Here Kitty, kitty, kitty...C'mon Out That Bag

I'm a 'Dog Girl.' Don't get me wrong I like cats, but I love my 5 dogs.

Smokie flirts with me.

One hundred pounds of fur, paws, tongue & tail T-bone me when I go to walk across the room. His head flips from left to right, ears flapping, back arching, eyes googling up at me.... smooshing himself up against me, he leans. Flirting, this salvaged mutt gives a steady push into me. He flits around... racing head first between m knees and I try to take a step. Behind me, he spins, plies & dives his head once again between me legs. I stop in my tracks & look down, waiting for clearance. He's once again standing between my legs, head flipping, ears flapping & his teeth are chattering. He's smiling. On my backside I can feel the sweep of his tail against my bootie & lower back. He's over the top & he's flirting with me...

The rip of the heavy duty tape-dispenser calls all 5 dogs into the room. Ten eyes are on me. Three heads rest between paws, two heads remain upright...cocking themselves to the left & to the right. Five heads, ten eyeballs... watching my every move.

They're all waiting ever-so-patiently for me to let the cat out of the bag... Two more days until I am divorced & Timmy Toes moves out.

Sweet Revenge... Sweet Peace

I think I was 12 when I decided that I wanted to try out for cheer-leading. I still don't really know why. My family & I had just moved from central Florida to a house in Mississippi on the beach. The world was completely different there.
The try-outs were held at a local Civil War park. Amidst the bronzed cannons & moss-draped oaks were about 40 girls, me & two grown women with whistles.
I knew no-one & everyone else seemed to know each other.
All of us...legs kicking, arms flying, voices echoing...WildCatz Got Dat Feev-ah!
'She too dang skinny'
'Um-hmmm...we hafta troe hur up'
'Unt-uh! She too dang pointay. Take yer eye out or punchur yer lung wit she come down!'
' She ain't gowna make hit.'
'Bedder not.'
'Taint no way.'
I kicked higher, flung further, yelled louder & then, I walked home with my head hanging like a gerber daisy snipped in the morning & lugged around all day.
I told my father about my day & about how if I did make it, I'd like my bony little elbow to bust their lips wide open ... about how I felt like they would be getting just what they deserved.
'Child of Mine...Know This in Life ... Success is the Sweetest Reprisal.'
S U C C E S S I S T H E S W E E T E S T R E P R I S A L .

I wanted to go to college.
'Why?! You need to find a good, hard-working, young man & just settle down! Why waste the money, the time?!'
Well, I wasted the time & the money. I went to college. Through-out my public education I was a C student, at best... college saw me on the Deans' List.

I allowed those words to lead me against the will of the very man who shared that wisdom with me.

'I know I have a degree in Education, but I am going to work for XYZ Company. They have great benefits & I will make more money to pay all these student loans off.'
'What?! But, teaching would be more...noble, more... respectable.'
'Uh, I am going into Corporate Sales, not prostitution.'

Success is the Sweetest Revenge...

'I am going to buy a house!'
'What?! Why?! You don't need to be locked into living there?! You're not married, you don't need this commitment'

Success is the Sweetest Redress... the Sweetest Revenge ... the Sweetest Reprisal.
'I am going to get divorced next week.'
My fathers' words when I wanted to cheer...to have fun.
'I trust you in your decision'
My father never wanted anything other than what he thought was best for me. He never meant to hold me back & he never did.
He did a good job raising me, maybe he doubted himself in that aspect & that's why his aspirations for me were different, I don't know.
But I do know he played football and he played to win.
I was a cheerleader and I cheered for fun.
We defined success differently.
He still calls me defiant, independent, spirited & feisty.
But really I was just listening to him all along...
and I know now that he knows that.
sweet peace.

Fox News

I always wanted to be a news reporter as a kid.
Nearly 30 years ago, 20/20 was my favorite evening program. My peers were into Dallas. While other young girls idolized Farrah Fawcett, I admired Barbara Walters.
I wanted to be on TV.
I wanted to speak right... without the southern drawl.
I was into current events, politics, society, economy, the space program, technological advances & the little people & the vast places & the things that mattered & the things that were going on that would impact the things that would be.
I dreamed of traveling the world over.
I dreamed of uncovering the truth.
I dreamed of making a change.
I wanted to be smart & outspoken & defy all sterotypes of a SLB.
Then, I grew up.
And, I have always been afraid that instead, I would simply make the news in some crazy ass way...



Now as close as I get to the news is Orhan & that seems to work out wonderfully for me.

Well, the henna party has been put on hold...but nope, not me. I figure if I get some practice in now... I'll be pretty darn good at working this henna stuff just in time for when that Henna Party is meant-to-be.

Every reasonable woman armed with Henna should begin with an anklet of naked ladies reaching, stretching, flying around towards the small moon and star. Then she should certainly plant some wildflowers, front & back. Finally, the butterfly should top it all off.
Timmy-toes was even treated to a smiling sunburst. Pic of sunburst is blurry, but it shows the actual Henna, whereas the others show the Henna stain.
Singleton, I'm sending you Henna along with some keepsakes from the Bucket of Paint ;)

Just how many more bottle of beer are on the wall?

Honestly....Love?

Love, Love, Love.
Love. Creating so many questions.
Love. A four letter answer.


Several years ago, when I was engaged at the ripe age of 35, I had numerous people ask me ...'How do you know that he is the one?'... 'How do you know that you should be getting married to him?'...'How do you know that this is what you should be doing?'

Repeatedly, my answer was the same... 'I don't know...but I believe, I think, I feel and I'm acting on that'

The fact of the matter is that I don't know if a plane is going to crash land on my house today & I don't know if just because I feel something, believe in something, have faith in something, am vulnerable to something, if I think something ...I don't know if any of these things make that something real. I just don't know. But, I believe that if I can sense it, see it, feel it, believe it then at least, for that moment in my world ... it is real.

I am willing to fight with the ones I love when I am fighting for the ones I love. I'm not afraid to fight for what is good & true in my eyes.
Other than that, I really prefer peace. Peace.
It's part of my definition of love.
Because of this, it is of my own opinion that I rarely develop long-term friendships, relationships or alliances with people or institutions that don't also escort peace in their life.
Dancing with peace & love are respect and honesty.
I give it & expect it in return. I have never felt a love without it...
not a love for another person,
nor a love of a wild animal,
a natural phenomena,
a food or an idea...
none of them.
All of the things in life that I love, need my respect & honesty (thank goodness, because I love chocolate, coffee, the beach & thunderstorms...and if I did not address these things with respect & honesty, I would simply be a a big, bouncing, gluttonous, rambling belly-ache with third degree burns getting swept away by the first passing hurricane)

Peace & Love
Respect & Honesty

***True Love Only Wants What Is Best For Us*** Amen, Vicci!

This Can Fly

I met this guy in high school & while I clearly remember his poetic blue eyes that teared up when he laughed & his-ever-so-serious its-the-end-of-the-world attitude, I had no idea how our lives would cross again and again. He became one of my best friends.
But time brings change.
After his time in the Marines & his first failed marriage, we quickly bonded again...spending day after day entertaining ourselves in the simplest of fashions...usually soul-searching.
Then, one Sunday night we went out & at the end of the night he told me he was leaving in two days for Virginia...to do the 'right' thing.
The next day I bought him 'Where the Sidewalk Ends' by Shel Silverstein.
I stuck a small note in the cover... 'Call me if you need me or ever just want to'
and I never heard from him again.
I moved away, went to college and graduated.
Years and years later, I saw him... on a Monday night.
He was renting, along with another guy from high school, a 5 bedroom, 4 story house in the city.
Tuesday night, I started moving in. An inverted Three's Company.
The timing was perfect for me & over the course of the next 3 years, I found these two to be some of the best room-mates I had ever had.
I also found one of my best-friends all over again.
Then one day, I told them I was moving out.
Shortly thereafter, they each moved their own way.
Each of us soon met our spouses-to-be.
My husband, then my fiancee, and I invited my friend over to cook-out. My husband had met him before, but he, nor I , had met his recent girlfriend quickly turned wife.
He said he'd call back.
The next night my phone rang.
It was him & he sounded hysterical. He was begging me & pleading with me, asking me to please explain, telling me I didn't understand, she didn't understand...
And I didn't understand. His speech was definitely impaired by his upset-edness.
Then he said 'I love her...please explain our relationship honestly to her' and he passed the phone to one unwilling listener.
My heart broke for him. She was fit for Jerry Springer, she was so upset with her missed convictions
I told her we had never been anything but friends. She said 'Impossible! High school? Living together!'
I told her I had seen him through girlfriends & marriages, the Marines & job changes. Dripping with sarcasm, she said 'I'm sure that's not all you've seen'
I told her that he was a dear friend & that a friend of his was a friend of mine & she said 'whatever!'
I told her I was engaged & that the only reason I had called the night before was to invite them over for a cook-out...where she could meet my fiancee. She said 'Likely story!'
I even put my fiancee on the phone with her.
She asked him if I put him up to it & if he was really some gay neighbor getting paid to lie.
I took the phone back and asked to speak back to my friend one last time.
She cussed as she flung the phone at him.
I told him that this was the end of the sidewalk for us for now & that should he ever need me or even just want to, to call me. I'd always support him on his choices. He was a good man and a good friend.
He said 'Thanks for understanding.'
And that was truly the last time I ever spoke to him.
That was almost five years ago.
I would've known him twenty-five years now.
If his wife is still his wife, I hope she knows that none of us ever lied to her... and most importantly, he didn't lie.
We were only friends... Mitch Jolley & I.
I hope he knows that the only reason I let it go like that was because although we were only friends, I considered him to be one of my best friends & I loved him... and he had married her & she would never understand... we were only friends.

Friday Friday

Today. Friday the thirteenth. July 13, 2007. Happy Birthday to my brother & my best friend.
My older brothers' birthday.
I have two brothers, one about a year and a half older than me and one about a year and a half younger.
Growing up my brothers' were my constants in life. They were my best friends. They were also, at times, my biggest enemies.
I have learned so many valuable things from them, some things that I fear would have never have just come about naturally to me...
Living in the foothills of the Appalachians about twenty years ago with my older brother & a couple of other room-mates, we found the winters to be a bit more severe than they are of years more recent. Back then, it seems, that each winter brought us freezing rain, sleet and/or snow.
I had a green 'Hess' jacket that I had acquired from a male friend, who was a mechanic. Needless to say the jacket coat was toasty warm, as it was designed for a man to be able to work outside. But it was also terribly & permanently stained with oil, oil, and more oil. I used it as I needed but as soon as I saved up enough money to be myself a more attractive & fitting womans' winter coat, I did.
The green Hess coat went into the hallway closet.
One day, my brother plucked it out. It seems he had given his leather coat to another girl who found herself in a similar situation as me... moving up from from warmer territory to this surprisingly much colder area and living without the immediate means to provide a warmer coat for herself.
For months, my brother wore this nasty, oil-stained, frayed seamed & unsnapping Hess coat. It worked. For Christmas, we headed down South to spend the days with our family. One of my brothers biggest Christmas gifts that year was a very nice winter coat. One that was lined & water resistant. One that had zippers and snaps...all working. One that had no stains & no automatic stench about it. One that wasn't frayed around the arm holes and the waist.
Being young and hungry for life, we left the family on Christmas day with plans to make it home in time to work on the 26th. Sometime in between ten and midnight Christmas night, we found ourselves quite hungry and nothing was open anywhere to eat. Driving through Atlanta, we were pleased to see that a McDonalds was open. We stop to eat.
Sitting inside eating sea kelp for burgers, I notice a homeless man stumble through the parking lot. The wind is picking up, the temperatures are dropping and the rain is beginning to slash through the nights sky.
He stumbles through the parking lot and past our car. I point him out to my brother.
He stumbles back towards our car & then opens the back door of our car. I gasp & stand up ready to bolt.
The man reaches in and plucks my brothers' brand new Christmas coat out of the backseat.
My brother watches.
'Sit back down Paiger. He's cold, hungry & homeless.'
'Yeah, but that's your brand new...'
'Yeah, well I got a roof over my head when I get home. And I still have that Hess coat. All he'll have is that coat to call home. Let it be, sister.'

Kim's Hand-Me-Down Levi's

When I was a little girl, I most often got to wear wonderful hand-me-downs from my older brother before passing them on down to my youngest brother. It was quite appropriate for a tom-girl who hated wearing tops of any type anyway.
I wore a lot of wranglers, peanut pants and corduroys.
As I grew taller & older, I came to be of the size that I could acquire the hand-me-downs of my oldest two sisters. My favorite of these hand-me-downs came from Kimbies, who wore them through the mid-seventies...leaving evidence of busted ink pens in the back pockets, before passing them on to Curty boy.
Curty Boy wore them through the early eighties, spilling battery acid along the thighs & crotch, then busting out the knees along the way.
When I acquired them, I transformed them into cut-offs. In the early nineties, I used replacement guitar strapping to save them from completely falling apart. It has now been about ten years since I have had the nerve to throw them in the washing machine. I just don't think they could hold up to one more rinse cycle, one more tumble ... they have done good to hold up for over thirty years of this clan.
Last week a new, old pair of hand-me-down Levis' made the transformation from blue jeans to cut-offs. Today, I'd like to pay tribute to Kim's Hand-Me-Down Levi's...

*Kim's hand-me-down Levi's

Worn by all of us
Handed down three times
white, worn and tattered
three generations old, but thats never mattered

Kim's Hand-me-down Levi's
handed on down in the order we were born
a little bit older and a little more worn
easily found, but not easily torn

Kim's hand-me-down Levis' worn by Kim, Curt & me
And sometimes I can see Kims' hand-me-down Levis
Kind of in me.


*Originally written by me, back in 1993...the year of the guitar strap. This poem has been posted before on another blog, but seems to be calling to me today...peace/love people.

Doomsday, So They Say...

'A beautiful flower for a beautiful little girl.'
Here, sweet child, a gift from God.'
'Have you been saved?'
'I am a Child of God, are you not?'
'Are you ready for the end of the World?'
'The End is Near'
'There's still time for redemption.'
'Prepare for Doom.'
'Please, take this complimentary bible.'
'Yes, it is yours for free.'
'We only request a small donation...'
'Does your mother have any money?'
'Don't you believe in giving to God's children?'
'Have you ever heard of the eternal fire?'
'Are you Y2K ready?'
'Do you believe the end is near?'
'These are signs of the time.'
'A meteor...'
'God's wrath...'
'Mans' sins...'
'Alignment with the sun...'

'Here, you can have God's flower back...'

'I am not allowed to accept gifts from strangers, thank you.'

How many times must we face the End of the World?
It was everyday back in the seventies, every other day in the eighties, at the end of the decade, the century, the millennium in the nineties and now we are only left with what some believe has been prophesied by the I Ching & the Mayans, 2012...the end of the world.

Who knows? Maybe we will align with only the Sun separating us from the black hole of the Milky way. Maybe Tijuana will become the new North pole. Maybe we will get sucked up into that black hole. Maybe a meteor will smash into our planet Earth causing another ice-age. Maybe we will all get so damn festered up in sin that we destroy ourselves, much like cells infected with herpes self-destruct. Maybe global warming will continue to the point that all of earth turns into a flashy fireball.
Maybe the tsunamis, hurricanes, droughts & fires are the sign of the times. Maybe the political degeneration is a sign. Maybe South Park & Paris Hilton are the signs. Maybe the emotional detachment displayed by petty thiefs turned felony murderers, serial rapists, abused orphans growing to become the abuser are the signs. Maybe commercialism, capitalism & consumerism are the signs.
I do not know these things.
But I do know that if I had been preparing for the end of the world since I first saw the hare krishnas, the moonies or whoever else toting those signs, I would have been sorely disappointed time after time.
I don't believe in the end of the world.
In my world, things don't end... they simply change.
Trash becomes treasures, scars become maps, strangers become gods & angels, sqeaky white sand become slippers, planets become marbles, bill collectors become alarm clocks, laughter becomes a plaque, tears become supper and yet, I try to remain the same. But, things in my world simply change.
All is good in the neighborhood. Thank you sister for bringing me to tears last night with laughter. Thank you Eric1313 for your open mind. Thank you Anne for your wisdom, generosity & inspiration. Thank you Orhan for being there when you didn't even know it. Thank you anonymous for 'Beautiful Lady Freedom.' Until Next Time ~ Peace/Love

Sea Shells & Spray Paint

See what happens when a Skinny Little Blonde pulls out the bucket of seashells & spray paint when she's suffering from insomnia & temporary insanity?

If you want to do some graffiti in a small beach community, it is best to buy the paint before you go...
'Excuse me, where is your spray paint?'
'Uh, Ma'am, we don't sell that kinda stuff here.'


Ahhh....just drop me in the water!


Happy Independence Day Folks!
I'll have to flip & finish this canoe today...
July 5~
Bottom two pictures were taken today.Who knows, she might get sealed tomorrow...although there is still some space left, plus I need to give her a name... Any Ideas?