Momma's First Date and the Music that Followed

"Sooooze-aye-en! Now, we have all heard this cock-eyed story of yours 100 times... now just stop."

"Well, I don't think everyone has heard it and it's not cock-eyed...it's true."

"Jeezy-mah-neezy... I don't believe a damn bit of it. You have worn it out. And how is it that after 50 years I have never met, nor heard of this man, except from you? A band named after your first date?!?"





After 54 years of marriage, my parents have heard each others tales, stories and recollections a thousand times over. Each, having to grin and bear it, or not, anytime anyone new gets into the mix while they each re-hash their own distinct recollections of yesteryear.

Flash back to the late 1940's.
A beautiful young woman on her first date ...
with an older boy, at that!
A big occassion.
Big enough for her grandmother to relinquish the window coverings to make a special dress, form fitted just for her.
Big enough for her to wear a coursage, freshly picked by her mother.
Big enough for everyone to forget that she might need shoes to go with that new dress.
Big enough for her mom to give her two special rings to wear on her toes, so that when she danced there would be a tippity-tap upon the hardwood floors.
Big enough for her father to look the other way as she trapsed out the door.
Big enough for her to never forget his name.

So, years later when her children started bring vinyl home with a name so similar home, she had to wonder...

Nearly fifty years after that date, Momma and Pops were perched on the fifty yard line of an FSU game... hooting, hollering, reveling and cheering.
A man three rows down looked over shoulder and Mother caught a glimpse of him as he turned back to the fields. He spun back around and bellowed out...
'Suzanne?!?'
'Leonard?!?'
'Yes! Oh My! It has been years!!!'
'Yes...this is my husband, he has heard stories...'


And my Father never questioned Mother's story again...

Howling Wind, Tails Thumping & the Telephone Line

The sounds from inside these four walls.
Two confused and excited, but mildly jealous dogs thump their tails on the hardwood floor. They have to touch me, constantly touch me. Labored breathes come from the sleeping one sprawled out upon his new-found makeshift throne, here at Skinny's House of Healing.
Sounds from outside ripping and whipping their way inside.
The wind is howling making the oak trees sound like an excited ocean... the wind chimes sound like a carnival gone mad ... together they muffle out the train in the background.

The phone rings and I pick it up....'Hello...'

S-T-A-T-I-C.

'Hello?'

.......Welllllll, I can't quit you baby......

echoing through the telephone lines.
I set it down & hit the speaker button.
I can hear the laughter, the clutter, the clamoring, the static and the blues and I wished I could climb right through those virtual telephone lines....



ARTWORK: Telephone Lines by Sister Singleton of Just Give Me Peace...my favorite hippie, my favorite artist...

Take the Quizzle Fa Nizzle Scha Nizzlel Quiz

Ok, so it's fair to say that the worlds economy is a little effed up right now.
Some folks are panic-stricken... others, seem not to care.

I care, but I am not panic stricken... I have lived a lifetime working hard and no matter how much or how little I make, I always seem to find myself in repeated states of being broke.

I have learned to expect the unexpected and to know that when you have two nickels to rub together it is a sure sign that at minimum, one to three things are bound to happen...
maybe it will be a root canal
or an oak limb that crashes through the roof
maybe it will even be the transmission on the car
hmmm, there's always an ill-time for an emergency vet bill
and water-heaters go when the time is right for them, not you.

Sooooooo....
enjoying the fact that I do not have two nickels to rub together and relishing in the hope, belief and faith that surely this means I will not have any emergency vet bills, root canals, car repairs or home repairs to deal with most immediately... I found myself galloping around the WWW.
What I found was https://www.quizzle.com/

Might I suggest that all of you check it out. Not only is it free, as in totally free, no gimmicks, no contracts, no 'cancel within 3 months,' but it is also informative and best yet...it is all about YOU and everyone likes to learn about themselves.

They basically offer a very user-friendly view of your credit report, along with score (both numerical and the simpler letter grade) as well as a letter grade for your home value, your savings, your debt/income ratio and such. I was surprised to find out that I have one B, one D and the A's in everything else. It also gives you tips and hints on ways to improve your ratings.

Lol...me? I have to get another job...one making more money, or a secondary job to supplement the sometimes close to seventy hours a week I work... Funny, even they didn't propse I take on a room-mate!

Tin Foil Spit Balls & Tying Ones Hair in Knots

Twelve years old and yet again at another new school...I shuffled from class to class.
Fourth period...last class before last lunch, my lunch.

I recognized her from homeroom, but we still did not speak.
She sat in front of me & I noticed she carried her lunch in a brown paper bag.

Every two or three minutes, she'd pivot around, lock eyes with me and carefully place one small round tinfoil ball in the carved out notch for holding pens and pencils in my desk.
I spoke not.
Once there was five or six tinfoil balls, she stopped.

Close to the end of class, as our teacher was etching out mathematical equations on the chalkboard and everyone was hand-cramped frantic jotting notes from the board, she spun around and locked eyes with me one more time.
I watched.

As Mr Reeves, our teacher, spun back around to face the class a tinfoil ball bounced off his cheek.
Ninety percent of the class didn't even see it, but I did.
Before I had time to think, I let out a belly-laugh of astronomic proportions.
The class sat in silence.

New to the school, new to the class, I covered my face, not giggling but undeniably laughing, ''I am sorry, I am so sorry. It wasn't me. I am so sorry.''

Mr. Reeves face was the color of crimson tide as he charged down my aisle and eyed the pile of tinfoil balls lined up in my pencil holder.
The wide eyed girl in front of me never laughed and never turned around.
I didn't even bother trying to explain.
I took the punishment that came my way.

Then, day after day, I sat silently behind that girl and one strand at a time, one day at a time I commenced to tying her hair in knots.
Tiny little knots.

Finally, one day, she spun back around...'Are you doing something to my hair?'
'Yes.'
'What are you doing?'
'I'm tying it in knots.'

She bellowed out in laughter...
I joined her.
Thus began the first of many detentions she and I would ultimately serve together and of course, our friendship.

We should never be afraid to laugh ;)

Outsider Hippie Art Compliments of Sister Sing and Just Give Me Peace

Rockstar, Flossie & Pumpkin Butt

'Excuse me, Flossie!'
'Hey. Rapunzel'
'Alright, Twiggy'
'What else Skinny?'
and more traditionally...
'Thank you Dear'
'Sure, Darling'
'No problem Love'
'Here you go, Honey'
'Okay, Sweetheart.'
'Thanks, Angel'

Terms of endearment bestowed upon me from strangers.
Doesn't matter, baby-love.
I'll answer to anything.

I guess in a more traditional than my faded Levis' who-could-be-bothered with curling the hair much less the eye lashes world, 'Maam' would be the appropriate & respectful term of endearment for a stranger to use. Sure enough SweetPea, 'Maam' doesn't really seem appropriate over here... but I'll answer to it too.

A mother silently pushed her terrible two-something toddler through the store, screaming every bit of the way. Each aisle seemed to be sheer torture for the young boy. Momma pushed on. After about 40 minutes of pretended peace, Momma pushed her buggy to the counter to check out with screaming child strapped in.

'Hey Pumpkin! Why are you crying? You have the coolest red truck on your shirt! You gotta like that!'

A sniffle, then back to the tearless screams and an eye-cut from Momma...'Well, for one thing! He don't like being called pumpkin!'

Smiling back at scrowling Momma...'Hahaha, welllllllll...... let him live to be my age and he'll realize there are a lot worse things to be called.'

A term of endearment, whether we personally like it or not, is still a term of endearment....right, rockstar?

Come Out & Play ... Let's Play In The Street Again

The house I lived the longest in as a child had the gift of time on it's side. Located just a few blocks from the downtown district of our community, our little street kept (and still keeps) a red brick road.
The nostalgia I have for growing up under expansive oak trees and on the ripple-ly, dipple-ly brick road led me to buying my little chateau under the oaks and paving my own driveway and walkways out of brick today.
But the street I live on now, long ago went from dirt to pavement....laying a path for new experiences for the child in me.
For thirty cents, I picked up the most entertaining twelve pack a girl could possibly scoop up. There were reds, blues, purples, yellows, greens, pinks and more.
Last weeks message, left at the four way stop was 'Stop In the Name of Love.'
This weeks words were 'Let the Love Light Shine On'

Oh....How much fun to play in the streets again!

(Pixies for Peace Artwork by my Hippie Love ... Singleton)

Rings, Fingers and the Cold Weather

My Aunt Georgine wasn't really my Aunt, she was my mother's aunt. She was a historian and a publisher with an admirable amount of knowledge on the state of Florida. She had a dry, witty sense of humor & her common sense was deeper than that of the biggest sinkholes in the state. She and her husband had no children and at the time of her passing, I was well into my thirties, unwed and with no children.
I can hear her in my head now...'Paige hasn't gotten married, give this to her when she does. Wait a minute...hold old is she now? Hell, she might not ever get married! Give it to her now.'
I was given her wedding band and have worn it on the only finger it fit since... the ring finger on my right hand.
Last year, I was diagnosed with Raynauds Syndrome....a weird syndrome that basically means there is mis-communication between the circulatory system and the nervous system. It causes hand pain, weakness, numbness and most notably a lack of blood flow to the fingers.
A week or so ago, I had my first flair up since the weather changed. It impacted all of my fingers and the bulk of my hand.
Then I had a slight accident at work resulting in a tiny razor cut in the webbing between my ring finger and bird finger.
In the night, as I slept, my hand swelled and well, I haven't been able to get Georgine's ring back on ever since.
Besides the obvious...such as I need to quit smoking & stay out of the cold, I can't help but wonder if there is some under-lying, profound reason that I no longer can wear Aunt Georgine's ring...

Tears, Scissors and a New Jouney

Several years ago, I was able to see Ray Charles live at the House of Blues in Chicago. Tears trickled down my cheeks... as his music, his voice, his sound, his vibration reached right into my chest and rattled my very being. I could feel his sounds throughout my entire body and I find it difficult to find words to describe how it felt.

I had that feeling again while listening to the Celtic Woman on You Tube... so I present to you Mairead of Celtic Woman. If one were deaf, I believe they could watch her and feel the music she creates. If one were blind, I believe that the ears would let you see what a powerful violinist she is.


I watched her...spinning, dipping, leaping, twisting and grinning... so very beautiful.

My stride is quite large and through my employment, I am constantly moving...leaving my hair in a tangled mess tucked behind my ears.

I got out my scissors. With a whack-whack here and a whack-whack there...and another whack here to fix that a whack there....

I realize now that I have the same haircut I had when I was five... just a little bit longer.

Ah...the circle...

A Road Less Traveled...

I don't know why I am compelled to write about this particular memory, as it is not the best memory to have.. I especially don't know why I am writing about this just a couple hours before I find myself flying high in the sky for a weeks' worth of business meetings, workshops, training and such.

'It is what it is...'

Twenty-five years ago....I was sixteen.
I lived at home with my parents and I had my drivers license.
On a Sunday night, a friend and I ventured out to get some ice cream.
Baskin Robbins was closed...so we decided to go to a Dairy Queen a little bit further away.
We went through the drive through & got ourselves some wonderful delectables.
Pulling out the rear entrance, as opposed to the front where we had come in at, I found myself forced to take a right.
This one turn ended up throwing for a loop & ultimately throwing me into territory I had not chartered before.
I came upon a four-way stop and strained to see the names of the streets, hoping to orient myself as to which way to go.
Suddenly, two young men who had been standing at the intersection popped open the rear doors of my vehicle.
I turned around 'What the hell?!' and threw my purse to the floorboard.
Before you know it, I found myself in the position of being, what is known today as 'carjacked.'
These guys were armed with a variety of tools and weapons, none of which scared me as much as their callous, detached and self-spirited demeanor's.... as they held a razor to the side of my neck and barked orders at me.
They had me drive them around, here and there... I didn't know where I was anymore.
At one point, one fellow got out of the car and retrieved something from someone he obviously knew.
My friend recognized one of the young men as being the brother of a fellow who had just been arrested for killing their father.
He was called on it and really, didn't seem to give two hoots.... about his brother or his father. They told me to give them my purse. I told them to hold on, it was under my seat. I slid my license and one of my two fives into my sock and I gave them my purse.
They were talking about splitting us up...me and my friend.
My friend was actually trying to negotiate our way out this...entertaining the notion of him getting out and leaving on foot with one of the young men...trying to get them to agree to leave me alone.
I started cussing like a lunatic...nope, no effing way, we were not going to be separated, all for one and one for all...
I had awful visions of my friend being stabbed in the woods and of lord knows what happening to me, should I be left alone with one of these idiots.
I could see the road before me ending into another street with houses on it.
I saw a cinder block house just beyond the stop sign, right in the middle of the paved T-bone.
I remembered my brother accidentally spinning this vehicle in a 180 by slamming on the brakes.
I remembered the Bazaar brothers.
Profanities raced from my mouth and my parents little station wagon began to race even faster.
I thought I could do it.
I thought I could pull a one eighty.
I thought I could slam the back end into the cinder block porch.
I thought about the people inside.
Sleeping or gone, their house was one of the few with no lights on & no folks on the porch.
I thought I could stop this train wreck with injury only to us.
I thought it sounded better than the possible alternatives.
I thought about my friend.
My foot stayed pressed to the floor.
Everyone in the car was now screaming.
I crouched closer to the steering wheel.
My head was being pulled backwards by my hair.
The interior car light came on.
Porch lights flickered out in my peripheral.
A back door was open....then, two.
I slammed on the brakes.
The two guys jumped.
I sat there, shaking....looking...
As the last of the porch lights went out...

We made it home safely enough, minus a pocketbook, some sanity, some peace and some naivete. The next day, I got a perm to disguise the area of my head where I had my cut to an inch or two of my scalp. I never told my parents....and now, I always lock my car doors.

I still don't really know if what I did was right or wrong.

But at least, I'm still here to talk about it.

It's Not Too Late...Find Your Peace

It's Not Too Late.
It's a missed perception.

ITSNOT2L8.
It's a canoe.
A vessel.
A means to get to an end.

I painted those words on Independence Day...last year.
A month after serving the man I was married to with papers and a month before our second big date with the judge.

'Why'd you name it that? You're not having second thoughts are you?!'

My big little canoe. Brought home unfloatable, scraped, scratched, gouged and weathered... with holes as big as a rump at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

No, it's not too late...as long as you look at it with the right perception. Sometimes that means cocking your head to the side, hanging upside down or even turning away.

A couple of weeks ago, Timmytoes came back to town for a few days.

"You're not thinking of getting back together, are you?!"

We went out dancing, went rafting, he split firewood for me and we took my big little hippie canoe out. I talked about work, the river & the dogs and he talked about his work, sailboat, girlfriends & such ... we enjoyed each other in peace.

Peace... no, it's not too late.

WARNING: Do Not Play YouTube Video UNLESS you would like to listen to some Godsmack....'Speak.' I threw this up because the lyrics to this song lead the words of Stevie Ray Vaughn, the Talking Heads, Ben Harper and such down the side of Not2L8.