I'm a foodie for sure

I don't know if I'm mentioned it before on this site, but I LOVE LOVE LOVE to cook. It's my first choice of profession if ever I had to pick another.

Like good food, I'm addicted to watching fine cooking videos, most especially ROUXBE. They even have a cooking school.

Go to rouxbe.com and don't forget to check out the yummy Chana Masala recipe!

Bring it

Listening to rock and blues tonight. I'm all fired up.

I guess I'm still the rocker chick - always shall be. And specifically, British rock is my favorite.

It doesn't flippin' matter what my birth certificate says, I'll be the old lady decades from now with her car radio blasting.

Some things die hard and I'll take digging music to the grave.

In a couple of weeks, I'm going to a gay nightclub with some women friends to boogie. I absolutely love to dance and this particular place is awesome. I especially like the fact that I can have fun without creepy straight guys hitting on me.

Boys on Bikes

It was a warm, sunny afternoon as I was on my way back to the office on my lunch hour. (I truly enjoy getting out of the office and going home for lunch whenever I can).

I sat in my vehicle at a stop light at a rather busy intersection – a junction where my quiet village neighborhood meets its bustling little downtown of grocery, shops, cafés and restaurants. Then I noticed three little boys on their bikes waiting at the light to cross in front of me. Two were about six or seven years old and the third one, tagging along with them, was about four. They were blond and adorable and I wondered to myself if I would be having a son in the near future.

Then I heard one of the older ones say, “Come on, we can go now,” and with that, they began to get on their bikes and start heading across the street. They didn’t look to their left. That’s when I saw a car charging ahead through the amber light, clipping along at a pretty good speed to get through the light in time. The car was headed right toward the boys.

It was one of those perfunctory moments for me - when animal instinct, that deeply embedded knee-jerk impulse, takes over without volition. My hand flipped up and my mouth opened as frantic sound came pouring out. “Stop! Don’t go! Don’t go!” The voice didn't sound like mine at all but the phantom voice of a faithfully departed crossing guard who lingers around for times like this. The boys looked at me and halted as the car came to a screeching stop.

They stared wide-eyed at the car, mouths open. The driver resumed onward at a much slower speed, appearing relieved. One of the boys said, “Wo! That was close.”

When the coast was clear, they crossed in front of me on their bikes. That’s when I noticed the little one, the blond 4-year-old on his tiny bike gazing up at me. He kept looking at me as they rode away. He looked somewhere between shocked, frightened and relieved, with a slight smile on his face.

Nothing stood a chance of ruining my mood after that episode and the feeling lasted all weekend.

View from my bike

Two little boys around the age of six are in their front yard, making a ruckus and totally digging it. One of them has a pointy, plastic sword and he's swinging the holy crap out of it. He's aiming for the other boy.

Out from the house storms a tiny girl around four years old, messy hair, dirty face, petite hands firmly on her little hips - her sundress hangs to mid-calf.

"Mommy says you aren't saaaapose to play with that, Billy," she chimes in.

"Yeah? Well she's not here," he responds.

"But you know she says that. She says sommmmmebody's gonnnnna get hit in the EYE or somethin' like that."

"Quit bossing me!" he says glancing at his little sister, sword still in full swing.

He quickly looks back at his little buddy but it's too late. WAKKKK!

Billy had accidentally knocked the other kid hard in the forehead with the sword. The kid yelps and runs off crying for his house next door, palm to his tear-streaked face.

The little girl turns to her big brother, now with one hand on her righteous hip.

"Don't even say ANYTHING!" Billy bellows and storms off.

Quelled Qualms

Failing to return a bad pair of pants
Not standing up to the mean CEO’s rants
Choosing to bake in the damaging sun
Electing to slave without snagging some fun
Eating a burger instead of fresh salad
Settling down for the mundane and pallid
Performing housework instead of writing
Lingering in shadows in lieu of bright lighting
Wishing after the party I had allowed myself cake
Thinking that maybe I appeared as a fake
Resolving to find several self-faults
Forgetting the fun in doing somersaults
Letting an employer decide on my school
Believing in lies conveyed by a fool
Choosing not to be my very own boss
Allowing dilution of my own special sauce
Watching TV when I could have been reading
Following the masses instead of leading
Existing too frightened to take vital risk
Neglecting today as finite and brisk
Believing a lie that I was born second class
Permitting oppression and revolting trespass
Trusting that frolic must stop with age
Escaping luckily that conditioning cage
Awakening now to salient road
Tasting fateful seeds generations have sowed
Realizing that life is too short for regrets
Living a series of edifying vignettes
Resolving to take credit and blame
Be accountable for my best and accepting my lame
Love myself fully and do all that I can
…and wear protection when crap hits the fan

note: Thankfully – I can see when my mistakes have been made in life. I sure hope I can correct them before I’m too old.

A confession

As much as I know that this world needs serious contemplation and change, I need a break from it. Today, I just want to say "Oh never mind." or "Oh bother" as Winnie the Pooh would say.

If just for a while, I will just leave it all behind and just be my playful, campy self again. I grow tired of my serious, grim side. I can't save the world from its ugliness and so I must just try to live within it the best I can.

Weeping for Shasta and Dylan

Warning: If you don't like F bombs, then you might not want to read further - because I'm out of character lately, spilling with angry emotion.

I wish I could be more positive these days, but the truth is, I'm heartsick. I'm angry! I'm in a major blue funk over these children...darling, innocent children. I'm sick to death of hearing that some sick person out on PAROLE had his way with and took the life of a sweet and innocent child. It's alarming that nearly every day I hear of a new case.

Isn't it alarming? Aren't you freaking angry?

WHY IS THIS CONTINUING TO HAPPEN?

If you're reading this...please ask yourself, "AM I ANGRY ENOUGH TO DO SOMETHING ABOUT THIS DAMMIT or WILL I JUST SAY 'AWW THAT'S TOO BAD' AND GO ON WITH MY DAY?" well, I am ANGRIER THAN EVER. I'm angry enough for YOU and everyone else. I'm FURIOUS.

I have children and I know how absolutely innocent and sweet and loving and darling and SMALL they are, how precious their little hearts are - they are gold in the face of these monsters.

Dylan didn't have to die. He shouldn't have. Shasta should have never ever met this sick person. Because of people in power not making the right decisions to keep these sick people off the streets, another child is dead and a girl child is struggling right now to make sense of her emotional and physical pain. I don't even want to imagine what she's been through for the past 6 weeks. My mind doesn't want to wrap around it because I know from personal experience how terrifying and devastating assault can be. But I can't imagine being 7 or 8 or 9 and having to deal with someone's fucked up fancy of torture.

I want to do something - but so frequently I feel so helpless and powerless. I want to DO SOMETHING to make a change so that children don't have to experience the wrath of these FUCKED UP individuals anymore.

The problem with this news is, it's TOO much information, so much for us to handle. What can we do? How are we supposed to process this stuff and go on living our daily lives?

If you saw a sick man on the street with a knife ready to stab people because he's crazy he'd be behind bars or locked up in a hospital ASAP right? He could be committed right? We wouldn't let sick people out that would likely kill people so why the hell are we letting people out on PAROLE that have committed acts against children in the past? WHY? WHY? Don't they understand that pedophiles don't change? They don't heal. They aren't capable of being normal. Some freaking psychotherapy doesn't change them.

In this lifetime, mark my words - I will do something to make a difference for the lives and safety of our children. I don't say that lightly.

Tangerine Tangerine

Thank you for your gifts, Jimmy. And now, a few lines from one of my fave songs:

Tangerine, tangerine
Living reflections from a dream
I was her love, she was my queen
And now a thousand years between

The world didn't know what it was in for January 9, 1944. An amazing guitarist was born. Page proved to be one of the most influential, talented and versatile guitarists and songwriters in rock history.

OK - I'm in another Led Zeppelin phase. Can you tell? I've been listening all weekend. I've had several Led Zeppelin relapses over the years. I can't help it - I'm addicted to the art of guitar by the hands of a master.

…As his guitar gently cuts the substratosphere

The Edge: a great guitarist who graces the stages of the world in our time.
And he even wears my favorite number! What a dude.

May I dare get a bit maudlin for a moment? Well of course I can, this is my blog dammit.

I can actually cry when I listen to U2 - the energy that they emit is inspiring and compelling. After all, I have grown up with them. There are 20 years of memories rolled up in their discography and a lot of the mental pictures that their music evokes are wrapped around days and nights that transformed me from a girl into a woman. It was the coolest to have seen them on their previous tour, especially with my best friend.

The Edge is the lifeblood, Bono is the quintessential spirit, Larry is the backbone and Adam is the harmonic balance.

OK, I'm done gushing for now...but let me just say that September 25 is on my mind.

Thinking, breathing, living outloud

Colours swimming in your dish sing to your palette
You discover forgotten money in your pocket
and your spirit dances steps in the rain
when others dash the drops
Words come ashore to your warm blanket in the sun
Ice cream dreams of movement parachute auspiciously to
your secret place
Your reach on ivory opens windows to azure pastures
and a laugh from the child next door stirs up the soup in your soul

************************************************************************************
Poets are...
the veins of the world,
signal messengers to the millions
truth-tellers of the best kept secrets,
and some of the worst ones
Poets are word-rhythm dancers to the beat of
under-represented populations

It's never too late

Dylan in his prime.


At times, because of the way the world works and the emphasis on being a "young 20 something", I think that I have already passed my prime. Then I stop that and turn it around. "Absolutely not. No way!" is what I proclaim. "There are so many things that I need to accomplish yet and so many souls on earth I still must meet."

The good news is the best is yet to be. It is a fact that Julia Child wrote her first best-seller at 49; Harry Truman was first elected to the Senate at 50; Paul Cezanne didn't have a major exhibition until he was 65; and Nelson Mandela became president of South Africa at 75.


An author by the name of Veronique Vienne said, "Remember that late is in fact never too late"


-Julia

Feeding my soul

Today I will feed my soul with words from within a place inside me that has sacrificed so much, especially this year. I will also do my yoga and sit quietly somewhere. All week I have felt a quiet but present despair. It is that feeling when you know you have driven back and forth from work and home, but the memory of the drive is blank. It is due to being programmed to make that trip - day in and day out - day after day after day. Nothing changes and nothing exciting happens. Before I know it, I will be an old women who had wanted to realize a dream but I was busy working my life away to line someone's pockets more than my own.



I know that when there is a sense of betrayal - my being uncentered with unexplained blue funk - that taking time out from the hectic, creativity-eating world, is due. I will say no to the boss, phones, business e-mail, crowds of suits who don't give a damn and demanding offspring. I am in solitude today with my words.



Today will be dedicated to the spirit who wishes to write morning pages, poetry and a short story in the company of sleepy cats.



How I wish I could do this every day. I believe it is what I was put here on earth to do.