Lady Legend

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JK Rowling is a writers' writer.  I put her right up there with:

• Dickens
• Hemingway
• Shelley
• Yeats

The woman has the calling.  She comes up with the most fascinating details in her books.  Who can come up with those kinds of details?

 Only  legendary writers.

There is speculation that she is going to roll out a crime fiction novel, specifically targeting adults: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2012/feb/24/jk-rowling-crime-fiction-clues?CMP=twt_gu

“As you may have heard, I have a new book out later this year. Very different to Harry,  although I’ve enjoyed writing it every bit as much,” she Tweeted this morning. 

Fingers are tickering on Twitter, her fans have already ralllied wtih her publisher (Little, Brown in the US) in promoting her book,  apt to be another best seller.

The woman worked for her fame.  I love to read about how she got where she is today.  The story about being on a train, and seeing a boy in the window, with big spectacles on.  

Harry was born.  

I envision her writing in her notebook with her baby in tow, in the Edinburgh coffee shop, day after day.   She speaks about how she let her house cleaning go to dedicate her spare time to writing.

Another sign of a winner, she has focus.  

While it took her a year or so to finish her first book, she never stopped writing.  From everything I have seen and heard about her, she always wanted to be a writer above all else.  Itt didn't hurt that she was a teacher, which gave her more insight and skill to take on this endeavor.

She is truly a legend in her own time.  

All my favorite writers' had to die before anyone appreciated their work. The idea of  writing about magic was brilliant. 

The fundamentalists' will argue about this, but most people are fascinated by magic and the mystical.  

Parents' did not give enough credit to children, thinking they would all go off and want to practice black magic after reading Harry Potter books.

And. if reading her books weren't exciting enough, the Harry Potter films put her over the top.  The special effects are the absolute best.  I felt like was flying on the broomstick with Harry!  

Not everyone thinks the next book will be a success, however.

I am putting my money on Rawlings.

Granada Boulevard

 Do you remember the excitement of shopping for your first home?

You got married.  Then came the babies.  You need more space.  It was time for me to look for my first home.

My head was in the clouds- the year was 1981- I was living in Miami, Florida; and my husband and I had looked a good two weeks, when we saw the listing.

This home was a find!  Reasonably priced at just $150,000,  in one of Miami's trendiest areas:   Granada Boulevard.  It was a grand, stately Spanish two story built in the 1920's.

It had a carriage house, and a detached, two car garage.  It had just been remodeled by an independent contractor and just come on the market.

The home was stucco-all white, with a black, wrought iron fence. and was nicely landscaped and manicured.   It had a  mystical curb side appeal.

As I walked up to the front door, the contractor introduced himself to us, and began rattling off all the upgrades.  I had walked maybe two or three steps into the house and found myself facing the fireplace.

I felt a ice cold chill as my eyes fixated on the area.  It was beautifully tiled and meticulously finished.  Everything looked lovely.  But I had an uneasy feeling.  I turned around and took two or three more steps to my right, I was now facing the kitchen area.

My knees began to shake violently.  I have never had such a feeling before.  It mimicked the feeling one has when you've just ridden on a roller-coaster.

Then, I noticed in certain spots, an intense icey cold chill.  My eyes focused on the stainless steel kitchen, a double oven, with with Spanish tiling.  Why was I feeling so shook up?  The chatter went on between my husband and the contractor, neither one seemed to notice my discomfort.

The contractor highlighted all the special detail put into the design.  We followed him around the the first floor bedroom, and then onto the stairwell.  It was there that it hit me.

 Something was in this house.  Someone was watching me.

 The moment I started to climb the stairs I felt the cold come back.  I felt these cold bursts of air in three places, the fireplace; kitchen; and stairwell.  The temperature in other areas of the home seemed normal, but in those areas, it was bitter cold.

At this point, I was hesitant to make the assent up the stairs.  My husband didn't even notice, because he was totally enthralled with the home.  The upstairs hallway felt sad, really, really, sad.

It was a deathly feeling, everything felt forlorn..  When we opened the door to one of the upstairs bedrooms,  the feeling intensified.  I  waited to get my husband alone to ask him if he felt anything.

We were now approaching the second upstairs bedroom.   It had a veranda outside of it.  I couldn't get to the outside door fast enough, I opened it and ran out to the wall on the veranda facing the street.  My husband was going on and on about how he loved the house.

"You don't feel anything?" I asked, raising my voice.  "What are you talking about?" he replied, half annoyed.   "There is something in this house!"  I went on to tell him about my experiences around the fireplace, kitchen and stairwell.  He dismissed it all, telling me this was a beautiful house, and that I didn't appreciate the beauty.

I was angry.  I left him on the veranda, and hurried down the stairs, into the car.  I didn't even have a look at the Carriage House or the garage.  I was too upset to stay in it any longer.

When my husband got back to the car, he started the engine and we didn't talk for about 20 minutes. When he did begin to speak, his speech became racy, and he began to plead with me to buy the house.

I told him that I NEVER could live there, I had the most horrible feeling.   He wasn't giving up anytime soon!  He put the flyer next to his bed.  For two days buying the house was the only thing he discussed.  On the second evening, we were in bed, my infant son was fast asleep on a balmy, Florida evening.

There wasn't a breeze outside, and our sliding doors were slightly ajar.  Suddenly, we were awakened by a booming, shaking sound.  The sliding glass doors looked like an earthquake had hit them.  We both screamed.  It was the most frightening feeling.  After about ten seconds, it all stopped.  It was very strange.

I shared the story with my neighbor the next day, and she told me she saw an orb of light on our terrace that evening, and thought it strange.  Exactly in front of the sliding glass doors adjacent to our bedroom.

My marriage was never the same after that experience.  Our happiness melted away as did our marriage.  I swore all the events were connected to that house.   I believe an evil entity possessed my husband.

I did some research about the house, and found out the the original founders of General Electric lived there, and there were some deaths or trauma associated with the home.

Want to know something else...even the address of the home was creepy.

At the time, I worked with a radio production person who was psychic.  He told me that I was picking up on something that was GOING to happen at the house.

I never did find out the exact details or history on that house.  However, 30 years have passed, and I haven't forgotten that horrible feeling or one detail about that experience.

I worked in Real Estate for over eight years in Colorado, and never once did I enter, show, or sell a  home in which I had a similar feeling.

And I pray it doesn't ever happen again.

Fashion Circa 1960's

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I am a child of the 60's...The 60's might as well be the 1800's, it is now close to a half century ago!

I have the fondest memories of those 60's garage bands- those chilly Florida winters hitchhiking my way to fire stations, public auditoriums, armories to see my favorite bands.

While all my high school friends were busy flirting with the quarterback of the week at football games, I jumped ship and embraced the "mod "movement in England.  

 I made friends with girls a rival high school, and together we rallied round the rockers at the North Miami Armory.  It was a week-to-week drama, the Beatle wannabes, the fashionista's, the micro minis, the Mary Jane shoes, white tights, twiggy spider eyeliner, the "boy" haircut and more.                                                                            

How I looked forward to getting dressed for the occasion, sometimes a week's project!  I had a mad crush on one of the local bands,  I used to go shopping every week for a new "mod" outfit so I would look my "groupie" best.

     1970s Carnaby Street in London's West End - a focus for consumer spending.
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My fondest dream was to go to England, because that was my world.  Music, my life, and nothing was more important.

One of the highlights of my adolescence was when the Queen Elizabeth I cruised into Port Everglades.

 A high school friend piled about 6 girls into her car and we drove up to Ft. Lauderdale to tour the ship.  It was there that I met my first boyfriend.

Much to my chagrin, he wasn't English!  He was from Ireland.  What a disappointment for me!  I loved everything English, but Irish?

We made a deep connection.  Every weekend after that, I would take my 'fish tailing' Corvair, and drove to Ft. Lauderdale to see him, or he would take the bus down to Miami to visit with me.  Through my relationship with him, I began to appreciate everything Irish and have done so since then!

These photographs Carnaby Street, London were taken by Arby Reed in 1968. The girl looking into the gleaming Roller shows us that this was before Carnaby Street was pedestrianised.

I finally did get to England after high school, and have been to Ireland twice as well.  I have to say the countries were everything I had imagined and more.

 When I first visited London, I couldn't get to Carnaby Street fast enough, this was the heartbeat of the fashion world at that time.  On my first trip to London, I celebrated my 21st birthday atop the London Hilton.  It had a revolving restaurant, and I can remember every detail.  It was absolutely fabulous.

I suppose we all have our favorite memories about growing up, regardless of the era.  I wouldn't trade mine for a micro-mini!

Czech Memories

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I am thinking back to the time I visited Czechoslovakia as a young newlywed.  Things weren't so peachy for their newlyweds' and people back in the 70's in the now Czech Republic. There was a very restrictive government in place at that time.

I remember enjoying a delicious lunch in the Czech Republic, and then asking what was the meat?  It was  "Venison" , I was told.  I had never imagined eating deer meat.  It wasn't as appealing as the steak I have just finished.

Every town we passed through had the distinguishable iron and sickle on the side of the road.

I remember a young man boarding our bus, so young that he still had acne.  He carried a rifle along his back, and asked everyone to display their passport.  Our tour bus was so humid and hot, and we were asked to endure that, (with the doors and windows closed), until one hour later when he checked everyone out.

We sat there in resolute, going through our personal items to oblige the young man. That was the then Czechoslovakia.  If not for the grace of God, and the men that fought for us, this would be the United States.

Upon arriving at our hotel, we were warned by our tour guide NOT to discuss anything political in our  rooms.  Can you imagine?  The rooms might be bugged.  It was totally unfathomable to me.  Coming from the United States and going into a country were you were not free to discuss politics even in the privacy of one's room!

The hotel had not changed in decor since the 30's.  All the furniture smelled of  mildew, and was worn and tired, like its' country at that time.  I joked that our hotel elevator operator looked like Count Dracula.  He had black,slick hair, parted down the middle.  the only good thing about the hotel were its' drink prices, less than a dollar for mixed drinks! Amazing.  That was a synopsis of forlorn Czechoslovakia circa 1977.

Touring Czechoslovakia was a hidden treasure of art.  I marveled at the old city square clock, with revolving animated ornaments, that rotated on the hour, a must see for any tourist.  And then there was the priceless crystal, a serving tray could be bought for $10.00 back in the day, and one was free to bring back as much as one could carry!

I never will forget the mixture of fear and wonder that I felt visiting that country.  Before it was liberated, before it was the cosmopolitan and trendy city it is today.

So it seems appropriate, to recognize the great sacrifices made for us, by young men that gave up so much - so we can enjoy good food, family and an enviable quality of life.

Somehow a simple thank you isn't enough.  The best gifts we receive can never really be given back.

 There is no way to make up for the gift of freedom.

During the Viet Nam war, I wrote to service men on the "Sea Tiger."  A group  of girls in our high school passed out names of men that wanted a pen pal.    I felt so good writing them, and to know they looked forward to receiving my letters.  I pray that every one of them made it back home safely.

So it is, with great humility, and not nearly enough appreciation, that on this day I whisper;  "thank you."

Writers' Pain

I now understand why I never seriously pursued being a writer.  It is too painful to write.  Just writing my blog takes it all out of me.  I believe this because, to write good stories or copy, there has to be some measure of truth for the reader.  People have to relate to what you write,  and to do that - one has to bare it all for readers- which I find extremely difficult.

stayclassic.wordpress.com

For example; I always destroyed my diaries, and all my personal journals.  I thought:  What if I get in an accident?  Someone will actually FIND and READ these things.  So I got rid of them.

 In conversation, in contrast, I have no trouble sharing personal information with everyone-  a not so becoming trait.  There is a finality about writing , putting the pen to the paper, and once it is written- you are taking a stand on issues.  There is no flexibility after that.

Maybe I figure at this point of my life, what the heck, that it doesn't really matter what others think of me, so I can let it all hang out.  Truth is:  writing is cathartic for me.  I feel cleansed after I finish.  Although at times I must admit, I don't want to go through the process.

fullinbloommusic.com

It was far easier to interview other people.  When I was in college, and I got to cover concerts of Cat Stevens, Rod McKuen, Donovan.  Oh, and I forgot the late and great Danny Thomas.

  I felt so polished, and, best of all I had the protection of my editor, who would go over my copy with a magnifying glass.

These days, I have no Editor, and my eyes aren't all that good,  I can't guarantee flawless copy. but I do my best to make it appealing and readable.

 But the glamour is gone, I can only share what I have experienced in my lifetime with my audience.  It may strike a chord with some, and not even warrant a "click" for others.


So I continue writing, I don't have any fun concerts to cover anymore, I can't sit down with the likes of Danny Thomas, or Donovan or other celebrities that I got to interview back in the day.

Guardian.co.uk 

However, I am well aware I am just one pebble in a sea of  blogs, and few are  probably reading what I have to share anyway.  This makes the process much easier!

Betrayed

I have been betrayed.   I was betrayed all along.  I didn't want to look at reality.   My shrink told me that I am grieving. This was just a stage that I was going through, not unusual, part of the process.  I wish someone could just rewire my brain, fix it so I never remembered meeting "A,"  erase all the memories.

In the beginning of it all, I was enthralled.  But as aspects of the relationship began to rear their ugly head, this terrible insecure feeling began to creep up on me.

I was dating an alcoholic.  I thought I could make it go away.  I kept trying for two years.  I was courted with three dozen roses for my birthday, taken to the finest restaurants, I could even invite my closest friends along, I was living like a rock star.  I thought.

Things began to go from fabulous to horrible.  Days would go by and I didn't receive a call. Pills would be missing from my cabinet.  Wine was missing from my cupboards. I could never count on him.

 We were invited to a wedding of a close family friend, who lives in Las Vegas. He agreed to attend.  As time wore on, it became apparent that he had no intention of going.

 I was miserable and disappointed.

Looking back, I remember a comment I got early on when I expressed my need to hear from him, and that I needed him to be there for me.   His response was matter-of-fact: "I am not capable of that."  So why didn't I listen, why did I hang on to false hope?

I decided to go into therapy and I was told to make a list of all the qualities I admire in a man so I did:

• Loyalty
• Honesty
• Integrity
• Tall
• Handsome
• Compassionate
• Reliable
• Successful
• Generous
• Sense of humor
• Family oriented

I showed him the list..."none of that is me," was his response.  You think I would have gotten a clue.  I continued to carry on with this man off and on for two years.  I saw the ugly side of things, including the pills (which he insisted were for his attention deficit disorder).  Escorting him to AA meetings, and then having him disappear into thin air- to later find him an empty building- with no excuse. Was he there to pick up pills?  What kind of drugs?  I was numb.  But I was drawn into this web of deception, and would not try to escape.

I pleaded with him to get to the Alcoholic Recovery Center (ARC) to dry out.  He agreed, and I heard nothing from him for three days.  When I did get a call on the 4th day, he was very cavalier about his experience,  He laughed (uncharacteristically) that it was "rough."  Later that night, we argued when he told me that "I cannot live alone, I am getting a roommate through AA".  I thought this was a terrible mistake, that he needed to go into rehabilitation, not get a roommate!

The next day, I went to collect him for church, and there, big as life, sat an attractive, middle-aged woman that  he apparently met at the ARC over the last three day stay, whom he invited to his home!  Stunned, I asked:  "Who are you?" she responded that she was a friend of  "A'"s.

 I was devastated.

 I got to church and just broke down in front of my friend and confidant, our parish priest.  Of course, I was warned time and time again, that this was not the man I should be seeing, that nothing good could come from this.

Seven days passed and I finally received a call from "A."  "I know you met my house guest," he said.  "She will be staying with  me for a few days."  I was mortified.  Later the following week,  I ran into "A" at the gym, he raised his voice when I confronted him (an obvious sign of guilt).  He maintained that this woman was just company, a friend, someone to help him get by and share expenses.  Bull____.   How could someone do something so hurtful?

 I still did not understand that alcoholics only care for themselves.  That they are narcissistic at best, and down right criminal at worst.  They will do anything to advance their cause (to stay high).

I  made one last attempt to help "A" get back into the mainstream; but, no surprise, my efforts failed.   He called me a couple of times, but I never responded.  Fast forward seven months, I got news through an a friend that he and his new beloved (the same friend from the ARC), had a blow up and he was in jail, and she was in the hospital with an emotional breakdown.

A part of me said, great, payback is a bitch! Another part of me prayed for them.  Yet still I ache, it hurts, I still hold onto false hopes.   At this point, I just pray to forget the whole experience.  I still count the months' hoping that by next month I will forget.  But I don't forget.  My mind still replays the good times back to me.  I fight back by telling myself it is over.

If I could just believe that.

Senior Fashionista

(Getty Photo)

Imagine: You are 96 years old, and you've spent your life traveling the globe;  places as far away as Ghana, Ethiopia, and Nigeria to help support women's issues.  You're inspired by the culture and dress. You love helping people and are featured on a blog for senior fashionista's in their 70,'s 80's and 90's!  You take your place at the front row of Joanna Mastroianni's fall fashion show at Lincoln Center, and there you die.

That was Zelda Kaplan's final fashion statement.  I can't imagine a better way to die!  Doing what you love, drawing your last breath after taking a look at a designer dress you admire.  Do you think that's where we get the term "breathtaking?" http://www.stylelist.com/2012/02/15/zelda-kaplan-dead_n_1280450.html?ref=stylelist&just_reloaded=1

The story gives new meaning to the term fashionista.  Ms. Kaplan wore African prints, and other exotic African frocks inspired by the culture she loved, and that loved her back.   According to The New York Times, she examined issues on women's rights of inheritance and created awareness regarding female genitalia mutilation.  She visited scores of African villages and became their mouth piece- advocating for a culture that could not speak out for themselves.

What a role model! Instead of giving up on life, this woman took on tough challenges at a time in when most of us are researching Assisted Care Centers!  While far younger women might have given up on living, Kaplan was out forging new territories on women's issues to landscape.


If I can embrace Ms. Kaplan's philosophy, I would be able to put aside self interest, selfish motivations, and, at the top of the list: worrying.  I am inspired by this woman.  For today, at least, I am NOT going to focus on my AGE, my capabilities, my (lack) of job opportunities, my love (what?) life.   It is too easy to get caught up in my own narcissistic needs.  


Her philosophy about life was summed up as follows: "One must be interested in the world, not oneself only."

49 degrees 56’ North and 41 degrees 43’ West

Here she lies, unparalleled by none, when time stood still for 2228 souls, many of which did not complete the transatlantic crossing. Unsuspecting. vibrant, and hopeful immigrants looking forward to a new beginning in America. These passengers were prepared for the cruise of a lifetime aboard the "unsinkable" Titanic.  According to  Titanic Stories:

The Titanic collided with the iceberg at about 11.40 on 14th April. She sank below the water at 2.20am the next morning. A ship which had taken three years to fully construct was sunk in less than three hours.

This video brilliantly documents what it would have been like to be among the passengers on this immortalized ship.  It is beautifully executed and gives us a window into the decrepit remains of the elegant luxury liner. http://www.the-titanic.com/Journey/Wreck.aspx

I once worked with a woman who swore she was a reincarnated passenger from the Titanic.  She shared with me that she had recurrent flashbacks of people and visions of the ship she could not have known. 

Imagine all the magnates aboard, going about their business nonchalantly on this voyage, unsuspecting, unaware of the impending danger.  Who was destined to live or die?

I remember when the Denver Museum of Science and Natural History had the Titanic recreated for a venue a few years ago.  The ships interior hallways were so authentic, recreated meticulously to mirror what passengers experienced when strolling to their cabins.  One got the feeling of opulence, a time when no expense was too great, or furniture and appointments too costly, for those who purchased their first-class passage on the vessel.

It saddens me to look at this video, to see what time has done to all the crystal, steel, antique furniture- not to mention passengers' shoes- enmeshed in the bottom of the ocean's unforgiving floor.

To follow the Titanic's tragic story is a never-ending mystery; there is always new information and items recovered by different expeditions.  She was created for pleasure, relaxation and enjoyment; but fate had another plan for her, as her memory outlives the sweat and steel with which she was constructed.

Get the Lead out of my Lipstick!

Ever since I can remember, I was always told I look a little pale, and I should put on some lipstick.  There has always been rumblings about the dangers of lipstick and lead.  Especially reds. 

After I have my breakfast in the morning, and brush my teeth, I see a ghostly, freckled figure in the mirror.  Not at all attractive, just pasty and white.  It makes me want to sleep with lipstick on.  I fumble through my makeup kit, and pick out the brightest colors of the rainbow to wear.  That's what I look best in.  I wish I could get away with the natural look, like all those gorgeous models, and the lucky ladies that have olive or oatmeal complexions. 

All my favorite brands are full of lead.  "Not to worry", said my trusted confidant - the manager at the gym I patronize- as she laughed it off with me this afternoon.  "You'd have to literally eat half the lipstick for lead to have an impact!"

What's a girl to do?  I know what this girl is going to do, I am not going to miss a beat, I want my raspberries, oranges, roses, hot pinks, to stay right in my makeup kit so I can be armed after I finish my coffee.  Yes, and I forgot to mention, I am a lipstick "eater."  Not more than 5 minutes after I apply my lipstick, and am smacking my lips together and ingesting it!  Does that make me more vulnerable?

Have a look at what http://www.snopes.com/medical/toxins/lipstick.asp snopes had posted as far back as 2003.  Here's a peek at what the Washington Post had to say about 400 lipsticks: http://www.washingtonpost.com/business/economy/400-lipstick-brands-contain-lead-fda-says/2012/02/14/gIQAhOyeDR_story.html.  Now you can decide if you are going to do some pairing down yourself.

Wait...I hear a knock at my door.  I'm putting on my mandarin honey-orange before I open it.

I Will Love You 'Til the Money Runs Out...

Whoa!  I just read an interesting article on http://www.salary.com/survey-results-for-love-or-money/ regarding how love is connected to money.  Not that we haven't all suspected it in some relationships.  But really, a study conducted on how much you love equals how much you make? 

I can't say I am not bowled over when a former boyfriend gave me three dozen roses for my birthday...what happened to less is more?  Apparently over 2,000 people were surveyed and there are some eye-opening results about how love and money are connected.

I always joked that I married the only poor Jew in America...because if there are 100 men in a room, and I would have an opportunity to pick out my favorites, they would not be the wealthy ones! 

When I was a young woman, I had the opportunity to fly away "anywhere in the world" with a man 30 years older, and all I could think about is "I can't kiss him with those dentures!"  There is no way I could put a bag over his head and do it for God and my country.  So, I did the honorable thing, I "gave" him  to a girlfriend.  Who, much more attractive and clever than myself, wasted no time in scurrying him off to Paris, returning with a brand new wardrobe and quickly marrying him not long after.

Okay, I did feel a bit envious when she turned up on the cover of Women's Wear Daily sporting a designer dress with all the bling.  Honestly, to the day I know it could not have lasted, because if I don't get that butterfly feeling for someone, it just won't fly for me.

So it is fitting, on this Valentines Day, that I will be sitting home tonight, with my Great Pyrenees and parrot, in front of the television set without a box of chocolate!

I never thought I could say this, but guess what?  For once I am okay with that.

Bamboozled

I have a love-hate relationship with technology and social media.

Having observed and participated in social media over the last few years, I have made some observations I want to share.   While there are many, many benefits to social media, I believe there are vulnerablitlies for advertisers, businesses and spin doctors in the race to get audiences to "like" their product or service.  Moreover, to some, the process is not intuitive, impeding the communication process itself!  Given this analogy,  social media might be counter productive to those markets.

We are on overload.  So much information is thrown at consumers, with many of them not knowing how to navigate to find their way through the milieu.

New technology is introduced into the market everyday.  This, in turn, out dates the products consumers' purchase. (Okay, I hear your 'duh'). However, with the economy in a crunch, many people just may opt to forgo that new purchase or future purchases and adopt a "wait and see" attitude with regard to new product roll out.  Just when one has mastered some new software, there is an updated version to learn all over again.  You know the drill.  

Understanding demographics and psychographics, I am well aware that most advertisers allocate a great deal of money targeting the 18-49 segment.  And yes, they are the ones having the love affair with technology.  For those companies targeting that group, it is working well for now.

Are businesses evaluating and targeting those consumers who can't navigate the web?
I can't hear them clicking "like" or "unlike" to what is served up on company social media pages.  I am afraid we are leaving these folks feeling exasperated and frustrated given the stimuli to which they are exposed on a daily basis. 

There is much to be garnered from a quality-versus-quantity approach in pitching your product.  However, it is not cost effective to throw the baby out with the bath water.  Statistics tell us that seventy-five percent of Internet users embrace social media. : http://techcrunch.com/tag/emarketer/.

Every business wants to get buy in from the consumer.  I reflect on whether companies waste too much time and money on measuring and metrics instead of looking at the bottom-line in generating income.

 Uh-oh, I see a lot of "dislikes' on the horizon.

Out of Time

I had dinner with a friend in town from Ireland.  Our friendship goes way back to when I had my children, over thirty years ago.  I gave her all my maternity clothes when she became pregnant shortly after.  When my son and I went to Ireland, she invited us to a lovely dinner in Dublin.  As a side note, her husband was my very first boyfriend!

While he and I rarely speak, I delighted in befriending his wife, Monica.  She is from Central America, where my father had a business.  Her husband (my boyfriend at that time) went down to Nicaragua work for my Dad.  It was there she met Colin, her husband to be.  

It comes as no surprise that when I found out she was coming out to Denver, we made plans which included my son. We had dinner at one of Denver's finest restaurants.  Everything was going well, and then we got into conversations about our adult children.  I  must have gone on way too long about my frustrations about my son, when my friend interrupted and said "this is not your time, it is his time."  Wow, what a punch. 

I wasn't ready for that one.  It isn't my time anymore.   The most thought provoking  comment I have ever heard.  I thought long and hard before I answered, and couldn't come up with much more than a grunt in response.

This is not what one wants to hear when you are still looking to get back into a career, still feeling vital, going to the gym on a daily basis, trying to take care of oneself. 

But the hard reality is, it is as true as it can get.

It is not unlike passing the family treasures on to your loved ones;  you have to eventually fade out of the picture and take a not so comfortable seat in the background.

Somehow I equate that with being useless.  And thank you, I rather walk then be seated!

I don't want to fade out like an old Audie Murphy movie.  I want to be in the mainstream, doing the things I love - working at my dream job, being involved- circulating with people.

The scenario reminds me of the scene in the "Wizard of Oz" where the bad witch gets water splashed on her and cries...she is "fading" and withering away.

Another good friend. Megan, has recently retired. I asked he how she is enjoying her life of leisure and her answer surprised me.  "I am going crazy," she said.  This retirement thing is not at all what she anticipated.  Not that she has nothing to do, but it is the drudgery of having to do the same things day after day, and not coming in contact with as many people, or, in her case helping people that she found so much joy in while working.

When I first started my blog, over three years ago, all I wanted was a job.  I found a little temporary position, that has thankfully lasted over two years.   While the people are wonderful, and I pay my bills, it is still a contractor position.  No sick days.  No vacation pay.  In short, no benefits.  You see I still have this goal, (to own my home) and I won't give it up. 

Okay, so what if I don't get my career back? Do I then live in the shadow of my children's lives?  Do I have to then become dependant on my children?  This is very frightening to me.

Of course, I want to celebrate their achievements, marriages, children, and be there for them in any way possible. 

However,  I don't want to loose me.

It is not that I am in denial- I am looking at old age on the horizon- I am honestly not ready to accept the reality.

I might be ready tomorrow, or next week, or a year from now, but not today.

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Clever as I can be...

You know that Brooks and Dunn ditty " How long is long gone you gonna be?," that about sums up  my attitude about the job market...At best it is frustrating.  Everyone says we are in a recession, I'd bet everything that we are in a depression.  It wasn't all that long ago that one could find a great job in four months or less.  In today's market you're lucky if you find one in 40 months! 

I work in an environment where I have met ex-business owners, business executives and other professionals- all with the same tale to tell-  they had to find a job, any job to keep their head above water.   These are people that have made a good deal of salary, now having to accept contract work and hourly jobs in order to put food on the the table.

Only the cleverest of people will succeed , and that means having to stay abreast of all the changes in the industry.  You can forget about finding a decent job at all if you don't have intermediate to advanced technical skills.  Employers now want an employee that not only can multi-task, but field different jobs outside the scope of one's expertise to get the most bang for their buck.

You see, I was always naive enough to believe if you can sell yourself, and have excellent visionary skills, and can sell your company's niche' to the market, that you have a solid footing in business.  What a primitive, outdated way of thinking!

It wasn't all that long ago that I accepted a position with a developer with the caveat that "everything has changed...marketing is now priced based.  Image based advertising doesn't have a place in the market now.  It is all about price, value, more for your dollar. "

To get ahead, in today's market, you have to do it yourself.  You have to make a list of every single thing that you can do well, and make a list of everything that that the market needs and fill that niche.'   I don't think it necessarily means you have to have money for a start-up.  If one's concept is strong and good enough, there are people that will buy into your idea. 

I know what I have to do, I just have to go do it...Because if I plan to wait until I find my dream job, I will be waiting a long time.

An Apple for all...

I never owned a Mac.  I still struggle with the differences between the I-POD and I-PHONE.  But I had nothing but awe for Steve Jobs.  It is times like these when I really have to stop and collect my thoughts, or just say to myself "go figure."

Go figure why such gifted people are only on this earth for such a short time, and make such an impact.  Go figure why the ones that just take up space are here way too long.

I heard Steve's Stanford University(2005) speech this morning, it was as if he spoke to me personally.  I have never been a risk-taker to any degree.   The biggest risk I took was dumping $60,000 into my Real Estate business which I ultimately lost.  I admire the man's zeal for never giving up on his vision, and going for the all or nothing route to success.   It is not surprising that is the story for all successful people.  Fear, intimidation, caution are just not part of their make up.

It is all to easy to look back in life and say "why", instead of going forward and saying "why not?"

To hear Jobs talk to those students about doing everything you want now, because "we are all naked" and going to die puts it all into perspective.  CAUTIOUS, for what?  is it going to change anything?  AFRAID of what?  There are no grants in extension of time to spend with loved ones.

I can't help but wonder what's next for Apple.  I know there will always be some more surprise technology.  I am sure Steve Jobs took his inventory and has lots more in store for us.

Somehow eating an apple will always seem a little sad to me...

Getting down and dirty....

A year ago my fondest wish was to be employed.  Okay, been there and done that.  It was a stepping stone to opening doors to bigger and better things.  But that never happened.  It didn't happen because I love to dig down and sink in deep, I got SO involved in learning my current job that it took all the wind out my sail and I lost sight of my original goal.  And this isn't what makes my heart sing.

Funny thing is, at this point I don't  know what my dream job is.  I do know that I love to write, and so I write when I can, when I am inspired, but apart from that I feel like I am in a vortex. One day leads to the next, the routine is driving me crazy.   I realize that the 4th of July only comes once a year, but I want more, much more.

The job market is dicey at best, and it challenges us to keep up with the voracious change in technology.  I think of all the wonderful ideas I had to start my own business: (the drive-in deli concept; the talent and casting agency start up; the personal male shopping assistant), the list goes on.

When I get down and dirty, and my life slows to a halt, I can take the time to get frustrated enough with myself to make a change.  I am coming out of that vortex and looking forward to scaling that next opportunity, wherever and whatever it may be.

I have made all the classic baby-boomer mistakes, including not socking away savings, living large, and not planning for retirement.   So I don't have a great hand to play.  However, I do still have high expectations, (shame on me at 60).  Retirement is not an option,  I want to do something I love, to ease into a comfortable lifestyle, but not fade into the sunset,

I look around me and see enormous talent, and this talent has been compromised because of the current market.  People just settle for less. Expect less.  We all  "sell out" on different levels.  I can't continue to settle for less.

I ponder what marginal options I have...but I still have those dreams that are keeping me awake at night...

A Very Memorable Sunday

Every day on my way to work I pass fields of livestock.  First, there are the horse farms on either side of a beautiful country road that I navigate with gusto!  Then, there are the herds of cows, in every color, shape and variety.   Dairy cows, baby cows...no wonder the cow is sacred in India!

I cherish the drive. It is how I welcome a new day into my life.  About ten minutes into the drive, I pass my favorite site of all:  A tiny, little farm that one would miss if you blink...It is here  I fell in love with the most unusual animal; a Llama.  His antics are etched in my mind.  Majestic, wise, he holds court daily with sheep, and is most protective of the smallest of the flock: the new-borns.

I swore I would stop and introduce myself to the owners, get to be up close and personal- but never did.  It is a soothing sight; observing my llama kneel down with his charges, gently looking after them. Little ones picking away at the fur on his belly, him arching his back, but never being annoyed.

Last Sunday, I pulled off the highway and ambled down a little dirt road leading to a large, fenced in pasture.   I walked toward a  wooden gate and cottage home, where promptly greeted by an not so happy min-pin...Barking furiously, to no avail, as no one was home.  Should I just walk into the corral?   After all, I was finally HERE... I wasen't going to leave without saying hello.

In the distance, I caught sight of two ladies and a gentleman with a straw hat...carrying a pitch fork..After apologizing for interrupting their Sunday, I found them most welcoming .

"You aren't the only one who has stopped by to say hello."  I immediately felt at ease as I got introduced to the whole family and all the pets.

I was told that my beloved Llama is named "Checkers."  Not surprising, with his coal black body and beautiful white blaze. "Checkers" was bought three years ago to protect the sheep from kyotes.  Thinking he was quite expensive, I was told he was two-hundred and fifty dollars (because he wasen't trained to carry packs, or do any formal work).  Then there is baby Pearl, a little dollop of a sheep, just weeks old...And "Ashley".  Ashley( a beautiful apricot) came right up to me, with her strong and intimidating horns!  I was told that Ashley was the only one of the sheep that was bottle fed.

I admired how well cared for they are...That they are brought in for inclement weather, and if it gets too hot, they are back in the barns, seeking the refuge in cooler air.  How I love to see my little friends on my way to work each day!

I hope you enjoy looking at these pictures as much as I do.  They are shorn regularly for weaving and knitting shows around the State, and the owners are proud of the the awards they have won.

Just one more reason to thank God I live in Colorado.

Little Loco

It has been two weeks since we moved "CoCo" back into the apartment.  All is well.  He has adapted surprisingly well.  The first couple of nights I cringed, when I heard the familiar screeches at his 8PM social hour.  I prayed they would stop.  I had to get out the trusted spray bottle and wet him down to get him settled in.  He hates the spray...it is supposedly great to quite them down, and get them to "preen" themselves to distract.

I tipped toed around for the first week.  Once lights are out, the spoiled little brat does not take to kitchen roamers and munching.  If any lights are put on, CoCo lets us know its not alright, and wants you back in your room.

Apart from that, I have learned to ignore his requests.  He seems to revel in sitting on my shoulder, and sharing evening meals with me at the dinner table.  The best was when I had a Margarita for dinner, and he got right in my face to let me know HE wanted a sip.  I had to explain that was a no-no.  So far I have found he loves banana ice-cream and meats, surprising to me, any kind of meat.  He is supposed to love veggies but can't get him to eat them.   Oh and yes, Chinese food, seems to appeal to his Indonesian palette.

So, for now, I have a new feathered addition to the family, I wanted a Pomeranian pup, but ended up with another species.

I guess I will "fly" with the punches....such is life...

My Own Animal Story!

Yesterday, my estranged husband had to give up the parrot (Cockotoo) that has been in the family 18 years. I took him back to African Grey pet shop where I purchased him, 18 years ago in a blizzard! The owner, agreed to take him back and find a good home for him.


After carefully loading his cage in the car, and all his toys, I got to the Pet Shop and surrendered him.

Sorrowfully, I said my goodbyes. It was later I realized I had forgotten a part of the cage, and journeyed back to the Pet Shop...

I asked where "Coco" was, and was told he was in the playpen ( a large, Plexiglas enclosed cubicle with sand and perches) Slowly, I made my way over and caught sight of him. It was apparent he had settled in with the other birds and was content in his new environment. Slowly, I tearfully called his name, and he didn't at first recognize me. Then he slowly turned his head all the way around, and starred directly into my eyes. His black eyes widened with curiosity. Of course, I was wreck and cried uncontrollably.

Finally, the owner, Karen, asked why I wasn't going to "try" him out at my humble dwelling. She suggested we try to take him back to my Boulder apartment; and see if he would settle in with me. I had given this careful consideration before, but my roommate and son, was against this, and made it painfully clear he didn't want "Coco" to come home with us. However, I had forewarned my neighbor that we may have an unusual guest, and asked permission to try him out at the apartment some weeks before, cautioning him that he would be a screamer. He looked at me and asked "do you want to bring him home?," and I told him I did. "Well, he continued, 'we certainly can give it a try, and if it doesn't work, it doesn't work."

So, after bringing up the disassembled cage, and making numerous trips to the car, I got him set up again, in my humble apartment, in the living room. Around 10 PM he started to scream, and I panicked. Actually, he was telling me he was tired and wanted "lights out." I quickly got my water for the night out of the kitchen, and brought it to my bed room.

I didn't hear a peep out of him until I woke him this morning. My son and I are trading him off (from room to room) and letting him perch on our shoulders, giving him extra attention to better acclimate him to his new home.

I will continue to monitor him daily. Taking a day at a time, hoping I won't have to give him up ever again. It is a prayer I hold deep in my heart.








Denise Fisher

Sugar and Spice and Other Things Not So Nice

I am at it again, stalking the isles of King Soopers with my raincoat and sunglasses, tip-toeing round corners and eying the Ice Cream, Cinnamon Rolls and other decadent delicacies.  Just this week, I had just finished a bowl of pasta and absolutely had to go out to Dairy Queen to have a Blizzard fix.

Shouldn’t I have grown out of this? What makes me so crazy for sugar, sugar and MORE sugar? Maybe because I didn’t have enough sugar (love) in my life, but whatever it is, it has wreaked havoc on my waistline and tummy. As long as I can remember, I have always had a love affair with food, and especially sugar.

The people I love to hate are those who sigh “Oh, I forgot to eat today.” Come on now, how can one FORGET TO EAT? It is like forgetting to breathe. I am sure you get the drift. It is Friday afternoon, and I haven’t had my yogurt for the day, and am already dreaming of Pizza for dinner.

When I was on the “Suzanne Sommers” diet, I actually lost my gut and got rid of my sugar cravings. The first two weeks was going through withdrawal. It was every bit as hard as kicking any other addiction. The one great trick I devised was my baked apple dessert, topped with “Butter Buds” and Stevia or “Sweet and Lo.”

I am digging hard and fast to fill up the hole inside of me, and am pondering ideas that don’t include the sweeter things in life.

By the way, I only have 6 more hours before I dip into that Pizza.

Now What?

The dust (oil) hasn't quite settled in the Gulf, and wonder what can we expect after the latest assault to the environment. During this crisis, I buried my head, I couldn't watch the news and just honestly couldn't deal with it at all.

Beautiful creatures laden with oil, damaged and drained, lifeless carcasses tossed about on the beaches. What a horrific sight. I wish I could shrug it off and forget about it all together. But it hangs over my head and remains in my thoughts.

Animals have a special place in in my heart. Maybe because they are so helpless and have no voice. We have to be their voice.

So in the days to come, I w ill watch what plays out. I appreciate the individuals who gave their time and money to help clean up the mess. I am haunted by the aftermath.

Unlike many, I cannot affix blame, but accept this is a fact of life that is part and parcel to the benefits of modern technology.

It doesn't mean I am happy about it, however. So what is the answer? I don't have an answer, or a solution. I need this opportunity to express my feelings and share them.

So in the days to come, I will keep watch and observe this evolution.  I pray that nature can once again restore a balance, for the the smallest and largest creatures; the snails to whales. My hope is that the sea will once again become their refuge and playground.