized. Also, as far as I can tell, One Note doesn't have the "card view" feature that I love in Evernote.

I'm guessing that One Note is every bit as good as Evernote (and it's free, so that's a plus), but it's going to take me longer to learn its ways. Since I'm in the middle of a project that's going so well in Evernote, I'll finish it first. When I have time to jack around with One Note, I will give it a try. Gabrielle is using it already and we've decided to keep comparing our work. (Of course, she's working on things to do with obtaining her Masters degree while I'm just effing around with some fiction. ~smile~ Really.)

Peace
--Free

Best Writing Software (so far)

When I recently posted on some of the aids I'd found for writers, I skipped one: Evernote. I'd used Evernote on my Android and just wasn't impressed. Of course, I hate typing anything more than a quick text on m phone.

I gave Evernote (for PC) a try just because. Guess what? I really do like it.

One of the things I want in writing software is a way to take an organize pieces of a story. Scrivener has a corkboard feature which is nice (so do a couple of other programs, like Celtx Plus) but I wasn't crazy about everything else it has. Also, I'm still trying out Scrivener and Celtx (not Plus) to see if they are worth paying for.

Evernote has two advantages that I could see right off the bat. First, it's very easy to get started with so I didn't need to spend hours and hours figuring out all the features. It will take some time for me to get completely comfortable with the entire package, but I can work with it as I learn. Second, it's free.

As far as the ability to visualize and organize a story, Evernote doesn't have a specific index card type feature. The way it's set up, though, it gives me the same benefit as a board. Kind of hard for me to untwist my brain enough this morning to explain, so:

The "Cards" are in the middle pane

This is the "Index" view. The "Cards" are now shown as lists at the top.

This is the "Snippet" view

You get the idea, right? You can piece together your outline (or chapter and sections) in the right-side panel and still see an overview in the center panel. The far left side is a navigator-type section for all the different Notebooks and such. Because I am using the "free" version, I have the ads and stuff, but that's not a big problem. I am thinking of buying the full version.  To be honest, I'm not really using the software to it's fullest, but it's working well for me as is.

Good luck with your projects.

Peace
--Free

For Writers

It's time to pass along some links for the writers. Let's just do it.

Websites

• The Creative Penn
• The Writing Platform

Functional Helps

• Grammar Girl
• Grammarly
• Using Google "define" search operator (ex: define sassafras)

Alternatives to Microsoft Products

(also search for these)

• OpenOffice
• Abisoft
• Libre Office
• Neo Office
• K Office
• SSuite Office
• Kingsoft Office
• SoftMaker Free Office
• Zoho
• Think Free Office
• Live Documents
• Google Apps

Misc. Tools

• Cliche Finder site (Thanks to Crazy Egg)
• Scrivener (via Literature & Latte)
• yWriter
• Rough Draft
• Dark Room (via CNET**)
• Writing Outliner
• Text Block Writer (via CNET)
• 
  

And, finally, Just Writing

1. Storybook
2. FocusWriter
3. WriteMonkey
4. Ommwriter
5. Q10

Good luck and, remember, only do it if you love it. That goes for everything in life.

Peace

--Free

** Be warned: Unless you want to be annoyed with the Cnet downloader's offers for other software, try to use "direct" links. Cnet's "offers" have not always been easily noticed in the downloading process. If you use theirs, watch carefully for the "add-on" offers. I once nabbed some stuff I just did not want & had a hell of a time getting rid of. ("Direct download" links are usually shown just under the big green Cnet download icon.)

Tell Me If I'm Wrong...

I promised to tell how my life instantly got better, right? Okay. Here we go.

Since I've complained on here so much about my roommate, I'm almost hesitant to bring up the situation, but - there's an ending (I hope).

Instead of just "discussing" things with Noni (fake name), this third and last time, I put consequences on the table: if she continued to use the living room as a bedroom, smoking up the place and turning it into Pigsty Central, I was going to let her. As long as she wanted to pay for the privilege. I don't see why I should pay half the rent when I don't get to use a fair share of the living space. I explained that unless things changed BY the 13th, I was taking $150 of my part of the rent. & I'd give her a last "heads up." (By the way, I'm pretty sure the library was getting ready to charge me rent for all the time spend there to get away from the four walls of my bedroom.) Oh - in just a minute, I will explain why the 13th was an important date.

That discussion we had went great. Noni agreed that she was hogging space by not using her bedroom. She agreed that she needs to help with the housekeeping. She agreed and agreed and agreed some more - in between the tears. (Of course, all that boo-hooing she did made me look and feel the like Bitch of the Northwest. I am not kidding even a little when I tell you that she spent over four hours the day after our talk just sitting and sobbing like a lost child! I went back to the library.)

Fine.

Part of our discussion was about how, if she didn't get moved into her bedroom (to at least sleep), that I would be going to Walmart to put a futon and coffee table for my bedroom on layaway the minute I could. Layaway started on the 13th, which is why I picked the date for a Noni's "heads up." Yesterday, I had a friend ready to go by Walmart to set my things aside. Noni woke up at around the crack of nightfall - as energetic as a puppy - got dressed and went out with friends. (She selects her moments of energy carefully. This is a woman who has turned sleeping into a marathon sport. I've never seen a person sit that long without moving who didn't get sores on their ass. But the minute she has club to cruise by or wants to go shopping, she turns into a cyclone of movement.)

Fine.

I didn't want to ruin her whole night out, so I waited up for a while then emailed Noni , before I went to bed, that I was not planning on paying a full half of the rent this coming month - just like I had told her when we talked.

Around one in the morning, I woke up to go to the bathroom and my phone's email icon was lit up. Noni was letting me know that she just could not pay a bigger portion of the rent so she would be sleeping in her bedroom from here on out.

Yeah.

She came in about a half hour later and flopped down on the chair, ready for the night as usual. I just had to do it: I asked her if I should plan on waking up to the glorious sight of her passed out in the living room, as usual.

Now, why is it that people act all butt-hurt when they actually have to do the right thing?

Bottom line: Noni spent the next couple of hours moving some stuff into her room (making as much noise as possible, as if I give a flipping eff-you-cee-kay), huffing and puffing to put a grounded and pissed off teenager to shame. (Again, I should care how much?)

Since she actually moved and it wasn't to the beat of music, she'll probably sleep for the next three days. Good.

For the first time since - ever, I woke up and made coffee and started my day without having to look over at my roommate, feeling like this:

Peace
--Free

A Hacking Good Life

Life got instantly better for me tonight. I will explain that in a later post. The thing is, I'm in a good mood - a sharing mood.

If you haven't heard of Flipboard (for phone, in my case), I think you should check it out. It's basically reading, collecting and sharing articles: news, sports, life - whatever floats your boat. Any kind of "hacks" are currently floating my boat pretty high. Life hacks, DIY hacks, whatever.

Here are some of the hacks I've seen since subscribing to several "magazines" on via Flipboard:

1. How to fold a fitted bedsheet. (It drove my military dad crazy that I'd just sort of roll them up. Neatly.)
2. Repurpose an old fridge. (The term "repurpose" will start to get on my nerves soon.)
3. Configure all cores of your processor for full use. (I can't wait to try that one, but on a clearer-headed day! Took three tries just to type out the link text.)
4. Decorate with balloons for Halloween. (I don't do Halloween, but the balloon idea is cute.) Similar idea is here.
5. Use YouTube as an alarm clock (How tight is that? I could wake up on gym days by jamming out to this. Or start off a Saturday morning relaxing to this.)
6. Making these tea-light jars could be a nice bonding project for parents, aunties, siblings, whoever. (My sis-in-law Keva would have been all over this with my niece.)
7. These freaking cute planters are something my niece Gabby will do. (If I call supermom Keva, Martha-mom & Gabby is Cathy Creative. I'm lacking. My planters would look like they had epilepsy.)
8. I will be making the unpoppable bubbles for D.J., bet that. (Let me be honest: with or without D.J., I can't wait to try them!)
9. If you're going to get one, make it a temporary tattoo. (Tip: You might want to get someone with passable artistic skills to do the markings, i.e.: not me.) Personally, I don't like tattoos on women. It seems un-fem, but, hey - that's just me. 
10. Learn to say F.U. in different languages. Maybe if I say it in Latin, I'll sound like an educated sailor. (I see you looking back at #9. I'm not a hypocrite, I'm just complicated.)
11. This hack is to simplify Wikipedia articles. (I checked this out. Meh. Not sure I could use articles that stripped down.)
12. Use this site to remove your personal data from other sites. (Haven't checked out this one yet. What data do they collect?)
13. Reading car dashboard lights. (I already know the main one for you-better-put-in-some-gas-before-you-have-to-walk-your-ass.)
14. Guide to dressing well. (All Walmart shoppers - please, please, please take heed.) Just kidding. I'm generally okay, but I did wear a day-glo green watch with an electric pink jacket and "vibrant purple" nail polish with blazing blue sweats to the gym the other week. What the hell was wrong with me that day? Let's just file that one in a don't ask/don't tell file.
15. Questions that an interviewee should ask (and that I'm going to send to all my nieces and nephews.)These questions are more than "impressive," they are vital.
16. Educational websites for everyone. (I'm going to hurt my computer getting over to the ones on math. I found out the other day that if I was math-challenged before my sarc, I'm now math-illiterate.)
17. A Google Maps mystery? (I actually did this and... I have no idea what is up with what I saw. Check it out for yourself.) Note: when instructions say to "go up" or "go left," it means to use the arrows of the compass at the top left of the map screen. 

Pretty cool stuff, right? Enjoy

Peace

--Free

Where Did Manners Go?

I'm not sure what's wrong with people anymore. There seems to be such a climate of apathy*, a lack of common manners and personal pride. No wonder so many of the relationships I see are in trouble. People have forgotten how to treat each other. We don't care enough about strangers and we don't care much more about loved ones - not if you go by the way we behave.

I was at the store yesterday where a young woman with two  kids, one of them disabled, was struggling to deal with groceries and kids - in a rainstorm. She left her shopping cart near the trunk of her vehicle while she settled her kids in the back seat. One child was about three and, of course, she probably didn't want him taking off into the parking lot (like young ones will do). The other child, about seven, seemed to have a physical disability with controlling his movements. I had parked nose to nose with her and was getting out of my car when I noticed her cart starting to roll a little. Some impatient "gentleman" was trying to pull into the space next to her and the cart was in his way. He blared his horn over and over, for her to move the cart.  The poor woman was trying to finish seating the kids, but got flustered because this man would not stop. I went over and moved the cart out of his way so that he could lay off his freaking horn. And you know me: one day I'm going to get my ass beat from stepping to people who piss me off. I stood there long enough to give him a good shaming stare-down. When he was too chicken-shit to say anything, I called him a rude jackass. (I have angels flying around with their swords drawn to protect me from my own bravery, I swear.)

Why are people so damn rude and impatient? What was this man's problem? Did he think the woman had telepathic control of the cart? Was he in a hurry to get inside for his psych meds? What the hell? And I do know that I stooped to extreme rudeness in my reaction, but, damn.

I remember when it was almost everyone's natural reaction to hold a door for a person coming up behind. A few days ago, I damn near got taken out by a man shoving past me and throwing open a door to get into the library. People don't say "Please" and "Thank you." Kids are not being taught how to behave in restaurants (and, okay, baby D.J. is still learning), and no one seems to care about just being civil and courteous in public.

A friend of mine has a habit of belching like it's no big deal - no matter where she is. That's so ladylike, don't you think? Her excuse: "It's a natural bodily function. Everybody does it." As if "bodily" means "public" or "in your face."

In a conversation one time I said I thought it was rude for a man or woman to habitually (and loudly) pass gas around each other. I was told I was uptight.  One of the guys said, "It means you are comfortable around someone." (No - it means you don't give a damn. You certainly didn't make that first impression with a belch, did you?)

Maybe I am uptight, but I don't care how "comfortable" I feel with someone, I don't want to just blast out a belch (or whatever) around them. (Okay, wait - let me be totally honest: I will do it around my sister, just to mess with her!) I get it that "stuff" happens. Sometimes, it's cute and playful - like when my ex-husband would hold my head under the covers and threaten me with toxic fumes. Usually though, I try to maintain a level of respect for people. If I do burp, or - you know, do that other thing - I excuse myself (or try to play it off and hope it's' a windy day).

I'm sorry, but I think manners matter. You don't have to be a graduate of Emily Post to understand common politeness. With friends, lovers and family, I'm just not comfortable walking around, scratching my ass or blowing fumes all over them. (Obviously, I have no restraint when it comes to blogging about it all, but...)

My roommate is a chick who has no problem letting it all hang (or blow) out. We talk about it all the time. I harp on her the way my mother harped on me: "You'll slip up and do it in front of someone special."

We may be dysfunctional in a lot of ways, but my siblings and I are still courteous to one another. In public, my brothers treat me and my sister like the ladies we are. Of course, they will kill for us, but they also hold doors and walk on the outside of the sidewalk. (Then again, I have awesome brothers. Most of the time. Not that they don't give us a lot of sh*t.) My mother raised us to be this way. I don't know how I would feel if a man in my family didn't hold a door for me or treated me like I wasn't a lady.

I probably do sound like a throwback of some kind, but, oh well. I'm the woman who will not, for the first months of a relationship, let a man see me looking haggard in any way. (I'm still haunted by the nightmare I looked when I was in the hospital a few years ago: hair all jacked up, lips chapped and peeling... I don't even want to know what I smelled like after not being able to bathe for days. Ugh!) When I'm in a relationship, I keep two things on the bedside table: baby wipes for my face and a swig of orange juice for my morning dragon-breath. And men don't seem to have the same ideas, but I like being a woman. I think little things like that matter.

Yeah, so, let's get back to being nice people, folks.

Peace
--Free

(* Thanks, +Evelyn Blandino. My fingers were moving faster than my brain!)

G+ (2013) vs Facebook (2011)

I'm a big promoter of Google Plus. I'm as big on revealing my hatred for Facebook.

Google Plus is just a better fit for me. I like to talk to a variety of people about a variety of ideas. I don't want to simply sign in and check up on who has the coolest sayings or the day, the best motivational (or de-motivational) posters, or deepest proclamations of faith or love or- whatever.

While I love my interactions on G+, I've gotten a little bored with it lately. I'm starting to see a Facebook mentality creep in. A couple of years ago, I could be guaranteed to see serious discussions of news and culture. Lately, I see a lot of people just spouting off about meaningless crap. No offense to my circles (because you guys are awesome), but I'm not finding a whole lot more of your kind.

I've been offline a lot since I've had such chaos in my personal (offline) life. Hah! When I logged on earlier this morning, I scrolled through the list of people who've been adding me to their circles. I ended up spending about 20 minutes just "dismissing" all the folks with no image or tagline. I spent another chunk of time getting rid of the self-promoters, businesses, motivational speakers and avid self-photographers who want everyone to know just how hot & photogenic they are. (I won't even mention all the folks using G+ to hook up with someone - anyone.)

Guess what? I still haven't found but a handful of folks to circle back.

Where are all the people who are fun and interesting and conversational and knowledgeable about something they're not selling or talking-up?

One of the first people I ever added on The Plus was +Fraser Cain (publisher of Universe Today). I'm certainly no rocket scientist (or scientist of any kind), but I get turned on to some of the most interesting things from checking Cain's stream.

I've connected to people who I stay in touch with via email and their blogs. I have established online friendships with people who share interests with me (as bloggers, writers, fellow immune disease sufferers) and would be fun to hang out with if we ever met in "real" life.

There are some folks on G+ who have no clue who I am, but are generous enough to share their art and music with the rest of us.

Maybe I'm selfish (okay, that's been established), but I don't want to just "sit" on a network and watch it stream by. I like learning and connecting and getting something out of the experience.

So... I'm going back over to my "People" list again to see if there aren't at least a few I'll be excited about adding back. Else, I might as well have stayed on Facebook. I couldn't even type that without a shudder of repulsion going through my body. Speaking of being repulsed, did you know that there is still a MySpace. It wasn't bad before, if it was your kind of thing, but now... I don't even see what the point is. (Just my opinion, people. Please don't hate me for it.)

Peace
--Free

Kids. They Kill Me.

Thought about this after I posted some video of D.J. the other day: kids are way smarter than we adults might think.

D.J. is now old enough to concentrate for more than two or three minutes at a time, count (a little), tease people and do just the most embarrassing things at the worst possible moments in time. The one thing that bothers me is that he is just too smart about the wrong things.

If one of us adults starts to count, "One...," he says, "Tewwww." Kills me every time. (We haven't gotten him to say "Three" yet, but he will try to hold up that many fingers.) The other day, his mom wanted to dress him and he didn't want to be dressed. When she reached over to grab his arm, he snatched away and told her, very clearly, to "Go 'way!" This is a kid who can't say "Three"?

My sister gets upset whenever she sees him doing something like dancing along with Sid the Science Kid (or whoever that little purple guy is). She feels like, if he can dance and sing along with a TV show, he should be able to get out the first couple words of The Lord's Prayer. (She's working on teaching him the beginner's prayer of  "Now I lay me down to sleep". He's not co-operating.)

I may have already told how D.J. responds when I get to the house and stomp my feet on the floor (he stomps his, screams and comes flying to leap into my arms), but I'm kind of ashamed to say that his parents think I'm teaching him to be loud and unruly. Okay, so I am doing just that, but what the hell else are aunties for?

So far, my favorite thing about D.J. is that he is sweet. If he loves you, he can wrap his arms around you and make the sun shine on a cloudy day (and did I just steal a line from The Temptations???). Even though he can't yet say my name right, I don't really mind because I love the way he screws it up. "Tewwy." Yeah. Isn't that just the sweetest thing in the world?

I said that he's sweet because he is, but he has not one ounce of empathy in his little Saggitarian heart yet. I tried the old fake cry gimmick to see what he would do. What he did was just about fall over yawning.

No special reason for this post, except that I swore to myself that I would post something at least once a week. When there's nothing else interesting, I will always have D.J.

Peace
--Free

The Sweetest Little Man in My Life

Whenever I go offline, some of the people in my different networks miss me. All of the people in my networks miss my little nephew, D.J.

So, especially for +Bill Brown and Miss Marla and +J.D. Hughes, here's a usual moment in the life of that kid of ours.

(Sure hopes one of these formats play for you guys.) This is D.J. helping his Auntie with her wheelchair:

He just adores my big sis, Auntie Mike (second to me, of course). I don't know where the kid gets so much strength, but he can actually push Mike around in her wheelchair. Notice how sweet and helpful he is! His next favorite thing is to help his mom put away groceries. He likes to carry the heavy shopping bags for her from the garage door entrance and into the kitchen so she can put things away.

Have I said before just how much I love this kid? We have a thing we do whenever I show up over there: I stop inside the front door and stomp my feet so that he knows it's me. He screams and stomps his feet and comes running to jump into my arms. I won't be able to catch that solid load of baby-body much longer!

So, just in case you wondered how I get through a bad day or mood... I just take a little dose of D.J. (Almost makes me wish I'd had kids when I could.)

Peace

--Free

Saved by Ice Cream

Did I mention that I recently screwed up my 7 month smoke-free streak?

Yeah. When I eff up, I eff up with top marks.

So, now I am popping Chantix twice a day, which helps with the nicotine cravings but does not a damn thing for murder cravings. (I won't get on a rant about this, but my roommate makes me consider trading in the contents of my closet for a jumpsuit stamped "Property of County Jail.")

Anyway.

I'm such an oral person that if I'm stressed, I have to smoke a cigarette, chew a straw, drink anything fit for human consumption, or eat. Since I am finally getting my sexy back, I sure as hell don't want to go on an eating rampage. I don't even want to eat too many carrots or celery sticks because, eat enough of that negative-calorie stuff, a positive pound or two is going to slap itself onto my waist.

The thing is, when I stress, I don't crave salty the way I did when I was younger. Hormones or God's sense of humor has changed my body. Stress these days sends me running for the cookies, donuts or ice cream. The sight of a cookie turns me into a glutton. I don't do donuts in singles. Ice cream, though... Ice cream is a frenemy. I love it, but I have sensitive teeth so I can only do small amounts.

You don't know how happy I was to see this at Walmart a couple weeks ago:

This is the sh*t.  It's like Freezer-Aisle crack.

90 calories. It's just the right amount of heaven to keep me sane for a day. I swear, if I could, I'd marry one of these bars. Except that would make me one of those people who suffer from O.S. As if I don't have enough issues (that I told y'all about) to make someone resurrect Freud.

At any rate, I am trying to get my health act back together. Between the Chantix and the Snickers, I should be completely sane and mostly healthy within another month. So far, I'm still losing weight, and I'm hoping that my recent success with that doesn't slow down when the nicotine leaves my bloodstream. First-world problems, huh?

This is my life.

Peace
--Free

I Don't Believe, But...

My friends - male and female - are trying to attack every other problem in my life by trying to toss me back into the dating pool. One problem with is that I am still (legally) married. Another problem is, I hate, hate, hate dating. I kind of think the reason I've married is that it puts dating out of the picture. Being married but separated doesn't keep my friends from trying to get rid of that safety net. Bless them all, they just have the wrong idea of what I want in a man. One friend  wanted to me to go on one of those dating websites. Her suggested profile wording made me sound like a retired show dog:

Fun, unpredictable and mature - yet youthful at heart. Smart, sweet, adventurous and still in fine shape.

Really, bitch?

Another (better) girlfriend has come close to getting my attention, but she did it with astrology, which I don't really want to believe in. (Although, I think that when Linda Goodman wrote her books, she used me as her model for the Cancer woman. It shouldn't even be called the sign of Cancer. Everyone should just call it by my name.)

All kidding aside, I pretended not to be interested when my buddy, T.L., kept throwing stuff from this website at me. If I have to tell the truth though, I almost wanted to go hunting for the nearest available Taurus male when I read what a match with one could be like. I swear, I think I went into heat or something. Or maybe it was just a hot flash. Either way, hormones were involved.

Here's the thing about being 50, female and single: guys I like are not single (or always sane). Guys I don't like are pushy and rude in approaching me. Guys I know nothing about act either scared to approach or they are so busy looking at their own reflections to notice anyone else. I guess I haven't run into an eligible Taurus (or Virgo or Scorpio or, possibly, Pisces) yet. Not that I want to have to go through the entire zodiac line-up to find happiness, but... It's either start selecting guys by their birthdays or I might be single forever. I thought once of trying women, but, with my luck, I'd get the  one who'd want to beat my ass or ruin what's left of my credit. Besides, I'm pretty much strictly dickly, to put it crudely.

Apparently, the Cancer woman is a real pain in the ass for most men! I've always known that that's probably true, but... It's not like I don't hope that there is at least one man out there who thinks I'm worth the trouble. (My guy friend, Perry, explained that if I were a car, I'd I'd be worth the price, but he's not that rich. Is he trying to say I'm high maintenance? Smart ass.)

Peace
--Free

If I Moved Like This...

Now, y'all know me well enough to know that my wild-a**ed dancing days are behind me. Even when I could dance my butt off, I never moved like these guys. I don't even think they have bones.

And, if you noticed them in the first video, my favorites are the Les Twins. I lost a couple of pounds just watching them work it out.

Next to them M.J. & Astaire look like amatuers

(By the way, I've been hibernating and working with the great folks at our state's Voc Rehab center. I hope to feel more sociable in the next couple of weeks.)

Peace
--Free

I Don't Know What I'm Listening For

There has been a lot of stuff going on in my circle of family and friends lately. I lost my brother, one of my aunts lost a great-grandchild and another of my aunts passed away. On his birthday, my estranged husband lost a son of his in a car accident.

Last night, my sister and I were calling other family members with the news of the accident. When we finished, I looked at her with that "What next?" question in my eyes. "Don't ask," is what she told me. "Leave the future to the One who created it." She sounded so much like my mother.

Whenever any one of us went through tough times, Mom would tell us to listen for what God had to say. She didn't mean what elders meant when they'd say, "God is trying tell you something." Mom meant that we need to hold still all our own thoughts and just listen to God. Sometimes, I will tell myself that things aren't going to get better while God is telling me to stand strong. Whatever the message, I usually "hear" Him. Lately, I don't know what to listen for.

Maybe I should be listening for some way to get my discipline back. I started back smoking when my brother died. For two weeks of the hell that happens in a family during mourning, I smoked, drank and popped Valium and Xanax. When things calmed down a little, I didn't miss the alcohol or pills, but I renewed a friendship with the cigarettes. I came clean (ha. ha.) to my doctor and I am back on the Chantix. That will help with the smoking, but it won't do a damn thing for restlessness in my heart. So I'm going to keep listening for whatever God has to say.

Peace
--Free

Chasing After vs Resting In

I am struck by the idea that so many of us are busy chasing after things: money, relationships, possessions, etc. I am guilty of the same. We all have dreams and hopes that we pursue. What I want is to learn to stop more often and just rest in the space where I am. To rest in the peace I have been given.

When does a person today get a chance to just be whatever or whoever they are?

About five years ago, a long-time acquaintance of mine died. She was young - just over 50 - and I assumed she had been in an accident. When someone told me that she was a suicide, I was stunned. As far as I was aware, she didn't have anything to be so desperately unhappy about. She had a job she seemed to like, she had kids and plenty of friends. People who knew her better than I said that she had been fighting bouts of restlessness and depression. She had tried buying a bigger house, a nicer car, getting a complete physical makeover - like she was trying to become someone different. They remarked that she had seemed so discontented.

In the grocery store not long ago, I got chatting with a fellow shopper (because we Alaskans will stop and talk to almost anyone, stranger or not) after she commented on my handbag. This was a really nice-looking woman. Everything about her showed that she put a lot of thought into her appearance. Her clothes and accessories, her  great haircut and perfectly applied makeup - it was all so casually glamorous. She smelled great and had  what seemed like a real sweet personality. She was one of those people who, when you've talked with them for just a few minutes, you think you'd want to be friends with them. The only thing that seemed "off" were her eyes. Her eyes, even when she was smiling, seemed sad and tired. I've seen eyes like that in my mirror when I've been depressed or grieving or heartbroken.

I'm ashamed and sorry to say that I didn't connect further with the lady in the store. I couldn't find a way to ask if she was okay. I hope that, wherever she is, she is happy.

My point, if I truly have one, is that we are, some of us, walking around in a cloak of despair and sadness. That cloak might look good, cost a lot of money or take a lot of upkeep, but it's still only covering who and what we really are.

I am so glad for my faith in God. When I realize that I can chase. but won't ever catch up to, the things that the world tells me are worthy, I still have the love of God. In the middle of every fear and worry and doubt, I have the promise of a love that is stronger than all that. It's what I rest in.

From the minute we wake up to the minute we sleep, we are pounded with messages telling us to be richer, busier, better-looking, more driven. And we run, run, run to do that, or to catch up to those who seem to be doing that better. Then, when we are all run out, we don't know why we are so worn and tired.

I guess I just want to say that we all need to take time to stop and be thankful and hopeful and joyful for what we have. Stop being so sad and broken over what we don't have. I learned a long time ago that, without the peace I have inside me, I won't enjoy anything the world has to give.

Hopefully, my sarc didn't ruin this post. If nothing else, I hope you got the message that we need to not only find peace for ourselves, but we need to share it.

Peace
--Free

Flashback Talent

Trying to figure out who these dancers are. Some years back, my little brother and a friend of his got into the whole Pop-lock dance craze. They were good. Wonder if, not that they are businessmen and entrepreneurs (and parents of teenagers), they ever remember they moved like this?

                                (starts at mark 1:08)

Good times.

Peace
--Free

(Who's) Reality TV.

My guilty pleasure: The Real Housewives. Of Orange County, of Atlanta, of New York...

So trashy.

My occasional treat is a peek at Couples Therapy. But I do have my criticisms.

First off, Couples Therapy is, in my eyes, like Dr. Drew and his shows: bad for taking a serious subject and turning it into a joke. Shame on Jen Berman and Drew Pinsky. Shame, shame, shame.

With the Housewives, they are so comedic, with the bad acting and over-made-up facades, that it's just plain fun. Now, Couples Therapy? Rehab With Dr. Drew? The "patients" might be seriously looking for help, but it seems that the doctors are just looking for living out a fame fantasy. (In the case of Couples Therapy, I think that even those couples are just addicted to "fame" and will get the attention in any way it comes. How the heck else can someone explain Courtney Stodden?)

If someone wanted to be serious, the Housewives would all be housewives and living a more mainstream idea of life as a housewife. (Don't tell me there isn't anything interesting about real people coping with real life while wearing their real clothing and makeup.) All I've learned from watching those ladies from the Housewives franchise is how ridiculous grown-ups look while trying to look and dress half their age. Oh, and I have learned how to trash friends and look really "sexy" while doing so.

I'm a person who, when I watch movies and dramatic televisions shows, I have to work hard not to think about the folks on-screen pretending to be someone else. It's tough for me to forget that the emotions being shown are not the emotions of the people displaying them. I sometimes think that acting should be limited to bedroom role-play. Seriously.

As far as the shows that seem to be truly trying to help people, I have occasional doubts about their function. I mean, I've watched quite a few episodes of "Intervention." After the first several shows, I started wondering just how surprised the participants were by their actual "intervention." I don't watch anymore, so I don't know if anyone ever admitted to knowing about the trap being set for them by the supposed meeting with the producers. I got to the point where when the narrator announced that "Jay" (or whoever) thought he was going to the motel to meet with the producers. I'd want to scream at the TV: "Really, Jay? After 2 seasons of this show, you have no idea you're being sent to an intervention?" Wow.

What's really sad is that, despite my disdain at the idea of reality shows, I still watch. Of course, it's all a sort of therapy for me. I figure that, no matter what my problems might be, I cannot be as bad off as people wanting attention so much they'd play the reality game.

But I rant. I need to close out this post so that I can get over to Hulu.com and see what those crazy bitches in Orange County are up to.

Peace
--Free

My Rant on the Twitterverse

I haven't been over there in ages, so when I finally signed into my Twitter, I was irritated by the dreck I've been following.

Just spent too much free time Un-following the (put them all in quote marks): experts, life coaches, church planters, DJs, blog-or-book-or-club-or-casino promoters. I am beginning to think that some invisible internet fairy has been adding who I Follow.

Does anyone tweet just to share a joke, some wisdom or personal anything?

Don't get me wrong when I say this, but I am most annoyed with the Christians. I love Jesus, yes, I do, but I don't use my social media as a platform to promote my ministry. How about just living what you teach? How about talking about what you teach along with sharing other tweets?

Yeah, so, the church-planting groups are going to hate me for deleting them, but... Them and the folks who want to tell me how to "align my spirit" or "pray effectively" (as if they have a secret guide for that).

So, yeah. Twitterverse, tweetnation, I'm hunting for people who tweet for tweet-sake.

Peace
--Free

Death and Guilt

One of my aunts passed away last night. She died in her sleep after a peaceful day of smiles and conversation with one of her daughters. Because of a difference in our beliefs, I don't know how peacefully her eternal life will be, but I know that, like in my brother's case, there are some people left behind who won't be peaceful.

 There is a saying my mother had about deaths in a family bringing out either the best or worst in the survivors. From my brother's death (and now my aunt) I am seeing both.

My family knows that, after I die, I wish to have no funeral, no floral arrangements and no formal memorials. I want to be cremated and have my ashes scattered into the wind - it doesn't matter where, just someplace pretty and peaceful. I don't even really care too much if that is done. I am a believer in showing love to the living.

I have noticed that the more mournful someone is at a funeral, the more they seem to be mourning themselves and their actions than they are the loss of the loved one. It's always the person who was most disrespectful and disregarding who sobs the loudest, drops the biggest tears. It's the woman who caused the deepest pain who plays the best widow; the children who weren't there day to day who fight for the most control. The grief we see is so often not from loss but from guilt.

It's only the living who need our love and compassion and care.

The best way to memorialize someone is to love them while they live. Once they are gone, your tears mean nothing. You can't apologize to the dead, you can't do the right thing to them, for them, with them. If you don't love someone right in their lifetime, your grief at their death is only a show of selfishness. Everything you do at a funeral is only for the witnesses who know your motives because, to the dead, your actions are like something that never existed.

And now I am done talking about death and dying, at least for a while.

Peace

--Free

A good name is better than precious ointment; and the day of death than the day of one's birth. Ecclesiastes 7:1

Monday, Monday

You know how, sometimes, when something important happens in your life - like you meet someone special or something awful and life-changing happens - and later on, you can't forget how you were made to feel, but you can't remember the day of the week that it happened on? I've had that a lot in my life.

I can remember meeting my first serious lover and I can remember being asked for my hand in marriage, but I can never remember the day of the week it happened on. Of course, that's what calendars and diaries and old cards are for.

I won't ever forget, though, that it was on a Monday that my big brother died.

Saturday is my day to do laundry and change my bedding. It was on last Saturday that I was putting in my second load of clothes when my phone rang. I had a strange feeling. My stomach fluttered and hot saliva filled my mouth.

My sister was calling to tell me that I needed to get to the hospital. My brother, Chubby, was doing way worse than he had been the night before.

For some reason, I took the few minutes to finish setting up the washer for the second load of clothes - my whites - and putting the first set into the dryer. When my jeans were tumbling and my whites were suds-ing, I ran around to get my purse and keys. I drove like a crazy woman to the hospital.

I don't remember much about that Saturday or Sunday except that I was irritated by everything.

Monday, when we all had to realize that Chubby wasn't going to get better and that he was in a lot of pain, I left his room and took a walk around the parking lot. I got into my car and went home. Two hours later, someone called to see where the hell I was at. I was home, finishing my laundry.

It seems like a crazy thing to do, to go and change clothes from the dryer to hangars and drawers, from the washer to dryer, from hamper to washer. It seems crazy, but it was soothing and normal and like everyday living.

When I did get back to the hospital, I only stayed long enough to go and tell Chubby, once again, that I loved him. This time, he didn't squeeze my hand or look at me like he knew what I was saying. This time, he just slept or dreamed or was already breathing his way home to After.

I left and went over to my niece's house and held my great-nephew.

DJ didn't know that something was happening that was hurting so many hearts. He was tired and wanted to cuddle while refusing to actually go to sleep. He just lay in my lap with the back of his head against my chest, reaching back to put on of  his warm toddler-hands to my face while he sucked a bottle of milk. He didn't see the tears I was trying to hold back.

Some friends came by to bring cold drinks and paper plates and stuff for sandwiches and salads. They stayed long enough to let me know they cared.

My sister called and told me that Chubby was gone. She said that he had been given enough medicine so that he wasn't in pain when he left. She didn't cry - not then - because my sister is very, very strong and knew that I couldn't have taken her crying just then.

That was on Monday. I won't ever forget that my brother died on a Monday.

Peace
--Free

“You will lose someone you can’t live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.” 
― Anne Lamott


“It's so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.” 
― John Steinbeck, The Winter of Our Discontent