Do you remember when you were little and you were afraid of the dark?  When I was little I was always afraid.  Now that I am older, I have found not much has changed.  I still turn on every light in the house as I go from room to room when I am alone (...the dark).  I hate the thought of my kids moving away so I can't see them everyday (...being left alone).  My heart pounds wildly when I take a wrong turn (...getting lost).  

The following story may give you an idea as to why.  My sister finally told me when we were older what happened but let me tell you, my brothers teased me for the longest time about that night.  There is a post script so keep reading. I didn't want to ruin the surprise and tell you here what happened. 

I welcome your feedback so please post your comments.

 ....OF THE DARK

One of my earliest memories was being scared of the dark.  When you’re four everything is scary at night.  I would lay in bed at night with my tiny heart pounding hard in my chest willing myself to fall asleep fast so I didn’t have to listen to the night wake up around me.  My sister knew how scared I was so we would push our twin beds together after our parents were asleep.  This ritual came to an abrupt halt after the nightlight caught a pillow on fire one night. 

My arms were wrapped around my Ms. Beasley doll and I squeezed my eyes shut hoping I wouldn't have a nightmare again.  I didn’t want to look at the shadows that danced around the room or at the shelves that lined the wall where I knew Humpty Dumpty was perched ready to fall down on me.  My mom told me that Humpty Dumpty was only in the book I read but I saw him in my dreams.  He was there on that shelf waiting to fall on me. 

Something was wrong.  What woke me up?  It was late because all the lights were off.  I could hear the night sounds of the house: the clock in the living room as it ticked by the minutes, the wind blowing the curtain as it came through the crack in the window and the sound of my rapid heart beat.  That was when I felt it - it's hair on my leg.  I froze.  I didn’t dare move.  If I moved it would bite me.  I looked over at the doorway.  Was that my mom standing there?  The ghostly figure was there one minute and gone the next.  I blinked several times in the darkness.  I needed to get to my sissy.  She would help me.  If only I could get out of the bed without it biting me.  I had to move.  Ever so slowly I moved my tiny legs toward my chest.  My movement couldn’t wake up the mound at the bottom of my bed.  I stared into the darkness to make sure the only movement under the covers was my attempt to escape the grips of terror that was lying next to me.  I moved like lightning.  I flew to my sister’s bed and threw open the covers ready to dive inside but, instead of seeing my sister, there was a pig. 

I screamed.  The noise that came out of my tiny body was one of terror.  I stood in the middle of the bedroom shaking as my dad flew from his bedroom attempting to put on his bathrobe.  My mom was right on my dad’s heels as they ran into the room.  Suddenly I was blinded by the overhead light.  I was hysterical.  I looked wildly around the room, this wasn’t right.  Everything was as it should be.  My sister was in her bed, the dog was running and my bed was empty.  The bear was gone.

********

P.S. My sister had crawl into my bed from the bottom and had gotten back into her bed when I screamed.

Now on with the actual post.

I'm rather surprised that I have already writtn 99 posts.  I feel like number 100 should be monumental.  Ground-breaking.  A true celebration of what my writing is.  But it's not going to be.  I'm taking this opportunity to tell you 50 random things about me (I was going to do 100, but I think we would all lose interest around 50).  From that, you can let me know what you'd like to hear more about - if there is something.  I'm sure that there will be stuff that doesn't warrant further detail and some that does.  You choose!

1.  I am finding that choosing #1 is hard.  This list is going to be in random order, but it seems like number one should neither be too random nor too important.
2.  I have been to 19 of the United States.
3.  On an average day, I drive 82 miles. 
4.  My iPod playlist has everything from the soundtrack to Les Mis to Eminem.
5.  My favorite donut is lemon-filled.  Preferably glazed versus powdered.
6.  I once attended a party where the only food served was the color orange, however no oranges were served.
7.  My eyes are too expressive.  I'm not very good at hiding my true feelings because my eyes tell it all.  (I've been told this on multiple occassions)
8.  I always have ginger with me - candy, capsules, tea...
9.  Sometimes I plan my outfits around which shoes I want to wear.  Ok.  Most of the time I do that...
10.  I hate 99.999% of video games, but I love Tetris.
11.  My favorite hairclip is a product of theft.  I was not the thief.
12.  I'm 5' 11" barefoot.
13.  I'd rather be reading.  Most of the time.
14.  My preference is to leave dirty dishes in the sink and clean them the next day before I make dinner. 
15.  My bedtime is 11 PM.
16.  I wrote a letter to Santa once and asked for a teddy bear to be left at the foot of my bed.  When I woke up on Christmas there was a blond-fur teddy bear.  I named him Beary. He held a ball between Velcro pads on his front paws.
17.  I used to perform "shows" where I would lip sync to oldies.  My audience was made up solely of my parents.
18.  My non-alcoholic beverage of choice is iced coffee. My alcoholic beverage of choice is either wine or gin & tonic.
19.  I am married to my best friend.
20.  When I was little I wanted to be a veterinarian.
21.  I went to Universal Studios when I was 9.  The thing I remember most about it is that King Kong had banana breath.
22.  I have never been on a roller coaster.
23.  One of the most repulsive smells to me is wet peanut butter. But I LOVE peanut butter.
24.  I was hospitalized for a kidney infection for 4 days.
25.  If I had been a boy, I would have been named Justin.
26.  I will come completely unglued if there is a bat around.  As in flying rodent, not something you'd find at a baseball game.
27.  If I were independently wealthy, I would do a lot of things, but I would definitely buy the Heavenly Bed (and pillows) that they sell through the Westin Hotel.
28.  My first kiss was not good.
29.  I have never put artificial color in my hair.  And I never will.
30.  I am allergic to penicillin.  However, I took it every day for months when I was younger because I tested positive as a carrier of TB. 
31.  I mow my lawn on a riding mower and sing very loudly at the same time.  It's such fun!
32.  My first cat was Foofy and I didn't pick her up until I was 6.  It was on the morning we had to put her down.  I still regret being afraid to pick her up until that day.
33.  I'm somewhat freaking out that I'll be turning 30 this year.
34.  I had to carry a plastic bag in my backpack in elementary school because the bus made me motion sick.
35.  When I was 8, I road my bike around a 12 mile island in Maine.
36.  I love butter.  I hate butter substitutes.
37.  Once I fell and a pencil was sticking out of a book I was holding.  The pencil went into my elbow and there is still graphite visible below the skin.  Good thing pencils aren't made of lead anymore!
38.  I have never seen any of the Indiana Jones movies.  Or Die Hard.
39.  I would like to get certified as a dog groomer (if that's what groomers do) and change my career to that at some point.
40.  I'm superstitious about many things.
41.  I have an uncle who lives in Germany and he comes to the U.S. once a year for a month.  In that time he is turning a church into a home in Maine.
42.  I went white water rafting in 8th grade.
43.  My favorite store is Target.  I get into a lot of trouble there...
44.  The best form of relaxation for me is "Greeting Card Therapy."  I'll go to stores and read cards and buy those that I know will be perfect for someone someday.  I send actual cards - in the mail - to people on a regular basis. 
45.  One day I WILL pet a large, undomesticated, wild cat. At this point I don't care which kind.  I just HAVE to do it.
46.  The best French fries ever were from the dining halls at URI.  At least they were 10 years ago.
47.  I don't "get" Grey's Anatomy.  What's the appeal?
48.  Loathe is the best way to describe how I feel about doing laundry.  All of it.  Hate. Hate. Hate it.
49.  I have a moment of road rage every morning when the special person in front of me doesn't move in to the appropriate lane and then stops in the middle of the highway and puts on his blinker.  I don't like that special person.  That special person raises my ire.
50.  I want more people to read and comment on my blog. 

the estate was built just after the second world war and contained 121 flats. we lived at 119 and so there were only two more flats beyond ours. somehow it made us feel a little more exclusive than if we'd been at number 53 for example.

the flats were four storeys high - three normal floors with balconies and an extra 'upstairs' for the flats on the top floor. we lived in one of these in what i believe is properly described as a maisonette.

119 had a green door. it stayed green until the day my granddad died.

I know original Pokemon was best, but these were the last quality batch before everything went shit.

Brooks speaks of his daughter's childhood as being something vastly different from other styles of childhood:

It's a busy childhood, filled with opportunities, activities, teams, coaches, and, inevitably, gear. It's a safety-conscious childhood, with ample adult supervision. And it is, I believe (at least I want to believe), a happy and fulfilling childhood that will prepare my daughter for a happy adult life.

This sort of childhood is different from the childhoods Americans have traditionally had. It's not an independent childhood, like Huck Finn's or the Bowery Boys'. Today's middle-class kids, by and large, don't live apart from adult society, free to explore and experiment and, through adventure and misadventure, teach themselves the important lessons of life. Nor is it a Horatio Alger childhood. Middle-class kids by definition haven't come from poverty and deprivation. Nor do they build self-discipline from having to work on a farm. If they hunger for success, it's not because they started at the bottom.

Too many traditional-minded parents have accepted what we'll label the "modern childhood" for their children, not wanting their children to lose opportunity. That wouldn't have made someone like the devout agrarian Russell Kirk very happy. I'm sure Kirk would have agreed with me that a "Huck Finn childhood" is every American child's birthright. (Or maybe "Anne of Green Gables" for girls.)

Brooks suggests that the "modern childhood" builds "character" as well or better than the others. But what kind of character? It seems like most of the people I've met who have had such a childhood would make ideal subjects of a totalitarian state. They've learned to program their activities -- on June 1 they probably already know precisely what they are going to be doing all day on July 31, whether they feel like it that day or not. They know what is going to advance their status. The activities that are valued are externally determined -- all that remains is for the individual to weigh the activities that are most valued against his own abilities.

The more closely a person's upbringing resembles Brooks' modern model, the more he is ideally suited to the nanny state, and completely unsuited to situations where he might have to make a decision about what is good. What is good is simply externally imposed -- whatever Harvard, or later on the job market, will reward a prospective student or employee for. Power is not right or wrong, but just is -- and resistance is not wrong, but simply useless. Christopher Lasch makes the point in Haven in a Heartless World that the modern power structure relies heavily on getting people to obey not by persuading people it is right, but just because it offers the path of greatest reward. The modern society is already far down the path of 1984, in which O'Brien tells Winston Smith that there is no truth independent of what the Party says it is. Liberals' denial that there is even such a thing as truth, becomes an essential adaptation to reality. If there were truth, the misdeeds of those in power could be measured against truth and found wanting.

I have to think that somewhere my parents recognized subconsciously what kind of person a Huck Finn childhood produces, compared to the kind of person the modern childhood produces. Brooks, for that matter, doesn't seem to care. He doesn't go to the trouble to define character, but we might guess he thinks it's whatever is necessary to succeed. The ability to fill some niche that is useful to the Leviathan is good enough for him. "Conservatism" is just sustaining the existing power structure by producing people obedient to whatever authority there is, while convincing them that achieving things rewarded by the powerful is "self-fulfillment". In fact, in many ways they have annihilated the "self", so that it is not even possible to honestly speak of "self-fulfillment". The individual has never learned to value himself for anything other than being appreciated by those who are in a position to dole out rewards. Being a "minority of one" would strike him as identical to insanity.

Similarly, Brooks doesn't define "morality" either, but he seems to be in just the position I would expect, given that he is taking such a relativistic approach. Again, morality for Brooks seems to be, "resisting the impulse to do what will get you in trouble". There's nothing wrong with fornication, which is not punishable; but criticism of Islam leads to conflict and is therefore impermissible (socially or morally). Even in the blogosphere, we might notice the liberal's M.O. -- often a thinly disguised appeal to force. "Everyone is on my side, so although you might think yourself right, power makes truth and power is on my side," the liberal says. Liberals don't use the word "morality" much because the very concept implies that standing up against power could be right. But they will say something is "wrong" -- meaning it's not rewarded -- and sound more dogmatic than the most hardened moral absolutist.

I feel tempted to say that there's a great deal of relativism inherent in the idea of "conservatism", in that "conservatism" tends to mean preserving whatever authority and order exists. In one sense of "conservative", Brooks is hardly being unconservative in implying that authority is not right or wrong, it just is. The modern childhood appears conservative because traditional-minded people everywhere have conventionally thought that accepting authority leads to a better society -- other things being equal. But other things are not equal these days. Almost every source of authority is permeated with liberal ideas. Conservatives have seen quite clearly that the federal government is, for that reason, not much of a legitimate authority. However, all liberals had to do to get control was capture a lot of other sources of authority, especially big business. Only the "Huck Finn childhood" develops any kind of independence in the child, which from the point of view of opposing liberalism is the most important thing.

I admit that favoring the Huck Finn childhood is a bit problematic for many parents, who would rather make of their child a successful liberal than a misfit right-winger. However, if we are serious about preserving our culture, we have no choice. Russell Kirk understood that much of American culture was being sacrificed on the altar of success, and he stood against that trend. We should too.

When I was a kid, I used to love visiting Springburn Park in Glasgow, Scotland. It had three massive ponds, full of sticklebacks, minnows, and perch. The park was about three miles from my home and, during the long days of summer, my brothers and friends used to walk to the park and spend all day there.

Podcast version here

We each carried cane nets and empty jelly jars. As soon as we got to the ponds, we would walk around the edge trying to catch as many small fish as we could. By the end of the day, our jars were full of black, blue, green, silver and red fish. Just before we left the park, we would tip our jars back into the ponds. By the time we walked home, we would all be tired and head to our beds. Sometimes I would dream of catching more fish the next day.

Psalm 33:7      He gathers the waters of the sea into jars; he puts the deep into storehouses.

I’m fascinated with how psalmist describes God’s ability to gather the waters of the sea in jars. I guess he thought that the world was flat and that God filled up the seas from His heavenly storehouses. These days we would laugh at such a notion, but I like the image of God doing this. I can see Him with gigantic jelly jars, peering at all the different forms of aquatic life. I know that it isn’t real, but at times I wonder if God looks at our entire planet and sees a global aquarium and world-wide safari park.

I think what the psalmist was trying to convey was this: God is in control and rules over nature. Now that I can accept, for it is one of the true foundations that solidifies my faith. God is in control, so no matter what I go through or experience, He will have a grasp of the situation and grant me guidance when I need it.

Prayer:                        Lord God, thank You for the wonders of creation and the mysteries of the universe. You absolutely know everything that goes on in every place, every time, and every person. Thank You for being in control of the entire cosmos. Thank You for watching over our lives with interest, grace, and love. In Jesus’ Name, we pray. Amen.

I like fireworks.

I've seen some amazing 2-3 hour displays: non-stop boom, boom, boom.

They must scare the crap out of animals and mess up Google Earth photos.

My sister's dog usually likes to go for walks, but from early October to mid November it's a homebody. It hates Halloween; more specifically firecrackers, screechers, and roman candles.

As a kid, Halloween fireworks meant a cheapie bag of pyrotechnics.

I've had more fun with a book of matches.

They always concluded with something called "The School House". It was just a Little House on the Prairies' paper school house that burned down when lit.

I've done better with a cereal box in the fireplace.

Kids in South America are lucky: no age restrictions for buying fireworks, no regulations, no nothing.

Light them off anywhere, tie them to your back if you like, anything goes.

In Ecuador almost everynight there are fireworks going off in celebration of some Saint's day or religious holy day.

I think that's why so many people are religious in South America: it's the fireworks!

Do you like movies? Do you enjoy playing anagrams? Here's a kick ass combination. It kept me occupied for a while and I quite enjoyed it.  It took me back to childhood. I used to enjoy word puzzles. But I suppose as you grow up, you get busy and stop enjoying those things. These days I prefer just resting my brain when am free...strange, even during college i considered games and puzzles relaxing. I wonder why it changed. I really need to get back into soving riddles. I beleive they help excercise the left side of your brain. That's the creative side.

Moving on to Bollywood, there's nothing interesting happening. Though I did recently discover Aamir Khan's blog. It made a really interesting read. I heard he even chats with people online. On the other hand, I think Amitabh Bachchan's blog is completely fake. I don't like it at all. It's got some insane posts like a comparison between his and SRK's popularity. What kind of crap is that? Which actor actually puts up stuff like that? God, its so cheesy. Atlest put in the effort to make it 'look' like it's his original blog. Plus the langauge is impeccable and the blog is updated almost on a daily basis.  Aamir's blog is anyday more real.

Talking of Aamir Khan, did you read about his new film Ghajini? I played this quiz (yes am still a quiz freak) on seventy mm site. It's nice. click on that link to play it.

Until the next time something interesting happens..ciao..

 The chair in last night's meeting was one of the most painfully honest chairs I've ever heard, and it was just what I needed to hear. It was focused on step 3 this week, and he talked about a number of stressful situations in his life which have made him want to beat himself up recently. They sounded pretty similar to the stressful situations in my life. At the end he said that step 3 has enabled him to let go of this crushing desire to be perfect, because he knows his life will never be perfect, he will never be the perfect person. God still loves him whatever mistakes he happens to make. This really clicked with me as I realised that the current imperfectness of my life does not matter in the great scheme of things. It doesn't matter that I missed one day of revision due to getting up late; it doesn't matter that I spent a lot of money on some trendy but deeply uncomfortable footwear. I didn't have a drink yesterday, and that's all that matters. I was able to share about all that in the meeting, and I instantly felt better about things, more so than I normally would after a share. Unfortunately my mood went down again a bit later on when I came home to find my mother watching a program that I don't like on television. I was annoyed about this for half an hour, until I came to bed and wrote my daily diary, in which I was easily able to identify my character defects concerning that annoyance.

 It was arrogant and dishonest of me to be annoyed with my mum for watching a program I don't like on TV. It was greedy and impatient of me to buy a trendy pair of sandals which ended up causing me physical pain. It was slothful of me to get up late and miss a day's revision. Having identified those character defects, I know I've done a step 10 long before I've technically reached that stage in the program, but it does help doing these things at the end of every day. It clears my head, and enables me to go to sleep more easily. Before I would have gone to sleep with the resentments rushing around my head, confusing and impossible to ignore. Now, by talking and writing about them, I am exposing them to the world and taking their power away. I generally sleep a lot better these days.

Starting with Bimbo and Topsy (we had a cat named Bimbo after this book), progressing through Pip the Pixie and Mr Pinkwhistle and onto The Children of Cherry Tree Farm. The first book I ever got to choose and buy for myself was a sixty pence paperback, The Naughtiest Girl In The School (the irony was not lost on me). I’ve still got The Naughtiest Girl, and I read it hundreds of times.

I loved Enid Blyton books as a child and was still reading the Famous Five and the Mallory Towers series when I was fourteen, in between the Dickens and John Wyndham. They were my comforting trash when other children were watching Neighbours. I’m not ashamed to say that my writing has been heavily influenced by Blyton.

The most recent Blyton I’ve bought is The Six Bad Boys which was first published in 1951 but reprinted in 2001. This is an incredible leap from her usual fluffy fairy stories and is about a group of children who end up in juvenile court. Although it is still as riddled with racist, sexist and classist bloopers as her other books, it is at least a genuine attempt at social commentary.

Even though my life was nothing like the jolly old lashings of ginger beer life enjoyed by the lovely tomboy George and her faithful dog Timmy, I could still dream. And one day, one day, I was determined that I’d get to do all of those daring things and go on those exciting adventures. Boarding school was my chief ambition, but I would have settled for a camping trip with a group of friends on an island or a night in a lighthouse.

When I did eventually get to boarding school, I was sorely disappointed that it didn’t have its own swimming pool carved out of the rock and filled by the sea at every high tide. It didn’t have stabling or hockey, or even midnight feasts. And I never once met anyone like Darrell Rivers, for whom I had a passion that almost rivalled the pash I had on George.

Enid Blyton is still popular today, rising above politically correct protests. I had a friend who banned her daughter from reading them. Unfortunately this resulted in the books becoming exceptionally desirable objects, as were toy guns to her brother. For my own son, we decided to ban guns and sexist books up until he was old enough to understand why they were banned. Now he’s reading Five go to Mystery Moor and enjoying it, while also being able to discuss any issues that arise.

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© Photographer: Ankevanwyk | Agency: Dreamstime.com
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1. his sweet smile -- so charming! He thinks he can get away with anything!! (and a lot of times, he's right)
2. his needing to cuddle -- he seems to have a "cuddle quotient" that must be filled in order to go to sleep. If I hug him for a few minutes before bedtime, he goes easily to sleep on his own
3. how he looks up to his big brother and tries to imitate him -- sometimes I just call him "Ditto" because it seems like he's always following right behind Keith
4. how he mimics my husband -- yesterday in our little backyard pool, my husband laid down in the water to get his head completely wet, and Seth did just the same, except he wouldn't put his head under water
5. his attachment to his blankie, and specifically, the tag of his blanket; I don't get it, but he loves it!
6. that he initiated potty-training
7. how his chubby booty looks without a diaper
8. how he says "mingers" for "fingers"
9. that he can count to ten and recognize all the numbers, including  "be-oh" (zero)
10. how much he loves me!!!

being born.

And in the air,
fresh again,

a rosemary smell--
lemon eucalyptus smell

astringent sting of tea

the green smell of grass
black smell of soil

the scent
of pencil shavings
muddy asphalt and
metal slides

and kindergarten--

we sit impatiently
on the old brown carpet

like rubber balls
in neat little rows

waiting for the rain to pass.

~ 25 September 2007

The following letter is written about a girl who bullied me throughout elementary and middle school. She was really popular and she also got a lot of other kids to tease me as well. Got beaten up a few times, as well. I don’t really remember any of that .. I just know what my parents have told me.

Dear N, 

You know someone once said “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me”, but it’s oh so clear to me, that whoever this person may be never had the pleasure of meeting you. You and your friends for a period of years made my life absolute hell. Not only was I constantly made fun of of, teased, had the crap beat out of me, and you also got me in trouble with the school on several occasions, you happened to cause a few things you probably weren’t thinking about at the time. First of all, my self-esteem is permanently damaged. I feel nothing but disgust towards myself, and have problems believing why anyone would want anything to do with me. I would also go on for many years alternating between starving myself half to death and bingeing and purging, in hopes that I could somehow cope with the memory of such issues. 

But not only that, I feel gratitude for you for making me a strong person. If this had never happened to me, who knows, maybe I would of turned out to be someone just like you. And to be bluntly honest, I would rather have gone through this and survived then live with the fact that I inflicted this on an innocent, human being. 

I could blame you, but I’m not going to. Blame doesn’t help the fact that you were that person and it’s not going to help me live with the past. I only write this in hopes that you will see the true reality of your past behavior. I can only wish that you will learn an important lesson from this and it’s my only hope that you will read this and never want to act so unhumane towards another person because, hey, you never know who you may be hurting and no one deserves to go through such horrible experiences.

 I have lived long enough to still remember what its like to be lonely. It is horrible to always have time on your hands and no one to share it with. Nice sometimes for a change but day to day it can be very lonely. That horrible empty feeling inside that something is missing. Everyone else can seem to be moving very fast too busy to notice that you are practically at a standstill. As you get older and frailer it can be hard to keep in touch with people and less easy to get out of the house. I have served my time in the past watching clocks moving slowly and listening to silence in a house, thinking of a life I might have or a life I had.

Now my life is too busy. No time for me, too many demands on my life. I cannot get up early enough. Sometimes I really nearly feel like I am cracking up. Shopping, work, home, lifts, phone calls, meals and the odd outing. It is manic some days.

Still,  I know on the quiet days when everyone is gone out, you would think I would love the silence. I say that I crave it. I beg for it. But when I get it I instantly miss them all. I miss the chaos and the atmosphere they bring. I miss the chats and laughs and unlikely turn of events that always occur when six people live in a home.

I think then of the lady who told me her life story when we called to bring our car in for repair. The woman I met in the porch of the church earlier today whose father had died recently and who was starting a new job. The old man whose wife had died, who opened up chatter talking about the registration on my car.

This helps to remind me it can be tough for us all. I realise that I am very lucky, my hours pass very quickly and though I complain of all I have not done, I sleep soundly. So we must think of the lonely and better still do something about it.

Playfulness

For some crazy reason people find me to be a source of amusement. I'm quoted numerous times by my friends on facebook e.g. "it's all about is personality...and his muscles", "hey SEX", words and phrases deemed worthy of facebook fame from yours truly. 

Names I call people that spread amongst others like germs in a first-grade classroom : sex (hey sex what's up?), hot tot(uh-oh look at this hot tot), lover(hi lover!), presh(you are so presh), gorge(you look gorge tonight), darlin'(darlin', I'll be damned it's been a long while!)

Since I was a little bitty thing with oversized bows in my hair, I've always had a pretty distinct and amusing personality. While all of my brothers and cousins were engaged in Marco Polo games in the pool or huddled on a front lawn during an intense pigskin brawl, I was always doing my own thing-dancing to a tuneless beat or off having tea with my imaginary friends. When we go back over old Beta tapes, its shocking to see how little I've changed; I'm still the mischievous, independent, visionary searching for adventure and inventing it when life failed to provide it. When I started freewriting I rediscovered that crazy kid inside of me that didn't give a damn( that little rebel), that literary pursuer that wrote a story called Marty the Chicken at 6-years old, the same wide-eyed little girl that tagged along with the neighborhood boys in pink, smocked dresses.

I've grown a little. Now I'm a beer-drinking, sports-loving shopaholic with a passion for high heels and hot pink. I'm still as ambitious as ever, never surrendering my fairytale-like high hopes to age or enlightenment. And I'm still lost in la-la-land, soaring in an intergalactic oasis, stranger to reality. Intrepid and easily amused, still amused by the practice of ding dong ditching and prank phone calls. I've maintained my childhood sense of wonder, inherent goofiness, and maverick spirit and most importantly, I'm still as playful as ever,  unremittingly excited and flirtatious. My fearless thought and speech, forever young in innocent curiosity, is why I catch most people's attention. It's easy to take ourselves too seriously as we all know. Any egocentric fool can practice that art. A friend once told me that I was "smart in a childish sort of way." A lot of people would read this as an insult, but I look at it more as the practicing of a Tibetan concept called crazy wisdom. Tom Robbins describes this concept perfectly saying, 

"Crazy wisdom is, of course, the opposite of conventional wisdom. It is wisdom that deliberately swims against the current order to avoid being swept along in the numbing wake of bourgeois compromise; wisdom that flouts taboos in order to undermine their power; wisdom that evolves when one, while refusing to avert one's gaze from the sorrows and injustices of the world, insists on joy in spite of everything; wisdom that embraces risk and eschews security;wisdom that turns the tables on neurosis by lampooning it; the wisdom of those who neither seek authority nor willingly submit to it."

Crazy wisdom teaches and inspires, and it's a hell of a different stance than we in the Western world are accustomed to. 

This is Max

*Actually I wrote it (he dictated...) with my off hand. It took almost an HOUR! My hand is still hurting! 

"Mom," I said, "about that water bed..."

"Yes?"

"You know how I used to take my naps on it when I was young?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well, what you may not know is that I had this weird fascination with a safety pin that had a little duck on the end. I really liked it and decided to take my naps with it, and one day I think it stuck the bed."

"So what you're saying is... you popped the water bed?"

"Um, I guess I'm saying it's a possibility."

"Huh. Well, how about that..."

Obviously, I wasn't always the brightest child. The safety pin was large; the kind used for diapers, and I could have easily stuck myself. I don't know why I had such a fascination with it, but I do have a very clear memory of it in my mind. I guess the point of this story is, my mom is pretty great because even when I was peacefully taking a nap I was still somehow wreaking havoc on the house. As a double-whammy, I was also too young to really help clean-up the spilled water from the bed. I think my older brother took care of that for me, although if you're starting to feel bad for him, don't. I took plenty of hits for him as well.

Actually, I think I was a pretty good kid, but I guess my opinion is a little biased.

I grew up as an incredibly skinny kid. When I was 2-or-3 years old and scared to sleep alone, I'd sleep in between my parents (And uh, as I got older I never did apologize for ruining the things they could have done, but I digress!). My father would always be scared he would accidentally roll over top of me. I didn't eat that much growing up in my early childhood days. I focused on running around outside my house and playing with my friends. My mother was 5'6 and my father was 5'7, so my expectancy to be tall was little to be expected of.

I was around 10-years-old, only 5'1-5'2, when I started eating a lot of junkfood. I got tired of my mom's cooking and, since we had a garden, I grew a disdain for garden food. So I'd sneak Slim Jims into my room and eat them for dinner. I'd watch a movie with my father, he'd get out some barbecue potato chips, and we'd eat a bag every night. My father suddenly passed away when I was 12, and it was the hardest thing I've ever been through, emotionally. Usually when somebody is depressed like I was, they start eating a lot. I didn't. I listened to music and I began to write. So I guess that's when I started losing the unnecessary pounds I had put on.

I was 13-years-old in the 8th grade. Still chubby, I participated quite a bit in gym and met one of my lifelong friends that year. He and I would hang out in my backyard and pass football, baseball, shoot basketball. Hell, I lived near two baseball fields on a park, and we'd go over there and act like we were playing in the World Series. We'd pitch to each other. We'd throw out our arms. We'd run around the bases acting like wild childs. One of my fondest memories of that was acting like Hank 'Henry' Aaron when he'd hit his 715th career home run to pass Babe Ruth on the all time home run list. We'd imitate the Dodgers' Kirk Gibson's incredible pinch hitting home run from the 1988 World Series.

I grew taller. I lost weight. I grew to be 6'2-6'3. And that's what I am as of today. Though, I still have a bit of flab, it's hardly noticeable unless you're feeling around my stomach (and that's only accepted for foreplay, but again I digress). I still play the occasional pick-up game of basketball, though I haven't thrown a baseball in a couple of years. I haven't thrown a football in a couple of years. So the only healthy living outlet I've partaken in is the healthy running of basketball. Back and forth, down a court, several (more than several) times a [pick-up] game.

When I look back at the unhealthy choices I made as a kid, I think it reflects on how I eat now. The Slim Jim's, Wise Barbecue Potato Chips, Sour Patch Kid Gummies, those delicious Sugar Straws. I'm almost just as bad now with my idiotic eating of fast food and other restaurants where I make poor choices of food that taste good but emanate terrible consequences later. I have daily headaches. I have one right now. I chug water every day to hope that I can urinate or defecate it out. I'm a Tylenol addict. It's pathetic, but that's why I'm writing this blog.

*/digression
People always talk about how watered down Disney's stories are of the original European folk tales, which often contain a lot of violence (Just for reference, there weren't a specific "set" of originals. They were pretty much word of mouth tellings that varied according to region.) I don't think watering down horror stories is really a bad thing. Little kids can't always handle the grotesque as well as adults, nor should those themes play the same role today that it played in the lives of kids who lived 600 years ago. People seem to think the originals were more honest and brutally moral but it was definitely more than that. The originals tales contained strong elements of the fear and danger that were everpresent in the lives of the people who told them. I'm okay with children today hearing more pleasant stories that have a substantial moral of their own.
/*

Belle was a pretty strong role model for girls. Maybe the strongest that Disney has ever presented. Belle is a modern lady :)

• Ariel was a little silly. But who could blame her? She was a stereotyped redhead and she was 16.
• Jasmine was into finding her own place in the world. But let's face it, Aladdin had to keep saving her from a greedy eyeliner man, who stuck her in a freaking hourglass (where Aladdin saves her again).
• Snow White was gullible. Her singing voice was also annoying (warbling?)
• Sleeping Beauty was more led into her end, rather than doing anything on her own. And she slept through the whole thing!

All these people keep waiting for someone to save them! But the worst has got to be Cinderella. The moral of the story is to be kind to everyone (eg being a doormat is okay). In the end, you will get your dues. I've never liked this story. Ever! It always leaves me with the feeling that I was helpless and useless as a girl.

Sure, it's wonderful to be a good person and believe that no matter how people treat you, you should always do what's right. But it's another thing to rely entirely on others to make your dreams come true.

Girls who do well today, in any way, are the people who believe in themselves and proactively do something about their situation. Whether its the career, education, social, or family areas that someone chooses to focus on in their life, it is important to address these parts of your life as your own. What you get is what you give.

Oh yeah...and I think Belle is prettier.

Some colleagues and I were recently observing that it is fortunate that some who have the power to turn invisibility also, inexplicably, have the ability to generate force fields as well. As incongruous and improbable as this may seem, it does seem to off set a superpower that otherwise would appear very limited indeed. In fact, I myself flippantly remarked that without the force field power, invisibility would “suck ass”. However, I couldn’t stop thinking that this was neither flattering nor fair to those with the power to turn invisible, and demonstrated a lack of thoughtfulness and resourcefulness on my part. I have taken it upon myself to correct this misperception of invisibility by offering these handy tips.

1.)Know your role
Okay, we all want to go toe to toe with Dr. Sorrow or Mechgorilla, but that simply isn’t what you do. Your role is to one of reconnaissance and advance scout. You’ve honed your observation skills, spiked up your memorization, familiarized yourself with a variety of radio and subspace communicators, maybe even learned Morse Code. Your stealth is your strength, and your chief weapon is information. Everyone will applaud how Tunnor or Laser Mace dealt the coup de grace but perhaps they wouldn’t have known Tigersaur’s weak point or The Sinadrome’s evil plot if you hadn’t been out there, doing the stealth work. If you get really good at this, you might even find yourself employed by several superteams at once, head hunted by the Righteous League or Team Alpha. Of course, you might grow tired of Smashtra and Z Trooper making fun of your noncombat role, and maybe you’ve hauled one too many heavy hitter out of one death trap too many and you’d like to step up your effectiveness in the field.

2.)Learn Martial Arts
It works for Iron Panda and The Hallow. They routinely face powered opponents with nothing more than athleticism and skill. And you wouldn’t really have to be as good as they are, since you have the huge advantage of being invisible to your foes. All you need is a few basic aikido moves for throwing people to the ground and you’d be quite effective. Of course, no matter how many hours you spent punching bricks to harden your hands (and yes, the Hallow does that), there’s only so much you can against Carno or Giant Kahn. So, you might want to skip ahead to the next point.

3.)Pack Heat
Arm yourself with as many firearms as you can tote without impeding your movement. So you don’t want to go the lethal route like Specter General and Rath, and certainly you're more employable if you don’t, and wish to carry rubber bullets and tranqs like Streetcleaner, do keep in mind that neither of those things work against androids, robots, or armored foes. No one’s going to fault you for carrying a clip or two of Teflon coated armor piercing rounds for “emergency use”. After all, you can’t shoot through manacles or locks witout penetrating ammo. If you wish to take out a sizable Power Loan, or if you can land a job beta testing for CosmaCorps or Yang Lee Inc. (which is allegedly how Beta Max does it) (and, of course, how he got his name), you can equip yourself with the latest in repulsors, plasma knives, stunulators, etc. Which puts you right on par with Z Trooper, Beta Max, Dr. Revolver, and others, only you’ll have one advantage they don’t; you can turn invisible.

I remember catching 22 fish one day while out on the boat.  Pulling up double hooks both with fish dangling.  I remember getting an award for best player on my softball team.  I remember doing the hula in a sixth grade demonstration on Hawaii.  I remember playing in the tunnels in the park - hopping from one to the other - trying not to get wet.  I remember singing in chorus, sewing a skirt, seeing my name in a slam book as the likee of some unknown person, having boyfriends (the innocent, not even kissing types), fighting with Caroline up the street on a weekly basis and, in general, those moments when you were just a kid. 

I remember the only member of my family to come to see us was my Grandfather, a very sweet, dear man whom I miss and wish I had gotten to know better.  I remember going to my Grandparent's house and seeing my sister, although she didn't know she was my sister.  Somehow, I always knew it though - I was just not allowed to say.  I knew that out there, somewhere, was a family that I should have been a part of, but I wasn't welcome.  Was it, as my foster parents said, because I was a "spic" kid and not white?  Was it, as my foster parents said, because my mother was a whore and hated by all?  I didn't know, but I did know I longed to be one of them - to belong - I just never did.

Life as a kid was, inside my own mind, like any other kid's life - the same need, feeling the same joys and sorrows, but - unlike other kids, my life held secrets and shame which would move me forward into some dark and frighting alleys.