Delirious musings

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Stayed home from work today. Was tired, dizzy and recovering from a wicked bout of either stomach flu or some tainted eats. Either way, I wasn’t in a good place.

As I lay on the couch, moaning and sweating in the near 100 degree heat (I have no air conditioner, you know…..ugh!), I flipped through the TV channels and paused momentarily on a syndicated episode of “What I Like About You”, you know, that sort of short lived UPN show that starred Jenny Garth (just looked it up on IMDB, it ran four seasons…wow, I never knew it had lasted that long).

In the episode the lead character played by Garth was flipping out about making wedding plans. She encounters another woman who is considerably less wealthy, and the girl was waxing philosophic about how she wasn’t uptight about her wedding because she felt her fiancĂ© was perfect. To describe how perfect, she likened him to chocolate chip cheesecake with chocolate drizzle on top. To her that was utter perfection. I found that bit kind of cute.

Later in the day, I was at the grocery in line behind a couple. Two women who had that knowing look with each other, that look that lets you know those two have spent some years loving each other dearly. They were so calm, easily in love and gentle with each other. Since my own loving partner went out of town this morning, seeing the love between the two gave me pangs of longing.

As I walked to car I remembered the “chocolate chip cheesecake with chocolate drizzle” bit and realized that doesn’t describe my man. So I actually put some thought into it. What describes the perfection of my own partner?

Pancakes. Golden brown Sunday morning pancakes slathered in butter and covered with maple syrup. The real kind, not that fakey Mrs. Butterworths, no, the kind tapped out of a real maple tree, collected by some New Englander and warmed up in a small pitcher then drizzled on my beautifully fluffy pancakes. He’s a Sunday morning smile, warmth from the sun, and delicious, heavenly pancakes.

I’m a lucky girl to have a man as lovely as perfect pancakes to share my life. And sometimes it’s good to show a little gratitude. I miss you, love, and thank whatever powers that reign that I found you…….come home soon, ok?

Happy Fourth of July!

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How did it get to be July? How is it that the summer is blazing past me while I am starting to carry that palid glow of too much time under florescent lights? When did I get old and Fourth of July stopped being about fireworks and hot dogs and swim suits while I ran around in the sprinklers or went swimming at the local pool?

When did it all get so difficult?

Happy Thoughful Fourth to everyone. Stay safe and have fun!

Where I come from

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Last night I had a chance to attend a concert at a fave local venue. The show was Kenny Chesney and he played the outdoor Shoreline Amphitheater locally.

Kenny’s appearance, being a good country boy and all, meant I pulled on my fave pair of Fat Babies and hit the show to sing along with the crowd and Mr. Chesney. (you know him, he’s the guy that married Renee Zellweger for like, a minute….)

Being a good New Mexico girl, I’m a pretty good fan of country music. I’m always utterly surprised at how many fans there are out here in the Bay Area. Now, the friend I went with bummed a cigarette off a guy who had come over from Modesto. Ah, Modesto, good farm country, that makes sense. But there are a lot of “city folk” who love them some country music as much as anyone from the outskirts. And that always makes me a little happy. (and yes, I know today’s country acts are hardly country anymore…more like rock ‘n roll in a straw hat with a Bell Ranch crease)

I saw young kids that I *know* have been raised here in the Bay Area, raised among the people and the concrete and the hustle and bustle and they were singing along word for word to “Back Where I Come From”, Chesney’s ode to small town livin’.

I smiled. Because I knew these kids, though they loved the song, and sang with gusto, in a lot of ways, couldn’t possibly understand.

And it made me thankful, again, for the multi-millionth time about where *I* come from.

Oh, the simple pleasure of knowing a place where a grain elevator and a gas station/Snappy Mart are the only the only things in town (like here or here or here. Kids are homeschooled, folks live in wide open spaces where they run cattle or horses or corn or cotton or whatever comes from the land.

Or knowing how fun it is to dance a two-step on a hardwood floor with a boy you like. Or even a boy you don’t like but is a good dancer.

Or cramming the cab of a pickup with as many friends as will fit and riding to the river to have a little fun while the swirling water rushes by.

And knowing what it means to “live simple”.

Oh Fair New Mexico, how I miss you……

iHell

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So, it’s out. You can buy one (inventories permitting).

Cancer hasn’t been cured. Kids are still starving in some parts of our world. Bad people do bad things. Good people still try to be good. No one has been healed. No shift in the karma of the universe has been made.

An electronic gadget has made its way into the hands of wealthy people willing to splash out $600 on a phone.

Can we all go on about our business now?

(ooh, what an iBitter little girl I am!)