tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72828461758696655522024-03-19T23:14:25.778-07:00Bare Naked MeCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-21946703252890821922013-02-02T11:00:00.003-08:002013-02-02T11:00:30.454-08:00 My soul, which is saved, heathy and happy, and my spirit, which is unquenchable, reside in a earthly body that the Dr. says has cancer. So in a few weeks we'll do a little remodeling on this dwelling. Remove the termite infested deck and possibly replace it with some new perky awnings. Life is good.<br />
<br />
<br />
Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-28243611555792555012012-03-24T20:22:00.001-07:002012-03-24T20:25:28.372-07:001974<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWdVq6Wm9Quy2ufbKbdLuGBmevd4TORp-ObCSP1txRPbBN7HFJ1IsSV-5cxlvLvQt4y3JNwYXfwxIv_yf3iDSn6-qxwB-ocqRuZteMTQUkFFGuhMtZv3uOMjjuWgbW-o1ED3aq95mXYMw/s1600/High+School+025.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 395px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWdVq6Wm9Quy2ufbKbdLuGBmevd4TORp-ObCSP1txRPbBN7HFJ1IsSV-5cxlvLvQt4y3JNwYXfwxIv_yf3iDSn6-qxwB-ocqRuZteMTQUkFFGuhMtZv3uOMjjuWgbW-o1ED3aq95mXYMw/s400/High+School+025.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5723670251319337634" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes, like tonight, I feel that if I don't find a way to get home, and find a way soon, I will cease to exist.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-9240565725933905122012-03-17T19:25:00.000-07:002012-03-17T19:26:15.078-07:00The Wind<iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/W4-IZTZkTY8" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />This is me - this is my life - short and trueCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-75482855748524530312012-03-17T19:24:00.001-07:002012-03-17T19:24:25.258-07:00http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif<a href="http://youtu.be/W4-IZTZkTY8"></a>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-18784784257337136062012-03-17T19:22:00.001-07:002012-03-17T19:23:18.872-07:00This song is me - its my life - short sweet and true.<br />http://youtu.be/W4-IZTZkTY8Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-70103561175354285152012-03-07T08:21:00.003-08:002012-03-07T08:34:39.875-08:00Good books are Soul Vitamins<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2bY7ZJZi51nikPU_uzShbg8EoqIDJAi9TluNv_VGhzIR89je8EYP-7ByZ7GtXqiR65TEMg7yJD0JKgGk5yI6wzhePHvFdTQD29LfIadQcWSHiMGmy50Txt2t49PEljXhf3KrtY0PFZg/s1600/IMG_4137.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2bY7ZJZi51nikPU_uzShbg8EoqIDJAi9TluNv_VGhzIR89je8EYP-7ByZ7GtXqiR65TEMg7yJD0JKgGk5yI6wzhePHvFdTQD29LfIadQcWSHiMGmy50Txt2t49PEljXhf3KrtY0PFZg/s400/IMG_4137.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5717193202407201314" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Man Who Killed The Deer - Frank Waters</span><br />This book was written in the 40's and is a New Mexico classic. I am ashamed to admit I just read it. It was fantastic! I thoroughly suggest it to anyone who hasn't yet read it. Never, and I do mean never, has an author so painted such a colorful pictures using words.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-19381079765151297872012-01-01T17:23:00.001-08:002012-01-01T17:38:19.409-08:00Six months of silence<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGYTfc_7H8sFSSpIlf0aS9BieSDKUaezzowMSEKRyBES4Jibjyl4YftG3dhM7BJsZkIUrC-T680KxGlVXVURYJOZl0Upg7AioDjxX0KQ60vfEGAHngOFdKyPEZF7TUzDERg3jjZtZxns/s1600/IMG_3787.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQGYTfc_7H8sFSSpIlf0aS9BieSDKUaezzowMSEKRyBES4Jibjyl4YftG3dhM7BJsZkIUrC-T680KxGlVXVURYJOZl0Upg7AioDjxX0KQ60vfEGAHngOFdKyPEZF7TUzDERg3jjZtZxns/s400/IMG_3787.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692842700945369810" border="0" /></a><br />Dana and me waiting in line for Albuquerque's Christmas Eve Luminaria Tour.<br /><br />What if I told you that I took a six month nap? Would you believe me? I did...sort of.<br />When my position was terminated and I found myself unemployed I spent the next 6 to 8 weeks remodeling my kitchen. Then I sat down for a nap and didn't wake up for a couple of months. I think in reality I might have been disoriented or depressed or at least and most assuredly undisciplined. I found myself resting....a lot....and I think I needed it.<br /><br />Then at the end of September Dana became ill. He hadn't had a heart attack but was suddenly in need of a quadruple heart bypass. He needed it immediately but had to wait two weeks because of a medication he was on and the need to have it out of his system. Now that it's over with I can tell you that I didn't think he would live long enough to have the surgery. He now admits that he didn't believe he would either.<br /><br />But in the middle of October he had the surgery and recovered very well. During this time I took over all of our regular duties which took its toll on me. So then I once again felt exhausted and in need of rest.<br /><br />After everything was said and done we decided to go to New Mexico for Christmas. We were fortunate enough to be able to stay for over a week. Got to spend time with my sisters and their husbands. Got to spend time having my soul nourished by the Sprite of New Mexico.<br /><br />Now I'm home in Missouri and ready to begin 2012 equipped with the desire / motivation to make this the year I "break out". It's my intention to write and paint like my life depends on it....and maybe it does.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-67455951293126431032011-06-30T21:50:00.000-07:002011-06-30T21:51:18.688-07:00Another turning point a fork stuck inthe road....<iframe src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/1PK2R0IwCiY" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" width="425"></iframe><br />I have spent so much time feeling sorry for myself because I have to work for a living and saying how stressful my job is and that since my heart attack I am so weak that all I can manage is to go to work - crawl home - eat supper and go to bed. Weekends were for errands , laundry and housework as well as a small part time job. No time to paint or write or do anything that resembles creativity.<br /><br />BLAH BLAH BLAH - I was not only depressed but also boring.<br /><br />Well - to quote the Green Day lyrics - "<span style="font-style: italic;">time takes you by the wrist directs you where to go</span>."<br /><br />Last Friday at 4pm the president of the company I worked for (for over 5 years) met with us to let us know that our program had been de-funded in Washington - one quarter of the staff lost their jobs effective immediately. Guess which group I fell into?<br /><br />But here's the strange thing. It was totally unexpected but immediately recognizable for the opportunity of a lifetime. While everyone else was wandering around wiping tears from their eyes I was busy packing up my office and thanking my director - no sarcasm here - I appreciate the opportunity I had to work for that company and will miss the job and coworkers but.....<br /><br />It was all I could do to contain my excitement.<br /><br />With my severance and unemployment I will for the first time in my life have the chance to see what I'm made of. To paint and write and market myself...and still pay my mortgage - WOW!<br />How lucky am I?<br /><br />I spent this first week wrapping up loose ends - taking advantage of insurance before it ran out (which it did June 30th) I painted my bathroom and got new carpet, met with a contractor about a small remodeling job in the kitchen. I have company coming for the 4th of July but when they leave it will be time to launch my new career as a full time painter and writer.<br /><br />Did you hear what I said? Forgive me while I say it again for my own enjoyment....I'm self employed as a painter and writer...... full time....ah, I love the sound of that.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">"So make the best of this test and don't ask why...it's something unpredictable but in the end is right....I hope to have the time of my life."</span></span>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-43163266287713062482011-04-15T18:16:00.000-07:002011-04-15T18:25:30.358-07:00<iframe title="YouTube video player" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/5I0d29s6GCc" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="390" width="480"></iframe><br /><br />Heard this on the radio last night and instantly I was 16 years old and parked at the Dairy Bar drinking a coke and checking out the other cars lined up full of friends. Remember those days? Before seat belt laws when you would have as many people in one car as you could possible fit in?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAHG9PCKpQS7s5PmXfKjI7oGoFt7DwcTH62Bu-ujJP4P8W0i6KfCeUYj5sGwQaEt9elDsS3iwqnm9-lTdrzDCgYm0zwvlrg3lma8L_wcufd8YoarxL2rJtCWlOnZf1Y_MyYEvlhvf-XwE/s1600/High+School+038.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 398px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAHG9PCKpQS7s5PmXfKjI7oGoFt7DwcTH62Bu-ujJP4P8W0i6KfCeUYj5sGwQaEt9elDsS3iwqnm9-lTdrzDCgYm0zwvlrg3lma8L_wcufd8YoarxL2rJtCWlOnZf1Y_MyYEvlhvf-XwE/s400/High+School+038.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595985776805335858" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Marilyn and Dee Dee</span><br /><br /><br />That was what Friday and Saturday nights were all about back then. Riding around checking out who was riding around with who - pretending to be "not interested" but all of the time hoping to get noticed. As hard as it was to be a teen back then it really was the very best of times in a lot of ways.<br /><br />To all of you cruising up and down old 66 - I loved you all and still do -Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-70896489826527638152011-02-06T07:44:00.000-08:002011-02-06T07:44:08.894-08:00Dee Dee<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaoGdt7GcphGobWdEv0L1yjEbQ5eWvMJ1Nc47FgS67pw2NesdOaJ829R0hDyDWR8Oqv2U-KJ3hWe2zapOWOli1IcnS_83L48fwdvc90aEks5aCnjfHJbrDAOexYlMyuqR0JTrV8otbsog/s1600/High+School+037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaoGdt7GcphGobWdEv0L1yjEbQ5eWvMJ1Nc47FgS67pw2NesdOaJ829R0hDyDWR8Oqv2U-KJ3hWe2zapOWOli1IcnS_83L48fwdvc90aEks5aCnjfHJbrDAOexYlMyuqR0JTrV8otbsog/s320/High+School+037.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx0_9PzWeb_N6TRnamV8vqt64zofeA8hZbA6kgiddw24Y39SguGqkFtwAsC-biwoSHMpWt3P2PbdfPzH_LZo6oLueFBbFNtYYnNc1112QF8DQ9-BE5v-37IBvqqGn6owl4veYA-pksgo/s1600/Blog+2+033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJx0_9PzWeb_N6TRnamV8vqt64zofeA8hZbA6kgiddw24Y39SguGqkFtwAsC-biwoSHMpWt3P2PbdfPzH_LZo6oLueFBbFNtYYnNc1112QF8DQ9-BE5v-37IBvqqGn6owl4veYA-pksgo/s320/Blog+2+033.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCDPd5TveHPUhsasxYXB6pqwmhGg3cuZ3q22YkaUQFRXZcg_KbdgmVI8HH8fsEPpF9ZcwkQ5DJ3EjOR0OHPIScfd5cq5U2TW_Z4sL7Qeddd4MS0omRmXmto1GoMDVnuXgu8gvXmOCCYdg/s1600/High+School+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCDPd5TveHPUhsasxYXB6pqwmhGg3cuZ3q22YkaUQFRXZcg_KbdgmVI8HH8fsEPpF9ZcwkQ5DJ3EjOR0OHPIScfd5cq5U2TW_Z4sL7Qeddd4MS0omRmXmto1GoMDVnuXgu8gvXmOCCYdg/s320/High+School+002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>When I was 16 I had a friend named Dee Dee. I loved this girl. She was smart and funny and a perfect fit. She and I and our other friend Marilyn were all best friends that summer of 1973. <br />
<br />
You've heard me refer to that summer as one of the best times of my life and my friends were the reason why. The three of us had a very special relationship. At an age when girls squabble and fight for the attention of young men we were somewhat uncommon. For that moment in our lives we were all very grounded in our relationships both with the opposite sex and with each other. <br />
<br />
Not that life was perfect - it wasn't. When I think back on the turmoil in each of our lives at that moment in time its a miracle any of us survived but due to the love and unconditional support we gave each other we made it through. <br />
<br />
Then one day she was gone from Santa Rosa- just like that - gone. Marilyn had moved away the summer before the trio that once felt like they could rule the world had dispersed. It was an incredably lonely time in my life. I had other friends - good friends but there was something special about the three of us. <br />
<br />
Then just after I graduated from high school she reappeared in Santa Rosa. I was at a Lion's basketball game and she walked into the gym with James Dodge. I was sitting on the opposite side of the gym where all the "cool kids" always sat and I jumped up and ran down to the door. I was so happy to see her. She moved in with me for several months before I moved to Santa Fe. Then I was the one who was gone -<br />
<br />
I never saw her again. I have no idea where she is or how her life turned out. She was from Denver originally and I've thought about trying to find her many times but I don't even remember her a last name. When I knew her it was Encinias but I that was a fleeting name for a fleeting time.<br />
<br />
But where ever your are Dee Dee - I think about you often and I miss you.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-29046139195145743662011-01-10T18:48:00.000-08:002011-01-10T18:48:52.829-08:00Christmas 2010<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUp4dxwqsD3ICftlMRqEj5aSXnQU4PmaJBBM26hd3RAguIL6tI3S4Bst3vyuvys1CPoNkCvmvBB4xMdzfanpa85Xikk97-2RZ9YS_XH675b9yP6K8Ffi4V0Mytrqe63xmN5UP15Y9pjY/s1600/NM+Christmas+2010+159.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUp4dxwqsD3ICftlMRqEj5aSXnQU4PmaJBBM26hd3RAguIL6tI3S4Bst3vyuvys1CPoNkCvmvBB4xMdzfanpa85Xikk97-2RZ9YS_XH675b9yP6K8Ffi4V0Mytrqe63xmN5UP15Y9pjY/s320/NM+Christmas+2010+159.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>LaVonne, Vicki and me<br />
<br />
Surprise! In a spontaneous move Dana and I decided to go home (my home) for Christmas. I wanted to surprise everyone but ended up only being able to keep it a secret from my sister Vicki. <br />
<br />
We had a great time. Got to see some special old friends while home.. Buster and Ellen Dudrey. Beek and Sap and Stella. Joe Sisneros and my first art teacher Vera Sanchez. Stopped by Lupita and Dan Flores' home where I picked up a copy of Dan's book "Santa Rosa, A Route 66 Gem".<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I was a little saddened to see that there weren't very many luminarias. I had bragged to Dana about them so much and how they were soooooo traditional and how everyone put them out and then....zilch......<br />
<br />
It was a wonderful trip and we had great weather. Dana and I enjoyed every aspect of the trip. I took a lot of photos and wrote a lot about the trip as we drove along. Sort of a written narrative of the drive. Since it was just Dana and I we could stop anywhere and everywhere we wanted to along the way. We stopped outside of Amarillo to see the Cadillacs standing upright like they are buried in the ground. I was surprised to find that they aren't buried but in fact just half a car and that they are coated with layer upon layer of spray paint. BUMMER! The whole place reeked like a huffers paradise. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp4iObuPuBj8360VptdDYFhiAJmF6Vt2vy90IqkWLwMlrD0b6lLSNfRwZQm6KgxAwhxyuRofB0_Q9e2ZNPW4dMs5Kvhhi2Gg8pNJW8WRTT2NuHXXPgSVEWs2R-RQZ_9eq6gKcZy4T2IM/s1600/NM+Christmas+2010+230.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAp4iObuPuBj8360VptdDYFhiAJmF6Vt2vy90IqkWLwMlrD0b6lLSNfRwZQm6KgxAwhxyuRofB0_Q9e2ZNPW4dMs5Kvhhi2Gg8pNJW8WRTT2NuHXXPgSVEWs2R-RQZ_9eq6gKcZy4T2IM/s320/NM+Christmas+2010+230.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Dana<br />
<br />
But still, we had a great time and it was like a shot in the arm for Dana and I. We are hoping to find a way to schedule in more of these trips this year -Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-12304500164795216612010-10-22T18:15:00.001-07:002010-10-22T18:33:38.623-07:00Dreams are strange....<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qTa8f23KWb5jsiQ8HyJKLHtPg2ymRmhOYvDVRoOJ6yniWvlQDUgum1aS6oJqbM-zaeQ4GpiG_I7DKmfom0HGxhsCJDWG7mkZVSH8UJoGjSgXkViXu3RdB0wezZzJwcEvQzUm0wnK3Vk/s1600/Family+019.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 274px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qTa8f23KWb5jsiQ8HyJKLHtPg2ymRmhOYvDVRoOJ6yniWvlQDUgum1aS6oJqbM-zaeQ4GpiG_I7DKmfom0HGxhsCJDWG7mkZVSH8UJoGjSgXkViXu3RdB0wezZzJwcEvQzUm0wnK3Vk/s400/Family+019.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5531044195634336482" border="0" /></a><br />This is a picture of my grandmother taken sometime in the 1960's. She lived in El Monte California and had this unbelievable flower garden in her back yard. I was very young, maybe 7 or 8 years old, maybe younger, but as small as I was it seemed like her back yard was a fairyland. I would play for hours and make believe that I was a princess or a gypsy or some other storybook character and her flower garden was my kingdom.....<br /><br />My grandmother passed away in the early 1990's at the age of 87 and to this day when I am sick or scared or sad I want my "Nonnie".<br /><br />Last week I had a strange dream. I dreamed I returned to this yard. In my dream I seemed to know my grandmother wasn't there and hadn't been there for a long time. I returned however with the intention of digging up some of her prized rose bushes to plant in my yard. When I got there the roses were all dead, no one had watered them or taken care of them at all. But what made the dream strange was that on the other side of the chain link fence, on all sides of her yard, were graves and tombstones for as far as I could see.<br /><br />I know exactly what this dream meant....it meant that the things she planted in my heart had not been nurtured. They were dead and the ground was dry and barren and that all around me are the dead....<br /><br />I hate October, have I mentioned that to you before....my grandmother died in October - so did my son.<br /><br />And yet....for the first time since moving to this place my own roses that I have tried unsuccessfully to grow for seven years are growing like weeds and still full of rose buds and gorgeous blossoms...and as for me, just like my roses I refuse to yeild to the changing seasons.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-33953472938277978102010-10-06T18:29:00.000-07:002010-10-06T18:30:32.351-07:00Cigar Biker Guy<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPTp4GP7oC5ef2BYLKOzi3tA7FkT3NCQd2h_aRHwZqzjZ55kvBrQcH7BK9MSM_7KvxPewnHx0VLUs-Vq8F4kKGMpWjOphZV0Puwucy-47z7Ru65vKd3lGDtb-K5DAaMa_o_0Jmfh3tfs/s1600/Cigar+Biker.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPTp4GP7oC5ef2BYLKOzi3tA7FkT3NCQd2h_aRHwZqzjZ55kvBrQcH7BK9MSM_7KvxPewnHx0VLUs-Vq8F4kKGMpWjOphZV0Puwucy-47z7Ru65vKd3lGDtb-K5DAaMa_o_0Jmfh3tfs/s400/Cigar+Biker.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525110349600484578" border="0" /></a>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-40545822997870999182010-09-12T14:37:00.000-07:002010-09-12T14:54:14.120-07:00Sometimes Sundays make me sad...<object height="385" width="640"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7WsX63G8_Fw?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7WsX63G8_Fw?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" height="385" width="640"></embed></object><br /><br />Today is one of the most beautiful days I have experienced in a long time...but I am sad. I've had a good day - I'm in the middle of a painting....and then this song came on the radio and knocked the wind out of me.<br /><br />....you are the love of my life...you are my inspiration...just you and me...simple and free....<br /><br />Nope - none of it applies to me...not anymore.....<br /><br />I sat and wondered about all of this. My son Andrew was my chief inspiration. After he was conceived everything I did was measured by how it pertained to him. Yes, everything, even the wrong choices. <br /><br />And now.... for the last four years I have had pseudo motivation. Its almost like feeling inspired by something now is an act of betrayal. Oh I know, that's silly and I know Andrew would be the first to tell me so but...<br /><br />So many people have come and gone - and sometimes I get very sad. The song on the radio took me back - way back - to those I knew before there was an Andrew and you know what? Their all gone too..even me.<br /><br />I'm lonesome for the family members who used to call my name. I'm lonesome for the friends who used to make me laugh. I'm lonesome for the lovers who used to make me sigh. I'm lonesome for the husband who knew me when I was younger. I'm lonesome for a place where I was in fact younger. I'm lonesome for a part of me that will never be again. Most especially I'm lonesome for that voice that started every sentence with "Hey Mom"....<br /><br />And that's why this perfect day seems to hurt like a ill fitting pair of jeans...because it doesn't fit anymore...not the way it used to...<br /><br />This Sunday doesn't fit.Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-78319823399960932492010-08-01T09:18:00.000-07:002010-08-01T09:49:42.623-07:00Many rock concerts were performed in my bedroom..<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTKIXYOF2FH3uAyxpAiKyM9NoR36BnOB0PLGriFdl5stA2PCzpkjuEbA4lVOGHADxVzZlNiWhq5x_JQjTDRd1_K2bmj0rvAhjtu4esI7JgNj5_JCL7zvj4jl5FNtZqDoyYzb0XShy874/s1600/Senior+Trip.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTKIXYOF2FH3uAyxpAiKyM9NoR36BnOB0PLGriFdl5stA2PCzpkjuEbA4lVOGHADxVzZlNiWhq5x_JQjTDRd1_K2bmj0rvAhjtu4esI7JgNj5_JCL7zvj4jl5FNtZqDoyYzb0XShy874/s400/Senior+Trip.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5500476968558224130" border="0" /></a> Glenda Crow, me and Suzi Brazil - Senior Trip 1974<br /><br /><br />....and even a few rock operas and tons of choreography.......<br /><br />This morning I was in the kitchen on my computer when a blast from the past came pouring out of the computer speakers. Dancing In The Moonlight by ....was it King Harvest....can't remember. But with the first notes I was out of my chair and dancing around the kitchen table.<br /><br />This set me to thinking about the role music played in my life. Its always been a part of my life. My father installed speakers in the ceilings of each room of our house and hooked them up to my mother's stereo in the den. In the mornings we would wake up to the local radio station blasting down from the ceiling. On the weekends if we were cleaning house you would be bombarded with Perry Como, Floyd Cramer, Andy Williams or movie theme songs. To this day I can see in my mind the cover of my mother's album that had the theme to The Magnificent Seven and Lawrence of Arabia on it. And oh my gosh - how could I forget to mention the track from West Side Story.... its all engraved on my soul...<br /><br />Then as I got older there was the radio that played all night long as I lay in my bed dreaming the dreams of a teen age girl who thought the excitement of life would never end. KOMA Oklahoma City fading in and out....<br /><br />But what I'm thinking about today after my embarrassing sock hop in a thankfully empty kitchen is all the time I spent listening to my records in my bedroom. Playing them as loud as I could get away with. Holding the hairbrush up to my face as I sang into it while performing for that solo fan in the mirror. Oh the hours I spent perfecting my performance, I who cannot carry a note in a bucket.<br /><br />Oh for the imaginary boys I sang the love songs to. Oh for the filled stadiums I passionately sang my protest songs to. Oh for the number of time sin my bedroom sanctuary that James Taylor or Jim Croce asked me to come on stage and join them in a song that they wrote...just for me.<br /><br />Oh the horror when I was in the middle of one of my best performances of the rock opera "Jesus Christ Super Star" and looked up only to see my dad standing in the door watching me with a smile on his face. I was so humiliated and angry at his intrusion ....but never forgot the smile to this day.<br /><br />I smile now when I think of the hours that I and my friends would practice our dancing to make sure we would look really cool at the next school dance.<br /><br />When I was in Junior High School Glenda and Carol Crow and I would make up routines to perform at the monthly Talent Show held in the local theater. Once we won third place and not knowing how to divide the trophy we hit on a plan - Glenda and Carol kept the trophy itself but I got the engraved plate that said "Third Place". Its all too funny to me now.<br /><br />In high school I danced with James Dodge almost exclusively. Without really trying we developed a kind of routine for different songs that were always played. I tell you what - if I had the chance I could still dance with James to Tull's Aqualung and never miss a step of how we used to do it.<br /><br />Last but not least are my most fond memories of the one and only year Santa Rosa High School had a drill team and all the fun we had making up routines and performing at the games .... again with Glenda, Carol and Lynne Brazil , JoAnn Garcia, Madaline Aragon and so many others.<br /><br />...<span style="font-style: italic;">we like our fun and we never fight...you can't dance and stay uptight...its a supernatural delight...</span>everybody was dancing in the moonlight.....<br /><br /><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/hMc8naeeSS8&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/hMc8naeeSS8&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" height="344" width="425"></embed></object>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-42677246526953189362010-06-25T18:23:00.000-07:002010-06-26T05:24:24.653-07:00Final Chapter - mystery ends<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHKUb15Z_-v6zDUP_m1DP4233meUV-u1ZsgFXj6GVk4SoNev6aj-s0Hx_L49M-rcRYlF0HKgX30LAwW93zN2abNBcJzBbvwlFJns_LXity9_mLjpGujWhME0vCrNBSnLEXbzcIUr6ksA/s1600/High+School+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486887214913094498" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 397px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHKUb15Z_-v6zDUP_m1DP4233meUV-u1ZsgFXj6GVk4SoNev6aj-s0Hx_L49M-rcRYlF0HKgX30LAwW93zN2abNBcJzBbvwlFJns_LXity9_mLjpGujWhME0vCrNBSnLEXbzcIUr6ksA/s400/High+School+001.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong>Typical day at Hidden Lake</strong><br /><br /><br /><br />In November of 2008 I posted several photos and ended by using the following phrase:<br /><br /><em>"By the way, one of the guys in the photographs turned out to be the unexpected romance of my life - the one I never stopped loving. We never ended up together but we should have. Can you guess which one?"</em><br /><br /><p>Little did I know when I wrote that phrase that it would give way to speculation and cause the problem that it did. I thought for a while that I''d ignore it but then it made me angry and moved me to clear the air. And now? Now I'm not sure I care.</p><p>But it is what it is and it was what it was. And it was a good thing so I'll write about it. Those who don't like it don't have to read about it. Besides, for Pete's sake, it was thirty seven years ago. Do you really care after all this time?<br /></p><p>But on with my story, sans apologies...I'm done with that.</p><p>Marilyn, Dee Dee and me drove to Hidden Lake like we did every afternoon that summer. I don't remember where Dee Dee headed off to but I know Marilyn went straight up to the top of the cliffs (not visible in the photo above). I stopped on my way up to visit with Sammy who was floating in an innertube next to the large slanted rock that everyone used to get in and out of the water. In the photo above you will notice a guy reclining on this rock. You will notice others sitting on the large rocks directly behind that rock.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45ssShSDQOhdJkMN2Xtr30AcY-tguska5C0dv2tj_FW53xMhX9wGrCya7WeQmz8lMK7rQ8I_SOTFmn1z_ZF9c_T2nPnkGGj60EFD7M12jbtqMsxtc9GOqzbJvld_EWY_tzgbJsqfjI7I/s1600/High+School+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486900695182553874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 398px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi45ssShSDQOhdJkMN2Xtr30AcY-tguska5C0dv2tj_FW53xMhX9wGrCya7WeQmz8lMK7rQ8I_SOTFmn1z_ZF9c_T2nPnkGGj60EFD7M12jbtqMsxtc9GOqzbJvld_EWY_tzgbJsqfjI7I/s400/High+School+003.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong>Sammy, Marilyn and Tutor at the top of the cliffs.</strong><br /><br />When Sammy called out to me I went and sat myself down on the slanted rock next to Albert Tapia (I think, its been too long ago). Anyway as I sat there visiting with the guys there was a good looking young man leaning against the rock behind us. He inserted himself into the conversation in such a charming way that no offense was taken. He made very polite small talk with us and I can distinctly remember looking over my shoulder at him when he spoke. As I rose to join Marilyn at the top of the cliffs he asked me if I'd be at The Ranch later. I said I would and made my way on up the rise.</p><p>When I got to the top I asked who he was and Tutor told me it was a friend of his that had recently gotten out of the army and returned home. I am certain that I was at The Ranch that night because we were always at The Ranch but I can't tell you if I remember seeing him there although I know I must have. But I do know how things progressed. </p><p>He became Tutor's best friend that summer. He had a car, Tutor didn't. They were always together in his car. Tutor was dating Marilyn and she was always with me in my car. (Can you see this coming?) So it was only natural that with Tutor and Marilyn together constantly he and I were also thrown together in the same vehicle and situations. </p><p>He was so different from anyone I had ever known. He was charming and quiet and wise beyond his years but not beyond his experiences. In a time full of young egos he was shy and unassuming. He was Tutor's straight man just as I had always been Marilyn's.</p><p>We had plenty of time to talk..and talk...and talk .... while he readjusted to being home and I lamented my absent solider. He told me stories and made me laugh. He fed my mind and my spirit. It was all so innocent and wholesome and that's probably why neither of us saw it coming. </p><p>Then suddenly one day we just knew what was happening to us. In a time when sex was our generation's to use as freely as we wanted, we didn't. He and I had accidentally done what my dear grandmother had talked to me about all my life. We had taken the time to get to know each other and become friends. We found ourselves caring about each other on a level that had nothing to do with sex. We were falling in love - </p><p>Then after realizing we had strong feelings for each other we immediately knew we had a bigger problem. I was Kenny's girl and everyone knew it. He was best friends with Kenny's brother. It was so complicated and we knew it. We both had our own immature sense of loyalty so we did what we thought was right, we called it off.</p><p>We fell in love but never used the word. We didn't view ourselves as free to use it. But here's what that taught me. Just because you don't say it doesn't mean it's not real. </p><p>Which leads me to smile at the pettiness of most people, including me, and wondering just who we think we're kidding. We go around making declarations as though stating them made them instantly true. <em>She is my girl. He is my husband. This place would have to close its doors without me. My child would never do that</em>. And conversely we don't say things in hopes that they aren't true<em>. I'm hurting, I'm scared, I'm lost....I love you...</em></p><p><strong>But TRUTH is its own force. It doesn't give a damn if we voice it or hide it. It is unmoved by our ego. It exists with or without us. It doesn't fade away or soften its blows. Its faithful to its intended design. It whispers our name in the dark and makes us look in the mirror. </strong></p><p>I can't help but wonder how my life might have been changed if I had practiced TRUTH without fear. By the way, his name was David and he's the guy with the guitar in the photograph.</p><br /><em><br /><br /></em>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-76184391187140109642010-06-07T18:56:00.000-07:002010-06-07T20:00:27.434-07:00It started lke this... (part 2 of 3)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8pNotL6Oc2QtXU1Qdz2nYLP60JQJEBWFdwN2rOafqGughNQ27Z2R0fy1zKc-jSuvEBEugaoVx0kSrrDT_SghcCBEMsym7muTVEf-XqXTsUrTtDJmUp_ixBX-vOARfeqLLCtB9vsIA-eQ/s1600/hidden_lake[1]+(2).JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480231036660974418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8pNotL6Oc2QtXU1Qdz2nYLP60JQJEBWFdwN2rOafqGughNQ27Z2R0fy1zKc-jSuvEBEugaoVx0kSrrDT_SghcCBEMsym7muTVEf-XqXTsUrTtDJmUp_ixBX-vOARfeqLLCtB9vsIA-eQ/s400/hidden_lake%5B1%5D+(2).JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The photo above was taken at Hidden lake. A small deep sapphire blue lake hidden (hence the name) from public view but surprisingly close to town. I'm sure all of our parent knew where it was but at the time we felt a cocky <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">confidence</span> that we were hidden from any and all figures of authority and that made it one of the favorite spots to hang out.<br /><br />The lake was surrounded by rock walls in various stages of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">collapse</span>. This gave the lake the appearance of a water filled sink hole - heck maybe that's what it really was, I don't know. All I do know is that this lake gave me the creeps and I seldom got in the water. But that didn't stop me from spending a good deal of my time out there.<br /><br />The summer this photo was taken was the summer of 1973, the perfect summer, the one in which I felt the happiest as well as the saddest. The summer I thought I was grown and still as lost as a child. The summer I knew I would always be okay...no matter what...the summer I began to get to know myself.<br /><br />I had just turned 16 years old and had just gotten my driver's license. My dad had bought my mother a car at an auto auction and she hated it so they gave it to me to drive. A 1971 Mustang Mach One...poor me.....yeah right!<br /><br />My two best friends in the world (the world as I knew it ) were Marilyn and Dee Dee. We spent almost every minute of that summer <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">together</span> and we used that car like a magic carpet to transport ourselves daily to magical places and events. It was pretty simple actually. The three of us were either at Hidden Lake or Park Lake or The Ranch or just in that car cruising and listening to the radio <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">and laughing</span>...always laughing.<br /><br />As I mentioned before, I had fallen in love with my first real boyfriend the previous winter. This is back in the day when we all spouted "Free Love" but still kept it secret from our parents. Back when I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">defiant</span> but still a coward. Back when I assumed control of my body and my reproductive capabilities but still secretly harboured the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">contradictory</span> notion that if I eventually married my love it wouldn't matter that we had "done it". Back when I was....sixteen....<br /><br />Then summer came and with it came changes and challenges. My guy went into the service. Boot camp was only two months long but it was the two months of summer. It might as well have been two million months. I'm not going to pretend that I was mature beyond my years. I'm not going to pretend that I above reproach when it came to my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">commitment</span> to my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">solider</span>. But I will tell you this. I tried, I really tried.<br /><br />I lay in my bed and cried each night. I played record albums over and over and fantasied about the time I spent with him and the times to come. I wrote perfume scented letters each day and rushed each morning to the post office to retrieve the mail before my parents picked it up. Sorting through it feverishly for signs of that envelope <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">with the</span> blue and red striping. I read and reread each letter a million times.<br /><br />But I was sixteen....<br /><br />I'd like to say that I had the discipline to wait for my soldier. I'd like to say that my endurance and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">faithfulness</span> is legendary but I'd be lying.<br /><br />It didn't take long before I realized that one of my best friends had a husband and one had a lover and when we all got together....I had no one. It was okay for a while but soon the loneliness I experienced within my own home, the same <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">loneliness</span> that drove me out into the streets, was now joined by its identical twin. The two of them together were too much for me ...I was only sixteen.....<br /><br />And then one day, one day that was a regular as every day before it, Marilyn, Dee Dee and I drove out to Hidden Lake.....I was still sixteen but this day, I was one day older.....and he was there.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-19381080681582768442010-06-01T16:35:00.000-07:002010-06-07T20:01:04.831-07:00History repeats itself....at least it does in my mind.. (part1 of 3).<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEkvP7lP8ZC4bFX02IAJ48j1ANvgHdGziKJa1GII6EGJ3l_lazRquwbC6xYAM8p3aCtKMPcduXSqdQ0MDbE8PrPozc9OTWUR7Nl_CzdIQqEsyByvpUe7tLAPWBt8goliJ5e2DyVBNpCU/s1600/Blog+2+036.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5477953393333001602" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEkvP7lP8ZC4bFX02IAJ48j1ANvgHdGziKJa1GII6EGJ3l_lazRquwbC6xYAM8p3aCtKMPcduXSqdQ0MDbE8PrPozc9OTWUR7Nl_CzdIQqEsyByvpUe7tLAPWBt8goliJ5e2DyVBNpCU/s400/Blog+2+036.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Over a year ago I posted this photo along with several others in a post I wrote (November 2009 if your curious) about a perfect summer from my past.</div><div></div><div>In that post I talked about spending the entire summer with a group of friends who will forever be a part of me. I ended the post by saying that one of the boys in the photos ended up being my most surprising romance ever. Since that photo I have had a handful of comments from various sources speculating on just which one of the guys from that summer was "that guy".</div><div></div><div>All guesses were wrong which made me wonder just how it was that we stayed so far under the radar - we didn't try to, I think it might have been that just no one could have imagined what was going on let alone just how strong it was.</div><div></div><div>I have waited all this time to follow up on that post so as to not to feel like I was pressured into explaining myself - far from it - something like this needs no <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">explanation</span>. It was what it was.</div><div>Extremely brief, extremely proper (considering it was 1973) and extremely touching.</div><div></div><div>Maybe if things had been different and it had been given a chance to play itself out it might have come and gone like many teen romances. Then again, I've always wondered if it had been given its chance whether or not I'd be living at home with a dozen kids and two dozen <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">grandchildren</span>. Maybe...maybe not. Life has its own agenda. </div><div></div><div>A little back story. It was the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. It had the makings for the worst chapter of my life. My first real love had left for the army. My very best friend in the whole world was moving several hundred miles away and wouldn't be there for our senior year. My mother, with whom I had a very difficult relationship, was moving back to town and back into our home after being gone for most of my junior year and finally I had just turned 16 years old. That (being 16) in itself should be reason enough to forgive me for being a very mixed up kid.</div><div></div><div>That's enough for now....I will post the second part of the story in a couple of days. But until I do, I will sit on my porch as the sun goes down and think of all of the wonderful people and remember the laughter...its a good memory....</div><div></div><div></div><div></div>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-87945186429127494862010-02-14T10:25:00.000-08:002010-02-14T11:09:46.628-08:00Happy Valentine's Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxnnLxXNtF4SOX0mBrOpA7KZaT1Y89vgnLSLWwfxsGXpsGPXS8RkMiTiTVvlpjlPsMAzGo2Jf7HVSI60arlZkvz35WE0nqAkRHcz5nSm1w0H3qgGMpU15tkHyTzUvtlhulHBG67gt0t0/s1600-h/SR2+and+Camp+Out+at+Mike"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438167205631133570" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 390px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIxnnLxXNtF4SOX0mBrOpA7KZaT1Y89vgnLSLWwfxsGXpsGPXS8RkMiTiTVvlpjlPsMAzGo2Jf7HVSI60arlZkvz35WE0nqAkRHcz5nSm1w0H3qgGMpU15tkHyTzUvtlhulHBG67gt0t0/s400/SR2+and+Camp+Out+at+Mike%27s+124.jpg" border="0" /></a> This morning I saw something on television bout how expensive Valentine's Day can be. I have had all kinds of Valentine's Days in my 52 years. <br /><br />My first memory was my father giving all of us girls what seemed like a huge heart shaped red velvet box with a huge (and somewhat tacky) plastic rose perched on top. This would have been purchased from Dale Bartz at the Drug Store. Inside was an assortment of chocolates of every kind. My favorite was always the flavored cream filled. You know the kind, cherry creme, orange cream, lemon....I still love those. There were the chocolate covered toffee which was usually thin and placed two in one compartment. Then there were the ones with nuts in them. Chocolate covered coconut candy, and the much dreaded chocolate covered caramels that stuck in your teeth. Yech! <br /><br />I would avoid the paper "key" in the inside of the box that identified the candy - part of the fun was in not knowing what you would bite into next.<br /><br />But the very best part was that after the candy was gone you still had this stunning red velvet heart shaped container adorned with the most beautiful plastic flower you had ever seen. This box now became the place of honor for all your most treasured keepsakes. <br /><br />What was in the box? Well that depended on how old you were. As a young child it contained the booklets that came inside the packages of Barbie Doll outfits. Later it held notes passed in class from my best girlfriends. Still later it contained notes passed in class from my best boyfriends. There was always an assortment of pictures and movie ticket stubs, maybe some ribbon, maybe some jewelry purchase at a dime store. Nothing of any real monetary value but priceless all the same.<br /><br />The candy eventually disappeared and was replaced by cards. Cards came from everyone in the beginning, your parents, grandparents, school teachers and classmates (even the ones you didn't like because it was a class rule to give everyone a card).<br /><br />Then as a teen you waited for that card from that someone special. I remember some of the girls in school would have a whole handful from all of their someones special. Some would have candy, some stuffed animals and occasionally someone would get a rose. Now I'm not being a whiner but my Valentine's Day card from my special someone, whoever it was at the time, never arrived. Isn't that funny, after all these years I still feel that twinge of sadness over that? I can't say why I didn't get anything except to say the crowd I ran with just wasn't the type of people to do that kind of thing.<br /><br />As a young adult I remember getting a very generic "glad to have a friend like you" card from a guy I was crazy about - now that stung! But I survived. Then for many years I got the obligatory cards, flowers, jewelry (but never candy -my ex was a fanatic about how I didn't need to have and candy because of the calories - sometimes I remember why I divorced him....). Those gift were nice but irritating at the same time because of the spirit in which they were given.<br /><br />Soon my precious son came along and he would make me the most beautiful little cards and gifts. The are the most precious and priceless things I every received from my truest love.<br /><br />Then almost a half century into my life I came across this old broke down biker...and on Valentine's Day he gave me a red velvet heart shaped box of chocolates and said he remembered me mentioning my dad had always given me candy ..... God I love this man....Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-30936280036451515412010-01-08T19:10:00.000-08:002010-01-08T19:48:41.251-08:00Snowed inSun and Sands Restaurant - snow storm - late 60's maybe even early 70's<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8ewvwJPqD18sNoY5rQwBMh8Q372tE4yRcljDoxkS6RzBZHAFb7xRCEPCBZNmlNmMM81QO_wzFsIsYgRERXVuQMJQAFjk29tnzQR9Vk92H28MwnE8Hl0ccs2-ewQF9VmTXy8BuRK2UN4/s1600-h/Santa+Rosa+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5424572516837798386" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 243px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY8ewvwJPqD18sNoY5rQwBMh8Q372tE4yRcljDoxkS6RzBZHAFb7xRCEPCBZNmlNmMM81QO_wzFsIsYgRERXVuQMJQAFjk29tnzQR9Vk92H28MwnE8Hl0ccs2-ewQF9VmTXy8BuRK2UN4/s400/Santa+Rosa+006.jpg" border="0" /></a> Here in the upper part of Missouri where I live we have had one heck of a cold spell. It started snowing Wednesday evening and kept it up all day Thursday and into this morning. We got about 4 inches but the real issue was the wind. We had terrible wind, which is unusual for us, and that <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">brought t</span>he temperature with the wind chill to abo<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ut </span>-10 degrees below zero.
<br />
<br />I stayed home from work yesterday and thank goodness I did - about 11 o'clock in the morning my heater went out. Luckily I got a repairman to the house in short t<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">ime and</span> the repair was both easy and inexpensive. I would hate to think what it would have been like to have come home from work to a cold house and possibly frozen pipes.
<br /> </DI<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"></span> <div>By this afternoon the sun was out and it seemed like I would make it through all of this nasty weather after all.</div><div> </div><div>But all this caused me to think about what it was like when we got our big snow storms in Santa Rosa. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"> I </span>can remember being in school and the minute I opened my eyes in the morning I would would jump up to see if it snowed and then turn on the radio to listen for the announcement that every kid prays for - NO SCHOOL TODAY! YEA!!!! </div><div> </div><div>Because of its location on Route 66, the highway would often be closed at Santa Rosa in order to give the winter traveler some options before proceeding toward Cline's Corners where they would certainly get stuck in the snow. My father had owned several restaurants and one of them, Sun and Sands Restaurant, was on the east side of town. (Just at the bottom of Sunshine Hill for those of you who know what I'm talking about). At that time my dad had the only restaurant with gas grills instead of electric. This was important because the first thing to go back then in a snow st<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">orm was th</span>e electricity. This was back in the times of streets lined with poles and wires. During the heavy snows the lines would become heavy with wet snow that turned to ice that they would eventually snap. </div><div> </div><div>Since my dad had gas grills he could open his restaurant and offer gallons and gallons of coffee and a very limited menu. I clearly remember him serving breakfast and grilling the bread since the toa<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ster, b</span>eing electric, didn't work. This rare type of toast was such a treat to me and I can taste it even now.<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"> </span>I am amused at my current age to realize that what he was serving was what is now served at every steakhouse across Ame<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">ri</span>ca - good ol' Texas Toast. Just the same, I thought my dad was the most clever man on the face of the earth.
<br /></div><div>Since we were the only game in town, as far as eateries go, our place would be packed with tourist. Businessmen, families, college students, truck drivers, all strangers caught in a snow storm waiting for the highway to reopen, trying hard not to look scared,</div><div> </div><div>My dad charged 15 cents for a cup of coffee and refills were free. I would bet my life that each man, woman and child drank ten gallons of coffee for 15 cents while waiting out the storm. If day turned into night calls would be made to find lodging for the stranded. Motels were filled with those who could pay - preachers would be called for those who couldn't.</div><div> </div><div>Frozen, scared, frustrated and more times than not, irritated travelers were taken in, treated like family and cared for. Times were different then...better....</div>
<br />Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-59374977891223360822010-01-01T12:03:00.000-08:002010-01-01T12:42:28.765-08:00I am so screwed!I find myself in a terrible position. You have heard me whine so many times before that I am home sick and want to move back to New Mexico, and I do. I was raised in the Land of Enchantment and dearly love the area, the people the traditions...I love it all.
<br />
<br />The small town I grew up in is and always will be the thread that runs <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">through</span> my lifetime tapestry. Without it I would come unraveled.
<br />
<br />
<br />I still have my family back there and my friends. Both groups are so important to me. Not an hour goes by that my love and thoughts aren't back there with them. I miss them so much and long for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">their</span> company.
<br />
<br />
<br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421866074430889362" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbXZXI7Qx7Tcnnekr9j-TEWHtZU1KNrgbyXaORaJf4JJTq5_AJ__iR3TwLmCaRq9cr3xuLn1GtDPwdl_sRgesiYwDpu92Fm7T1ilMcrX-joL5qLjcaox4qT8fwI3gqV2n-7ku4lzIMels/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+049.jpg" border="0" /></a> My family left to right (Michelle and Joel, my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nephew</span>. Me holding <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">their</span> baby Levi, My sister Vicki and her husband Harold and my sister <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">LaVonne</span>). </p><p>And I have my friends who mean just as much to me as family.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51cuX-4Z31tRh7RufU3viYMErKCvKim0mKjF0RlGejdYWOqxIqVy_dGhyphenhyphenCSaZFDllFhThlQhTJL8QnMtdM20U_bpuXAe9wgzo_Ltdl9NKUkHn2r9ja8RzOWQH1_wG3TZ2IkRz7JgXWN0/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC#1+164.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421867225257800338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51cuX-4Z31tRh7RufU3viYMErKCvKim0mKjF0RlGejdYWOqxIqVy_dGhyphenhyphenCSaZFDllFhThlQhTJL8QnMtdM20U_bpuXAe9wgzo_Ltdl9NKUkHn2r9ja8RzOWQH1_wG3TZ2IkRz7JgXWN0/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+164.jpg" border="0" /></a> Me, David, Tommy, Beak, Shirley and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">JoAnn</span></p><p>But I left home and moved to Missouri and now I have family (Dana's) ...
<br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7q1J4aybQ1QyWM1e5_vi9SczW97PsW-PFBfm5PYe8-vf7p8ldipHAIkc-WfIQcieWzir5Ml1uHqmtHDFM21agMicpwgEFwC8RRPE2nfBWkqXhtv6Ohu9CNpsLR5yHQEX2YdNzoGyDXi8/s1600-h/Family+033.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421869138208903330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7q1J4aybQ1QyWM1e5_vi9SczW97PsW-PFBfm5PYe8-vf7p8ldipHAIkc-WfIQcieWzir5Ml1uHqmtHDFM21agMicpwgEFwC8RRPE2nfBWkqXhtv6Ohu9CNpsLR5yHQEX2YdNzoGyDXi8/s400/Family+033.JPG" border="0" /></a> (Dana and the grand kids left to right- back row: Tyler, Dana and Dylan. Front row L-R: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Jayce</span> and Zach)
<br />
<br />...and friends up here that mean the world to me also.
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlTPcR8WwyeQEW0c526bGMWBoArYKPSLdAl13C6s9sDqM12DFnlgYjkVis6_XPnkuhfzLRLlk1MVd2cIWGZU6BqyAHW8HCZYHstIYcB6Dbh3Dh807S802Om-zlS38l96OrdzmpUrIgSA/s1600-h/Jody"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421872304799747378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 299px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJlTPcR8WwyeQEW0c526bGMWBoArYKPSLdAl13C6s9sDqM12DFnlgYjkVis6_XPnkuhfzLRLlk1MVd2cIWGZU6BqyAHW8HCZYHstIYcB6Dbh3Dh807S802Om-zlS38l96OrdzmpUrIgSA/s400/Jody's+40th+009.JPG" border="0" /></a> (Left to right: Tammy, me and my best friend Jody)
<br />
<br />
<br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421868695740202338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 266px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD1r4orAMValabiqVW0zBYFEaI_QszR0fjLkKPz2VHqIEyBFqL3QQPw5LPVfdT9C1pfeeY9Z9tFZEKUmlWR6VsqV9ygkvUWbVVplZjbsKPV4BaLZQ5p_0f3tPT6twaUO5yTm6Y2gz64ww/s400/Blog+2+162.jpg" border="0" /></a> (The greatest group of people in the world - the "Club under the Club" ha ha! Left to right: Melissa, Terrie, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">Lyndia</span>, me and <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Christy</span>. Behind us is Leonard, JR and Dido - Not pictured but very <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">much</span> loved is Alan and Dana)</p><p>So as you can see...I am totally screwed. No matter where I go I will be missing people I love. I want to go home <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">because</span> I'm homesick but I can't stand the thought of not seeing these people up here in Missouri .... totally screwed.....
<br /></p>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-42587694199988287512009-11-08T07:30:00.000-08:002009-11-08T07:31:04.984-08:00Happy Sunday!<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/MS93Q4jQAO0&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/MS93Q4jQAO0&color1=0xb1b1b1&color2=0xcfcfcf&feature=player_embedded&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-28629441856313217742009-10-30T16:34:00.000-07:002009-10-31T16:21:29.951-07:00The Texaco Warehouse and things that may or may not go bump in the night<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1dX0YoInaAAyjDRF_9GOvuQ4RuG87gs4cgNE8T7yQEIDldKateMKwRJo_FmmA1RncgPpCwX_ExKFEPEC5Sn1qDio3srR2wvxjmsNYKy6leWCaUrN_Hby0CyPuRC1AxUbt2fDuUIzlJi8/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC%231+110.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNe-v2U-uF3rGFeq2kRo8h4DXK083tWbpf6gnnIkPpvC677ITt8-I7suto-fUf8SXSp2yOj-iOI_lj3mkOZ69X095_3RmbwUSnlbVrNHabPJ25GvmrVQu9fcIgBvAnsqq4RS7KO_n4ok/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC#1+104.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398541837899587938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxNe-v2U-uF3rGFeq2kRo8h4DXK083tWbpf6gnnIkPpvC677ITt8-I7suto-fUf8SXSp2yOj-iOI_lj3mkOZ69X095_3RmbwUSnlbVrNHabPJ25GvmrVQu9fcIgBvAnsqq4RS7KO_n4ok/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+104.jpg" border="0" /></a>
<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKYz2g5PtloUK34OAC0sWjM115eu7hY2qwItf7mhVqX85guwW-fxLRhv_toaCQH3lkLOK-HYuICDvq8qqblF05i7GWVyKAYB6PkTXk7z_SJGqscA2SJO0wM9b-3bdCLHKLmxgo2rcfRk/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC#1+105.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398541376161459090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKYz2g5PtloUK34OAC0sWjM115eu7hY2qwItf7mhVqX85guwW-fxLRhv_toaCQH3lkLOK-HYuICDvq8qqblF05i7GWVyKAYB6PkTXk7z_SJGqscA2SJO0wM9b-3bdCLHKLmxgo2rcfRk/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+105.jpg" border="0" /></a>
<br />(On the right side of the building you will see a green wood addition, this was a screened in porch with a door that opened to a long staircase up to our apartment.)
<br />
<br /><div>Tomorrow night is Halloween so I thought I’d post a fun little story from about 1963. I would have been six years old at this time and as I have previously mentioned we lived in an apartment located in the rafters of the old Ilfeld / Johnson’s Texaco Warehouse. Great setting for a spooky story don’t you think?
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjgrbWCoqwmqTjZA-g-WO-oeDcakTY2hXImipWEkorY2dn1eqtxGQ4sI4gZFUqTKVld4VwkeuKNHWg8g7yVs88wpuPjz_Kh1CymDrKXk5Qe-l4DP9T00Yz1vaC28ukHTs7_oyCEjV0jw/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC%231+110.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjgrbWCoqwmqTjZA-g-WO-oeDcakTY2hXImipWEkorY2dn1eqtxGQ4sI4gZFUqTKVld4VwkeuKNHWg8g7yVs88wpuPjz_Kh1CymDrKXk5Qe-l4DP9T00Yz1vaC28ukHTs7_oyCEjV0jw/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+110.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398544006224259202" /></a>
<br />(This is the staircase but at the time of this story the windows on the left were covered so no natural light came in except from behind as you walked up the stairs.)
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEx3UIemUxuMoQFhFcfB7QaCS0C-ZEOq4TQB9AGQD8aBv9_cWsTyxIK9Ei-SIsCk4FmFRCVqqMMloWUcIzkWce9IyCD1_u0ZTxNrGWgj9dpukWLrHIUE-cQ1X9XamPraEMMeRkpvX8STQ/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC%231+114.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEx3UIemUxuMoQFhFcfB7QaCS0C-ZEOq4TQB9AGQD8aBv9_cWsTyxIK9Ei-SIsCk4FmFRCVqqMMloWUcIzkWce9IyCD1_u0ZTxNrGWgj9dpukWLrHIUE-cQ1X9XamPraEMMeRkpvX8STQ/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+114.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398542992993993858" /></a>
<br />(This is a view of the warehouse from the top of the stairs. Now its empty but it was filled with barrels and various other oily grimey "stuff")
<br />
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UDHNmOpy3ow1o42I70ch6xVZ08rh5C1yrrPGHW7x7tgKFDzRoZFD67F0TVW_xUz4e9_QOCq0eygqyd1z5lzMA6kBp3L-KXGUtD4b4-5VjZ3UnKZaUoMGMsAd7eP5STRHot00ANCZ1fo/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC%231+111.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0UDHNmOpy3ow1o42I70ch6xVZ08rh5C1yrrPGHW7x7tgKFDzRoZFD67F0TVW_xUz4e9_QOCq0eygqyd1z5lzMA6kBp3L-KXGUtD4b4-5VjZ3UnKZaUoMGMsAd7eP5STRHot00ANCZ1fo/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+111.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398545124818184754" /></a>
<br />(This is a view of the kitchen taken from the living area,)
<br />
<br />
<br />Grab a cup of hot chocolate and pull your grandmother’s quilt up to the tip of your nose and settle yourself in front of the fire while I tell you one of my memories of a dark night long ago.
<br />
<br />Campy Cara..very campy. Ok, I’ll get on with it… </div>
<br /><div></div>
<br />As I mentioned in earlier postings my family lived in (as we call it) the Texaco Warehouse apartment for several years. It was built possibly as early as 1917 next to the railroad track. Nights in the apartment were filled with noises. Both local and tourist traffic going up and down Route 66 during the day and the lonely rumble of the trains rolling along in the inky black darkness of the nighttime.
<br />
<br />To the south of the warehouse was the Midland Hotel, a scary place on its own, then turning back to the east a small vacant lot kept safe from trespassers by an old rusty wire fence. You know the kind, heavy wire twisted and crimped into a pleasing design with arches running along the top. It looked great until the first boy came along and pressed his hand down on the top in order to jump over it and then the fencing was permanently bent out of shape for the rest of eternity. Every now and then you run across a piece of the tetanus laced fencing close to a long abandoned house or a forgotten cemetery.
<br />
<br />My dad’s business was next to that vacant lot. Medley’s Café with it’s curios shop packed full of real Mexican Jumping Beans, heavily tooled leather wallets and purses, cedar jewelry boxes laminated on the top with colorful pictures of Jesus, post card racks and comic books, with the every present trays and baskets of authentic handmade Indian jewelry made by that some Japanese tribe my father ran across on one of his buying trips … south of the border no doubt…typical tourist trappings.
<br />
<br />Next to the restaurant was Medley’s lounge and after that was a service garage. The name of the garage is not available to me at the writing but a funny story is. Around this same time my sister La Vonne had a best friend named Loretta Sanchez. Now anyone who ever knew Loretta could tell you as easily as me that she was a little spitfire. She always reminded me or a young Rita Moreno. Now Loretta had a crush on a mechanic that happened to work at this garage, a handsome guy named Larry Cockrell. She has apparently made quite a study of Larry and his comings and going because she knew that it was Larry’s habit to take a break at a certain time and he would step out onto the sidewalk and smoke a cigarette on his break. One day Loretta with LaVonne as her accessory in crime climbed up on the roof of the garage and waited for Larry to take his smoke break…waited with a bucket of water. Before long Larry did just what she expected and stepped out on the sidewalk to have a smoke. He had just lit his cigarette when the girls poured the bucket down on his head. With no drama or emotion he simply looked up at the girls and said “You put my cigarette out”.
<br />You already know my father was in the restaurant business and everyone had their place in the business. My father cooked and ran the whole show, my mother would cashier and wait on tables and my sisters waitressed also. I was too small to be any help and La Vonne, not liking to wait tables, eventually decided she would rather take care of me than work at Medley’s. She and I would stay home alone in the Texaco Warehouse until the restaurant closed which was usually about eleven o’clock by the time everything was cleaned up and made ready for the next morning.
<br />
<br />We were so close to the heart of town, just steps away from the corner of Main Street and Route 66. There was always something happening that we could see from our apartment high up in the ware house. My mother had her couch pushed up against a line of west facing windows. Many nights I sat and watched out of those windows at the people coming and going.
<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0NbtTwMwktO_jGDpGns9JngtPX4pxsWkuWXaPyfbeut8hc9WyGNpTcAVaQWWxKpwA2k96f5yuwZPQXH_c4BEBgmwtgn0IG2d1_fYg3hFPQ8-UA0_8WkOjKp4rKHlw38UdOmguBozFt4/s1600-h/2009+NM+VAC%231+112.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg0NbtTwMwktO_jGDpGns9JngtPX4pxsWkuWXaPyfbeut8hc9WyGNpTcAVaQWWxKpwA2k96f5yuwZPQXH_c4BEBgmwtgn0IG2d1_fYg3hFPQ8-UA0_8WkOjKp4rKHlw38UdOmguBozFt4/s400/2009+NM+VAC%231+112.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398542300356372690" /></a>
<br />On this particular night my sister had her radio on as she studied and I played. Of course it was tuned into KOMA- Oklahoma City. What a great station. As the saying goes, it provided the sound track to the movie of my life. Man I miss that station, but back to my story. That night the disc jockey interrupted the music to make an announcement that an unidentified flying object had been spotted and that he would make more announcements as news came in.
<br />
<br />Without considering the hundreds of miles between Oklahoma City and Santa Rosa I was instantly terrified. Every episode of Outer Limits I had ever seen came rushing to mind as I envisioned bug eyed silver men in spaceships landing their craft on Route 66, ducking into the Del Rey café (visible to the west from the apartment window) for a quick cheeseburger (man I miss those cheeseburgers) before shooting all of us down with their ray guns and taking over the planet.
<br />
<br />My sister LaVonne on the other hand was instantly obsessed with the possibility of space travel, UFOs and aliens. Despite my tears and fears we turned off all the lights and spent the rest of the night kneeling on the couch with our elbows perched on the window sills (the same ones pictured above) watching the sky for signs of movement. KOMA played on the table next to us and we waited breathlessly in between Beatle tunes for updates.
<br />
<br />I don’t remember whether there were any updates or much else about that night except the life lesson of how I was so terrified by something my sister found so fascinating and exciting. Perspective…isn’t that the word I’m looking for?
<br /></div></div>
<br /><em></em>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-79136484077316828612009-09-21T17:50:00.000-07:002009-09-21T17:53:31.269-07:00Unbelievable wonderful performance - enjoy<object width="560" height="340"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/05ip-N0H1Ig&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/05ip-N0H1Ig&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"></embed></object>Carahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7282846175869665552.post-45231447608665267422009-09-17T17:55:00.000-07:002009-09-17T17:58:15.781-07:00What's in my suitcase?<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/D0PgggCTlOk&hl=en&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/D0PgggCTlOk&hl=en&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object><br /><br />Have I ever told you that I can’t stay mad? I can stay hurt, I can stay insulted, heck I can even stay with the opinion that someone is a damn fool but I can’t stay mad. I just can’t. I’ve tried but it’s impossible for me to stay mad.<br /><br />Grossed out, impatient, upset, scared of, full of pity…those aren’t a problem. Outrage…yes for a perceived injustice or slight but I’m unable to hang on to the momentum for very long when it comes to a person. Mad? Oh don’t kid yourself, I can get there I just can’t stay there. <br /><br />I can blow up so quick you’d swear you’d lit a match in a fireworks factory but I can’t hold on to it. It’s almost like once I speak it its gone. Once I take the emotion and put legs under it …it strolls off somewhere never to be seen or worse, it comes back all starry eyes and in love. Many, many times I have decided someone is a total waste of my time and that I won’t devote one more second putting up with their crap. Then later I find out something about them that forces me to like them again. I hate it when that happens…no, not really, I’m thankful.<br /><br />I’m thankful that I can feel things or understand things in a totally separate part of my brain…heart..er, maybe my gut, who knows. But it’s true, I can be so mad and then my wheels start turning and I start thinking about why this thing was done, why it seemed important to them and why it seemed important to me. I can choose to express myself or remove myself knowing that in the final analysis the world will keep turning no matter what.<br /><br />There are a small handful of people, very small, that I choose to not interact with. I choose to not let them influence me any more, or hurt me, or suck the life out of me but that doesn’t mean that I hate them. I don’t. I have tried to think whether or not I could say I hate anyone. I honestly don’t think so.<br /><br />This has been interpreted by some as being wishy-washy or disloyal because I couldn’t make their enemy my enemy but it really isn’t that. It’s a choice to not hold on to venom. That’s what anger and hatred are you know, poison. <br /><br />And I have mentioned before that even those I do not embrace have played their role in my life. They have been a part of my growth and education and I like who I have come to be so I owe them a debt also, right? <br /><br />So with the passing of Patrick Swazye this week and all of the talk about his now famous line from the movie “Ghost” I count myself so blessed to have never been able to hang on to the anger, because if there’s a shred of truth in the line…that the love you have inside goes with you…then I am very happy to pay the extra baggage fee at the final terminal. <br /><br />Peace and Love - CaraCarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13577206872187236746noreply@blogger.com2