Rants by Ronni

After After Pictures

2012-01-25T06:54:00.000-06:00

Dearly Beloved, may I present: The Silver Skate...Hans, for short.

Sorry the pics are small...Tracie sent them in an email, and I can't figure out how to enlarge them.

I'm happy with this car, so far. I've bought badly in the past, so I am really hoping this one is a good one. It drives well. I will probably need brakes within a year, but Minni would have needed that, too. It's a year newer than Minni, and has less than a thousand miles more. The seats and doors are in better shape. And the automatic windows!

I drove three different Miatas. One, at Apple Sports Cars, looked promising, until I drove it. It didn't accelerate, and it turned out that they had washed the engine and got a coil wet, which prevented that cylinder from firing. That, and the radio didn't work, the salesman didn't even know the battery was in the trunk, and they wouldn't dicker on the price. He kept apologizing, and saying, "It was fine yesterday." Not the attitude I expected from the reputable dealer that Apple is. I tried an older one (1994) from a dealer out in Leander, but, while cute, it would have needed a new transmission right away. Roger Beasley Mazda claimed to have one, but a week ago they were about to drop a new motor in it, and as of Monday, they were still about to drop a new motor in it. So, I bought this one.

The top needs a little stitching, but even with the severe rain we got last night, the towel I put in there was barely damp.

So. Who wants to go for a ride?

After Pictures

2012-01-14T06:49:00.000-06:00

Poor Minni. What a mess! I guess maybe it's a good thing it's totalled; I'd be worried about driving it.

You can see where they stuffed the front bumper and other stray parts inside.

Ronni of the Woeful Countenance! I have to get somebody to get pictures of my knee and ankle, now that the bruise is technicoloured and the swelling hasn't gone down. My face is still a bit scabby, but the fat lip has returned to normal. I'm glad of the airbag. A few scrapes and a blister...I could have been dead!

It's difficult to avoid being sad that my little car is not worth mending, and I shall never forget the image of the cop driving it off the road; its fog light trailing by a wire, but still glowing bravely. I can't say I will never be sentimental about another car, but this one was really special.

RIP, Minni. I hope that whatever parts are salvageable help other Miata people keep their cars up and running.

I am a Fraud

2012-01-11T18:52:00.001-06:00

Minni Miata is toast. My lovely little car is toast.

I remember the day we bought it. We were looking for a little car to tow behind the motorhome while we drove to Virginia to scatter Addy's ashes. I was thinking more of a little Saturn, or Hyundai...something light and cheap. Jim, however, was thinking of something light and fun to drive, and cheap was not part of the thought. He had cashed in one of Addy's annuities, and we went to the Mazda dealer and bought Minni. Minni had about 500 miles on it...it was a demo model, and he wrote a cheque for the full price, after a suitable amount of haggling, of course. That was my part.

Of course, we got it home and found out we couldn't tow it, because it's rear-wheel drive. When backed onto the dolly, the front end was almost on the road, so we were faced with a choice. Either I had to drive it, or we would have to leave it at home. I drove it. That was the trip when I really learned how to drive, following Jim in the motorhome. Who knew a motorhome could go 80 or 90 miles an hour? Not me, until then.

So, I drove Minni. After we got home (4000 miles later), I was stuck with Burbie, and Minni became Jim's. After he died, it took me six months to empty and throw away the ashtray. I never did clear out the console.

Here's where the fraud part comes in. Remember when I said that I never wanted to be trapped by "stuff" like Jim was? So, it's just a car, right? A car is just a mechanical device which, when manipulated by a set of levers and fueled by gasoline, will transport a person wherever they want to go, thus increasing the person's range of influence. Just a machine.

So, why am is sitting here, crying over the loss of my car?

Could it be that this thing has acquired emotional significance because it connects me with Jim? It was the only thing of value that we bought together, and I know he loved it. He never put the top up unless it was raining. Hot or cold, he drove it with the top down, and either the heat or the AC at top power.

I had hoped to drive it for the rest of my life. It still had less than 100K miles, even though it was ten years old.

I kind of feel as if it died saving my life. Sacrificed itself, if you will. I am a bit dinged up, but I'm not totalled.

So, I am a fraud. I'm sitting here, crying over a car. How stupid is that? I'll be able to get something to drive. I don't know what, yet. I feel as if I want to find another old Miata, but maybe I should be practical and get something new (or newer). I am just gobsmacked by this.

This year is not starting off so very well, Dearly Beloved.

2012--Whodathunkit?

2012-01-01T11:33:00.002-06:00

Last night was the best New Year's Eve celebration I've had since The Millenium. That year, Addy was in the hospital, and she ran us off to celebrate. We had made no plans (the year before, she had been in hospital, too, and we had smuggled vodka in and toasted the year), so we snagged a bottle of bubbly and drove out to a hill in the country. We counted down while we watched to see if the lights would go out or planes fall from the sky, or any of the other catastrophes predicted by the fearmongers of the day. We felt reasonably confidant that none of it would happen, but I had stocked up on toilet paper, just in case. We kissed and drank our champagne from paper cups. It was awesome.

Three years ago, when Sam Bass began having NYE shows, I was on board. That first NYE after Jim died was horrible, in spite of my family's efforts to help it along. Having something to do definitely takes the sting out of being alone and having no one to kiss.

The first year, I attempted a sort of burlesque lip-sync: "Gotta Have a Gimmick," from "Gypsy. I built a few costumes for the show, as well. It was fun. Last year, we did scenes from former shows...it was our 30th anniversary. There were a few songs thrown in, but it was mostly scenes, and I was in three of them. It was fun but hectic, with all the lines to learn in a short period of time.

This year, our rehearsal period was exactly two weeks...we had actually seven rehearsals, and I had four songs, three skits and a monologue to learn. Now, Dearly Beloved, you know I am very stressed about singing in public, and here are the songs in which I participated: "Comedy Tonight," "Big Spender," "Everybody Ought To Have A Maid" and "There's No Business Like Show Business."That last had choreography, the first has entirely too many words, the second, too few notes, and the third is Sondheim. Nuff said. The skits were pretty easy, as I could hide a script in a notebook for two of them...vaudeville classroom skits where I was the teacher. The third went well, as no one cared what I said, once they saw me kicking the baby basket around the stage. The monologue was kick-ass! Easy to learn, and people liked it both nights. If I ever need a comic monologue for anything, I now have one.

The evening wasn't even spoiled by being groped by an inebriated patron...after all, his wife came to his rescue before I could slap him and make a scene.

One thing performing a risqué monologue did was remind me that there truly is life in the old girl yet!

The very best part? Hoisting a glass with my son, who is now 21 and allowed!

So, here's to 2011. Lift a glass of the good whisky "in memory of those who passed above."

Here's to 2012. Pass the champers!

Christmas Memories

2011-12-25T10:40:00.001-06:00

I have a lot of memories of a lot of Christmases (like you do, at 62). The things that stick in my mind are moments here and there.

There's nothing lonelier than sending your kids off to their dad's for Christmas and waking up in an empty house. I got up, made coffee, adjusted a couple of ornaments on the tree and stepped outside. The air sparkled with frost. The sky was an impossible blue...and a bright cardinal sat perched in the bare branches of the tree outside my door. The image remains forever.

The Poor Christmas, when I got The Doll (see here), was anothr such. We had moved to Canada that summer, and things had not gone as planned. My dad couldn't find a real job, and took one picking holly, at minimum wage (75 cents an hour). We were living in the Hundred Acre Wood, a piece of property owned by a couple in Los Angeles. We had free rent and $50/month. The house had been lived in for seventeen years by a family that was sort of neglectful. There was no electricity, so the whole house was caked with candle wax. The stovepipe had fallen out of the ceiling in the master bedroom, but that hadn't stopped them from using the stove, a wood-burner. You know...things like that. Mom was determined we would be living in it by Christmas. We had moved our trailer in there in October. She scrubbed and sang and, a few days before Christmas, we were officially In. Mom and I made candles, coloured and scented with her lipsticks. Dad went out in the woods and cut a tree. We made paper chains. We found some old ornaments in a shed, and made some out of scraps of this and that. That tree dominated the living room, reaching all the way to its thirteen-foot ceiling. Everything twinkled in the firelight, for we still had no electricity. Dinner was done Old School, cooked on a woodstove, and everything from scratch. We had practically lived on bread and water so that as much money as could be, would be spent on Christmas dinner. Grown, I realized what really happened there, and I wish I had seen it at the time. That took a lot of love and determination.

Then there was the year I left Brian for a bass player called Wayne. On Dec 22nd, Wayne packed up his gear and left in the middle of the night to visit his parents in Prince George. Everyone else in the house had somewhere to go, so I got talked into feeding their critters while they were gone. That was the year I cooked my first turkey, with decidedly mixed results. For a start, I forgot the stuffing. Still, it gave me something to do and time to think about what a jackass I was...

The second Christmas SSS and I were together was interesting. I had this awesome long black dress that I knew was perfect. My mom had sent me a beautiful long silk scarf in jewel tones and I had a lovely brooch. I draped the scarf loosely around my neck and pinned it, letting the ends hang down in front and back. SSS wanted me to tie it around my waist. I tried it, to show him that my way was better, but we had quite a fight about it, culminating in his saying something like, "Fine! Don't ever ask me how you look again!" Dearly Beloved, nobody tells Mama what to wear! Scott was there, and he was astounded that we were fighting over something so trivial, and on Christmas, besides. Still, I always felt like I was going into hostile territory when visiting his family, so I wanted to look my best. That was the year his mother insisted on getting everyone a coat. That was because I had this awesome sheepskin coat that she hated. It was rough and raw and smelled like a sheep when it was wet. There wasn't a shred of polyester in it. I refused to give it up. Everyone else was choosing coats in stores, and she was going in and paying for them. I was adamant. She was NOT going to outstubborn me. She was kind of at a loss, at that point. She put a $100 limit on each gift (1972), so she had to find something that cost that much. She ended up giving me one of the best gifts ever...a Singer sewing machine. I used the heck out of that thing for twelve years!

There's a lot more, but Christmas calls, and I must go.

Happy Yo Yo everyone!

Grandparents

2011-12-24T01:02:00.000-06:00

My mother's mother died when she was nine, in 1914. She and her brothers and sister were raised by their Aunt Ethel, who was their father's sister. He was off working logging camps and the kids and Aunt Ethel all lived in Ottawa. By the time she was in her teens, her father remarried and his wife didn't want to be a stepmother, so Mom and her sibs were pretty much dumped by their dad. She eventually got back in touch with him, and they exchanged letters. I wrote him one when I was maybe twelve, but I don't remember if I got an answer.

My father had fought long and hard with his father before Dad headed off to Canada and met Mom. Dad didn't return to England with his American wife until after his father died in 1938.

The upshot was that the only grandparent I ever knew was my father's mother, and she died when I was four. I grew up grandparent-free.

Because I moved so far away from my parents, I never really planned on having them in my life. My mother died right after Chandra was born, and we went to visit my father once when she was six. Vanessa was pretty small then, and doesn't remember him at all. SSS's parents used to come down and visit from Indiana in the summers, but, Vanessa doesn't remember them, either. During their third trip down here, Anna Belle had a stroke in Arkansas or somewhere, and they had to fly home. We never saw either of them again. SSS went up for their funerals, but that was after he and I had separated.

Brendan, on the other hand, had a perfectly good set of grandparents, and was in his teens when his PawPaw died. His grandmother, Virginia Toungate is still going strong, and presiding over holiday dinners as she has all his life. I hope he knows how lucky he is.

My grandchildren have at least one grandparent in their lives. Me. Chandra keeps Aidan in touch with SSS, but his dad's side of the family, while providing a sufficiency of aunts and an uncle, is short of grandparents. Querida (Luis's mother) is deceased, and Popi was deported. He keeps in touch by phone, and he and Aidan are quite close. Ethan has Mike's mom and stepfather.

So, that leaves me, and I am determined that they will remember me, and I will tell them as much as I can remember about my parents.

Wish me luck. That's a lot of stories to tell before CRS totally takes over.

Happy Birthday Anne Paton, Wherever You Are

2011-12-23T07:27:00.004-06:00

I say this every year. I may not post it, but I say it.

Anne Paton was my friend in England in the 1950s. We met at school. We transferred to another school together. My family actually moved fairly close to Anne's, and we hung out together a lot. Our parents even hung out occasionally. Then, in 1957, my family moved to Canada, and I never saw Anne again. We wrote for years...she was the first to give me a "heads up" about the Beatles--"Oh, by the way, there's a new band out in Liverpool. They're called the Beatles. I think they're rather nice." That was in 1963, months before we heard them on the radio here. I have forgotten her married name, so I can't find her. I've tried googling, but apparently, there was a very famous South African Anne Paton (a fighter against Apartheid), and her information is all that Google pulls up.

In this day of the interwebs, and being able to find anyone, I am frequently boggled by the number of people I can't find at all. As well as Anne, what the hell ever happened to Olaf Wirsching, Esther Howe and Sylvia Fenn? I can find no internet presence at all, for any of those people.

I have found, or been found by quite a few people...

...Margaret Jenkins, who was the closest friend I had in high school.

...Marguerite Wingert, who made up the triumvirate.

...Carolyn Gronlund, who was a neighbour and friend when I was a child in Canada. Lyn taught me to dance, y'all, so it's all her fault.

...Rick Tilley (who date-raped me in the front seat of my father's car, parked out by the city dump) looked me up to apologize for being a douche. Actually, he apologized for having been a sex addict, but I think "douche" is a better term.

...Art Jackson, who was responsible for my first real kiss.

...Brian Egerton, my first husband (who sends me books for Christmas, as he found me by my Amazon wish list) (which I can't figure out how to change, now that he has sent me the books that were on it).

I find it flattering, this evidence that I was remembered by any of these people (except for Rick...pretty sure his contacting me was part of a 12-step), and I'm always eager to catch up.

I still would like to catch up with Sylvia, Olaf, Esther, and especially Anne.

Life is too short to lose people.

How Many?

2011-12-19T10:53:00.000-06:00

http://www.nj.com/news/index.ssf/2011/12/old_bridge_murder-suicide_was.html

Witnesses say she was terrified of him. Sure is a hell of a man, isn't he? 6'4" tall, and he kept her frightened for years. she knew he was going to kill her. Her mother knew he was going to kill her. She applied for protective orders, not once, not twice, but three times and was refused every single time. Not that protective orders do all that much good in the face of the kind of sickness that causes a man to stab his wife because she is getting a divorce, but still. They do weed out the crazy husbands from the ones who are just a mite peeved to be getting dumped.

"He is sick in the head ... I don’t know what to do," Fran Newman, Heather’s mother, said in August, according to Lorraine Gerbino, a lifelong friend. "I’m scared for my daughter. Pray for her.

"... She knew he was going to kill her — and so did Heather," Gerbino said Friday, breaking down in tears. "Heather said to friends he was going to kill her, and he did."

Few people in Middlesex County took the threats seriously, Newman told friends.
"I guess my daughter would have to be killed for someone to say, ‘Oh, I guess she was right,’" she said in one e-mail to Gerbino.

In another, she wrote, "The laws in Middlesex County are not great for domestic violence. I don’t want my daughter to be a statistic."

...And now she is. A statistic, I mean. Two little girls left without parents, because, after stabbing her, he grabbed the kids, drove 80 miles to a motel and killed himself.

I suppose we should be happy that he didn't kill his children as well, like Chris Coleman, Christopher Vaughn and Neil Entwistle.

Why are there not being any studies done on these men to find out just WHY they do these things? Is it nature or nurture or both? How can these killings be prevented? Obviously the court system is utterly powerless. It's easy to point out the characteristics of the narcissist and tell women to stay away, but when they insist on coming on like Prince Charming, it's hard to make headway with the Voice of Doom. We could ban fairy tales, but I've always been against banning books of any sort.

Dearly Beloved, what are we to do?

The War on Women, Revisited

2011-12-18T07:57:00.001-06:00

http://newsone.com/nation/crime/newsonestaff4/walmart-stays-open-after-man-stabs-wife-to-death/

Guy walks into a Walmart and stabs his wife to death, in the bank where she works. The article is very short...mostly indignant about the fact that the 24-hour store didn't close. That totally supersedes the horror of a woman being stabbed to death by her husband. I guess spousal murder has become so commonplace and ho-hum that it only gets attention because of the venue. And this paragraph is now longer than the entire article.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/12/17/delores-gillespie-burns-t_n_1155995.html

Here's a doozy. Do people not realize that there are cameras in elevators these days? The poor woman was going home, laden down with grocery bags. Whe she went to get off the elevator, this guy was waiting for her. He sprayed her down with something, and lit her on fire with a sort of Molotov cocktail. She died.

http://www.forbes.com/sites/rickungar/2011/12/17/scott-walker-kills-womens-cancer-screening-program-for-political-gain/

On a more general note, the embattled governor of Wisconsin, Scott Walker, had cancelled his state's contract with Planned Parenthood to provide cancer and MS screenings to low-income women. He maintains that there are other clinics that provide such services, but some counties in Wisconsin have no other providers. He is so anxious to appease the slavering hordes of anti-choice wingnuts that he is willing to sacrifice women to the cause. Now there's your "Fucktard of the Year!"

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2075435/Husband-chops-wifes-fingers-stop-studying-degree.html

This story is form Bangladesh. Man just can't stand the thought of his wife getting an education, so he cut off her fingers. Apparently, he had at least one relative with him at the time, standing by to throw her fingers in the trash. This is beyond disgusting.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mnFVYewkWEY&skipcontrinter=1

Egypt. I can't stand to watch more than a few seconds of this video.

OK, that's about all of that I'm up for today. Just so you know, all these stories are on my Facebook news feed this morning.

Nice, huh?

Jan Marra and a Wonderful Weekend

2011-12-12T13:43:00.003-06:00

I haven't trimmed this shot or anything...it's just the way it came from the camera.

Jan Marra is awesome. I met her in a murder forum, which is where I have met a lot of terrific people. Yeah, you know who you are! On the forum, she reminded me of Loretta. She was strong, opinionated; she took no bullshit and no prisoners. We discussed the Coleman case on several different forums (or is it "fora?"), and finally linked up on Facebook. To hell with "Jane Truth" and whatever nickname she was using back then--friendship ensued.

A while back, she told me she was playing a gig in Texas, "just outside of Waco," and would I like to drive over and meet? Wylie turned out to be just outside of Plano, not Waco, but what's an extra hundred miles to someone who drives to Lampasas for lunch? Of course I was all in favour, but then I got "Christmas Pageant," and arrangements had to be made. It turned out that I had to be in town for the matinee, but I headed out as soon as I could. I actually would have been early, if I had got my directions from the right place.

I walked into a warm welcome. "Come on in; I'll tell Jan you're here." "Have some supper." "Would you like some wine?" Even the room was welcoming, panelled as it is in golden wood and decorated with beautiful things. They call the place "The Arms of Eden," and that's what it felt like.

The music was beautiful; the people, brilliant and creative. Tom Noe showed me Jupiter and all four of its moons through his 12.5" telescope. Jupiter looked about the size of the full moon at its zenith. Even if everything else weren't wonderful, the trip would have been worth it for that, alone. I had never before met anyone who builds telescopes.

Linda Silas, Tom's wife, is a textile artist, maker of quilts and hats of surpassing beauty. When I remember the name of her business, I will post a link to her Etsy site (damn CRS).

They hold House Concerts every month, and for $15 the audience gets to hear a warm and intimate concert by a superb and engaging musician, in the comfort of a private home. It gets no better than that.

I had a joyful time, for which I am very grateful to Jan, Tom and Linda.

Fog!

2011-12-09T08:33:00.001-06:00

If there's fog anywhere, it will be on McNeil Road.

If there's fog everywhere, it will be thicker on McNeil Road.

There's that long, flat stretch of it that runs by the Lime Plant. This morning it was like driving into a white wall. It kind of reminded me of that Stephen King story, where the Cthulu-like creatures lurk in a thick fog bank and prey upon the unsuspecting.

So WHY are people out there driving without their headlights on? It's hard to see headlights, even, let alone cars without them.

Let me ask you this, all of you who choose to drive without your lights on: can you not see the headlights of oncoming cars long before you can see the car? Why do you not realize that holds for the drivers of those cars? They cannot see you, either. I can't see you. Nobody can see you. I know it's nice to be invisible and all, but it does make it hard on the rest of us.

I think that there ought to be a law that you have to turn your headlights on in fog.

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever

2011-12-04T10:00:00.001-06:00

We have Saturday Matinees on Dec 10th and 17th, and an evening performance on Wednesday, Dec 7th. As several of our performances are already sold out, please keep these extra shows in mind. We would like as many people to see this as possible. Merry Christmas, from Sam Bass Theater!

Merry Christmas, from Sam Bass Theatre

2011-12-02T22:38:00.001-06:00

The Best Christmas Pageant Ever

December 3 - 2:00 pm Performance - Tickets are now half price!

Do we have an early Christmas gift for you! Tickets for the 2:00 pm performance of "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" on December 3 are now half price!! Use code HALFPRICE and save. This coupon is only good for the 2:00 pm performance on December 3 so Buy Now to take advantage of this great offer!

"The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" is based on the award-winning book by Barbara Robinson and is directed by Veronica Prior

Just in time for the holidays comes a wonderful story about the beauty of the season and the true meaning of Christmas...wrong! When two well-intentioned parents decide to direct the school play, they make the terrible mistake of casting the Herdman kids; probably the most inventively awful kids in history! Chaos and hilarity ensue as the cast and crew collide with the Christmas story head on! This show is appropriate for all ages.

http://www.sambasstheatre.org/

The Best "Best Christmas Pageant Ever" Ever!

2011-12-01T22:34:00.001-06:00

Tonight was our Final Dress for "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever."

I haven't talked a lot about it, this time. That's partly because I've been very busy, between extra hours at work and hours at the theater, and partly because I was afraid to jinx it. In these days of Facebook and Twitter, I wasn't willing to put all my doubts and fears out there.

You see, we never did have everyone at rehearsal. Not until last night. There has been a nasty flu bug going around, and you know how that can decimate a group of kids. Not to mention deaths in families, separations, work schedules, babies, band concerts, car trouble...you name it and members of my cast have been forced to deal with it.

Then, there was that whole thing about the extra shows. I thought we had ten performances, but it turned out that there are going to be fourteen. Three of the four extra shows are Saturday matinees...yes, you read that right. On Saturdays, we will have two shows. Other theaters take that for granted, but we rarely do it, and it was a bit of a left field shot. One cast member requires an understudy because he has to work on Saturdays. Another has a band concert on a performance night.

Oh...and then the dimmer went out on the light board, so we are using a loaner until our new board comes in and Tara gets a chance to set it up. As there is very little in theater that scares me more than a light board, this is stressful.

My Stage Manager, having been utterly reliable through the rehearsal period, succumbed to The Bug, and is still a bit hoarse.

On the plus side is a really talented cast, all of which have worked very hard, and a crew whose dedication is superb. I am in awe of the people backstage keeping everything under control.

Still, we had a full house for Final Dress tonight, and the kids came through! The adults are awesome, and all extremely patient. The show is going to be awesome. We are all assistant storytellers, and we have a very good story to tell.

So, thanks again to our audience for their warm response to our story!

Go to www.sambasstheatre.org for reservations. You'll be glad you did.

The Pomposity of Gratitude

2011-11-23T06:55:00.001-06:00

I know...I know...it's Thanksgiving. And I have a lot for which to be Thankful. It just seems so...pompous (or maybe smug) to list all those things. I mean, how do my friends who do not share my robust good health feel when I crow about how Thankful I am for mine? Is it nice to mention that I'm Thankful my kids are smart, skeptical thinkers, when I know that some of my friends and family are not so fortunate in theirs?

Maybe I'll go with "Happy," and not "Thankful." Let's call it like it is.

I'm happy to be alive. In spite of being old and fat, I'm still having fun. I'm happy to have a job, and the fact that I enjoy it is an extra bonus.

Even though my house is in total disrepair, I'm happy to have a roof over my head.

I'm happy to have Chandra and Aidan living with me, and happy that Vanessa, Ethan and Eli live nearby. I wish Brendan were closer, but I am happy that he is in college and fixing to set out on his life's path.

I'm very happy about my show. In spite of the fact that, with three rehearsals left before our first audience, I have yet to have one with the entire cast present, I know this show will rock. Very happy that such a lot of talented people are willing to work so hard with me to create theater magic. I am also happy to have a few days off work this weekend to finish out the set.

I'm happy to have such a warm and wonderful group of friends, both those I see in person, and those I talk to here, through the magic of the interwebs.

Life goes on. Life is still fun, in spite of all the non-fun things we all have to deal with.

Oh...one last thing...I am (dare I say it?) Extremely Happy that I actually Like turkey!

Yet Another Letter to Jim

2011-11-11T09:22:00.000-06:00

Well, Jim...there have been a few things going on that would have made you happy, had you the balls to stick around for them.

For a start, Brandon Harris has been in a Broadway show. May still be in it, for all I know. You would have loved that. He graduated from North Carolina School for the Performing Arts, did a summer in LA, and headed to New York, where he seems to be managing quite well.

Sean Arnold is singing at the Met. He has been in Europe this past summer, singing with various operas. At least, that's the impression I get from his Facebook posts. Is that awesome, or what!

Amanda Harris has a thriving theater tech career going on.

Michael Fariss is at Webster, which I know you would have been excited about, as it was Jason Boyd's alma mater.

Rob Morris (not "Robbie," any more) is at NCSPA. He came home in 2010 and directed "The Last Days of Judas Iscariot" at Sam Bass. You would have eaten that up with a spoon!

All these successes are a tribute to your teaching. You started these people on their path. You did for them what you did for me at Sam Bass--gave them confidence in their own talents and made them see that theater is worth the work it takes to make it good. I'm sure there are many more...these are just the kids who allow me to keep up with them on facebook.

As for me...well, I'm still with Ramona at A Cut Above Costumes, and that will probably be my last job. However, I've been asked to be costumer for a new Austin theater company (in my spare time), and actually managed to screw my courage to the sticking place and audition for The Baron's Men. Oh...I'm directing "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" at Sam Bass (again), and using your teaching there, too.

Life goes on, my love, and your influence, with it.

Hope!

2011-11-09T07:25:00.001-06:00

Well, alrighty then!

http://maddowblog.msnbc.msn.com/_news/2011/11/09/8709302-wait-sometimes-progressives-win

"Personhood" failed in Mississippi. Union-busting was repealed in Ohio. Right-wing nuts were replaced by liberals in several elections. Americans are waking up. This can only be a good thing.

However, don't think the Koch brothers are going to slink off to Siberia with their tails between their legs. They will come up with some other means of undermining the American Dream, and I expect it will be more sophisticated than the recent Tea Party astro-turf "thing." This is not the time for the Occupy movement to pack up its tents and go home. It's time for Occupy to hunker down and get organized. A toe-hold has been gained. Let's keep fighting.

The Kochs have seriously underrated the intelligence of American voters, and their paid mouthpieces can rant and froth at the mouth as much as they want to...their audience is ever-dwindling. some of us can be fooled some of the time...etc., etc.

Keep up the fight. Check with your local Occupy gathering. Friend them on Facebook, find out what they need and help out. They are fighting for your rights in ways the Tea Party can't begin to.

Boy Howdy, Have I Been Busy!

2011-11-02T08:42:00.000-05:00

For starters, here's my Halloween costume this year. I didn't put a whole lot of effort into it, but it was warm on a chilly night, and comfortable, and washable, and included a blankie (which I left behind at the party) (sorry, Andy and Renee).

I have had to budget my time very carefully, because we are still working six day weeks, and I have rehearsals almost every evening for "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." I had to build Ben's coat this past weekend, as he needs it next Saturday. Fortunately, I cancelled rehearsal Halloween night, due to the sugar factor, so I had all day Sunday, and Monday evening, and got it done. It needs some tweaking, but that will have to wait.

The show is coming along, but I still need a Ralph for two of the three Saturday matinees. I had not realized we were going to have Saturday matinees until last week, and cast a Ralph who works Saturdays. So he needs an understudy willing to rehearse with us a couple of evenings a week and perform twice. Interested? Let me know.

I've finally figured out how to maintain my walking while taking Frank to work...I can arrive early at his apartment complex, and walk there. There's a wonderful steep hill that is almost as good as the Mt. Bonnell steps.

So, I've not been doing anything thrilling, like driving to Amarillo, or attending Occupy Austin, or even reading. Not to mention blogging. However, I'm still here and still having fun.

Occupy Everywhere!

2011-10-27T07:46:00.002-05:00

This is what it comes down to. Armed police attacking unarmed citizens. Have we learned nothing since Kent State? "What?" you say. "We have learned that rubber bullets and bean bags are better than real bullets." OK, that's a start.
Dearly Beloved, the things that FAUX news is saying are very similar to the things conservatives said about the anti-war protests of the 1960s. Communist. Socialist. Unwashed hippies. I don't think people were quite as confused about fascism back then...there were still people young enough to actually remember WWII and what they had been fighting then. The fact remains that this is nothing new.

The thing that worries me about the Occupy movement is that it has sort of sprung up, and, without leadership and training in non-violent tactics, I am afraid somebody will break and fight back and all hell will break loose.

During the civil rights struggle in the 50s and 60s, participants were carefully educated in the non-violent tactics of Ghandi and others, and exhorted by recognized leaders to keep strong and not fight back. Passive Resistance, it was called. You sit, and, when they drag you off, you don't resist, but you don't help them, either. No matter what, you don't fight back. I hope these protesters are aware of that.

It should work even better today than it did for civil rights. In these days of instant communication, we don't have to rely on the chickenshit press...cellphone video can go viral on the interwebs. Facebook and Twitter can be used to great advantage, and should be. For every one arrested or injured, ten more need to show up.

I think "the establishment" is still hoping these people are going to just leave, get bored, pack up their tents and go home--but somehow, I don't think that's going to happen. I hope it doesn't. It's time for this. If this doesn't work, we are well and truly screwed.

Oh, and all of y'all howling about "redistribution of wealth?" This 99%er is very happy that there are rich people in this country. We all want an opportunity to become rich. I just don't see how or why being rich should exempt people from paying taxes to support the country that has enabled them to get rich. All the money that they save in taxes gets spent buying politicians who will help them get richer. That would be my reason for being there, if I could.

If you, like me, can't be there, and would like to help, visit the Occupied space in your area, and find out what they need. Blankets? Food? Water? Tents? We all have something we can contribute.

Let's do this!

Monte Montgomery

2011-10-23T03:42:00.001-05:00

Just now got home from a 200-mile round trip to see the most phenomenal guitarist I have ever heard.

Ben showed me some videos of him on YouTube a while back, telling me he was on a European tour, and had two (count 'em...two) Central Texas shows coming up, one in Marble Falls and one in Fredericksburg. That last is the one we went to. Ben has seen him in Austin and Pflugerville.
Dearly Beloved, I cannot describe the way this man plays a guitar. It's as if he had four hands and twenty fingers. He is all over that instrument. His guitar looks as if it has been rode hard and put up wet, and I would guess that is pretty close to the truth.

I had expected to hear some wonderful music...what I didn't expect was heart. On video, the way his music grabs the audience is not apparent. I cried more than once during the performance...and then...

...Then he brought his mother up on stage. HIS MOTHER! And, guess what she sang...go on, guess. I'll wait.

This woman, older than I (I'm pretty sure), got up on stage and sang "Angel From Montgomery!" It appeared to be a signature song for her...as Montgomery is her surname. Some of you may know that it's one of my favourite songs, and to hear it under these circumstances almost did me in. After, I told her that she made my day.

So, go to YouTube and type Monte Montgomery into the search box, and enjoy.

Thanks, Ben, for giving me yet another wonderful gift!

What I Actually "Do"

2011-10-20T09:44:00.001-05:00

Sometimes we get hit with shows so heavily that we don't have time to build things from scratch. This was one of those times. We needed something like 14 Keystone Cops. For small adolescents. Ramona had to order them, and the one on the right is straight out of the box. You guessed it: One Size Fits Most. These coats would fit Santa Claus!

The one on the left it what we ended up with, after I shortened the sleeves right above the stripes, took tucks up and over the shoulder, terminating in pleats below the waist, front and back. I took in the side seams from wrist to hem, as well. You can see the large hem. Once pressed (which had not yet been done when I took the picture), they look pretty spiffy! Better than they did right out of the box, anyway.

Tired!

2011-10-19T08:06:00.000-05:00

I stole this from Photobucket. It pretty much looks like the way I feel this morning.

We've been working six day weeks at the shop--we went from nothing to busier than a one legged man in an ass-kicking contest, pretty much overnight. This pace will probably continue until Thanksgiving, at least. The extra hours are good for my budget, but why is there no such thing as a happy medium?

"You're a Good Man Charlie Brown" has finished its run at Sam Bass, so I am now in rehearsal five days a week for "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever." The rehearsals are going well, and I'm pleased with the progress we have made.

Still...a few days off to go for a drive would be nice.

I've been walking every morning, but I've cut it back to a mile and my short-term goal is to do it in fifteen minutes. Haven't got there, yet, but progress is happening on that front, too.

I'm up at 5:30 every day, but still can't seem to fall asleep before 11. That wouldn't be a problem if there was time for a nap around...oh, say four o'clock in the afternoon. Falling asleep with my head in the sewing machine is not an option, so I must soldier on. I can sleep in till about 8-ish on Saturdays, and till noon if I want to on Sundays, but that doesn't get the sewing projects done, or the ormanents made, or the house tidied up...etc., etc., etc.

So, if you haven't heard from me in a while, count your blessings!

Reply to the 53% Person

2011-10-15T09:40:00.000-05:00

There's a post at Daily Kos that speaks to those who don't feel that the 99% have anything to complain about. I read it the other day, and I have to say that Max Ungaro says exactly what I would say, were I as articulate as he. Here's an exerpt:

Look kid, I don’t want you to “get by” working two jobs and 60 to 70 hours a week. If you’re willing to put in that kind of effort, I want you to get rich. I want you to have a comprehensive healthcare plan. I want you vacationing in the Bahamas every couple of years, with your beautiful wife and healthy, happy kids. I want you rewarded for your hard work, and I want your exceptional effort to reap exceptional rewards. I want you to accumulate wealth and invest it in Wall Street. And I want you to make more money from those investments.

I understand that a prosperous America needs people with money to invest, and I’ve got no problem with that. All other things being equal, I want all the rich people to keep being rich. And clever financiers who find ways to get more money into the hands of promising entrepreneurs should be rewarded for their contributions as well.

I strongly urge that you read the entire piece. Here's the link: http://www.dailykos.com/story/2011/10/12/1025555/-Open-Letter-to-that-53-Guy

To Max Ungaro, the author of this, I can only say, "Thank you largely for saying what I get too tongue-tied to express."

The Most Awesome Christmas Pageant Ever!

2011-10-11T22:45:00.000-05:00

Make your reservations early, because we are SO going to sell out!

It's a good thing I have Cathleen Gruetzner for my Stage Manager. She is most excellently organized, unlike my silly self. All I really want to do is tell the story, and get the cast to tell the story the way I think it should be told. Of course, in most of the places where the actors' telling of the story differs from mine, their invention adds to the story, and that's how I learn things I hadn't thought of.

Give me a break. It's late and I'm tired.

The cast is awesome. As the kids relax and slip into the routine of rehearsal, they are becoming more and more imaginative in their roles.

Tomorrow, we move the adventure along. Singing begins. Thanks so much to Ms Laura Vohs, who is going to make the Angels into a Choir, because it says in the script that they have to actually...you know...sing. The first time I directed this show, I thought that singing Christmas carols would sort of come naturally. It didn't, and the Angel choir actually did sound like "a closetful of mice."

I had to kick a child out, that time. He got tired of being a church kid and suddenly went wild on stage and joined the Herdmans, kicking over benches and whamming kids. You'd be surprised how much morale improved after I did that! We did two shows a day on Saturdays, which is something we are not doing this time. Kids get tired and overstimulated, doing two show in a day. Try it sometime. Me? Been there, done that, burned the shirt.

These kids are very talented, as are the adults. It really is going to be the best "Best Christmas Pageant Ever," ever. Even better with you there!

"Henry V"

2011-10-10T00:45:00.002-05:00

The Baron's Men perform at The Curtain Theater. You will have to get directions from the link, because there's no way I can tell you how to get there. It's off 2222 on the shores of Lake Austin. This shot is from "Henry V," in production there now. There are only two more weekends, so you have to hurry, but don't miss it.

Mostly because it's such fun to be seeing Shakespeare on a Shakespearean Era stage. The show rocked, and, as you can see, the costumes were well to my liking. The doublets were excellent, and the hose. The King of France had clocked hose! All the costumes were beautiful, down to the hand-made shoes worn by most characters. The place has good acoustics and the performance was very accessible--something that can't be said for all such productions. I loved the show, and the space and the costumes.

Go. Have fun. You'll like it.

http://www.nowplayingaustin.com/event/detail/441405065/William_Shakespeares_Henry_V for tickets

I am the 99%

2011-10-05T08:27:00.001-05:00

I am a college dropout. Lack of imagination in the 1960s has led to poverty in 2010. I couldn't figure out what I was doing in college, so I left. I went to secretarial school and worked in offices.

I stayed home when my kids were small. Single motherhood hit in the 80s, and I cleaned houses, did yard work, waxed cars, washed dogs, sewed, babysat; in short, I used the skills I had to make a living for myself and my children. After they got older, I worked at any job I could get. Food service at the hospital, housekeeping crew at a home for the elderly, clean room laundry, plastics plant, Goodwill, Half Price Books, fast food...and finally, I got a job doing what I had done as a hobby for years. I work for a theater costumer. Surprise, surprise--it doesn't pay a lot of money.

I quit one decent retail job (with benefits) to look after my mother-in-law, so my husband could teach without worrying about her. Now, she is dead and so is he.

I am 62 years old, and my job has no benefits. It's not even full time, so if the shop closes, I'll be unemployed without any insurance. If I wait until I'm 70 to collect Social Security, I will still get under $1000/month, because I have been underemployed all my life, with huge gaps when I stayed home to look after other people.

They say, "Well, you've got your health," which is true. So far. The knees are a little wonky and the weight is a little much, and there are a couple of spots here and there I'm keeping an eye on, but at least I don't have anything chronic and expensive, requiring medications.

So, I will keep plodding on from paycheck to paycheck and hoping for the best.

Like the rest of the 99%.

Austin Sundown

2011-10-02T08:29:00.001-05:00

I've never before taken one of the cruises on Lake Austin (or is it Town Lake...pardon me, Lady Bird Lake...I get confused). Last night was the annual ACA (Atheist Community of Austin) Bat Cruise, and I was feeling flush, what with this being the first full paycheck I've had since the end of June, so off I went. Bought a little cooler, some nice beer, a couple of sandwiches, put the top down, collected Ben, and we were "orf to the ryces."

It was a lot of fun. I am not good at estimating the head count of a group of people (they move, you know), but there were, if you'll pardon the expression, a boatload.

The bats were less than impressive this year. Due to the drought, there must be a shortage of mosquitoes, because the actual flight was surprisingly short. It was, however, very fast. The bats are mere streaks in the pics I took. If you can tell those are bats in the photo above, you've got better eyes than I! And that's the best shot I got, even with my new(ish) Canon Elph Power Shot.

Anyway, the biggest problem was that it was over too soon. We tried to go to two places for an afterparty, but never made it out of the first.

It was all sorts of fun, and I hope I can go again next year!

As well, I want to rent one of those little pontoon boats that run on pedal power.

I had forgotten that I like being on and near water.

Auditions

2011-09-26T10:13:00.000-05:00

The audition for "Best Christmas Pageant Ever" was womderful! So many talented kids of all ages came out last night. We are continuing tonight, and I need more people to make sure we have a well-rounded cast. Last night, we weere lacking adults and boys. Now, some male roles I can cast as girls, and will do so, if that seems the best thing. However, I really need two or three more ladies, because gender-bending is one thing, but maturity is something difficult to change. I know of several people who will be coming tonight, so I am eager for the day to pass so that I can get back up to the theater and get on with this process.

There are several of you that I have already cast in specific roles, and will definitely cast everyone who auditioned last night. Don't know yet which roles, and some of you may be in the Angel Choir, depending how tonight's audition goes. So many people would be perfect in more than one role...it's just a question of deciding.

So, come on out tonight...the role you are looking for is waiting for you!

Saturday Morning in Round Rock

2011-09-24T08:38:00.001-05:00

Thursday night, I slept hardly at all. I don't really know why, but the result was a very long Friday. Last night, I went to bed relatively early...i.e., before midnight. It was a nice night for sleeping. With temperatures expected to drop into the upper 50s, I opened my bedroom window and actually pulled a blanket out of the pile at the foot of my bed and snuggled down for a nice Autumn sleep. I dreamed, as I often do, of a costume. It was a very nice gown that would not have looked out of place in the Ascot scene from "My Fair Lady."

And then I woke up. To the strains of pop music, coming in my open window. In the dark. Blearily, I tried to focus on the clock. It said 5:45. It's about 15 minutes fast, which made that 15 minutes more of an outrage.

Dearly Beloved, I live right behind the high school, and the band practices weekdays, starting at about 6:30. That, I'm used to. But canned music, on Saturday morning, an hour before anyone should be up...not so much. I thought I might as well go for a walk, so I piled into some clothes and hit the street, following the music. I tracked it around the corner to the swimming pool. Tents were being raised, and pennants hung, waiting for a breeze. Somebody turned up the music, and somebody else pulled into the parking lot. I decided to have a word.

Of course, it's a swim meet. Now, why didn't I realize that? The pool is closed for the season, and all the community swim teams are open for business. The gentleman I accosted in the parking lot told me he had been running these meets for ten years, and I was the first to complain. He asked me how I cope with the marching band when they are strutting their stuff, and I told him I heard them later...like, after I was actually...well...up. On weekdays.

We agreed that I probably became aware of this ten-year, early-Saturday-morning tradition because of the the cool weather and the open window. He told me he would tell the kids to turn it down (like you do).

Right. I continued with my walk, and by the time I got home, it was just as loud.

At least it was later.

The Plot (As They Say) Sickens

2011-09-23T06:15:00.003-05:00

According to several sources, Steve Powell, father-in-law of missing Susan Powell, was arrested last night on fourteen counts of voyeurism, some involving children, and one count of possession of child porn. Awesome.

http://www.fox13now.com/news/kstu-steven-powell-breaking-news-josh-powells-father-arrested-in-washington-20110922,0,4639336.story

http://www.king5.com/home/Steven-Powell-fath-130403423.html

Apparently, some of the thousands of pictures they found were of Susan. Some were taken out his bedroom window, peeping his telephoto lens inside his neighbour's bedrooms and bathroom. Some pictures, according to one interview, were taken from vantage points where he had no right to be, and many in parks and playgrounds.

At 61, and looking at five years in prison, the man is toast. Now, at last, we may find out what happened to Susan Cox Powell. ETA: on the boards, they are saying perhaps five years per count. That might give them something to bargain with to find out how much he knows about Susan's disappearance.

When the warrant was served on the Powell household in August, police found the locked cabinet Steven Powell had been bragging that they missed in their last search. He complained that they took his journals which, he said, had "embarrassing stuff" in them. Ironic, in view of the fact that he had been planning to publish Susan's teenage diaries to prove her supposed promiscuity.

Now, we find that the sick SOB has gone far beyond "embarrassing," and well on into "perverted."

No wonder Josh always seems to be covering something in interviews. I will bet real money that he knew all about his dad's little hobby, probably including that he secretly took pictures of Susan.

This story just gets sicker and sicker. I have a feeling that we are all going to be totally disgusted when the entire saga is made public.

The War on Women's Health

2011-09-19T10:47:00.003-05:00

Dearly Beloved, they are out to get us. Seriously and overtly out to get us.

www.npr.org/2011/09/20/140449957/gov-perry-cut-funds-for-womens-health-in-texas?sc=tw&ft=1&f=1014

"Well of course this is a war on birth control and abortions and everything, that's what family planning is supposed to be about,"

I'm sure you've heard, by now, of the efforts (mostly successful) to defund Planned Parenthood, on the thinnest of excuses--that taxpayers who don't believe in abortion shouldn't have to pay for abortions for others. Well, I got news. I don't believe in war, but nobody is saving me from having my tax dollars go to fund wars.

As well, the defunding is not saving money--they are funding, instead, "crisis pregnancy centers," which are generally run by churches and frequently provide no medical services...just anti-abortion rhetoric and adoption counselling.

Never mind that it has been LAW for some time now that tax money will NOT PAY for abortions. No...let's just ignore that FACT, while we run on all sorts of lies about Planned Parenthood. The biggest lie being that the main service provided by Planned Parenthood is abortion. Anyone capable of typing the name into a search bar knows that 97% of Planned Parenthood's services have nothing to do with abortion. They provide health screenings--where else can you get a full range of annual tests for $100? Yup...mammogram, pap smear, diabetes, hypertension...all those killers of women can be detected for $100 at Planned Parenthood. Also, men can go there for help with that little souvenir from La Casa de Amor in Nuevo Laredo. Birth control in all its forms is available from Planned Parenthood. Abortion constitutes 3% of their services, and that 3% is not funded by taxpayers. Yet, the fat old white men in Congress have deemed that the mere fact that Planned Parenthood provides that Constitutionally legal service is enough to remove all support.

The three Austin clinics alone serve thousands of people every year, and only a few of them need abortions. Most are women who have no other access to the health screenings Planned Parenthood provides. It's probably impossible to quantify the impact of that. If not for PP, thousands of women cannot afford annual mammograms, pap smears, and tests for the other conditions listed above. How many deaths have these screenings prevented? Haw many deaths would ensue if PP were no longer able to provide such services at a reasonable rate?

...And then, in all reality, isn't it better to provide a "morning after pill," than not? As far as I'm concerned, the only reason to have a baby is because you want one. Because you are ready, you have the means to support a child, and a commitment to do so. To have one because society says you should, or your partner wants one, or your mother is howling for grandchildren...these are not good reasons. However, the very worst reason for having a child is as punishment for having had sex. Truly, do you think these fat cat politicians, with their health care funded on our dime, really think that, faced with the threat of pregnancy, women will stop having sex? Give me a break!

As I see it, there are three alternatives when faced with an unwanted pregnancy. A woman can bear the child and raise him or her. If not ready for the commitment, she can do a piss poor job of it. I'm not saying that every unexpected pregnancy results in an unwanted baby. Many women, over time, will come to accept the fact that they can raise a child. Many more delude themselves, and this can result in severe damage to the child. A second choice is to bear the baby and place him or her for adoption. I have personally done this, and, until recently, it was the hardest thing I had ever done. As a last resort, there is abortion. Each of these alternatives presents its own set of challenges, and I suspect that there are very few women who think, "So what if I get pregnant...I'll just get an abortion!"

Planned Parenthood supplies birth control. IUDs, pills, diaphragms, morning after pills...any form of it you need, you can get from Planned Parenthood. How is this not A Good Thing?

Preventing disease and unwanted pregnancy saves the taxpayers of this state and country money in the long run. We get cancer, heart disease or diabetes, we die. Eventually. Usually, not before receiving a lot of expensive treatment from taxpayers or charities whose money is desperately needed elsewhere.

Here's a link to Planned Parenthood Austin, where you can see what they do and help out if you can.

Don't let them kill us off with backroom abortions and diseases that can be prevented or detected and treated in the early stages.

We gained a lot of ground in the 1970s. Too much to let them take it all away now.

Priming the Pump?

2011-09-16T23:33:00.001-05:00

I went for a walk early this morning. In the gloaming, I didn't really notice, but as the sun rose--it was oddly obscured by a grey growth. In fact, the whole sky was covered.

I was still puzzling over this (not having seen such a thing in recent memory), and wondering what it might bode when I heard a strange noise. It sounded like falling leaves. Due to the drought, the trees have been losing their summer glory, and the ground looks like Fall even as the air feels like hell.

All of a sudden, there was water on my glasses and running down my neck. Damp spots appeared on the street. Stunned by this unexpected turn of events, I stood, frozen in place, looking up at the lowering sky. I knew there was a word for this phenomenon, but I couldn't think of it. I was still racking my dessicated brain when the sound and the water ceased--faded to nothing. Dry air sucked the water off the ground.

I slogged home, sticky with inexplicable humidity.

Wait...wait...the word is coming...

RAIN!!

That's it...it was rain!

What a tease.

Towels

2011-09-13T11:05:00.001-05:00

Not precisely a rant...I mean, how upset can one get over towels?

I like towels. I like terry cloth. I have been asked about the stuff a time or two, by people who think that I know a lot more about textiles than I actually do. I looked up terry cloth, and found that it was first made of silk; invented in France in 1841. Isn't it nice that they kept such precise records? Someone in England decided to try it in wool a few years later (shudder), but it wasn't till 1848 that cotton was hit upon as the optimal fiber.

Terry cloth is made on something called a dobby loom. Don't ask me to explain that one, but I think it means that the loom in question has the capacity to create a flat textile, while adding the loops as you go along. I'm sure you've noticed that when you snag a loop on your bathrobe, the cotton thread pulls in only one direction. There are no loops in the warp of the fabric, only in the weft. I am not a weaver, so, if you are, please correct me if I'm wrong. In other words, even if you pull out all the loops, you still have a piece of fabric, not a pile of thread.

In the 1840s, most weaving was done by hand, which would have made terry cloth very expensive. Cotton hadn't been in use all that long (in Europe and America) and was considered a luxury fabric. I remember seeing a Napoleonic era ball gown made out of cotton in an exhibit of 18th and early 19th Century clothing. It was quite the thing, back then.

What, you might ask, did people use for towels before the advent of terry cloth? I guess they used whatever they had. Of course, towels weren't quite the necessity that they are today, as people bathed once a month or so, whether they needed to or not. Cotton and linen are both nicely absorbent for all sorts of purposes. All clothing eventually became rags, which would have been used for mopping, drying, diapering...whatever was needed. Even before terry cloth, I expect one would have to have reached a certain standard of wealth in order to afford something specifically designed and built to be a towel.

We take our towels for granted these days, and the damn things have become bigger and thicker, until two or three of them will fill a dryer. This, Dearly Beloved, strikes me as conspicuous consumption. Jim loved his big fluffy towels, and I got into the fun and bought large quantities of colour-coordinated towels in various sizes for the three and a half bathrooms we had in the house on Pin Oak. I still have a lot of them, though, almost ten years later, they are a little the worse for wear. As they wear out and need replacing, I plan on buying smaller, thinner and cheaper towels. The big fluffy ones have to be washed just as often as smaller ones and take up more room in the washer, dryer and linen cabinet. I can get just as dry with a smaller one as a larger.

Upon further reflection, I may just buy some terry cloth by the yard and make my own. That way, I can eliminate the flat woven strip across the width of the towel...the one that inevitably shrinks, giving my fluffy towels a puckered and unlovely look.

When I was a kid, we moved to Canada, leaving most of our stuff in storage in England, and making do with very little in those first years in British Columbia. We had what we had. Our first towels came in detergent boxes. I kid you not. People bought certain products because of the "freebies" included in the price, and Mom's favourite brand of detergent included towels. Now, these towels were the cheapest, thinnest and scratchiest you could ever imagine, and I could see right through them when I took them down off the clothesline. We had pretty good skin--with every bath came exfoliation.

There is a happy medium. Somewhere between the sandpaper that those towels resembled and luxury "bath sheets," I'm sure I can find terry cloth that does the job without using three towels worth of cotton in one.

It does have to be cotton. I've used towels made of polyester. The best ones use the synthetic only in the base, with the loops being made of cotton, but the resulting towel is not as good as one that is 100% cotton. And don't even try to sell me microfiber! They say it's absorbent, but it doesn't feel that way.

Someday, I will have towels that I truly like.

SIX MONTHS???

2011-09-12T10:07:00.000-05:00

This, Dearly Beloved, is the face of domestic violence. This is Emily, after her POS husband beat the crap out of her in front of their children. Originally charged with Domestic Violence, the charges were upgraded later to Felony Aggravated Assault because of the seriousness of her injuries.

Felony Aggravated Assault, Dearly Beloved, and he managed to plead it down to Simple Assault, for which he's getting SIX MONTHS! Six months, for doing this to the mother of his children. She said she agreed to the deal because, after three years, she wants "closure," which I assume means she's had enough of this crap.

He whined in court about a drinking problem and prescription drugs, and said he was all kinds of sorry, "from the bottom of my heart."

What heart?

What kind of man punches his wife in the face? In front of their children, too!

Emily has had the good sense to dump him in the intervening years. She has remarried, hopefully to a real man.

The city fired him after he was charged, but the Civil Service Commission got him reinstated, citing his excuses of PTSD and depression.

Gag me with a chainsaw.

http://beta.clarionledger.com/article/20110909/NEWS/109090333/1002/news01/Jackson-firefighter-gets-6-months-for-punching-woman

Ten Years After

2011-09-11T09:25:00.001-05:00

While I was walking this morning, I was thinking of that day, ten years ago. Chandra woke me, far too early for work, and said, "I think you're going to want to see this." Boy, was she right! The first plane had hit, but I was glued to the TV in time to see the second one, which let us all know it was no accident. I told her that life, as we knew it, was over, and I went so far as to predict that we were not going to like the changes (I know, right? Such insight). I kept waiting for somebody official to say something, but, by the time I had to leave for work, the highest public servant to say anything on TV was the mayor of New York.

I worked at a lovely little place called The New York Deli--I'm sure some Round Rock residents will remember it. The Deli catered mainly to displaced Yankees, jaded with Suthun food and Texas hospitality. Most of them worked for Dell. We had cannoli, the most awesome Reuben in Texas, satellite TV and New York sports team memorabilia all over.

The usual crowd came for lunch (which they were lucky to get, as we were watching TV instead of doing our prep), and just...stayed. They were standing five and six deep in front of the TVs, necks craned, just watching and crying, for the entire afternoon.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Don't ask me to quote chapter and verse, in chronological sequence, the steps that have led to the Big Brother state we take for granted today. Just try to think back to a time when airport security was reasonable, when a warrant was needed to intrude into your personal information, and when you didn't wonder if every convenience store clerk had a bomb in his pocket. Think back to a time when we weren't staggering under massive debt caused by unnecessary wars, when we didn't have to explain to children that "Terror Alert" didn't mean that somebody fed the gremlins after dark.

We started right then down the road to paranoia. I'm sure there's a connection somewhere to the rise of the Tea Party...you know them...the people who want government to stay out of their business and pay all sorts of attention to yours. Infrastructure...schminfrastructure! Health care? Education? Social services? Can them all, so we can pay for the WAR without raising taxes! That Tea Party.
There are those who say the devastation of 9/11/2001 was caused by Americans, in order to bring about the very mess we have today. I don't believe that, but I certainly believe that Americans caused the mess. It was a hell of a start to the Millenium, wasn't it?

(Groped or irradiated...groped or irradiated...groped or irradiated...I think I'll drive!)

Please pardon my snarky sense of humour...I've cried enough, and so have you.

Don't Buy the Lie

2011-09-08T09:33:00.000-05:00

http://www.veteransnewsnow.com/2011/09/07/rick-perry-has-been-on-the-public-dole-his-whole-life/#.TmepTbDGoV0.facebook

Here's an article from a site developed for veterans. Very interesting and verifiable fact filled editorial, including the following quote:

Interestingly, even his tea-partyish hatred — nay, loathing! — of big government’s intrusion into the lives of ordinary citizens turns out to be just another Perry Tale. In fact, there would be no Rick Perry without the steady “intrusion” of government into his life.

Local taxpayers in Haskell County put him through their public school system — for free. He and his family were dry-land cotton farmers, and federal taxpayers helped support them with thousands of dollars in crop subsidies — Perry personally took $80,000 in farm payments.

State and federal taxpayers financed his college education at Texas A&M, even giving him the extracurricular opportunity to be a cheerleader. Upon graduation, he spent four years on the federal payroll as an Air Force transport pilot who never did any combat duty.

Then, in 1984, Perry hit the mother lode of government pay by moving into elected office — squatting there for 27 years and counting. In addition to getting regular paychecks from taxpayers for nearly three decades as a state representative, agriculture commissioner, lieutenant governor and governor, he also receives platinum-level health care coverage and a generous pension from the state, plus $10,000 a month for renting a luxury suburban home, a covey of political and personal aides and even a publicly paid subscription to Food & Wine magazine.

So when this taxpayer-supported lifer flits into your town to declare that he will slash public benefits and make government “as inconsequential as possible,” he means in your life, not his.

Please don't get sucked into this man's bullshit. The jobs he touts? Mostly minimum wage. And the numbers of them? Not enough to keep pace with population growth in Texas.

Never mind his questionable prayer rally in Houston, which was paid for by the most right wing of all...the AFA and Koch brothers.

How anyone can think this man has been good for Texas and will be good for America is beyond me. Schools have gone downhill, social services have gone downhill, executions have risen dramatically, jobs have gone overseas; he sails through it all, lying through his teeth in a way that, if I believed in hell, would consign him there for eternity.

Do you WANT a country of The Rich and The Serfs? Because that's what the people who line the pockets of Perry and his ilk want. They are The Rich, and we will be The Serfs.

Don't buy the lie.

Excuse Me?

2011-09-07T00:49:00.000-05:00

This is not the sort of thing my grandson's Language Arts teacher should be lending him. This should not even be in the classroom! Not only is it crap, it's fundamentalist crap, and, as such, has no business in a public school.

They get away with this, here in Williamson County, because most parents don't have a problem with it.

Aidan's family does.

The Panhandle On a Moisty Morning

2011-09-06T00:15:00.000-05:00

Revival in Bee Cave!

2011-09-05T18:14:00.001-05:00

The Silver Ring Thing

The Silver Ring Thing is a unique para-church youth ministry that promotes the message of purity and abstinence until marriage using two avenues- an intense Live Event and a youth/small group film event resource called Project 434.

Kids attend what amounts to a revival.

SRT's 2-2.5 hour stage performance incorporates high energy music, special effects, fast-paced video, personal testimonies, and comedy all delivered in a concert-style approach with which teenagers can respond and relate.

At the end of the performance, the teens are encouraged to purchase a ring, the symbol of their purity. Apparently, they have to give out with their email address and phone number so that STR staff can stalk and harrass them with messages "that encourage and equip them in their commitment."

The program states as its "Vision,"

"to create a culture shift in America where abstinence becomes the norm again rather than the exception."

Forgive me for being a cynical old woman, but just when was that? In Pilgrim times? Victorian days? The 50s? And where was it again...Mayberry? Because I'm pretty sure that abstinence has never been the norm. Not for long, anyway. Of course, back in Days of Yore, the gap was not so long between adolescence and marriage. What with rural families and traveling preachers, there were a lot of "premature" babies. The kids were canoodling (and marrying) in their teens. These days, they could be having sex (or not) for ten or fifteen years between menarche and marriage.

In my opinion, sex education is the answer, not vows of abstinence. Birth control and disease control need to be available to our teens, and they need to be encouraged to use them. They also need to be encouraged to put off having sex until they are old enough to think beyond Friday night. And, of course they need to be told that the only totally, 100% sure method of birth control is abstinence. However, unless we keep our kids locked up, a lot of them are going to have sex, no matter what we say.

I'm not saying we need to make it easy for the kids to have sex. I'm all for curfews, chaperones, Internet monitoring, GPS surveillance and all the other things we parents do to try and keep our kids out of trouble. We need to do all that, and supply access to birth control. Because, no matter how difficult we make it for our kids to have sex, they are pretty smart little boogers, and very capable of getting around us to get what they want. So, while we are throwing logistical roadblocks in their route to debauchery, there needs to be conversation about birth control, safety, respect for one's partner and awareness of consequences. And they need to have access to birth control.

I guess the hardest thing is that open communication. I talked to all my kids about sex, even when it embarrassed them. Eventually, I figured out that the car was the best place for such discussions. For one thing, we wouldn't have to look at each other or be interrupted. For another (and this is very important), your teen is a captive audience. If he or she wants to get where he or she is going, he or she has to put up with Mom's lecture, period.

And, oh, did Mom lecture! We talked about different forms of birth control. We talked about disease. We talked about pregnancy. We talked about masturbation. We talked about respect for self and partner. I told them that the first time was something they would always remember, so they should make it an occasion worth remembering.

Hell, I don't even think it's healthy to go without having sex until that mystical "wedding night!" I mean, who wants their kids to get married at nineteen, these days? I can't imagine being young and celibate for years on end! Not to mention the fact that I think it just might could be important to actually have sex with a prospective partner before a lifetime commitment is made.

Of course, given my marriage history, I really don't think marriage "for life" should be the only available option, either. I like the pagan "year and a day" thing. A couple is "handfast," vowing fidelity for a year and a day of cohabitation. At the end of that time, they can either make it permanent or break it up...no harm, no foul. I think a couple planning to have children could marry for, say, twenty years, or until the kids are grown, and then split or renew. Marriage is, after all, a legal contract. The couple should be able to decide the length and other particulars.

But, I have wandered a bit far from my topic, which was the rather complex wrongness of whipping our teens up into a fervour of abstinence, beating them about the ears with the cross of guilt, and charging them out the wazoo for the privilege.

If your kids want rings, buy them rings (or let them save their money to get their own) and leave religion out of it.

There's Hope for Cooler Weather

2011-09-04T10:50:00.000-05:00

Frank and I went out to eat last night in Austin, and, when we came out of the restaurant, I said, "You know what? I bet it's cool enough to put the top down. Is that OK with you?" I figured it would be; Frank has to scrunch down a bit with the top up as he is over six feet tall. A bonus: he can smoke in the car when the top is down.

In the parking lot, I pulled two pairs of shoes, about a dozen CDs, a copy of "Le Morte D'Arthur" and one of "Game of Thrones," several scripts, programmes from the last two or three shows I've seen, a complete change of clothes, two bars of soap and a couple of coat hangers (the detritus of summer) from the back shelf and threw it all in the trunk. I had cleared that space out somewhat to accommodate Brendan's bags when I took him to the bus station on Friday. Frank was teasing me the whole time, but really...that's what happens when it's too hot to put the top down.

The sun was dropping by then, and the twilight breeze picked up. I left the AC on, and we hit the road. Frank lives somewhere out east of Pflugerville; there is no road that goes there as the crow flies. We wound up out on Dessau Road, and probably circled around the entire subdivision...far enough away from it that we never even saw it. After half an hour or more, we connected with 685 (the old road between Hutto and Pflugerville), and hence to Frank's destination.

There's something magical about the first "top down" drive of the season, whether it's Spring or Autumn. Stray scraps of paper blow out of the car, as well as dead leaves and the exhalations of the stuffy months.

I suppose the weather will ensure that I put the top back up by tomorrow or the next day, but, for now, the hint of coolth in the air is enough to make me happy.

Remember Winter?

2011-08-31T22:44:00.001-05:00

I remember last winter...freezing my youknow off at the shop, and trying to conjure the heat of a day like today. Today, I was thinking of January, and long johns and fingerless gloves and that vest my girls don't like to see me wear and my Bob Cratchit impression...but it didn't do any good. It was still hot as hell in there.

I started thinking back...all the way to England, and a time period when little girls wore short dresses no matter the weather, cars didn't have heaters, and it always rained on Guy Fawkes Day. How about the day my mother locked me out in the back yard when I decided that five minutes out in the snow was enough, thank you very much.

I remember walking home from St Ann's school at maybe nine or ten, in the middle of a blizzard, wearing my galoshes and carrying my shoes (it's a long story and it will bore you to tears, so don't ask). Western Canada, though not as cold as the rest of the country, still had its bitter days. I do recall in high school, running my usual three miles when the temperature (they had not yet invented Wind Chill) was 10° F. That hurt.

There was that one memorable winter I spent in Toronto, where people try not to come above ground. There were whole little underground centers at the subway stops...you could get all your shopping done between trains. Above ground...well, my bangs broke one day, having got wet and frozen solid. And feeling the hairs in my nose crystallize--not something I'd care to repeat.

There was one winter in Gary Indiana that about killed me. I was staying with SSS and his parents, and his mom liked to keep the house at around 80, and Mother Nature liked the outside at about 20 below zero, and my poor self couldn't adjust.

Winter in Chicago...most memorably, frightening a man in the park. It was really cold, but sunny and crisp...it had snowed the night before. SSS and I were done up in similar "snorkel" parkas, mirrored sunglasses and boots. The guy had come up to us to ask the time, or something, and we both turned toward him. He looked from one of us to the other, and ran off. We laughed ourselves into snow angels.

I remember one winter here in Round Rock, when Brushy Creek froze about halfway across. No, I mean really froze. People were sliding around on it, under the bridge on North Mays. Back in the mid 1980s, I think. Wonderful times, sliding down the hill by the theater, using anything that came to hand for improvised sleds...socks for gloves and baggies over the kids' tennies.

Or the time we hustled out in the morning after a snow, just to get a look at it before it melted. A few houses down the street, the good citizen had scraped the inch or so of snow off his driveway--with an actual snow shovel! I mean...who does that?

A few months from now, feel free to remind me about this fiercely hot summer.

I Guess I'm a Worrier. Who Knew?

2011-08-29T14:11:00.000-05:00

Mostly, I worry about people. I don't use up a whole lot of time worrying about big issues. I worry about the scab on Brendan's hand, and the one on Ethan's knee. I worry about Chandra's cough, and the fact that she is so thin. I worry about Vanessa's fibro, and Brendan's return to college. I worry about Aidan and the fact that he spends every waking moment playing videogames or watching videos of other people playing videogames. I worry about the child I gave up for adoption when I was nineteen, and the man he has become.

I worry about my Spare Kids, even if it has been years since I've seen them. I worry about my friends. Friends I see every day, and friends I've never seen. I don't worry about all of these people all the time, you understand. Just individually, as they pop into my head...

I even worry about my exes. I was so pleased when my first husband got in touch with me. I mean, there really wasn't a whole lot wrong with him that age couldn't cure, and I was happy to find out that it had. Now, Dearly Beloved, I am even worried about SSS. He and Charyl had been together for most of the past 25 years--a lot longer than he and I were. I think about how devastated I was when Jim died, and hope SSS is equipped to cope with the loss of Charyl. Though why I should care, I really don't know.

I thought I would feel a lot of things about Charyl's death, but sadness is all that remains. Am I losing my edge? Getting soft, mushy and apathetic in my old age?

I worry about that, too.

Lawns in Drought

2011-08-28T09:54:00.004-05:00

This is what a lawn looks like when you don't water it at all. Pretty awful, but it will recover (slowly) if we ever get any rain. I just hope these people don't have to try and sell their house before that.

This lawn is owned by people who comply with watering restrictions. We are currently allowed to water once a week with a sprinkler or in-ground system, and it has to be before 10:00 AM. If we want to get out there with a hose, we can do it at any time. This lawn looks a little under the weather, but it will recover and look awesome as soon as it rains.

This lawn is owned by somebody who doesn't give a damn about watering restrictions. Every morning, the grass is wet and there's a small river running two blocks down the street and disappearing into a storm drain. I can understand the mindset--"I paid a fortune for this grass, and I'm damned if I'm going to let it deteriorate. To hell with watering restrictions."

This family of two baby boomers owns one huge pickup truck, a mid-sized pickup truck, a large SUV and two mid-sized SUVs. Go figure.

Of course, it's the corporate users of water who offend the most--acres of green surround office high-rises and shopping centers.

We are in a drought, people. There are things more important than a green lawn!

Cheese...and its Relationship to Rice Pudding

2011-08-24T11:55:00.000-05:00

Last night, Vanessa posted on Facebook that she was craving a cheese platter from Friar Tuck's Pantry (for some reason, I can't pull up their site to link it, but just google). Friar Tuck's is a wonderful restaurant in the middle of downtown Round Rock that serves English food. In some cases, it's English food reinvented for the American palate, but I can live with that. I've been living without English food for too long to quibble. But, I digress. The last time Vanessa and I were in there, she had a cheese platter that brought back all sorts of memories for me.

The last year my family lived in England, I attended the Abbotsford School for Girls (I'm not having much luck with links today, but, yes, it is still there, though the "for Girls" has been dropped). This was one of those boarding schools that also accepted day pupils. I was a day pupil, but that included lunch. Lunch was the same lameness, week after week. I can't remember what was served on which day...there was a grey uniformity to it...but I do remember that on Thursdays, dessert was rice pudding.

Dearly Beloved, the smell of the glutinous mass cooking permeated the entire school. You will have to trust me on this, but it was, and remains, one of the most disgusting odours ever to invade my nostrils.

Now, my parents were Old School, even for that dim and distant era. Children, while not precisely required to be seen and not heard, were most definitely required to eat what was put in front of them; no ifs, ands or buts allowed. Including rice pudding. Including institutional rice pudding that stank. Including institutional rice pudding that stank and sat there in the bowl, a grey, gelatinous mess. On Thursdays, I remember sitting alone in the dining hall, watching the other girls march out two-by-two for their after-lunch walk, knowing that I was eventually going to have to eat the grey (now cold) smelly mess, but also knowing I would have to make a run for the bathroom after, because it was going to come right back up.

Where does the cheese come in, you might well ask. I am about to tell you. In England, at that time, almost any multi-course lunch or dinner would end with cheese and crackers. It seems odd to us, for whom such food is a snack, but it's the way it was. There would be several different kinds of cheese...Stilton, Cheshire, Cheddar, Blue...and several different kinds of crackers.

A girl whose name I can't remember sat next to me at lunch. She, too, hated rice pudding. Unlike me, however, she had humans for parents, and they had arranged with the school for her to have cheese and crackers instead of the aforementioned gelatinous mess. So, cutting through the rice pudding reek would be the delicious fragrance of sharp cheese. She would look over at me, smugly, as she ate her ambrosia. I hated her. I told me parents about her. I begged to be allowed to partake of such largess, but the units were adamant. Children Must Be Taught To Eat What's Put In Front Of Them. Otherwise anarchy will ensue. They had a few unkind words to say about the girl's parents, as well. Interfering with the menu at the school was tantamount to treason.

I still love cheese. I still hate rice pudding. Next time I can afford it, I'm off to Friar Tuck's.

A New Beginning

2011-08-23T08:45:00.000-05:00

Ethan started school yesterday! Here he is, getting off the bus. Those big steps can be a bit intimidating, when you've never lived with stairs! He is in Pre-Kindergarten at Jack Frost Elementary School in Georgetown. He has a tag so he gets to the right classroom, and another that helps him get on the right bus. He has already made friends with one little boy, and he likes his teacher. That's about all we could get out of him. I guess grilling a tired four-year-old is never very productive.

He is taking baby steps out into the world by himself.

An Ending

2011-08-23T08:35:00.000-05:00

Charyl died yesterday. She had been in an induced coma for a week or so, due to bacterial pneumonia.

When I first met her, in August of 1981, I thought she was awesome. She was smart and talented, strong and determined. She was 90% deaf, but with the help of hearing aids and a well-developed skill with lip-reading, she didn't miss much. She was elegant...tall and slender, and she had a way with clothes.

When she started sleeping with my husband, I wasn't surprised. I figured she would be just one in the long string of women with whom he fooled around. I even hoped she and I could still be friends after it was all over. I really liked having her for a friend. She was witty, and we liked a lot of the same things...besides SSS, I mean. She was amazingly talented with fibres and textiles. She sewed like a professional...once she made a ballet tutu for her daughter--a real one, with all the gussets and inset elastic--just because she had never made one. She was a weaver, and the blankets and shawls she wove were so beautiful. The things she knit were gorgeous, too.

She turned out to be the last in SSS's string of women. He and I separated in October of 1985, and she and Frank divorced six months later. She threw SSS out a few times over the years, but they eventually got married. I doubt she would have put up with his wandering ways, so I have to assume he settled down.

So, after a few years of friendship, a few years of enmity and a few years of not caring much one way or another, there is now a bit of a void in my heart. Never mind the fact that she was only five years older than I am.

Dammit, Charyl!

My sympathy goes out to her daughters and grandchildren, and, yes, even to SSS.

The Plot Thickens and Sickens in the Case of Susan Powell

2011-08-22T11:05:00.000-05:00

I've been following these cases of Spousal Murder Theater (thanks, Loretta, for the phrase) for seven years, now, and I have never seen anything like this.

Things began to escalate last week, when police alerted the media to a search in Ely, NV, 200-something miles from West Valley, UT, where Susan Powell disappeared nearly two years ago. http://www.examiner.com/missing-persons-in-national/susan-cox-powell-possible-break-case-leads-police-to-nevada-media-invited. After traipsing around in the desert and looking in mine shafts, the police pronounced the search a success, even though the media tweets indicated that nobody knew why. Josh, of course, was disappointed, having (supposedly) thought that they would find his wife and a Nevada missing man holed up in a motel (after nearly two years...yeah, right!) http://www.sltrib.com/sltrib/news/52421263-78/powell-josh-steve-susan.html.

What the Nevada search did do was to escalate the animosity between Josh's family and Susan's. Methinks the Powells are getting nervous about something. They had managed to obtain a temporary restraining order against Chuck Cox, saying that he was interfering with them. Chuck Cox had seen Josh in a store and asked permission to approach his grandsons and been denied. The Powells are due back in court tomorrow to get a permanent restraining order. They must have felt they needed more ammo, because the next thing that happened was that Steve Powell showed up at a "Remember Susan" rally and confronted Chuck Cox. http://www.komonews.com/news/local/128127608.html. Steve proceeded to push all of Chuck's buttons...taunting him with the threat to publish Susan's adolescent journals and claiming they prove she was promiscuous. Regardless of how they insist she ran off with a man, they don't seem to realize that, if she were promiscuous, it just gives Josh more motive to kill her. (Please note that this blogger, for one, would not believe anything posted in a teenage girl's diary could say a whole lot about her character as a grown woman with children.) Chuck kept his cool, and the situation didn't devolve into a brawl, which is obviously what Steve Powell wanted. More fodder for the restraining order, doncha know.

So. The next step was Steve Powell actually releasing the diaries. He sent them to ABC News, but they refused to publish them. He is claiming that he will post them at the Susan Powell dot org site, but, so far, has not done so.Probably, he realizes that it's an empty threat. For instance, even if (as is alleged by the Powells), Susan did record that she took ten ibuprofen, it does not indicate that she was suicidal. The diaries, IMO, are going to prove nothing except the sleaziness of Steve and Josh Powell.

Then: BOMBSHELL (sorry, Nancy Grace)! Susan's friends came forth with the explanation for Susan's dislike of her father-in-law. Friend after friend has told the same story...Susan was disgusted by and terrified of Steve Powell, because he was obsessed with her. http://www.examiner.com/missing-persons-in-national/finally-light-shed-on-why-susan-cox-powell-feared-her-father-law. The claim is that he actually obtained one of her Temple Garments, that he keeps under lock and key in his home. Further, the songs posted at http://stevechantrey.com/Pages/Default.aspx are supposedly all about Susan. I haven't listened, due to technical difficulties between my computer and Adobe Flash, but here are lyrics to one of the songs:

I said, "I love you." Is that a sin?
I just might wanna say it once again:
I love you, like it or don't.
I said, "I love you." You should have kissed me.
I felt like giving up when you just dissed me.
I love you, so I guess I won't.
You think I'm crazy, but I insist,
It's simple, I can't resist.
The lips that I never kissed, but wanted
To plant my lips everywhere on you,
And count every hair on you,
And sit here and stare at what you flaunted.
I said, "I love you." Is that a crime?
And what if I say it to you one more time?
I love you, so put me in jail.
I said, "I love you." I couldn't help it.
And you were mistaken if you thought I'd shelf it.
I love you, so cough up my bail.
You made my eyes pop out of their sockets.
You could empty all my pockets.
This flirtation isn't rocket science.
You came along and really knocked my socks off.
Now you're all I think and talk of.
So much for my former self-reliance.
I said, "I love you." Can you forgive
If I can't find another way to live?
I love you, and that is my sin.
I said, "I love you." I think you knew it,
But I got hasty and I think I blew it.
I love you. Can we try again?
It seems like all I do is take a beating,
But giving up is self-defeating.
I only hope there'll be a meeting of minds
I've waited patiently and cried a lot for
Something that I've always sought for
I hope it is the same as what your heart finds.
I said, "I love you." Can you forgive
If I can't find another way to live?
I love you, and that is my sin.
I said, "I love you." I think you knew it,
But I got hasty and I think I blew it.
I love you. I'll say it again and again
Even if it's a sin.
I love you: I've said it
Again and again and again.
http://stevechantrey.com/Pages/LightOfSeattle/ISaidILoveYou.aspx

Not exactly Bob Dylan, is he?

These revelations (if true) indicate a sickness that is beyond all measure and understanding.

This is where the case stands, today. Waiting with bated breath to see what happens next.

It's That Time Again

2011-08-19T18:48:00.001-05:00

Eight hours from now, it will be four years since Jim shot himself. He was not a "victim" of suicide. He deliberately and with forethought decided that life was no longer worth living, and he took himself off. OK. It was his life, and I have to (grudgingly) admit that he had that right.

We had even talked about how we didn't want to "linger." How, diagnosed with something terminal and awful, suicide was a preferable option. I know he knew what he was doing. My biggest problem has always been that he didn't share his fears for his health with me. I still think he could at least have gone to a doctor and been tested for whatever it was that terrified him so. How is this not something a couple should share and discuss?

Anyway, here I am, dwelling on that night and my sad feelings.

I will never forget his eyes, when I kissed him goodnight.

Of course, in retrospect, everything that happened takes on significance that it never would have had on a normal night. It's only because my life changed forever in an instant that I remember these things.

If this sounds as if I'm still sort of mixed up...well, pretty much.

But it stays in the box most of the time.

My Earth Mother Phase

2011-08-18T00:36:00.001-05:00

In the distance, you can see part of the 26 acres of Johnson grass that surrounded our home. This had to be 1978 or 1979, as my Earth Mother Phase was short-lived. I already knew I hated gardening, but had agreed to give it a try. SSS and I worked very hard on that garden plot and those tomatoes tasted wonderful!

The thing is, we were city kids. Well, not really...he was a suburban kid and god knows what I was! I knew what neither one of us was, though, and that was a gardener. We had goats and chickens as well. Actually, we had a well, as well. We were three miles out of town. There were a few neighbours, but they were all down the road a fair piece. I about went crazy out there, with the heat and the toddler and the swamp cooler and the pack of feral dogs and the snakes and the garden and the 26 acres of Johnson grass. And the scorpions. Did I mention the scorpions?

SSS was a construction inspector for the City of Round Rock at that time, and a volunteer fireman, besides. By the time he got home, he was done talking to people, and I had spoken to no one over the age of two all day.

We had...issues.

We went to town on weekends to the laundromat, the HEB and the library. This was, of course, long before VCRs. There were two or three channels on the TV and the clearest radio was the little country station out of Georgetown. Al Gore had not yet invented the internet. I felt trapped and isolated and very lonely. SSS had already run off all my friends...he made passes at them. Some of them, he wound up in the sack with, and it would end badly, and some of them would turn him down. The latter, he made so uncomfortable that they didn't like to visit. It was years later that I recognized the pattern of abuse...

Anyway, Dearly Beloved, it was nice to be able to wander around outside in my pajamas and pick fresh tomatoes.

Graduating is Stressful

2011-08-16T13:45:00.002-05:00

OK, y'all. I've been hunting for this picture for a long time. I finally found it, and the scanner/printer is unhooked and doesn't want to talk to me. So I wandered off to Walgreens and had them scan it for me.

This was taken on June 17th, 1966. My high school graduation. What a hell of a day!

The story began long before that. The stressful tale of Graduation Weekend was told here and here.

Leave me alone. It preyed on my mind, OK?

Anyway, this is the dress this Home-Ec flunk-out designed and made, for the munificent sum of $17 (fabric and patterns).

So. The party was three weeks earlier. In that three weeks, Mom got home from England, took one look at my dress, and decided she needed to fix it for me. The bodice was made in the style known as "blouson," a French word, meaning that it was loose-ish and gathered in at the waist. Mom thought that was a mistake, and ripped the dress apart, promising to "fix it" before the graduation ceremony.

Perhaps a word or two about our graduation ceremony might be in order. It was held in the school gym, there being ample room for all forty-six graduates, their parents, cousins, siblings, grandparents, and every relative they had, unto the nth generation. The entire school was in attendance. The morning was a regular school day, with many Seniors absent...at the beauty parlour, or whatever. Not me. I was there. I got there early, and my friend Esther Howe, who had a way with back-combing and hair spray, began to do my hair. She had to go to class, so I went through the morning with half of my hair up. She finished it at lunch, and, half an hour before the ceremony, my parents still hadn't arrived with my dress. Said dress had been still in two pieces the night before, and I had been cheerily imagining my mother diligently making like Cinderella's mice and getting it done with a song in her heart between breakfast and lunch.

I was hanging out in the girls' bathroom, just waiting. Teachers and administrators were sticking their heads in every few minutes, asking if I was ready yet. The ceremony was supposed to start at 2:00 PM. At 1:30, Esther helped with my makeup. Using hers, of course, because I didn't have any. Didn't matter, as we all wore pretty much the same colours of eye shadow and lipstick, anyway.

At about 1:50, my parents arrived. Everyone else's were seated in the gym already. I had ten minutes to get dressed. This involved stockings and the new shoes Mom had allowed, because of course I had not been allowed to wear those things to school that morning. The dress was crumpled up in a paper grocery bag, still in two pieces.

I made my graduation walk with my gown fastened together with STRAIGHT PINS around the waist!

If they thought showing up with that dorky corsage of pink roses won my forgiveness, they were sadly mistaken.

Sunday in Round Rock

2011-08-14T12:12:00.001-05:00

The Lone Star Bakery, home of the famous Round Rock Donuts, is right across a narrow street from First Baptist Church. First Baptist Church has been an object of my ire for thirty years or so, ever since they built the big red brick "auditorium" with the plastic steeple. Around then, they began buying up the small, affordable houses in the vicinity and either converting them to church purposes or tearing them down to create parking lots for their deluded, SUV-driving, Gospel-of-Prosperity-believing patrons. Of course, that didn't stop me from attending services there for a few months, when I was extremely grateful for the Texas Baptist Children's Home Family Program. One of the requirements of residency there was that I attend church. I chose First Baptist because the house parents where I resided went there, and I could get a ride. My resentment intensified when my children were being conned out of their pennies to support the "missions," and I knew perfectly well that their missionaries were retiring on a lot more than I made! In recent years, I have confined myself to railing about the fact that they seem to think they own the public streets around their church, putting out signs and road cones, ignoring stop signs and sauntering about as if people didn't have a right to drive through on the public street.

Today is Sunday, and the church, as usual, is doing a booming business. So is the bakery. I navigated the environs of First Baptist, and found the drive-through line for the bakery was halfway around the block. The bakery parking lot was relatively empty, though, so I parked and tried to go in. Dearly Beloved, it was impossible! People were crammed in there like sardines! The church should wish to pack 'em in like that (maybe--if they served doughnuts)! The last two in the serpentine line held the door open so that they could keep track of spaces in line, letting in the heat. I looked at the crowd (should I call the Fire Marshall?) and decided to brave the car line. It's much easier to wait in line sitting down, air-conditioned and listening to music than standing, crammed in with at least fifty people.

By the time I got home, half an hour later, with the doughnuts, I felt as if I had emerged victorious from a conflict.

PS...I live three minutes away from both these houses of worship.

"Patterns" by Amy Lowell

2011-08-11T21:32:00.000-05:00

Patterns

I walk down the garden paths,
And all the daffodils
Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.
I walk down the patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,
I too am a rare
Pattern. As I wander down
The garden paths.

My dress is richly figured,
And the train
Makes a pink and silver stain
On the gravel, and the thrift
Of the borders.
Just a plate of current fashion,
Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.
Not a softness anywhere about me,
Only whalebone and brocade.
And I sink on a seat in the shade
Of a lime tree. For my passion
Wars against the stiff brocade.
The daffodils and squills
Flutter in the breeze
As they please.
And I weep;
For the lime-tree is in blossom
And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.

And the plashing of waterdrops
In the marble fountain
Comes down the garden-paths.
The dripping never stops.
Underneath my stiffened gown
Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,
A basin in the midst of hedges grown
So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,
But she guesses he is near,
And the sliding of the water
Seems the stroking of a dear
Hand upon her.
What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!
I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.
All the pink and silver crumpled up on the ground.

I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,
And he would stumble after,
Bewildered by my laughter.
I should see the sun flashing from his sword-hilt and the buckles on his shoes.
I would choose
To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,
A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,
Till he caught me in the shade,
And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,
Aching, melting, unafraid.
With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,
And the plopping of the waterdrops,
All about us in the open afternoon --
I am very like to swoon
With the weight of this brocade,
For the sun sifts through the shade.

Underneath the fallen blossom
In my bosom,
Is a letter I have hid.
It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.
"Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell
Died in action Thursday se'nnight."
As I read it in the white, morning sunlight,
The letters squirmed like snakes.
"Any answer, Madam," said my footman.
"No," I told him.
"See that the messenger takes some refreshment.
No, no answer."
And I walked into the garden,
Up and down the patterned paths,
In my stiff, correct brocade.
The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,
Each one.
I stood upright too,
Held rigid to the pattern
By the stiffness of my gown.
Up and down I walked,
Up and down.

In a month he would have been my husband.
In a month, here, underneath this lime,
We would have broke the pattern;
He for me, and I for him,
He as Colonel, I as Lady,
On this shady seat.
He had a whim
That sunlight carried blessing.
And I answered, "It shall be as you have said."
Now he is dead.

In Summer and in Winter I shall walk
Up and down
The patterned garden-paths
In my stiff, brocaded gown.
The squills and daffodils
Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.
I shall go
Up and down,
In my gown.
Gorgeously arrayed,
Boned and stayed.
And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace
By each button, hook, and lace.
For the man who should loose me is dead,
Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,
In a pattern called a war.
Christ! What are patterns for?

"The Lady of Shalott," Alfred, Lord Tennyson

2011-08-11T21:10:00.001-05:00

The Lady of Shalott

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.

By the margin, willow veil'd,
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?

Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."

There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.

And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls
Pass onward from Shalott.

Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.

A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armor rung
Beside remote Shalott.

All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, burning bright,
Moves over still Shalott.

His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.

She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.

In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.

And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance --
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.

Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right --
The leaves upon her falling light --
Thro' the noises of the night,
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.

Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.

Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.

Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."

The Green Thing (Thanks, Barb!)

2011-08-09T15:17:00.000-05:00

In the line at the store, the cashier told an older woman that she should bring her own grocery bags because plastic bags weren't good for the environment. The woman apologized to him and explained, "We didn't have the green thing back in my day." The clerk responded, "That's our problem today. Your generation did not care enough to save our environment."

He was right -- our generation didn't have the green thing in its day.

Back then, we returned milk bottles, soda bottles and beer bottles to the store. The store sent them back to the plant to be washed and sterilized and refilled, so it could use the same bottles over and over. So they really were recycled.

But we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

We walked up stairs, because we didn't have an escalator in every store and office building. We walked to the grocery store and didn't climb into a 300-horsepower machine every time we had to go two blocks.

But she was right. We didn't have the green thing in our day.

Back then, we washed the baby's diapers because we didn't have the throw-away kind. We dried clothes on a line, not in an energy gobbling machine burning up 220 volts -- wind and solar power really did dry the clothes. Kids got hand-me-down clothes from their brothers or sisters, not always brand-new clothing. But that old lady is right; we didn't have the green thing back in our day.

Back then, we had one TV, or radio, in the house -- not a TV in every room. And the TV had a small screen the size of a handkerchief (remember them?), not a screen the size of the state of Montana.

In the kitchen, we blended and stirred by hand because we didn't have electric machines to do everything for us.

When we packaged a fragile item to send in the mail, we used a wadded up old newspaper to cushion it, not Styrofoam or plastic bubble wrap.

Back then, we didn't fire up an engine and burn gasoline just to cut the lawn. We used a push mower that ran on human power. We exercised by working so we didn't need to go to a health club to run on treadmills that operate on electricity.

But she's right; we didn't have the green thing back then.

We drank from a fountain when we were thirsty instead of using a cup or a plastic bottle every time we had a drink of water.

We refilled writing pens with ink instead of buying a new pen, and we replaced the razor blades in a razor instead of throwing away the whole razor just because the blade got dull.

But we didn't have the green thing back then.

Back then, people took the streetcar or a bus and kids rode their bikes to school or walked instead of turning their moms into a 24-hour taxi service.

We had one electrical outlet in a room, not an entire bank of sockets to power a dozen appliances. And we didn't need a computerized gadget to receive a signal beamed from satellites 2,000 miles out in space in order to find the nearest pizza joint.

But isn't it sad the current generation laments how wasteful we old folks were just because we didn't have the green thing back then?

We selfish old people need a lesson in conservation from a smartass young person.

Boycott Chinese Goods!

2011-08-08T14:44:00.002-05:00

Want to help out unemployment? Give this a shot. Thanks, Sarah! Let me see what I can do without...

Did y'all see Diane Sawyer's special report? They removed ALL items from a typical, middle class family's home that were not made in the USA . There was hardly anything left besides the kitchen sink. Literally. During the special they showed truckloads of items - USA made - being brought in to replace everything and talked about how to find these items and the difference in price etc.. It was interesting that Diane said if every American spent just $64 more than normal on USA made items this year, it would create something like 200,000 new jobs!
Are we Americans as dumb as we appear --- or --- is it that we just do not think? The Chinese, knowingly (or not) and intentionally (or not), export inferior and even toxic products and dangerous toys and goods to be sold in American markets.

70% of Americans believe that the trading privileges afforded to the Chinese should be suspended.
Why do you need the government to suspend trading privileges? DO IT YOURSELF, AMERICA !!
Simply look on the bottom of every product you buy, and if it says 'Made in China ' or 'PRC' (and that now includes Hong Kong ), simply choose another product, or none at all. You will be amazed at how dependent you are on Chinese products, and you will be equally amazed at what you can do without.

Who needs plastic eggs to celebrate Easter? If you must have eggs, use real ones and benefit some American farmer. Easter is just an example. The point is do not wait for the government to act. Just go ahead and assume control on your own.

THINK ABOUT THIS: If 200 million Americans each refuse to buy just $20 of Chinese goods, that's a billion dollar trade imbalance resolved in our favor...fast!!

Most of the people who have been reading about this matter are planning on implementing this on Aug. 1st and continue it until Sept. 1st. That is only one month of trading losses, but it will hit the Chinese for 1/12th of the total, or 8%, of their American exports.

Remember, August 1st to Sept. 1st !!!!!! START NOW.

Send this to everybody you know. If we can't live without cheap Chinese goods for one month out of our lives, WE DESERVE WHAT WE GET!

Pass it on, America ....

Protesting "The Response"

2011-08-06T22:09:00.002-05:00

This is a cause about which a lot of people feel strongly.

While no one will argue with Rick Perry's right to believe what he chooses, quite a few people will argue with his opting to use his political position to host a prayer rally. Especially when he decided to invite all forty-nine other State Governors. All but one (Kansas) had the brains to plead a prior engagement. Oh...and Florida, who attended via the modern science of video. We saw a copy of that invitation, sent out on his Governor's Office letterhead.

The real fun was outside. The Christians in the hall lined the balconies of the stadium, staring down at us, while the "praise music" poured from the external speakers.

There were quite a few disparate groups gathered outside, protesting Governor Goodhair's abuse of his political office. It wasn't just us atheists. There was a large contingent from the LGBT community. They are outraged that the Guv allied himself with the American Family Association, a group that spews hatred of homosexuality...and tries to "pray away the gay." Uh huh. Like that works! I wish I had taken notes, as I can't remember some of the groups' names, due to the heat, humidity and CRS. But, the rolling billboard from FFR (Freedom From Religion) was nice, as was their plane with the banner. The anti-death penalty folks were there, and those who wish to protest Perry's anti-immigration stand. There were quite a few liberal Christians, who are just as worried as the rest of us about keeping the Constitutional separation of church and state.

Then, there was the Anti-Protest...three sorry citizens across the street with a megaphone. The girl left fairly soon, saying she had a Christian boyfriend, and that's why she was there. The preacher seemed to have a bondage fetish, and the other individual just waved a picture of an embryo to support his anti-abortion position.

So, we did a little chanting, a little yelling, a little sign-waving, and a good time was had by all.

This is New

2011-08-03T20:03:00.002-05:00

I had a thought today. Rare, I know.

Here's the thing--I've been sitting around, waiting to get over Jim's death and be happy again. Today, I realized that I am pretty much as happy as I was before he and I got together. We had been friends for five years before I realized I loved him, and it took a further eight years before we began to spend a lot of time together. We married in 2000, so there were eleven years there while I loved him with no hope of ever seeing that love returned. During those years, I had a child and was in and out of two relationships. It's not as if loving Jim stopped me from having a life, or from pursuing those moments of happiness that make bearable the rest of it.

So now it's sort of like that again. I still love Jim, but he's not in my life. The fact that he was in my life for some years has not permanently changed me. At this point, almost four years after he killed himself, ours was a relationship that lasted almost one sixth of my life. I still have a life. I still have kids, and grandchildren, and friends, and theater and my job.

I wonder...is this the "acceptance" that the books talk about? I still cry, sometimes. I have moments of incredible sadness and hours when the anger is still rampant, but it's beginning to look as if I shall survive this.

That being so...Dearly Beloved, how in the world am I going to get rid of this fat? I did lose ten pounds or so, but I really can't see where it has gone. Also need some means of minimizing droop. Oh, hell! I am an idiot! I managed not to return to my cigarette habit, but why did I allow all this fat? You know I hate to sweat, right? In fact, as far as I know, there are only two good ways to work up a sweat, and the other one is dancing! Now I'm going to have to walk and stuff.

Dare I say it? THANKS, JIM!

Does Blogger have a sarcasm font?

Writers' Block?

2011-08-03T10:36:00.001-05:00

...Or just pure laziness? You decide.

The truth of the matter is that life has been somewhat boring of late, punctuated with occasional moments of gaiety. I will admit that one of my friends has been keeping me entertained with the amazing stuff he finds on the interwebs. It is all sorts of fun to watch "The Passion of the Christ" with snarky comments from Ben.

We got "The Wizard of Oz" out on time. I wasn't there for the pickup, as I tend to slow things down. When there are dozens of actors picking up scores of costumes, there is no time to be chatty. As many of the actors are friends of mine that I don't get to see often, Ramona has taken to giving me the day off on pickup day. I can hardly wait until they post pictures at http://www.georgetownpalace.com/photoalbum.php. By the way, you can see a lot of shows costumed by A Cut Above in these pictures. It would probably be easier for me to tell you which ones we didn't costume..."Wait Until Dark," "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels," "The Sunshine Boys," "Jesus Christ Superstar," "Little Shop of Horrors," and "Cats." "Cats" is the one for which they paid twice as much as they pay us, and for less than a quarter of the costumes. Awesome.

Celeste has dumped Mike, but he still wants a divorce. Not quite sure why that hasn't gone through already...Celeste's has. Seems she just exerted herself to get back at Mike, because he dumped her for Vanessa. How childish and depressing is that? Of course, the relationship between M and V was not good, or Celeste never would have happened, but it still seems childish in the extreme, and look at all the lives it messed up, permanently.

The good news is that I am now current with insurance and registration on Minni Miata...and got a really good deal as part of Vanessa's family plan. "Multi-car Discount," I think they call it. Cool! The bad news is that I'm broke again.

The biggest laugh I've had recently was when I bought a flowered thermal union suit at the Goodwill. I could barely try it on, I was laughing so hard. I look like a huge mound of mashed potatoes in it, but it is all sorts of funny.

I've been sort of depressed ever since Casey Anthony got off and Jason Young got a hung jury. Somebody needs to get convicted in a case I'm following, and SOON!

The tropical storm that looked as if it might bring us a little relief from the drought and 100+ temperatures passed us by. The heat is awful this year. Electric bills are through the roof, and there is serious talk of a power shortage, as well as water shortage. I knew last winter, when I was complaining about the cold, that the day would come, probably in August, when I would commence non-stop bitching about the heat. Welcome to August.

So that's me sorted. What's up with you?

Sleeping With Cats

2011-07-31T10:23:00.000-05:00

I gave up allowing cats in my room a while back, as they all seemed to think that my bedtime was their playtime, and that was counterproductive to sleep. However, last night, I fell asleep in the recliner, and was thus considered fair game.

There was a cat on either side of my head. I was in no danger of getting cold. It wasn't so bad until one or both of them decided it was time for a leisurely night at the salon. They wiggled, twitched, washed, combed and generally snargelled. Any attempts to dislodge them were futile.

Cat #3 decided it was lap time and grooming time, so, as well as the two that were wrapped around my head, there was one curled up on my stomach, snargelling along with her brother and sis.

Why is it that they never want to do that in the winter, when it would be appreciated? No. Then, they are curled up in front of the space heaters, soaking up all that radiant heat. In summer, they curl up around my head, emitting radiant heat.

Go figure.

Comments from Kelly Brumbelow's Sister

2011-07-28T07:36:00.000-05:00

I have collected the comments of one of Kelly Brumbelow's sisters from the original entry I wrote about Kelly's murder. These comments have come in over the course of about a year and a half. There are comments on the entry from some of Kelly's friends, and a couple from Kelly's older sister. These are all from her younger sister. She gets a bit abusive occasionally, but my heart hurts for her. You can read the entire exchange, including comments from Terrance's wife, some of which are transcribed letters from Terrance.

This is Kellys sister here is my thought on what Mrs.Sampson had to say regardless of weather Terrances is 12 or 33 years old HE IS A MURDERER AND ALWAYS WILL BE IN MY EYES AND IN THE EYES OF THE LORD AND PROTECT YOUR SELF. I HATE HIM FOR WHAT HES DONE TO KELLY AND our FRIENDS AND FAMILY he should rot in hell

I have forgiven him as a person but he can still burn in hell. To me he should be stabbed 97 times just like he did Kelly. Im speaking on my opinion only and feelings. I am by the way Kellys sister but not Dawn.

Ronni, I just want to tell you thank you for writing this. If he is infact married then his wife should be warned about the type of cold blooded killer he is. God will for give people of their sins if they are compleatly and truly sorry for what they have done. He still has the chance to ENJOY life and kelly doesnt. He has the chance to Have children. He gets the chance for happieness and KELLY DOESNT. We dont get to have birthdays with her any more that ended when he stole her life away. I dont care who you are or what you have accomplished in life. you deserve to suffer just like kelly did. She doesnt even get a chance to sleep in a bed or breath air. BUT THE MURDERER does. I dont understand how some one could condone a MURDERER to get married what judge in their right mind would marry a murderer. Well ive said my peice thanks

only thing i have to say about that is horsesh** no one that stabbs someone 97 times is sorry or wants to be forgiven and i know personally GOD is a forgiving and Loving God and for Terrances sake he better hope GOD forgives him. I have to forgive him to live my life or i will be living in fear the rest of my life and i refuse to live in fear. Well all i can say is every one deserves to be happy but MY SISTER CANT BE SO WHY THE HELL SHOULD TERRANCE GET TO no matter if hes been in Jail for 21 years hes still a MURDERER, KILLER, PSYCHOPATHIC HOMISIDAL MANIAC. I WANT TO KNOW WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY!!!!! WHAT DID SHE DO TO HIM THAT MADE HIM TAKE IT OUT ON HER WHY MY SISTER SHE HAD SUCH A WONDERFUL LIFE AND HE TOOK IT AWAY WHY?IM Sorry for going off like that but thats why tramma does to you!

I cant even fantham the thought of him getting out of prison. He seems to think that sence hes spent the last 20 years in prison he will be able to face reality in the "REAL WORLD" give me one reason why I should forgive him. Yes, god says to forgive those who do you wrong but IMO i feel that 21 years in prison is not enough time for the loss of my sister. I can never have her back there for I think and feel that if i was on the jury i would have sentenced him to death or life in prison with out parole regardless or REHABILITATION or Gods forgivness, if you do a crime you should do the f****** time that you deserve and to me 30 years is not Justice. He deserves to stay in prision for LIFE cause he took hers. I DONT CARE IF HES MARRIED he doesnt deserve to be happy.

Im sorry if any thing that i have said on her offended any one but im not sorry because it is my opinion,

I wanted to know if infact this so called "wife" of his is an actual person why did she stop talking to you on here or commenting on here. I think it is very funny. As soon as my sister and i started to comment she disappeared. Well thanks again for placing this blog on here i have less stress now knowing that there were more people than just me taht want to keep this bastard in prison i actually want something else to happen but im not a judge and im not the jury and he should be thankful for that cus if i was on the jury i would have had him put him to death.

Look Im sorry about my post on your other blog but i found it very scary that you would want to go and talk with him, You sit there and sympathise with every one on Kellys behalf but then you are willing to give him the oportunity to explaine why he took my sister away from me and my family. I have spent the last 21 years of my life in a deep and dark depression, scared for my life and my families life thinking this sick bastard is going to come after me when he gets out so take it as you will i will keep on doing what i have to do to keep his ass locked up in prision so that I dont have to live in fear. I hate that no matter what i cant sleep at night because of nightmares of wishing it was me. Kelly had so much going for her, i just want to know why, and if you think going to see him is something you need to do to find closure in your life about this whole situation then who am i to stop you. I hope you find the answers you are looking for but i will keep doing what i have to do to keep him in prison untill his full sentance is carried out which i still do not think is enough time. I personally think they should have put him in there for 1 year for every stab wound found on her body. That would have been justice for me then i could rest easier at night. God Bless you Kellys baby sister

He is a piece of shit that should burn in hell, thats where he is going when he dies, I think he should already be there. Im tired of my tax money keeping him alive, a place to live and food 3 times a day

way to gooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! well said WOOOOWHOOOO i couldnt have said it better my self THANK YOU SO MUCH TO WHOM EVER SAID THAT I LOVE YOU FOR THAT GOD BLESS YOU dianna michelle brumbelow Kelly Brumbelows little sister im not scared any more bring it ON

Mrs. Sampson I am the victims sister and He is the same killer now as he was then He doesnt deserve to get out for what he has done. He should stay in there. I feel for him and you especially if you are that lonely that you cant find love in the real world and have to find a killer to fall in love with then Thats on you you have no remorse Put your self in my shoes what if it would have been your sister it happened too. YOU HAVE NO HEART!

mrs sampson also just to let you know i have had nightmares of him comming after me and my family and i dont want to live that nighmare so im hoping you keep him far from us.

stand corrected, you act like you know every thing and i was not judging you i was just mearly stating what i see. I honestly dont see how some one that has been in prison for murder can be different, but imo i dont think he should get out i feel he is a murderer and i will do what it takes to see that he stays IN FOR LIFE!!!!!!!!

only have one thing to say to that WHO CARES!!!! I just want to tell you that I ran across this blog by accident but I'm sure glad I did because as far as I'm conserned if it has to do with my SISTER I have every freaking right to comment any way I feel I need to, GOD gave me freedom of speach and Im a female he gave me the right to speak my mind. I dont care about your religion that is between you and who ever it is you believe in Ronni. I feel for you I hope you will go to Heaven when you die cause I know I will and I know Kelly will be waiting to meet me there. Thank you for posting this blog but as far as my grammer or puncuation who gives a S***. Thank you. nobody is perfect

well i appoligize I didnt graduate from High School due to my sisters death its had a pretty tramatic time on my life. Believe it or not weather it was 1 year or 21 years i still hurt and grieve for her and my family does too. I have never once seen terance say to the Brumbelow family that he is sorry for what hes done NOT once. Thats all i want to hear then i may or may not change my opinion on his behavior as a killer. In my eyes and in the eyes of my LORD and Savior he is a killer unless he asks for forgiveness and if he does then he will be forgiven cause my God is a forgiving god regardless of how i feel about him IM not the one that can judge him but hes already broken Gods Commandment Thou shalt not commit murder, Sorry if im preaching but like i said my grammer and puncuation shouldnt have anything to do with what i post. My grandmother was an english teacher and I know all about grammer and puncuation and spelling. I just choose not to use it when its on a blog. Thank you

Well thank you ronni for commenting on my defence but as far as my mother is conserned who gives a S*** if she wants to know or not what he said i will give you a email and you can email me the letter of what he said so that I will know for my self. I will not disclose my address because of personal resons. I am an adult and I have the right to know what is being said my monster has kept this part of my life blocked on purpose cause she didnt want to deal with it.I do feel that he is remorseful but because she was my sister I need justice and I dont think 30 years was enough Im sorry. Regardless of how remorsful he is. As far as my education I chose not to go through highschool because the kids made fun of me when i had to be absent from school for two weeks for kellys funeral. I got all the way to 10th grade when i dropped out but my life is nothing compared to yours, mrs sampson your the one that married a murderer. Ive known terrance for 25 years how ever long my mom and family lived next to him on wroxton in round rock so dont pretend to think that just because you are married to him and have known him for the past 9 years that you know him better than me I wasnt there when he took her life but if i would have been then my sister would still be here cause she wouldnt have been stupid enough to go to his house ALONE!! i just want to know WHY HE DID IT WHY why kelly she had so much going for her WHY HER can you at least ask him that but do not disclose my name please. Thank you and im sorry if i upset any one as far as ronni, Im sorry about your husband.It will get better in time My life has gotten better the more i talk about it the easier it is.

Ronni,
Please let mrs sampson know that i would like to read that letter that her husband had written to my mother. I would like to know for my self if he is truly sorry more than likely it wont change my mind but its worth a shot. I will not allow the devil to get ahold of me but i am a forgiving person and i have forgave him for his actions so that i could move on with my life. please email me at the email address that i gave you thank you so much

Well with all Do respect ronni i would like to say something to mrs. sampson. Please do not take it the wrong way. IMO i feel that you can do alot better than being with a murderer such as terrance, yes he may be changed but do i believe he is NO. I have been through nearly 23 years with out my big sister. Who cares if he makes you happy GIRL HES A MURDERER what if it was your sister put your self in my shoes. I hope and Pray that you will open your eyes and realize you can do a hell of alot better cus some people never change and if it wasnt for MY BEAUTIFUL SISTER being in that bastards house at the wrong time id still be with her today. I have for gave him for him as a person so i could move on with my life but his actions are whats gonna cause him to go to hell and I hope im in heaven already b4 he dies so that when he is rejected I can laugh my ass off and say i hope your not to hot.....you may think im cold hearted for saying this but again look at what ive spent the last 23 years of my life dealing with. I have to live in fear because of him how would you like some one to do that to your family. Im just sayin. any way i hope and pray in your life GOD WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE MONSTER HE IS, and another word of advice get a gun. JUST SAYIN......:-)
have a nice day.

The letter is addressed to my family why cant I this whole BLOG IS A CROCK OF SHIT IF YOU ASK ME. WHY even post it if Kellys fmly cant even speak their minds in it. Im not affraid to anouce that he has a letter that he has written to MY MOTHER and the jury has not been able to read cus hes to much a p**** to give it to them to read. This could help him or hurt him but why tell me not to MENTION A LETTER no one knows what im talking about. Where in my statement did i mention a letter any way

and another thing IM allowed to defend my sister and any member of my family as long as Im alive so help me GOD i will live my rights to the fullest he shouldnt be alowed to get a degree he shouldnt even bealowed to breath. IMO i think he should be groaped by BUBBA and stabbed just like he did my sister but thats mearly an opinion

A Hint About Pedophilia

2011-07-27T19:08:00.000-05:00

I have never understood how a person could do something he knows to be wrong; that he knows to be harmful to a child. How can one justify that?

A while ago, on Dr Phil, they had a pedophile who had groped his six-year-old granddaughter. When asked why, he said that he had not been so excited since he was in junior high school and had just discovered girls.

I thought about that for a while (after I got over the nausea), and I would like you to do the same. Think back to that first hormonal discovery of the opposite sex. Wasn't it awesome? Didn't you spend all your time thinking about it? Wondering about it? Planning for it? Wasn't it pretty much all you thought about?

How easy would it have been to shut that down? How loudly would your conscience have yelled, "No, no...this is wrong! Wrong, I tell you!" With or without a catholic school education, the guilt would set in after the fact, not before.

When you apply those memories to pedophilia, making the comparison that this so-called grandfather did, you can see why these guys offend over and over. If groping little girls is as exciting as one's first feelings about sex, there is no curing these individuals. I think that person gave us a valuable clue. Depressing...but valuable, nevertheless.

Rape

2011-07-27T08:58:00.001-05:00

Got your attention, didn't I?

OK. the thing that defines rape is lack of consent. Sex without consent. That is rape.

I have been raped. I went to a party in 1968, and allowed myself to be talked into sex with the person I went with. Much to my surprise, he left the room to "grab a beer," and another guy came in. When I informed him I wanted to leave, he slapped me around in a perfunctory way and asked if I wanted to be fucked and beat, or just fucked. I subsided and just waited for it all to be over. I was dumped off at my home in the morning. I had not even the energy to make up a fake address, though I was terrified that they knew where I lived. I had eighteen sexual encounters that night, and only the first was consensual.

By the standard that some congressmen want to apply to rape these days, all would have been considered consensual. Because, given the choice of "fucked" or "fucked and beat," I declined to be "beat." I mean, really. There were upwards of a dozen members of a motorcycle gang. I thought I might survive getting fucked, but not so sure about surviving "beat." It was winter, the "party" was out of the city--I had no idea where I was or how to get home...even if I could have escaped from the house, I could have died in the sub-freezing temperatures of an Ontario February. In short, I don't really consider my "consent" to have been consensual. Even the fact that I was very naive to have even gone to the "party" in the first place doesn't excuse what happened to me. I know that, now. But then? Not so much. Of course, I didn't report the incident to police--I just hid in fear every time I heard a Harley or saw a leather jacket.

I had nightmares for years. Twenty years later, I was telling a friend about it, and, somehow in the telling, it all turned into a joke. I laughed till I cried, and the nightmares and the fear went away.

For twenty years, I was damaged by one night in my life. Such is the power of rape.

Conservative lawmakers want to redefine rape so that what happened to me would not be considered to be rape at all. Neither would date rape, or drugged rape, or statutory rape.

Date rape happens when your date won't take "no" for an answer. Frequently, a date will insist not only that you have sex with him, but that you pretend you are enjoying it. It's still rape, people. Even if there are "roofies" in your margarita and you can't even lift a hand to defend yourself--even if you wake up with your panties around your neck with no idea how they got there, it's still rape. And, if you are not legally old enough to give consent...that's rape, too. I don't care who you are, a twelve-year-old girl is not "asking for it" because she emulates the latest girl-group dance moves. She has no idea.

It has been said over and over that rape is about power and control, not about sex. People who rape do it because they like to have sex in that way, not because they can't get it any other way. Whether the control is established by violence, drugs or seduction of a child, the gratification is in having power over another human being.

It is degrading and humiliating enough to be raped. It is worse if one is beaten to a bloody pulp as well.

This topic came up as a result of the war on abortion. Certain lawmakers think that women want abortions so badly that they will claim to have been raped, when they really haven't.

God forbid!

Or, if he won't, congress will do it's best.

Creeping Misogyny

2011-07-25T08:19:00.003-05:00

Creeping misogyny. Like the phrase; hate the concept.

Seriously, though--it exists. Little things. For a start, the tempest in a teapot in the Skeptic/Atheist community. A woman who speaks out and blogs about skepticism, atheism and feminism, mentioned on her blog that a man who had recently heard her speak at a convention found himself alone in an elevator with her, and asked her up to his room for coffee. She pointed out that she found that to be a bit creepy, and requested (politely) that men refrain from doing that. All of a sudden, one of the world's leading (male) atheists castigated her for her comments! The gist of his argument was that there are women being badly treated all over...many of them treated much worse than being on the receiving end of a come-on in an elevator, and she should just shut up and not sweat the small shit. The man ignores the fact that little things become larger if not nipped in the bud.

As well, I've been hearing men (I should say, overhearing men) complaining about what they see as excessive body hair on women. Hey, guys. I got news. Grown women have hair. Many of us remove some of it. Armpits, for instance, and lower legs. Some try a lot harder and take it off our upper legs. Most of us have known the horror of having to shave what is euphemistically called "the bikini area," so that there isn't pubic hair hanging out of our swimsuits. There are four OTC ways to remove hair. Razors, tweezers, wax and depilatory creams. Razors are my weapon of choice in the constant war on hair. The downside? Shaving can hurt. The hair grows back fast, and with nasty sharp ends that can become ingrown and infected and painful. I had a friend once advise me to tweeze out my leg hairs. Dearly Beloved, tweezers are good for eyebrows and those occasional chin hairs, but leg hair removal by that method would be a full-time job! Many women use wax. Wax is not like candle wax...it's more like resin. You apply it warm (hot), let it cool some and rip it off. It pulls the hair out by the roots. It hurts. A lot. Especially in sensitive areas. The hair grows back more slowly, and it's new hair, without the sharply cut ends left by shaving, but it hurts a lot. Depilatory creams burn. Think about it. A chemical strong enough to dissolve hair is going to wreak havoc with your skin. I've used depilatories, and the results are like a second degree sunburn. Guys, if a woman is willing to go through all that for your delectation, consider it a gift but don't take it for granted and expect it as the norm. I repeat--grown women have hair. This is a little thing, in the Grand Scheme of Things, but when men expect real live women to emulate the airbrushed pictures in magazines, we have a problem. Not to mention that the removal of pubic hair allows a woman to appear more like a little girl. Don't you think that's just a little bit...well...creepy?

Then, there is the ubiquitous War on Women. Women's health services are being cut. Masectomies are practically outpatient surgery, these days. Planned Parenthood, relied on by millions of poor women, is being de-funded. Pharmacists are permitted to refuse to fill prescriptions for birth control if their religion forbids it. Rape is being redefined to exclude statutory rape, or date rape. "If you're not all beat up, you haven't been raped," seems to be the new standard.

I know this post seems to be sweating the small shit and just skimming the serious stuff. True. That's the way I feel this morning.

We need to stand up and fight for our rights, again. Still. Forever.

So-Called Friends

2011-07-24T22:10:00.000-05:00

Actually, I think Vanessa needs some new friends. It's amazing how absent the ones she has have been through her moving adventure. Which is not over yet, so y'all can redeem yourselves a bit and show up for the rest of it.

So far, it has been her best friend's ex-husband, Brendan, Chandra, Ben and myself who have helped her move everything. Some of my other friends have helped in other ways.

Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Brendan had only one day (so far) in which he could help, Chandra weighs maybe 100 lbs soaking wet, I'm 62, and Ben helped out of the goodness of his heart. Her so-called BFF's ex...has been all sorts of helpful.

So...where is her BFF? and her other BFF? Who the hell knows. Where's her not-soon-enough-to-be-ex? Busy with his new girlfriend.

As far as I can see, these last three mentioned suck big green donkey dick. I'll tell you all one thing...I'd not leave my best friend to move all by herself, with a four-year-old, a three-month-old baby and fibromyalgia.

I am too old for this shit. May I have that nervous breakdown now, please?

In Which the River Cruise Guy Doesn't Get a Tip

2011-07-20T19:46:00.000-05:00

I hate being called "Sweetie" by a total stranger. Why do people do that? Jim used to call me "Hon," and I liked it, Frank occasionally calls me "Sweetie." My parents (may the force be with them), called me "Pip." There are maybe half a dozen people allowed to call me that, and you know who you are. It's nice to hear an affectionate nickname when it comes from our close friends and family.

Dearly Beloved, "friends and family" is a category that does not include the waitress at Saltgrass, the receptionist at the doctor's office or the guy in the stupid hat manning the helm of the San Antonio River Cruise...boat. You know the person. He "helps" you aboard the boat and asks you where you're from so he can pick on you later. This man is not allowed to call me "Sweetie." This man did not get a tip.

I'm sixty-two years old. I'm not at all insulted at being called, "Ma'am." This is not England. "Ma'am" is a correct title for a mature woman...well, and old one, anyway. I am pretty sure maturity passed me by, but that's a whole nother story.

A Kiss is Just a Kiss...

2011-07-15T22:29:00.000-05:00

Have we lost the fun of kissing? It seems that, to modern young people, a kiss leads inevitably to sex, and is not perceived as an end unto itself. Now, when I was a girl (back in the mists of time), a kiss was pretty much all we had going on. In my crowd of friends, anyway. Oh, there were couples who were "going steady," and they did a bit of petting and such, but many of us were not allowed to date until we were 16, much less get into any sort of committed relationship. Parents were uncertain as to the meaning of "going steady," but they were pretty sure it could lead to trouble. Unacceptable levels of intimacy, at the very least.

When you kissed a boy, it was generally your third date. First date...nothing. Second date...a peck on the cheek. Third date...ah...there was The Kiss. This kiss was designed to encourage further dates, and did this by being something to think about well into the night. And this was even before tongues were allowed into the action. Tongues didn't enter the picture (or at least each others' mouths) for at least a couple more dates. Any more than that required the aforementioned commitment known as "going steady."

So, that third date kiss was crucial. An entire relationship could hinge on that kiss. We got pretty good at it.

It was a more innocent time. Most of us didn't know much about sex in any of its forms, and most of us were willing to proceed more slowly than kids are today.

A kiss was just a kiss...

Tying a Knot

2011-07-14T21:36:00.000-05:00

I am about at the end of my rope, people. I want to run away from home. I want to get roaring drunk. I want to...I don't know. I am momentarily deficient in imagination. So if you don't want to hear me whinge, hit the little "X" in the corner.

Between Jason Young getting a hung jury, and that bitch in Florida getting acquitted, the news holds no solace, and my own life is currently a disaster. I can cope with one of my children feeling down, but right now, two of them are feeling really low.

Work is a nightmare. Two weeks to finish "The Wizard of Oz," and about a month's worth of work to be done. Boss is getting testy, and it is so hot in there. I don't work well at either extreme of temperature, and today I was crying as I crawled around on a concrete floor, bruising my knees and raising a scissors blister cutting out dozens of pattern pieces for crows feet and beaks. The crows, by the way, are going to be truly awesome. I never tire of Ramona's creativity; I do, however, tire of the heat.

After the cutting was done, there was a dress that needed a plethora of silver sequins and beads removed from around the neck. Of course, they are attached with monofilament--not the flimsy stuff that breaks when you breathe on it, either. No. These beads and sequins are put on there to survive Armageddon! So my left hand now has sequin and monofilament cuts, my right hand has scissors blisters and my knees are bruised. I am not a happy camper.

On top of that, Vanessa's ex is ignoring requests to help her move. Her best friend is conveniently out of town.

I am 62 freaking years old. I am too old for this shit. I don't want to have to deal with any of this.

Oh...that is the other thing. It seems I can't collect my husband's Social Security. Nope. Have to be married ten years for that. As I have been chronically underemployed all my life, I shall have to work until I'm 70, and still will have less than $1000 a month. All those years I was a stay-at-home mom, and the ones I spent cleaning houses and the time I spent looking after Addy...none of that paid anything into Social Security.

So once again, THANKS, JIM!

Fuck. Just, fuck.

What the Hell is this Garbage??

2011-07-14T21:03:00.002-05:00

http://today.msnbc.msn.com/id/26184891/vp/43751967#43751967 This is a link to a video clip from The Today Show, in which Josh Powell's father attempts to trash Susan Powell's reputation. He shows her teenage diaries, which he claims prove she was "sexually aggressive," among other things. He reiterates his former claim that she ran off with another man. He also claims she was abused by her parents in her youth. He is threatening to publish her journals on a website. It's unclear whether he will use Josh's ugly purple site, or if he's talking about a new one.

Remember, Susan Powell is the woman who disappeared from her Utah home, December 7th, 2009. Her husband, Josh, left at midnight with both their little boys to go camping in the snow. It was a Sunday night, and, when neither he nor Susan showed up for work or at the day care Monday morning, the day care sent somebody to their house and called police for a welfare check. No one was there. When they finally managed to contact Josh by phone, he claimed he forgot it was Monday.

Right.

So, while insisting that she left by herself, on foot, in the middle of a frigid Utah winter night, Josh moved--not only out of town, but out of state--back to his father's home in Washington State. In a gated community in Puyallup, he lives with his dad and siblings. Just like old times, except for the two little boys. Oh, yes...one more thing: Susan's parents haven't seen their grandsons since forever.

So this is the stand-up guy who refuses to talk with police, and hasn't spoken to them since shortly after Susan's disappearance. Nor has he searched for his missing wife. Now he is allowing his father to trash her reputation.

Poor Susan. The man who is supposed to love and protect her seems likely responsible for her disappearance, and not content with that, is now doing his best to blame the victim. It is my considered opinion that, if he's not going to help find her, he needs to shut up.

Thanks for the link, Mary!

Vanessa Needs Some Help

2011-07-13T23:01:00.000-05:00

Anyone local want to do a Good Deed this weekend?
Vanessa needs some help moving. She has one volunteer with a pickup truck, but any nice people capable of helping with this project would be much appreciated.

As most of you know, her husband walked out on her at Thanksgiving, leaving her pregnant with a four-year-old. She had Eli on April 27th. The house has been foreclosed and sold, and she has found an apartment in Georgetown. She picks up the key on Friday.

Of course, I have to work Saturday. I wish I could take off and help, but I can't. After six, I'll be there, but Ramona owns me until then.

There's a recliner-sofa, and two recliners. There's a big flat-screen TV, washer and dryer and various other appliances, furniture and about a million boxes.

She can't afford to rent a truck.

I'll be getting only about half a paycheck, but I'll do what I can to supply bevvies for volunteers...

Possessed Toys

2011-07-11T23:59:00.001-05:00

First it was Jessie, or whatever the name is of the cowgirl in "Toy Story." I picked her up off the couch and she began to run through her repetoire of phrases. Very carefully, I set her on the coffee table and she desisted. It took a long time to get to sleep that night and, just as I dozed off, the damn doll began to yodel! After I disengaged myself from the ceiling fan, I picked her up by the head and placed her in one of Ethan's toy bins. She subsided, muttering.

A day or so later, I found her in the trash. I assumed she had done the same to Vanessa, and carried the bag out to the trash can without a word.

Tonight, as Vanessa went in to take a shower, I heard some tinkling electronic tune coming from that general direction and assumed she had turned on the music box attached to Eli's swing...except that she came out and asked me if I could hear the music. We tracked it down to the garage, where it fell silent. Pointing to a box, she said, "Maybe it's that toy that the church ladies gave Ethan for Christmas..." The toy was a sort of truck that a child is supposed to ride. It plays tunes and makes siren noises and has other attributes designed to drive nuts any parent who has any remaining vestige of sanity. Fortunately, Ethan was too large for it, so Vanessa was saving it for Eli--that was to give her a couple of years before having to put up with it. It began to play the tune again as soon as I picked it up. I tried pushing various buttons, but it just made more sounds, and nothing appeared to shut it off, so I brought it in, figuring it needed a battery-ectomy. As I struggled to cut through the packing tape with which the partial box was securely wrapped, batteries shot everywhere, and STILL it continued to chirp out its obnoxious tune.

Vanessa said, "There had BETTER be batteries in there somewhere, or I'm going to buy a gun and shoot it!"

Eventually, I found a place that looked promising and Vanessa found a phillips head screwdriver, and the cover was popped off to reveal...batteries!

Surgery was performed, and the toy replaced in the garage to await he growth of its owner.

After we had caught our breath, Vanessa told me that Jessie wound up in the trash at Ethan's behest...apparently, she freaked him out, too!

Whatever happened to toys that don't sing, talk, belch or yodel?

Interesting Article

2011-07-08T22:05:00.000-05:00

I found this today on Facebook: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2011/07/08/casey-anthony-trail-the-sequestered-jury-fell-prey-to-idiotic-groupthink.html?fb_ref=article&fb_source=profile_oneline

Written by the Marcia Clark, who prosecuted O J Simpson, the article blames the sequestration. I have to admit, I had not thought of that. I would rather ditch the concept of sequestration than go to a professional system. From the article:

This jury was sequestered for more than two months. When jurors are forced to spend day and night with each other, apart from their families and friends, they become a tribe unto themselves. Because they only have each other for company, and because most people prefer harmony to discord, there’s a natural desire to cooperate, to compromise in order to reach agreement. And they have no safe retreat. If they disagree with their fellow jurors, they can’t go home to a husband, a wife, a friend, where they can regroup and marshal their energies.

This makes entirely too much sense. I don't know what sort of alternative there can be to sequestration, but this was a gross miscarriage of justice. When you read what the juror (whose interview Ms Clark uses to illustrate her points) had to say, you will cringe.

We must find a way to keep this from happening again.

What Are We Going To Do?

2011-07-07T00:34:00.001-05:00

Houston, we have a problem.

When Jason Young got a hung jury, I recognized the so-called "CSI effect," but the larger problem appeared to be a lukewarm presentation by the prosecutors. Becky Holt "ummmed" her way through her case as if sleepwalking. As one friend put it, she phoned it in. This was not the way it was in Casey Anthony. The prosecution was spot on. The Case in Chief was well-organized and passionate. The defense was manned by idiots. So what the hell happened?

Two things, I think, though they are connected. One is the "CSI Effect." For some reason, people don't seem to realize that dramas like "CSI Wherever" and "Criminal Minds" are fiction. F-I-C-T-I-O-N. Do we even know what that word means, any more? For the record, it means "made up." "Pretend." "A story." "Not true." To used Ben's example, you cannot blow up security camera footage of a license plate and clean up the blurry image to a readable level. Further, you cannot instantly find somebody's location within 3" using cell phone towers. You cannot lift identifiable DNA from a tool that has been stored down a well for 30 years. Not in real life. Jurors seem to have become incapable of distinguishing fact from fiction.

The other thing that appears to hang juries is "reasonable doubt." Jurors seem to want the case proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. What was the phrase Jose Baez used over and over during his Closing Arguments? "Beyond every reasonable doubt." He said that often enough to implant that word, "every" in the mind of each juror.

Is this phenomenon part of the dumbing down of America? We can no longer reason? We no longer trust common sense?

The solution may be better-educated jurors. Can we please have some standards? If we can't find a way to do this, the only alternative I can see is to abandon the jury system as we know it and adopt one that involves professional jurors. Some of us have discussed this before, and, at that time, I was dead set against the suggestion. I still hate it, but even more, I hate the thought of Casey Anthony and her ilk getting away with murder.

I know Cheney Mason was flipping off the photographer, but his crude and arrogant gesture seems aimed at Justice herself.

The Drive to Marble Falls

2011-07-04T15:47:00.001-05:00

1431 is a wonderful road. It runs from IH35 to 29, and peters out a bit north of there. The best part is between 183 and 281, but the very best part is from Lago Vista to Marble Falls. The road is like a roller coaster from Jonestown to Marble Falls. Just past Lago Vista, it reverts to the two lanes it used to be all the way. It is a truly awesome drive.

So, today, I pulled up at the stoplight at Lohman's Crossing in Lago Vista, and the three princesses in the Mercedes with the top down pulled into the left turn lane to go to the lake, and the cute guy in the silver Chevy Cavalier took their place beside me in the left lane. It's a bit of a crapshoot, taking that drive. You never know when you're going to get behind a trash truck, or somebody towing a boat, or some chickenshit in a pedal car. That latter was what I was afraid of, until he shot past me in order to be well in front by the time the lane disappeared. I thought, "well, alrighty then...let's go!" It wasn't long before we fetched up behind an old van. The van driver was obviously familiar with the road, and doing the best he could, but it was with great relief that I saw him turn off down Shaw Drive. I blinked, and the Chevy had disappeared over the hill! "O REALLY," sez I. "We'll see about that," sez I. I put the pedal to the metal and caught up. Well, not exactly caught up close, but caught up to the point where I could keep him in sight along that winding road. He was a skilled driver, always in control of his car and not flattening out of his lane around the curves. I had to stop glancing at the speedometer after I noticed I was going 80 mph and not gaining on him at all!

Suddenly, around a curve and coming up a hill, I saw that he had slowed down...without putting on his brakes. There was a new white truck stopped on the other side of the road, with a person standing beside it. I slowed down, too, and was going about 60 when I passed both the truck and the state trooper who had him pulled over. The driver of the Chevy must have thought, as I did, that there wouldn't be another trooper for a while, as there is usually only one along that stretch of road. He was back up to 80 in no time. Around Smithwick, there was a small SUV in front, just in time to save Mr Chevy and myself from the County Mountie coming the other way.

Chevy and I both pulled up and the light at 281; he, turning left toward Johnson City and I, continuing on toward Granite Shoals and Kingsland.

I gave him a salute and he gave me a wave and a grin.

That was the most excellent drive I've ever had down that road! Thanks, Mr Cavalier, for being a great front door!

Independence Day Approaches

2011-07-03T08:13:00.001-05:00

So...what are y'all doing to celebrate the 235th birthday of this country?

Imagine that! 235 years, for something that people thought wouldn't last a decade! It nearly did collapse several times, and appears to be floundering right now, but the flag still flies and the people still take comfort in the ideals of a great democracy, even if the reality falls short.

But still...it's approaching the 4th of July, and one's birthday is never the best time to discuss one's current health, especially as one's age advances and one's knees creak a little!

I had made some plans, but they fell through, or at least, got put on hold for a day. So, everyone else has made plans without me, knowing I was Up To Something. This phenomenon leaves me at something of a loose end. I expect I shall go for a little drive and take my camera, in case anything pretty comes up that I'd like to take home with me.

There's a burn ban in effect, so most communities have cancelled their fireworks. Of course, those that are going ahead with the pyrotechnics will get large audiences with a lot of cars. They will be a "come early and expect to stay late" events that I would rather avoid. Even under normal circumstances, one can expect to spend up to an hour getting home after that last cathartic explosion, so I can imagine what it will be like this year! Austin and Round Rock have cancelled theirs, so Georgetown is the nearest place to go. I used to go to Georgetown's fireworks before they started having them in Round Rock, and it was crazy! Best to take a CD (or cassette, in those days) of Sousa marches and provide your own music, as getting a spot close enough to actually hear the band was always problematic.

So leave me a note telling me about your Independence Day celebrations, as I apparently have none of my own...

Hung Jury

2011-06-29T00:24:00.000-05:00

I am so pissed off, I can barely sputter.

As many of you know, I have been following the Michelle Young murder case for the entire four and a half years since her bludgeoned body was found by her sister, with Michelle's toddler walking around, tracking her mother's blood all over.

For those of us who have been following trials such as this for...(has it really been nearly nine years since Scott Peterson killed Laci and dumped her body in San Francisco Bay?), it is obvious that Jason Young killed Michelle, just as Scott killed Laci.

Jason was smarter about it than Scott, though, having planned his crime for longer than Scott did. The smartest thing Jason did was to refuse to talk to anyone about the crime. Hence, when he decided to take the stand in his own defense last Thursday, the prosecution was ill-prepared. Jason rattled on for four hours, all boyish innocence, refuting the prosecution's case point by point and line by line. It was easy to see that he made his living as a salesman.

There are several reasons for the hung jury, in my opinion. One (and this is big) is that the highly-touted prosecutor was just not bringing her "A" game. In her Case in Chief, she appeared to assume that the jury could connect the dots by themselves. She is a very experienced prosecutor. How could she overestimate the jury like that? The case was entirely circumstantial, and yet, there were pieces of evidence that were never presented at trial. How was it not considered important that Jason and Michelle had huge life insurance policies on each other? Jason's supporters on the message boards maintained that the fact that they each had them cancelled out their importance. Not so. The thing that makes it more significant than ever is that Jason never claimed the money. He would have had to make a deposition in order to do so, and that would have entailed breaking his silence about the crime. Couldn't do that. No. His lawyer told him not to. Why was this not mentioned AT ALL by the prosecution? A million dollars makes a pretty good and understandable motive, as far as I can see.

In a different case, people have been laughing about Jose Baez and his easel, but the fact remains that some sort of visual aid is very helpful to a jury. In this trial, a timeline and/or map would have been useful. Something to show that Jason could have driven from Hillsville to Raleigh and back in the time available. Huge pictures of Jason's feet, obtained by NTO should have been displayed, with a podiatrist pointing out that the red marks on his toes could well have been caused by walking around in shoes that were too small. The prosecutor never did that, and it would have gone a long way toward explaining the two sets of different-sized footprints found at the scene. Nobody put an expert on the stand to explain that the fact that Michelle received at least thirty blows to the head, breaking her skull and knocking out her teeth, indicates that the killer was an intimate of hers. Strangers do not do that. Strangers do not tidy up the toddler and tuck her into bed with a lullaby playing. Husbands and fathers do things like that. Husbands and fathers who are killers.

The prosecution simply did not do its job.

I think another issue is that we have all watched much too much "CSI" and other fictional police dramas where DNA is found in unlikely places, and always yields results that nail down the criminal without a shadow of a doubt. Have we lost the ability to discriminate between fiction and reality? In real life, DNA is not so easily found, or identified. Before we had the ability to analyze DNA and use it in crime solving, most cases were decided via circumstantial evidence and common sense. Now, juries no longer trust such things. Nobody told the jury to ask themselves who else could have done this.

So Jason is a decent salesman, the prosecutor needed some Geritol, and the jury needed a brain, and the end result is a hung jury. A HUNG JURY, after about twelve hours of deliberation! The jury members seemed more concerned about whether or not they would be harassed by the public or the press than obtaining justice for the victims in this case. Yes, I said "victims." Plural. Michelle Young was five months pregnant at the time of her death, so there were two people killed. Her daughter has to grow up without her mother, and Michelle's sister is raising her, with help from Michelle's mother. All these people have Michelle-sized holes in their hearts that will never be filled.

Send out some Good Thinks that the case will be retried, and that the prosecution will correct their errors and present their case with the passion and commitment that Michelle, her unborn child and her loving family so deserve.

A Lovely Party!

2011-06-26T00:06:00.001-05:00

There are a lot of pictures, but I like this one from the party my friends managed to surprise me with on Thursday.

Debbie and I, you see, had plans to go to Dulces at Lakeline Mall and hear Joseph David, who sings there with his friend, Bill Parcher. Joe and I have been friends for a long time...through shows at Sam Bass, of course. Debbie had a cake...she said it was to celebrate my birthday. I suggested we celebrate the Solstice, instead.

As we walked into the restaurant, and out onto the patio, I saw Chandra sitting there...and then I saw quite a few friends...turns out it was a surprise party! It was awesome!

I hope somebody got some video of Joe and Bill singing "Happy Birthday" to me in Italian!

Thanks so very much to my incomparable friends!

Michael Meigs Liked "The Tempest Projectt!"

2011-06-24T22:49:00.003-05:00

http://austinlivetheatre.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=2253:the-flair-of-sam-bass-the-tempest-project&catid=590:sam-bass-community-theatre-round-rock&Itemid=145

From the link:

Those elements of creativity joined with the wardrobe imagination and confection skills of Veronica Prior, a long-time member of the theatre and in so-called real life a professional costumer. Prior has always provided fine fabric and fine fantasy when working at the Sam Bass and elsewhere. For this show she connived with designer Scholtes to create some astonishing scenes and costume pieces.

For example, the curiously entomological outfit worn by Emily Kennedy as "Calibra," bronzed, goggle-eyed and reflecting the sand and hot light of the enchanted isle.

Well, actually...that was what was supposed to have happened. Unfortunately, real life intervened, and, after seeing Kevin's most excellent sketches, I put the costumes together on my own. Except for the aforementioned bronzed and goggle-eyed head piece, which Chandra designed and made. They were supposed to say that in the program, but that didn't work out.

Kevin wanted sketches, but I have never worked in such a professional manner, and I wandered off, terrified, muttering, "I don't do sketches, I do clothes..." Because, Dearly Beloved, I can't draw. Kevin told me not to worry about it, so I calmed down some, and got to work with sewing machine, scissors and yummy fabrics.

Michael liked Frank's "flair," a sentiment with which I heartly concur:

The Tempest Project was deftly executed and definitely entertaining, a demonstration of audacity and imagination. Community theatre in Round Rock provides a season of comfortable box-set comedies and dramas -- and once in a while, to dazzle 'em, a magic cabinet like this one.

Sam Bass rocks, with the likes of Frank and Kevin, and the wonderful cast and crew.

Photo by Kevin Scholtes

Mrs Thing

2011-06-22T18:52:00.001-05:00

I just got word today that Mrs Thing died on May 15th. I shall miss her.

Robert Heinlein once said (paraphrasing, here) that anyone could paint a picture of a pretty girl. A good artist could make others see, in the picture of a pretty girl, the old woman she will become someday. However, it takes a great artist to look at an old woman and see the pretty girl she once was. It took no effort to see the pretty girl in Mrs Thing. Her beauty shone forth, no matter her age, which was considerable. She was into the second half of her 90s. There are those who think anyone her age is well past her sell-by date, but she brought me a lot of joy.

She used to live in the vicinity Pittsburgh, and moved to (I think) Kansas, later on. Her sons moved her down here a decade or so ago, and she bought a house in Sun City. Mrs Thing was not really the Sun City type; not given to cocktails, golf, tennis or tap dancing. And, when Lou and Kaye took her up to Kansas to visit, her friends were either too infirm to entertain her, or had already passed on.

She lived with Lou and Kaye until she broke her hip this past Spring, and moved into a residence for physical therapy.

When she lived at Kaye's, I was hired occasionally to stay with her, in order for her 24/7 caregivers to have some time off. Now, I wish I had done more with her, but it was difficult to get her out of the Miata once she was installed in it. I took her for a nice long drive once, and she enjoyed it. However, as she became more fragile, I was scared to take her out. What if something happened? I know CPR, but I have no training in prying the elderly out of sports cars.

So, I'm sad. I am going to miss her. I am angry, too. I know I was just a paid "granny sitter," but I would like to have been told in a timely fashion. Whatever send-off they had for her, I would like to have attended.

Now I shall raise a wine cooler in her honour, and wish her a pleasant journey. If there were an afterlife, I'd like to think that St Peter picked her up in a sports car.

Shampoo Rant

2011-06-22T08:09:00.000-05:00

Why does shampoo have to be so damn complicated? I was perusing the shelves in my local drugstore the other day, looking for some. Shampoo, Dearly Beloved, just shampoo.

I don't have dandruff or scalp itch. I don't need a colour preservative. I don't need my frizzies controlled. I for sure don't need "bed head!" Spent half my life trying to get rid of that! Used to be, there was shampoo for dry hair, and shampoo for normal-to-oily hair. Now I can't even understand the terms! Just what do they mean by "Flat to Volume," anyway? "Ultra Moisture?" Never mind...I don't really want to know!

Whatever happened to Breck and Wella Balsam? When did Herbal Essence decide to go with fruity-smelling stuff? I hate fruity-smelling shampoo! If it's fruity-smelling, as far as I'm concerned, it better be edible! Who wants to go around smelling like a damn strawberry? Not me! I miss chamomile.

Even the brands I do recognize have different bottles. I hate that. The new purple bottle that one brand uses clashes with my bathroom...and whose scathingly brilliant idea was it to design a cap that has a round latch? I can't even work it once my hands are wet. Note to self: open shampoo before turning on water.

Baby shampoo isn't even the same, any more. It's purple, and it doesn't rinse out worth a hoot. I don't want to spend twice the time rinsing that I did shampooing.

Note to shampoo manufacturers: I just want clean hair. I want to open the bottle, shampoo, rinse, repeat--and have clean hair. Is this so difficult? I don't need eight different varieties of the same brand, each one tailored to a different type of hair.

I have what used to be called "normal" hair. Doesn't anybody have that, any more? Am I totally out of fashion?

The Many Water Levels of Brushy Creek

2011-06-20T00:02:00.001-05:00

This is what the Round Rock usually looks like. Please note that it is surrounded by water.

Here it is again, with Brushy Creek in full spate.

In this one, the water was flowing over the street, and over the rock. The rock is that hole you can see in the water.

Here it is today. Please note wimpy, algae-festooned puddle surrounded by gravel. Ick.

Here We Go Again

2011-06-18T08:44:00.000-05:00

I have had to disable anonymous comments. Again. My original post about Kelly Brumbelow has generated a ton of comments over the years, and there has been a recent flurry of activity, much of which I have had to delete due to its hateful and probably libelous nature.

So, Dearly Beloved, you are once again going to have to sign in. This time, I am accepting OpenID, and not just Google accounts, so set yourselves up one or the other, and make the password something simple that you can remember. It doesn't have to secure Fort Knox.

There are still a lot of people hurting over Kelly's murder. I know such pain never really goes away, but counselling might help. Or medication. Or both. However, my blog is not the place to express hatred of Terrance Sampson, his wife, or his wife's relatives. Maybe Terrance has turned his life around, and maybe he can become a productive citizen. I am not qualified to judge that. However, his wife and her family have not done anything to anyone who reads here, and had nothing to do with Kelly's murder, so I will appreciate an end to the...stuff...being spewed by the late-night anonymous commenter.

Sorry for the inconvenience.

Coincidence

2011-06-15T00:24:00.000-05:00

Jason Young is on trial for the brutal murder of his pregnant wife, Michelle. He is on trial for only one count of murder, because Laci's Law has not made it to North Carolina, yet. The death penalty is not being sought.

Michelle loved ladybugs, and there have been several memorial events over the years since her death, one of which was actually called The Ladybug Liftoff. At that party, thousands of live ladybugs were released, people wore ladybug costumes (provided by yours truly), and played ladybug games. Michelle loved ladybugs.

We have waited for this trial for years, many of us commemorating Michelle in our own ways. I wore a pair of ladybug earrings, until I lost one, and a ladybug bracelet, until it broke. I am hard on jewlery. Several of us made ladybug Christmas ornaments and gave them away at a Christmas event in Raleigh, NC. I stuck ladybug stickers all over the interior of my little red car.

Today, my friend Debbie told me, "I know you like ladybugs, and when I saw this, I thought of you." I opened the box, and inside was a pair of ladybug earrings and a ladybug pendant on a silver chain. Debbie didn't know the reason I have worn so many ladybugs over he past few years. She does not follow murders the way I do.

Coincidence? Of course, but such a nice one...thanks, Debbie!

June 11th

2011-06-12T00:28:00.000-05:00

Today is my 11th anniversary. Too bad my husband isn't here to share it with.

It was sort of a sad day. If we weren't so busy at the shop, I would have tried to get off...trade today for Monday, or something, but Ramona told me last week that we would not have any more Mondays off for a while, so there went that idea.

My first thought would have been to spend the day in San Antonio, for obvious reasons. However, the Slut Walk would have kept me in Austin. As it was, the Ascot scene from "My Fair Lady" and some Munchkins from "The Wizard of Oz" soaked up my day. That, and....has anyone noticed how many country songs are about death? I think I heard them all today.

As well, it was Strike for "The Tempest Project." That snuck up on me the same way the opening did, so San Antonio would have been out of the picture for a lot of reasons.

I have to say that "Tempest" is one of the prettiest shows I've ever done. Thanks, Frank, for introducing me to Steampunk, which is AWESOME!

But anyway, I spent my 11th anniversary sewing and crying, with a fan blowing into my right ear and sweat running down my left side. After that, I ate alone at McDonald's, and helped Chandra with the ropes for the final performance of "Tempest." I shut my left hand in the Green Room door, and it still hurts. My car is full of smelly costumes. I missed the Slut Walk, though I am very grateful to Ben, who went and called me at lunch with audio on his phone, so the day wasn't a total loss.

That, and I received a lovely and unexpected gift from the cast of the show...a rocking Steampunk locket in the form of a pocket watch, with one of our wedding pictures in sepia and little silver tokens of love in it. Thank you so much!

Maybe next year I'll have better luck at letting this day go by without tears.

Some of My Tempest Shots

2011-06-06T00:22:00.000-05:00

Show Shots by Kevin Scholtes

2011-06-02T22:41:00.002-05:00

Prospera

Ariel

Calibra. Chandra Vargas made the headpiece

"Cabaret"

2011-05-30T11:34:00.000-05:00

My theater weekend continued yesterday. I caught a matinee of "Cabaret" at The Palace in Georgetown.

The Palace has a reputation for doing extremely good work, but I'm ashamed to say that I've been too tied up with Sam Bass shows to see all that I've wanted to this season. Or last season, for that matter. I know I've missed a lot of good shows and, until yesterday, the very best one I had seen was a few years back, when they did "Jesus Christ Superstar." Until yesterday. That's not to say I have not seen excellent shows there between then and now, but "Superstar" is what comes first to mind.

Of course, I wondered if "Cabaret" was a bit risque for Georgetown. I am happy to say that it's obvious that Georgetown has changed since I lived there, and the audience was right there, enjoying the production. If it wasn't a full house, it was pretty damn close.

The show was excellent. Director Ron Watson did not back off from the decadence inherent in the script, and his cast (and Board of Directors) was right there with him. Before the lights went down, scantily-clad ladies and bare-chested men were interacting with the patrons, much to their delight. From the moment the Emcee came down the aisle with the classic, "Ladies and Gentlemen, Damen und Herren, Mesdames et Messieurs..." the show roared. Production numbers were tight, sexy and awesome. Delicate scenes were touching and emotional. When Ernst took off his coat to reveal his nazi armband, there was a collective gasp in the audience.

At the end, you could hear a pin drop. Silence. Beat...beat...beat. Thunderous applause.

The play closes on June 12. Go. Seriously.

"Lear"

2011-05-28T09:28:00.001-05:00

I saw "Lear" at The Vortex last night. I wasn't sure what to expect. Being busy and all, I had missed most of the pre-production buzz, even though I have several friends in the cast. When I first saw the publicity for it on Facebook, I squinted at the picture and thought, "That looks like Jenny!" A closer perusal assured me that it was, indeed Jennifer Underwood in the title role. I knew, right away, that I could not miss this show.

Dearly Beloved, you should not miss it, either. There has been a lot of gender-bending in productions of Shakespeare recently, including in Sam Bass's "The Tempest Project," but I had never even considered the possibility of a woman being able to play Lear. If I had, Jennifer Underwood is the name that would have come to mind. Jenny is a powerful actor and has made this awesome role her own. From her queenly demeanor at the beginning, through her gradual disillusionment and eventual breakdown into madness and unbearable pain, Jennifer Underwood owns this role. At the first intermission, I didn't know what to think. By the second, I was in love, and by the end of the show, I was speechless. You know that (for me) is pretty amazing!

But Jenny is not alone. There is a brilliant ensemble on the Vortex stage. I can't mention everyone by name (I got so excited that I left my program behind), but Micah Goodding as Edward was excellent. Andrea' Smith as Goneril, Toby Minor as her husband, Trey Deason in several roles...the entire cast is as tight as it can be.
There is a lot of Shakespeare up and running in Austin right now. The Vortex's "Lear" is in the category of "must see."

So why are you still reading? Make reservations. Buy tickets. Go.

Some Pictures

2011-05-22T06:58:00.001-05:00

Here are a couple of shots grabbed surreptitiously on opening night. You can get the general idea...
Thanks for the photos, tls!

Miss Me?

2011-05-19T08:39:00.001-05:00

I am here to say that I have survived Hell Week! I got by with a little help from my friends.

Most of you know that Vanessa had a baby three weeks ago. Since then, I have been staying out in Leander with her, leaving Chandra in charge of my flooding house and gang of cats. Somehow, in the process of that, along with huge pressure at work to get "Cabaret" and "Beauty and the Beast" out on time, I thought that "The Tempest Project" opened NEXT WEEK, on the 27th. No such luck, as my friend Ben pointed out. It opens tomorrow. This is Frank Benge's Steampunk adaptation of the stormy comedy by Willie the Shake, and guess who had the honour of designing the costumes? Yup. Me. I had been thinking that I needed to get rolling on it, but when Ben told me I had a week less than I thought I had, it was PANIC TIME!

If there was still time to put some "special thanks" in the program, I'd have to thank Ramona Haass for giving me time off to work on the show, and Debbie Zeh for the quiet work space, free-flowing hot tea and constant encouragement.

I have some more decorating to do, which I shall tackle next week, but the show is essentially done. As in, everyone has clothes. Thanks also to Lynn Beaver, who made her own costume (which is awesome, by the way), and the hats.

Anyone withing travel distance should come and see it. Kevin Scholtes' set is truly magnificent, not to mention the two tons of sand on the SBCT stage!

So now, it's back to real life, and my flooding living room...there is a water leak and water is seeping up through cracks in the slab...not to mention that Vanessa's A/C isn't working, and it's getting a tad bit hot, here in Central Texas in the last half of May.

Still, I will now have a chance to listen to the music lectures Ben has given me, and read the books I got for Christmas. Life is sweet. Oh, yeah...I have two or three sewing projects in the works, as well.

But, I'm back from the brink of my nervous breakdown. What have y'all been up to?

Well, Well, Well

2011-05-09T22:53:00.000-05:00

Christopher Coleman waived the sentencing phase of his trial. I guess he thought he would stand a better chance, being sentenced by the judge. He got LWOP. Here's a link.

It's an interesting situation, actually. The trial is in Illinois, and there has been a moratorium on the death penalty there for quite some time. It seems that quite a few executed men were exonerated posthumously, causing a rethink of the policy. The governor very recently decided to dispense with the DP altogether, beginning July 1, and has said he will commute any death sentences handed down between his declaration and that date. He has already commuted all existing death sentences.

And yet, a lot of people posting comments on the above link are less than gruntled over the sentence. They wanted him to have the dubious dishonour of being the last man in Illinois to be sentenced to death. Personally, I don't see the point. He would wind up with those three LWOP sentences and be in prison for the rest of his life anyway, so what is the big deal?

It is interesting, in this period of change. If you have time to read the comments, you get an idea how confused everyone is about this issue.

Still, the upshot is that Christopher Coleman is going to have a difficult time appealing this. There is no automatic appeal as there is in a DP case, so he has to hire an appellate lawyer and try to scare up some grounds. Not to mention money to hire said lawyer.

I'm keeping up with this one. My guess is that the preacher's son won't last long in the general population, but he helped "save" one inmate at the county jail, so we'll see.

Template

2011-05-08T11:39:00.000-05:00

With respect and thanks to my friend for designing my lovely blue template, I have had to change it. For some reason, it decided to stop working this morning, and I have no idea how to fix it. I'm going to hunt for a better template, but this will do for now...unless you have time to fix this one for me.

~snif~

Wow! Just...Wow!

2011-05-08T00:26:00.000-05:00

Ramona went to get the mail today, and came back with something for me! I've never received mail at work. But that wasn't the strangest part. The item was a baggie, containing pieces of an envelope and its contents. There was a long apology printed on the baggie...apparently the Post Office cares when they trash our mail...they say so, right there on the baggie.

In any case, the baggie contained parts of a card, welcoming my new grandson, and most of a cheque to get Ethan and Eli a prezzie. It came from a person who reads my rants.

The important parts of the cheque are here, so I think it will go through. I will try on Monday.

So, Appreciative Reader, thank you so much for your thoughtful gesture. I am pleased to report that the US Mail does, indeed, care. It is so nice, and somewhat humbling, to know that there are people who do, too.

Two Birds

2011-05-07T23:27:00.001-05:00

Thursday was a red letter day in the annals of murder-watching.

Two individuals who thought it might be a good idea to off their wives/children were convicted by juries of their peers. Two of them. On the same day. Woot!

Brad Cooper, who killed his wife and left her body in an undeveloped subdivision where she used to jog, was the first to go. The other, Christopher Coleman...there really are no words for a man who could kill his nice wife and two little boys (9 and 11), in order to have a life with a dog track waitress.

It's a shame there seems to be no way to stop these killers before they become killers. Often, their wives never really know there's a serious problem, until they are killed. At times, of course, there has been long-term abuse, and the wife is on the verge of leaving when she is killed. Nancy Cooper was wanting out. With two children, and Himself being an engineer and all, this was looking to be expensive, so Brad took what he thought was the easy way. I haven't followed this one as closely as others, but I don't think he planned it. They probably had a fight that got out of hand...and now he's off to prison. He has not been sentenced yet, and neither has Coleman. Coleman, the son of one preacher and employee of another, planned the crime from the first time he "dated*" the dog-track woman. There were six months of fake email threats that led up to a night when he killed his family, one by one, with a ligature. His wife refused to give him a divorce.

So, ladies...this is a gross oversimplification, but honestly...if he wants out, let him go. He's going to go anyway, and, if he happens to be a psychopath, you could end up dead. And your kids, as well. If you need to leave, you need to leave, without any discussion. If you are planning to leave, stash money with a trusted friend and don't breathe a hint of it to your husband.

Susan Murphy Milano has written a book titled, "Time's Up," which details your escape plan. Worth the investment.

Anyway, two of them are off the streets, hopefully permanently.

*We know what that means, right?

A Thought

2011-05-02T09:41:00.000-05:00

Celebrating in the streets is unworthy of us. So we got the guy. Good. He's done. But this is not going to end anything. There has already been ten years worth of anger built up, on top of the original cause for the 9/11 attacks. If anyone thinks those extremist groups are just going to pack up their tents and clear out their caves and quit, they are sadly mistaken.

Think about it this way. What if StoopidHead Phelps got killed tomorrow. Would other fundie groups say, "Ooh...I'm scared. Maybe we'd better quit?" You and I know the answer is not only "No," but "HELL, NO!"

So, while I feel a certain satisfaction, I can't delude myself that the War on Terror is over. Osama himself has followers who will be even more militant now that their leader has been taken out. The past ten years of blundering has created more militants than there were in 2001.

The War on Terror will never be over.

Baby! Woot!

2011-04-28T00:48:00.000-05:00

Eli Malcolm Blevins

Team EVE...Ethan, Vanessa and Eli. I will have more pics, but haven't had a chance to upload...

What Will They Think of Next?

2011-04-24T09:30:00.000-05:00

While perusing the InterWebs yesterday, Chandra found this: Conservapedia. There are folks out there, Dearly Beloved, who find that the usual sources of information on the web are laced with a certain "liberal bias." They started an on-line encyclopedia for those who don't want facts to interfere with their nonsense. This is fascinating, scintillating stuff. Check out their entry on Feminism. After some other bullshit, here's a list of bullet points describing the purported beliefs of "modern feminists" (my comments interspersed in bold).

Specifically, a modern feminist denies or downplays differences between men and women, opposes the encouragement of homemaking and child-rearing for women, and seeks to participate in predominantly male activities. Modern feminists:

never wanted gender equality; they want power for the female left. What "female left?" Left behind? It takes a lot of power to generate gender equality.
believe that there are no meaningful differences between men and women (The most significant belief underlying contemporary feminism is that there are no sex differences; therefore advocacy for equal rights must be extended to advocacy for equal results or outcomes.) This makes no sense at all. I've noticed differences between the sexes, haven't you? Are we blind, all of a sudden?
oppose chivalry and even feign insult at harmless displays of it (see battle between the sexes) Some early feminists opposed displays of chivalry, but that was by no means universal. I always considered myself a feminist, but I have never objected to anyone holding a door for me, and I will always hold the door for the next person, be they of the masculine or the feminine persuasion. Equality is what it's about, not rejection of courtesy.
view traditional marriage as unacceptably patriarchal Your point? Seriously, once they dropped the pesky "obey" line, I'm pretty happy with vows. However, I suppose that dropping that line is departing from tradition, so, yes. Traditional marriage is patriarchal in setup. No problem shaking up the stereotype, here.
belittle and mock other women who desire to have children or raise a family. Hilary Clinton did that, briefly, when her husband first ran for the presidency, and received such a backlash that she apologized for the comment. It's about choice, not about all of us making the same choice.
shirk traditional gender activities, like baking "Traditional gender activities like baking??" Give me a break! Ask any chef just how traditionally feminine he considers the art/science of baking! I'm sure we all know some guys who "shirk" the traditional gender activities, like car maintenance or supporting their families...
support affirmative action for women Well, yes. And equal pay for equal work.
prefer that women wear pants rather than dresses, presumably because men do. Again, it's about choice. I prefer to wear pants, because of the increased range of movement they allow. And so I don't have to shave my legs. However, even I will don a dress and wield the razor on occasion. Conservatives prefer their women in skirts because not only is their movement limited, the skirt also implies easy sexual access.
seek women in combat in the military just like men, and coed submarines Your point? Why shouldn't women get the same combat pay and opportunity for promotion and opportunity to show that they can kick enemy ass as well as their masculine counterparts? As drivers, etc., they get blown up just as easily.
refuse to take her husband's last name when marrying. Some women have careers built on their own name. Actresses, for instance, frequently use their own (father's) name throughout their lives. conservatives never objected to that...however it has always been a joke if the husband in such a case is referred to by his wife's name. Why is that, I wonder? And, if her name sounds lovely and his is...less so, why shouldn't he take hers? Hyphenation is cumbersome, particularly unto the next generation--when John Smith-Farley marries Mary Peterson-Cohen, do they become John and Mary Smith-Farley-Peterson-Cohen? I CHOSE Jim's last name when we married because the alternative was to keep the name of my former husband (why?), or revert to my father's name, which gave me the same unfortunate initials I grew up with.
distort historical focus onto female figures, often overshadowing important events (Eg: Henry VIII's wives take precedence in common knowledge to his actual reign.) This is scarcely the fault of feminists. If the man WOULD insist on marrying six women (three Catherines, two Anns and a Jane) (with variations in spelling, I know), offing two of them and generally making an ass of himself with all of them, you can't blame history on feminism.
object to being addressed as "ma'am," or feminine nicknames such as "sweetheart" or "honey"; object to other female-only names, such as "temptress" Gotta love this one. When was the last time somebody affectionately called you a "temptress?" I do prefer the masculine form of several words that have been feminized with the "ess" suffix. Actress, for one. Much prefer to be an "actor." At my age, I don't object to "ma'am;" indeed, I feel I have earned that. I LOATHE being called "sweetie" or "honey," by strangers. I consider those to be affectionate pet names to be bestowed among family members or close friends, not some blanket term applied by a person who either doesn't know my name or has forgotten it.
take offense at grammatical rules of the English language, like using the pronoun "he" when referring to a hypothetical/anonymous person, or phrases like 'fireman' and 'stewardess.' This is one area where I feel some feminists go a bit over the top. "Herstory," for instance. The word "history" has nothing to do with gender...it just looks that way on the surface. I have generally been in favour of the changes I've seen over the years..."fire fighter" for "fireman," "letter carrier" for "mailman," etc. I frequently use the clumsy "his or her" because I dislike the usual (plural) substitute, "their." Language is a process, not a product, and, eventually we shall all get through this clumsy phase.

So much for the latest conservative take on feminism. It's backlash time, sisters, and we had better get our shit together, or our daughters and granddaughters will be back in the dark ages.

I am a Buddha on a Lily Pad

2011-04-20T00:13:00.000-05:00

Yes, yes I am. In with the good air and out with the bad.

Vanessa is in the hospital. Her contractions are painful and steady, and she is being kept for observation. If things start to move along, we may get to meet Eli a little sooner than we expected.

So tell me. Do they save the fumble-fingered student nurses for Medicaid patients, or are they equal opportunity torturers? Poor Vanessa! Poor student nurse! Of course, she had a supervisor standing right over her, which made the situation worse. I had to leave the room, or something regrettable would have come out of my mouth. Ethan and I went for a little walk...the result if which is $9.00 worth of quarters weighting down my purse.

Chandra is taking off work tomorrow to wrangle Ethan.

Vanessa is, as you can imagine, horribly frustrated.

But I, Dearly Beloved, am a Buddha on a Lily Pad.

Saying Goodbye to "Company."

2011-04-10T11:33:00.002-05:00

Well, Dearly Beloved, it's over. Thanks to a spectacular cast and crew, "A Company of Wayward Saints" rocked.

Seated in front, we have Ashley Sandel, who designed and ran the wonderful lights, Valerie Liebersbach, who wound up being listed as Stage Manager, but who started out to be my AD. Next is Lee Reid, the most awesome sound person ever. Between them is Buddy, Chief in Charge of Bug Removal. Next is Leila Wood, who began this show as Stage Manager, but became so much more. I would not even have attempted this play without having her enthusiasm and expertise along for the ride. She designed and built the beautiful masks, and her knowledge of Commedia gave me the confidence to proceed. Then there is Ben Weaver. Ben, who I thought I knew fairly well, but who proved to have hidden talent...namely the ability to play a violin, not to mention juggle. Next to him is Ashley Zeh, who rocked Ruffiana. At the right end of the row is Nathaniel Reid as Pantelone. He, too, displayed hidden depths. His knowledge of Commedia was immensely helpful.

Back row, on the left is Frank Benge, who received a compliment from a patron on, of all thing, his diction and enunciation. His Dottore was superb. Next to him is Justin Chernivec, who graciously stepped in as Tristano when I lost the actor I originally cast. Lynn Beaver was a gutsy and awesome Columbine. Scott Saunders brought a humanity to Harlequin that was endearing. Gene Storie, as El Capitan showed a range that boggled the mind. Dyan Green stepped up as Isabella when I lost the person I had originally cast.

Not in the picture are Olin Meadows, who designed my set and Janice Landree, who built it.

I cannot thank all of them enough. I loved this show, and last night I felt so sad that it was over. The end of a run is always bittersweet, and I do have a lovely challenge coming up right away, ("The Tempest Project," which combines two of my favourite things...Shakespeare and Steampunk), but "Company" has been on my list of shows I really want to do for quite a while.

So, thank you to Sam Bass Theatre for allowing me to do it, and thank you to the most awesome cast and crew for making it possible. and a huge "Thank you" to everyone who came out to see it.

(Photo by Kevin Scholtes)

Reversible Corset

2011-04-09T09:54:00.002-05:00

The corset, as originally built for Melita McAtee in "The Oldest Profession.

The corset, reversed, worn by Lynn Beaver in "A Company of Wayward Saints."

The corset, worn by Cornell Crawford Stone at UCA Coronation XVI

"A Company of Wayward Saints"

2011-04-04T20:45:00.003-05:00

Photos by Kevin Scholtes