I Got the Old Blogger Bit Me Right in the Butt Blues

Man, what a Blogger global goof-up will do for a girl's e-mail inbox! "Hey, what the heezy?" "Am I nuts or . . . ?" "I know I saw a post! Where can it be?" Um . . yep, so Blogger strikes gain, but it seems system-wide this time, lasting longer than 24 hours, and with limited fixes so far. Some posts on some blogs are still entirely missing, some posts that had 40 comments now show 4, and the message currently on the Helpdesk is this: "We’re nearly back to normal — you can publish again, and in the coming hours posts and comments that were temporarily removed should be restored." On a friend's blog, the labels that once were there are there again, in reverse order from the original post, with no comma separators. Yow. Now, I'd be the first to engage in some civil disobedience or rabble rousery, maybe toss out something snide like, "Blogger eats boogers." But the last time I did that, I believe I was singled out by Blogger for grief, purposely applied to me.

Once the e-mails were cleared and virtual giggles exchanged, the question occurred to me: "What is a woman going to do?" Well, if I walked to Ross I'd feel good physically, I'd refrain from buying too much stuff I'd have to carry home, I'd feel some sun on my bones . . OK. Ross it is. Anyway, I have a task there: I am to buy a size 42H lilac and lace bra. Oh, no, this garment is not meant to be worn by me. It is not my size. I want to own the bra simply because it is a tribute to modern ingenuity and engineering. I talked about it a bit in a post that has now disappeared and will do so again if the past post does not reappear. It was suggested in commentary that I could use that bra as two fruit bowls, though I think I'll do this: line one cup with plastic wrap, toss in some salsa, put chips in the other cup ~ voila! A snack for 20.

I did find a few treasures for myself while shopping. One reason Jones New York keeps me as a satisfied customer is that disclaimer thing they do so well. For, you see, I needed make no mistake about it. I was getting 2 microfiber modern briefs, not any of those pesky microfiber old-fashioned briefs. WTF?? But at $3 each for $10 drawers, I'll put up with the designer's quirks. And then, the find of the day ~ MSRP $48. My price ~ $1.49. It's a beautiful 100% cotton nightgown made with attention to details such as flatted seams, embroidered information rather than hang-tags, oh! this is a lovely nightgown. It is not a nightgown any man would be likely to beg for, "Oooh, baby, put on that cotton one with the little pink rosebuds that only babies and grandmas wear - you know, the one that covers you from chin to toes and billows when you walk!" No, this nightgown lends itself to the cold evenings when the cats tuck in around me and I settle in with a good book, thinking just how grand that $1.49 ersatz negligee will feel against my skin.

I've always enjoyed doing volunteer work. Both Ex and I had our favorite causes we worked for, and we did some service as a family of three. I believe Amber thought all children spent Thanksgiving morning delivering meals to homebound people. When she was very young, she carried the placemats made by elementary school children and a flower for each table. Later she graduated to handling meals, letting Mom carry the small stuff and make the small talk. I have had incredibly poor luck in Las Vegas pledging myself to worthy organizations. I do not wish to overstate anything, but I think the general problem is that most groups need help and don't know what to ask the volunteers to do. At one huge charity's administrative office, the manager told me, "Well, all I really have is about 24 inches of filing to be done." "Well, OK, point me to the filing. That's why I'm here." I volunteered to take a group of blind people bowling once a week, guiding them down the street and through an afternoon of knocking down pins. Yes, I did have to have a serious talk with myself about how committed I might be to taking a group of blind people in the streets and then hanging out while they rolled. After watching a few frames of blind bowling, I decided I was up for it - it's a wonderful accomplishment and some of the bowlers are extremely competent. I cleared a pretty stringent screening process and got a lovely letter saying I'd be contacted very shortly. But I never was. I made a phone call of my own. "Oh, that volunteer coordinator is no longer with us." Um . . yes, but "I'm still with you. I'm volunteering." Oh! She said she'd get me a call right back. None ever came. What? How many people can possibly be offering to take on that task once week? I've walked maybe a bazillion miles and raised a lot of money for AIDS and breast cancer research in the big national events, but I have not so far been able to find a consistent local volunteer opportunity that pleases me.

Last weekend I took a flyer, most unlike myself, and served at a fancy-dress event to raise funds for Nevada Opera Theatre scholarships. None of my cautious concerns came to fruition and I enjoyed myself, even though the evening wasn't perfect. I learned all kinds of things. I can still do a credible charming, LBD evening chatting folks up. Sparkling water in a flute can pass for champagne, so I don't stand out. I can't tolerate too many nights out until 2:30 a.m. I got a buffet dinner valued at $45, though I was required to consume it in 12 minutes before show time - faulty planning by the event organizer. [BTW, yes, it did occur to me I could find a decent sit-down meal for $45 at many locations in the city, but that's not the point here and now.] The evening was a good thing to do, all considered.

For more than a year, I've kept an icon on my desktop for Acts of Kindness (AOK), seemingly a group very well organized, but not rigid in what it expects of its volunteers. There are a multitude of one-time opportunities in every sort of endeavor from helping babies or seniors, the disabled, community clean-up days, the arts and more. It appears one can pop in for an AOK event as fits her interests and schedule, with no regrets or recrimination. My friend has long been interested in every aspect of the performing arts, though I have not been. It was because of her involvement that I was asked to participate in last weekend's event. But when I saw this Sunday's opportunity to serve, I ran it past her and we're in! Yep, we're going to usher, greet or take tickets at a live performance of The Wizard of Oz in a wonderful outdoor venue. We've got the requisite black slacks and white shirts. We are capable of doing the requested tasks and then sitting down to enjoy the show. Wind and temperatures nearly 20 degrees lower than today's are predicted. OK, I'll wear the industrial strength hair slop and tie a sweater around my waist. As I recall, from some prior life, I like learning new things. And right now, I'm sturdy enough to go out and do just that.

In my ears right now: I'm feeling very JL today. I don't have any meaningful words to add to that.

I Don't Know Much, But I Know Whom I Like

A friend/loved one and I talk fairly often about the what attracts a person to another person. Why are we drawn to some human beings but not to others? Why do we form bonds with some that last across a difficult lifetime, while we make and end relationships with some others without much fanfare? I don't know the answers to any of it. I just know that the topic which fascinates me perhaps more than any other is . . . . connecting with others. If you've read me, you likely already know that. I feel connected to some people I don't actually know and I don't feel connected to some people to whom I am related. I feel connected to some public figures and indifferent to some I know quite well. I feel connected to some people who lived in different eras, different countries. And I am intrigued and curious about whether the connection will occur every time I interact in some way with some new person. I find I can connect with another over something we have in common or mutually understand, even if that's the only place we connect. I don't have a need to connect at every level. I can be pretty fascinated by and drawn to narrow slices of "other human".

I feel connected to John Lennon. Intensely connected. He is an idol, one might say. Today would have been his 69th birthday, except he was murdered in 1980. On paper, it may seem an odd connection. I was 11 and he was 23 when he glowed into my presence for the first time in shades of gray from the black and white TV. It was a February Sunday in 1964. He wasn't the cutest of the four. As the world learned more about him than he wanted us to know, I felt more connection. Of course I never met him. So his cigarette smoke didn't offend me and his snarling treatment (reportedly) of some people didn't affect me. He seems to have been a remarkably poor husband and father in his first marriage, but he wasn't my husband or father. What affected me was the music, the poetry, the sharp wit, the way that he spoke out loud about the things he was for and against. What affected me was the incredible pain he suffered as a young man. He was extremely sensitive and had few coping skills for enduring that pain. He was strong enough to scream out about his pain through his art for his entire life. I understand that. I can relate to that. There is the connection.

I am intensely connected to the Badger who rides the last race of the season in 25 minutes. As he ate his shitty, free Sugar Frosted Flakes, the e-mails were flying back and forth. "Butterflies, Badger? I don't sense them." He replied that there were no butterflies this time and he had a sound strategy. To some, he may simply seem an old guy with a passion for the bike. Not so remarkable. Others might think he is a mighty cycling warrior who happens to turn 60 in a couple of weeks. But I know the obstacles he has had to overcome to live his dream. I know what the voices (those of other people, and the ones in his head) said to hold him back. I know the reasons he sometimes threw his hands in the air and said "Screw it." I know the emotional muscles he had to develop to allow himself to go after what he wanted so desperately. And isn't that a most beautiful human story? Who could not want to cheer out loud for such a man? A man who kicked down obstacles, saying "I will go for this. I will approach it both logically and emotionally. At this, I will succeed." And he has. And he continues. I understand that. I can relate to that. I applaud that. There is the connection.

In my ears right now: John Lennon singing "Watching the Wheels". We didn't hear it until after his death. Double Fantasy came out posthumously. It contains some of his best and truest work. I'll be playing John all day, I am sure. I'm wearing the T-shirt today, too.

Something that charmed me: A customer booked a job online and I heard the e-mail land. Another goofy Las Vegas street name has shown itself. Tomorrow home dudes will be cleaning carpet on Timid Tiger Street. I guess they won't need to worry about being gored!

Something else that charmed me: The e-mail from the starting line. "Ready to go. They're starting us all together - ages 50 through 69." Go take your First Place, Badger. You've worked hard for it. May John Lennon ride on your shoulder like a guardian angel. Your fervent fan, LimesNow.

New Charms for that Charm Bracelet

Photo credits: J. D. Morehouse

I've had the pleasure of traveling around a bit with someone who shares my ironic sense of humor and who packs a wonderful camera. When we go off vacationing, there's no hanging in the hotel bar with a drink or watching movies in the room. We get out and partake of the place we've chosen to visit. We come to see the sights and enjoy them. It came to pass that we'd spend a few July holidays in a fun beach area 30 degrees cooler than our home, and with more charm than one could imagine. We spent tremendous hours in the streets and the shops, including walking to a great bistro for dinner . . . yes, that was me in the cute skirt, silk sweater and really sturdy sneaks. "Dammit, I walked here for dinner. I know one doesn't wear sneaks with this outfit!"

In the old, old part of a small beach community where I once represented union members, there is a school dating from 1916 and I would imagine the houses nearby are contemporary with that. Today their conditions range from "expensively and authentically restored" to "not well-kept" to "we kept the foundations and knocked everything else down". Remember, I know this community well, so imagine my surprise at turning a corner in the streets, mouth going a mile a minute, and spotting the SS Moonlight and the SS Encinitas where once had squatted two tiny cottages! All the windows were open on this fine July day, and people were moving in and out. Obviously, groups of young people occupy these homes. Note that they are propped from beneath with wooden stakes that don't look sturdy enough to support a building and they sit on a fairly steep hill! His camera was coming off of his neck before I could squeak out, "What the heezy?" "House boats, Limes!" I don't know if they qualify for that designation, as these vessels have never been on water . . . but they charmed me. Proof - I had to walk past those houseboats every day of that vacation! Even if it was out of the way.

In the same area of the little city are a few blocks that are likely even older. It is extremely hilly on these cliffs above the Pacific and the sidewalks are thick and broken. Walking here can be treacherous, but the few blocks provides a quick throughway between different parts of town. He spotted it first, as I was focused on the crumbling concrete. "Ha!" "Retirement home, Badger! Seaside community. White picket fence. Needs a little TLC."

It should be noted that at night when we walked, we strolled Neptune Drive where many homes worth millions hunker in with some modest places that have sat on the cliffs since the 1950s - in terms of housing, this place has it all. Some things you'd think of and some things you never could! Enter the house. If it has a name or description, I don't know what it would be. I'm rarely at a loss for words, a quick quip. This, however . . .

It is a much newer structure, perhaps 1950s - 1970s, two story woodframe, garage apparently on the bottom floor. On the top floor, every window is open every time I've seen the place. We've never heard music or seen a human being. But we've seen the occupant's sense of style - oh, yeah!
The paint colors lean toward purple, fuschia, turquoise, green and cream. The main garage door is covered with music CDs, both in original condition and gold painted. Interspersed are pictures of old, dead R&B artists, but - oops! - there's a young Bob Dylan and a young John Lennon, and - hey! - Johnny Mathis. Albert Einstein is there, alongside Karl Marx. I believe there are pictures of no females. The pictures are framed with concentric circles of velvet, ruffles, a little aluminum edging, seemingly whatever can be found at hand when it becomes decorating time. A smaller, side garage door stands welcomingly open. Inside one can see a large wall ornament, and the door is covered with brightly colored small balls of some sort. I stuck my head inside once ~ there is a black drape where one would expect to enter the larger part of the garage. No, I didn't open the drape.
The upper story is adorned with things that look like manmade peacock feathers and other curiosities. Again, every manner of art supply has been used, including some things I've never used as an art supply. A smallish American flag flaps in the ocean breezes on the very peak of the roof. But the most remarkable area is the outdoor "sitting room". Not that one would want to be seated there. The photo was taken at dusk and shows poorly on blog. It is worth taking a closer look, however. Chained to the wooden telephone pole in the alley is a huge, ancient bicycle, decorated with whole and broken CDs and other "found" items. All are painted gold. Even the chain and the tires. Next to the side of the house is a large sofa and an enormous cocktail table. Both decorated in whole and broken CDs, painted gold. I believe half of the free world's CDs reside in that "sitting room" where no one would sit. One's rear would be shredded!

"What does it mean?" we've asked each other. "I'm too scared to guess." "Did you catch the new Mahatma Gandhi in the sitting room?" He had. "Badger, what do you think happens to the pictures and the velvet and the ruffles in the rain?"

In my ears right now: No Place Like Home.

Something that charmed me: How the ruffles are always crisp and the pictures sharp in contrast, the gold paint fresh and the bicycle tires inflated. These Californians are houseproud. They work hard to keep their places up!

Tribute with Gratitude

I'm a fan and have no problem saying so. I've owned all the music on vinyl, 8 track, cassette, CD and now MP3. I own and wear every T-shirt made with their image. I sometimes wear a pair of eyeglasses with a prescription that's no longer ideal . . . because the frames have John Lennon's name on them and I like that next to my head, very near my eyes.

Forty years ago at 11:35 a.m., the famous photo was taken. "Paul is dead" rumors abounded. Urban legend had it that there was a message in this picture of the four of them. George Harrison represented the grave digger. Paul McCartney was the dead man - no shoes on. Ringo Starr was the minister to say the services. John Lennon, dressed in white, was the angel who would accompany his professional twin to the next life. In reality, said John Lennon would be the first to go, 11 years later.

I've visited this crosswalk in London. I crossed the street in the same direction they did. I took very long strides like it seemed they did. I'd be there today among the crowd if I could. Check the yellow VW bug like the one Ex and I drove for 100,000 miles!

I can't say what the music of these four means to me. That night in February, 1964, they reached right out from the Ed Sullivan Show through the screen of my black and white TV and hooked me. I was a very young girl enthralled. When I hear their music, I feel that way still.

"And in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make." Imagine.

In my ears right now: What do you think? But specifically, what has been touted by some as the most beautiful song ever written and performed - "In My Life". "There are places I'll remember all my life, though some have changed . . . "

Something that charms me: I'm a natural-born lyrics whiz. I can pull up major chunks of lots of songs. But I can sing every word of every song if it's The Beatles. And if you sing them incorrectly, I'll gently set you straight.

Monday, Monday

It was a grand weekend and my thoughts flit like a dragonfly ~ dreamy. I took a life-changing step in the right direction this weekend. I started to solve a problem rather than run from it. I am tired of running. Worn out. And taking the first step rendered everything else across the weekend very sweet. I will surely blog about the new direction, but right now it is tender and new and not ready for the light of day. Two special people know about it and each said he was proud of me. I alluded to it to the home dudes this morning, because I need to have it travel out in waves to those I see on a daily basis. "Good shiott, Limes." "Right on, Limes." "Limes, you rock!"

I was very surprised and pleased to see another passenger board my magic bus Sunday. Welcome, CramCake! It is really lovely to have you among us. Hope you're here for a long ride.

To my delight, the Badger brought my new Ferrari computer and by last night, I was zooming again. Thank you, jesus. Thank you, lawrd. Thank you, Badger. I'm back in business at the speed I prefer!

For Tree: I read your beautiful words this morning and an image immediately popped into my head. This is a place we visit every time we can. I will blog about it soon. It has several different kinds of environments within close proximity so it is a good place to camp for several days. One can have many different experiences while only driving to one spot. When I read "vertebra dunes whisper, rivers of golden curves", this is what I saw in my mind.

Photo credit: J. D. Morehouse

Lastly, for this loose ramble, we went to see Public Enemies yesterday. We both liked it. I am not big on violence and I have a great deal of trouble watching a woman get beaten up by a huge man, but I still liked it. Johnny Depp is outstanding. The movie features a lot of people who look simply like people, not movie stars. There are some incredibly coarse, homely, interesting faces. The Badger said the film was beautifully filmed. Both of us reacted quite strongly to something quirky - the eyeglasses. The Badger and I each love vintage eyeglasses. Occasionally one of us will get a new pair and the other will say, "I'm jealous!" So this movie had specs to thrill. I think it deserves the Academy Award in the Peepers category.

In my ears right now: Beatles. On Sunday, from pure joy, I played Revolver all the way through. Twice. Then Rubber Soul. Twice. I danced! Despite being the John Lennon fan I am, I've always thought, "I'd rather see you dead little girl than see you with another man . . . " is a bit extreme.

Something that charmed me: An e-mail that said, among other things: "It was a good day. I enjoyed it."

Monsoon Season Has Come Early This Year

Flat, heavy gray skies and unfamiliar humidity . . . temperatures are fully 10-15 degrees below normal and my favorite woman meteorologist says this may be the first June since the weather has been recorded where we may not have one day that reaches 100. Driving to work on a north-south street, I was able to rubberneck at Red Rock. It was rather surreal because all the rock formations that are so familiar were right there. But all the vivid hues had left and only gray remained. Blech!

Mother Badger e-mailed throughout the day yesterday. She's cleaning out "stuff" again and has many things to send to me when the Badger goes to Phoenix next week. He doesn't know it yet, but she intends to fill the Prius for the return trip with everything he takes down (includes bike and everything cycling), a set of dinnerware for 8, a set of water glasses for 8, various and sundry other items . . . and an upholstered chair. Badgers not being known to tolerate nonsense, it may be awhile before I see those gifts.

Mother Badger also found a venerable thing to send me - a 1930s-40s salt and pepper set. She is a good woman who has treated me well always, and she listens to me. She pays attention to what I like. She offers good advice, but doesn't tell me what to do. She does not try to run me. Thank you, Mother Badger.

I took the heart monitor for a walk today. It would be inaccurate to say I actually used it. I'm not frustrated (yet), but I know I need to familiarize myself with it. I made the momentous decision to leave the iPod back for awhile. I have other things that require my attention on the walk now. The iPod can go along once in awhile. Once I have balanced the intricacies of walking, heart monitor, Garmin, BlackBerry, keys, and water I plan to start walking some parts of the marathon course. There are parts of the city I'm not as familiar with, and I can't begin to envision all those miles on the Strip. It will be closed to car traffic, of course, but what about all the human traffic? It's bustling there 24/7.

I issued an invitation that was accepted - the Badger will join me for a long walk tomorrow. I hope for some sun, as I am rather a hothouse flower. At some times of the year, I walk in darkness, go to work in darkness, go home in darkness. I am craving some sun on my skin. When we walk, the miles zip by - we're pretty harsh on odd people that we see, and we solve the world's problems, at least in our own minds. On Sunday walks we almost invariably see a middle aged couple who ride motorized bicycles. Their legs move, but one can hear the motor humming. The Badger has much to say about motorized bicycles. Some of his remarks are unprintable.

There you have it: a meandering stroll through my cluttered head this morning. I need to get busy. We hired a new, young home dude yesterday - business is hoppin'!

In my ears right now (an echo, it's not happening live): A hideous TV ad I saw yesterday. Cheap Trick is coming to town to concert Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, backed by a full orchestra. The tickets are "bargain priced" at $65, $80 and $95.

Why I like it: I don't. Call me a purist, but I'm thinking that nobody needs to touch Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. It's already been done, and admirably. John Lennon said it couldn't be done live. He would know.

Something that charmed me yesterday: The hour I spent on the phone with a rep for QuickBooks. He helped me install a new version and extract all of my old data, placing it into the new version. He was a young Scottish man, talking to me from Dublin. I kept asking him questions so I could listen to the accent in his replies.

Computerless + Sleepless = Deep Distress

Photo credit: J.D. Morehouse

I had to work a long time yesterday on the words I wanted to post. I am going to begin speaking of other people and I want to do it well and fairly. So I typed awhile late in the day and decided to drive home, think about my words and spend a quiet evening finishing the post.

Got home, greeted Dylan and Virginia Woolf, made coffee . . . I was ready.

The Badger recently built me a new computer worthy of a Ferrari kit, a siren and a warning label. It is fast. I am spoiled. Now I blog, and I must have that computer. I reached my hand out to bring her to life ~ ~ ~ nothing. OK, I know what to do in that case. Power her off and start again. And again. And again.

Quick e-mail version of my own personal tagline from Apollo 13: "Badger, we have a problem." Repeated 2-line e-mails back and forth. Finally from him: "Look on the back. You should have 4 green lights. If any of them are amber, you're fried." 2 of the 4 were amber. I wanted to go out and run 20 red lights in no one's honor.

So, when the computer dies and it's a Thursday night and you've been promised that a new one will be built after this race weekend is over, wouldn't you just read a book, walk some extra miles, pop in a movie? Maybe you would, but I didn't. I kept getting up and obsessively trying to fire that computer up, disturbing cats and myself. When I accepted that I'd worked myself into a nice insomniac snit, I decided to read. Last year at the holidays, I was given a gift of the seminal John Lennon biography by Philip Norman. I had immediately consumed the first 725 pages, but then I put the book down because I didn't want to read the end. I already knew how the story turned out, you see. I finished my book last night. He still died. It still hurt.

And still no sleep for the wicked! For walking, I went out of my way to locate my Pearl Izumi shoes, the ones that are just about 100% wrong for walking on concrete. I thereby ensured that my feet would flap like ducks' feet for 8 miles. They did.

Addiction is a theme in my tapestry. I think I may have a little blog addiction going on, but I can't locate a 12-step program! So, while in the shower, I found myself grinning, shampoo on my teeth. The night had finally ended. The sun was coming up. If I hurried, I'd get to the office and have access . . . to all those blogs.

In my ears right now: The Lennon Legend, what else?

Why I like it: Come on, it's my hero. I even like his bad music.

Something that charmed me today: The first e-mail I received: "I'm sorry this happened to you while I am away." All right. Thank you. I'll stop being a boob now.