Talking Pretty

Lately, due to circumstances beyond my control, I have been hitting the reading racks with ferocity.  Some lovers of books stick to one vein of topics.  Murder/mysteries, crime novels, fact, fiction, poetry, self-help - everyone has something that entices the soul.  For anyone that knows me, I'm a political person who thrives from Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity  & Bill O'Reilly.  I also have a passion towards history. 

Since I injured my back in March 2012, my choice of topics has remained the same, but has now included humor, poetry, classics and an author introduced to me by dear friend - DAVID SEDARIS.  Often times, books can lag bite.  Some people who recommend books might  start their recommendation with "give it time, the first few chapters are a bit slow".  I go through the painstaking labor of endless chapters, and reach the end, all along thinking to myself..."it's got to get better"...alas it never does. 

DAVID SEDARIS is anything but boring.  I will be honest in saying a few chapters left me in a neurotic state - like watching Al Pacino's "Dog Day Afternoon", but what's a little neurosis when the rest of the book threw me into little grins, internal belly laughs, giggling, a smile and thoughts of "did this guy live my life"?   

Me Talk Pretty One Day is a collection of little tidbits of some one's childhood and life's experiences.  While each chapter is laid out like a short story, Sedaris weaves them all together, into a neat little package, and delivers a wonderfully funny book.  With chapters titled "Jesus Shaves" to the "Tapeworm Is In", a casual Barnes & Noble finger flipping browser might be drawing the conclusion of "WTF'???? And truth be told, I very well may have been one of those consumers. 

My dear friends, Don & Connie have known me the span of my life. They are like parents to me.  Both are lovers of literature and language.  I see their polite eye rolling when I announce my love of all things conservative and republican.  However, they are also keenly aware of my deep love for literature and that I do have a sense of humor.  A few months ago, a large, heavy package arrived from Amazon.  Once unwrapped, I found the complete works of e.e. cummings.  Tears rolled down my face - such a marvelous gift.  I caress that book often and each time I open to a new page, another one of e.e.cummings poems graces my eyes.

So, during December, when facing an unreal amount of stress, Amazon delivered another package.  An early Hanukkah present?  Yes!  No card attached, and none was needed.  The minute I saw the title, and read the first chapter, I KNEW!  My friends, my dearest, most treasured parental friends had done it again. 

It's a blue cane!

As some of you may be aware, I slipped and fell almost a year ago - March 14, 2012 to be exact.  It  was a thrill of a lifetime, akin to colonoscopy preparation!  I managed to break 6 water glasses and a coffee pot on my way down and miraculously landed on a floor rug, being spared the multitudes of killer glass shards that could have become lodged in my backside.  Whew...my butt is a pretty big-ass target too, so the rug is the hero of the story.

Lucky me.  Blarney to that; well maybe if you look at it from my ass's perspective in that I am glass free, but that as an Irishwoman, I managed to fall in the first place.  And, add to which indignity, I fell in March, my favorite month for Irish-ness.  I managed to herniate a disc and since then,  life has thrown me a few curve balls.

Today's fashion statement for me is a blue cane.  My fierce Irish Shillelagh is a bloody fine example of all things Irish, but alas, it's bronzed tip makes for a dangerous duel with the ice and snow of Colorado.  Thus, I found myself in the little old lady aisle of our local Wal-Mart, shopping for a cane.  Who knew there were so many styles to choose from.  Colors galore.  Pink ones with spots, leopard patterned poking sticks, flexible ones - handles of all grips and materials.  I almost felt as though I was shopping for a car.  Usually one expects me to be flying around on a broom stick. 

Being sensible, and realizing I was purchasing a cane, not a Gucci handbag, I settled on a steel blue cane, that can be folded if needing to be stored, with a nifty skid proof bottom, and rubberized handle.  It does compliment my blue jeans, and a Columbia fleece jacket.  Fashion has never been my forte.  Who could have imagined that cane shopping was a task that I was accomplished at?  What the hell is wrong with this whole scenario?

So, here we are - a typical Colorado winter.  Flipping -22 degree temps, mysteriously warmer days of 10+, or even wet, heavy snow very much like today's weather.  My trusted cane has served me well thus far.  I remain vertical, rather than horizontal.

Along with the cane, I have obtained a temporary (I pray this to be true) handicap placard for my car.  I had an epiphany of sorts a few weeks ago, when I could barely make it from a parking spot in Timbuktu to the doors of our grocery store, that I might require a bit of a luxury with a placard.  It was a sad day for me.  In my mind, I was relinquishing my status as an able-bodied person to some sort of broken robot, who needed a lube job.

My back is still a mess.  My surgeon is by far one of the finest; working with the U.S. Ski Team, and also "inventing" a titanium device which was implanted in my spine a few years back and had, up until I fell,  relief.  Sure, we all suffer from "back pain" or a "stiff back", but that nifty little X device was a gift. 

Pain is a new word in my vocabulary.  Actually, if  I could be so bold as to further that statement with:  unrelenting, horrific, never ending back pain that has taken over my life, changed me, and made me something I don't really recognize anymore.  Most days I manage through it with a stiff upper lip, chipper attitude and Irish genes.  I write my husband's photography blog, write in my own journal, think of  ideas on how to bake the perfect souffle, and yearn for conversation.

The title of my blog, when it was born a few years ago, was meant to be a parody to the grace-filled path of menopause.   Then, politics started to creep in, along with an almost Seinfeld-esque take on life in general, things that scream odd, obscure, bizarre or contemptuous about everyday life.

Tonight I felt the need to write about my spine, what it is putting me through, and the warped JOY of buying a cane.  I had 2 root canals recently, and to most dental patients who might have the sympathy pains of..."oh ouch, you poor thing",  I sat back in that dental chair, exclaimed "bring it on" and let the dentist drill away.  I'd rather have 100 root canals, if only to be relieved on this monkey on my back.

So, in closing tonight, as I am unable to sleep because my legs keep falling asleep, and the Percocet has yet to kick in, I will spend 10 minutes complaining, and then getting a satisfying giggle in that I just got excited about buying a cane.  Life is just full of little tidbits of fun. 

PEACE and PERCOCET...have a great day.

CRAP-THE OTHER KILLER

Recent moves by our POTUS to style his own 2nd Amendment, got me to thinking about other killers we have in this world. 

Okay, so liberals and the Hollywood weirdos are on the happy wagon about guns, gun violence and that their anointed one, the POTUS, should further his agenda in someway banishing guns from America. Forget that it is about a piece of paper, written over 200 years ago, by brave men. Forget all that stuff, and go after another piece of our freedom.  Ridiculous.

I am not implying that recent school shootings are to be overlooked.  However, over reacting is not going to help anyone either.  Seems like America just likes to overreact.  Let's talk about all the other things that have caused deaths.  Bombs, knives, any variety of things.  But there isn't a cry from the far left about those things.

So, today, while perusing the grocery aisles, I got to thinking about things that kill thousands of  people each year.  CRAP.  You know what it is - put down that Twinkie, or cheese stuffed crust slice of pizza..  Push away from the table, put down the Mountain Dew and start examining what we put in our mouths every day. 

Clogged arteries, big obese bellies and butts, smoking cigarettes, drinking booze in abundance, everyday lives.  We do it to ourselves, which is even more incredulous.  I don't hear the POTUS or liberals going on a tirade about Twinkies.  There is no ban on bagels and cream cheese. 

This is not going to be one of my long, drawn out tirades because quite frankly I am pissed off.  I am pissed at those who are not fighting for our Constitution.  Is it not worth it?  Or is it easier to sit on the couch, with a beer and a bag of animal cookies, watching the POTUS toss his executive orders around like there is not a care in the world?

Ann Coulter's Dishwasher

Reading Ann Coulter is one of my favorite past times.  Her last essay was in regard to the annoyance of a silent dishwasher.  For those of you who think Ms. Coulter is a political antagonist, you are wrong!  Well, perhaps just misguided or uninformed.

Ms. Coulter starts off with a mention of her irritation with political happenings and all things Washington,  D.C.  With this, I must agree.  If 2012 was a thorn in my political side, 2013 isn't starting off much better. 

A friend recently blogged about variations of terms such as "kicking the can down the street" and "fiscal cliffs".  I thought, after reading his blog, that both those phrases could go hand in hand when describing the shenanigans happening in good old Washington, D.C. 

The fiscal cliff has been, or was, or will be and might even continue to be, the phrase of a decade.  Some refer to it as "looming" or a "Thelma & Louise" moment.  I am but a mere menopausal housewife, and my interpretation of it is a bunch of idiots who haven't the slightest idea of how to create a budget and live by it.  Just what are we paying these goons in Washington for, anyways?  Even worse, how did they get elected?  Oh, that's right - we, THE PEOPLE, lost our minds, and voted for dummies.

In the middle of this stench pile is our POTUS.  He gets in his tax payer jet, flies to Hawaii for a few short days, then flies back to Washington to deal with the impending doom of a fiscal cliff, and then, egregiously flies back to Hawaii to resume his vacation.  How many wasted gallons of jet fuel did that cost the United States?  Before anyone gets their panties in a wad, I am not besmirching the POTUS a vacation, but when we are asking everyday Americans to live within their means, nickle and dime their budgets, go without because of a failing dollar, etc, then how can we, THE PEOPLE, take any of these suggestions to heart when we see the POTUS flying back and forth, simply to stick his nose into the fiscal cliff .

I've got to ask - why didn't he just save the tax payers a few bucks, stay in Washington in the first place?  He could have done his arguing with John Boehner, wasted time, then when it was all said and done, board Air Force 1, head over to Hawaii and enjoy time with his family.  It should be that simple.

I like Ann Coulter's stories about silent dishwashers - I believe the House, the Senate and the POTUS could take a lesson from that.

The Three Gossips - A Scarlett Rock?

  The Three Gossips
  Photograph Provided by Molly Dog Images


Here we are again.  The end of another year.  I could have spent time making up resolutions that I know I would have difficulty keeping;  or better yet, lament over the past year.  Speaking plainly, and without much detail, 2012 SUCKED.  One event, worthy of mention, was my grandson Christopher Corry turning 1 year old, following in his beautiful mother's footsteps literally, and walking ahead of schedule.  The other event was the success of my talented son, who has continued to excel in his career as a professional master chef.  So, as a parent, to be able to brag of childrens' accomplishments is a gift!


Christmas gave my husband and me a trip to one of our favorite spots on the map.  Moab, Utah offers a splendid and magical experience.  At one point in my life, alas, not too long ago, there was the ability to run through some of the hundreds of trails hidden throughout the "back 40" as well as the national parks.  The mighty "fins" that can be found within Arches, allow a weary runner a moment of respite from summer heat.  It was there, in the fins, that I could sit for moment and listen, truly listen and absorb the strength of the wind.

Truth be told, December 25th, and the days leading up to it are not my favorite time of the year.   I believe the true message of the season has been replaced by commercialism.  Every year there seems to be yet one more group that wants to erase Christmas. Most religions have their holidays, or times of year which they revere.  Hell, even we as patriots seem to bow to the Muslim holy time of Ramadan. Why can't Christians have their festive time to celebrate the birth of Christ? 

I don't have a problem with the winter solstice because it gives me hope that spring is just around the corner.  Granted, in the Rocky Mountains, spring is on the calender, but Mother Nature may have a slightly different idea.

So, when my husband surprised me with the adventure of Moab for Christmas, I did not think twice.  Brrrgh - Moab was cold.  Frigid temperatures and even snow on Christmas Eve day couldn't dissuade my husband from getting out and capturing the scenic utopia of red rocks with brilliant snow.  The glory of red rock stretching upwards to the heavens takes my breath away.  All 4 seasons of Moab still offer me the same experience, but snow atop the desert scapes is something rather unique.

So, this trip, or should I say, the glance at my husband's photographs, got me to thinking about the names of these God like monuments, all within federally funded National Parks. If certain groups or individuals expend so much energy trying to dismantle the display of a Christmas tree, or a creche in front of a courthouse, then where is the outrage with regards to the names of some of the monuments' names, inside federally funded parks?  The Three Gossips, Tower of  Babel, The Lamb, Zion's Angel's Landing, just to name a few, all have a religious connotation to them.  Hell, Zion, actually means"City of God".

Is there hypocrisy?  Yes!  Do some groups shy away from an attack on the names of National Parks, funded by U.S. tax dollars because they find such joy in visiting them, and being taken in by the grandeur of a rock column?  Were the National Parks not introduced by a President?

So, with the demise of 2012, the birth of 2013, my hopes are for more tolerance when it comes to non-violent displays of one's faith, and less pissing and moaning over a tree with lights, or a menorah and more focus on peace.

NEWTOWN, CT - GOD was there, but so was mental illness.

I suspect that no matter what I write in this entry, there will be a line drawn in the sand.  Some readers will be on the side of GOD. God absolute.  The other side will be in defense of gun control.  Defiant, adamant gun control.  Somewhere in the middle will be those who want to bring awareness to mental health and how it reaches out to every vein of society.

Ask anyone on the street if they know someone who has been affected by mental illness, and chances are, those brave enough to discuss it, will answer with an astounding YES.  The mere mention of mental illness seems to give some people pause, while others recoil.  Sadly, most Americans would rather look at other factors, such as gun control or ultra-violent videos games as plausible reasons for these heinous acts of violence, rather than entertain the other, much more documented case of mental illness.

The phrase, "Guns don't kill people, people kill people" is accurate.  So, now you are probably drawing a line in the sand.  "Oh she's one of those people".  A crazy, gun enthusiast.  Without even knowing this author, I've been branded a gun lover.  I don't love guns, so much as I believe in the 2nd amendment.  I do not love violence.  I abhor it, just as most Americans do.

I am willing to step back and look at all angles of this most recent tragedy.  Just earlier in the week, a lone gunman, someone with mental health issues, opened fire in a crowded mall in Oregon.  That gunman killed 2 innocents, along with himself.  On December 14, 2012, the unthinkable happened, and a young man with mental health issues, decided that he'd go to Sandy Hook Elementary, and open fire.  The tragedy that blasted across the news waves was horrific, mind numbing, nauseating and heart wrenching.

People process their grief in multiple ways:  Guns, mental illness, violence in video games.  Somewhere the shooter disconnects with reality, and often times hell breaks lose.  Mass murderers do not use only guns.  History shows that if someone is hell bent on committing a crime of violence, they're going to do it by whatever means available. Guns, knives, cars, bombs, etc etc. 

Hollywood must also take a certain bit of responsibility in the violence showed on the silver screen.  This is not to imply that every single violent film in Hollywood is going to drive someone who is manic, or schizophrenic to commit an act of violence. But, it plants the seeds.  So are the numerous video games which turn intelligent youth into almost catatonic zombies, after 4 hours of straight playing.

No one takes responsibility.  Pass the buck.

Someone who was at Sandy Hook School on December 14, 2012 was GOD.  He was there.  He gathered those tiny children and carried them to heaven.  He gave teachers strength and a sense of bravery, as they protected their school children from harm.  Just as there is good in this world, there is also evil; otherwise referred to as free will.  GOD combats Evil every day.  We are mere mortals who might not see it, but it's there still.

GOD doesn't live in schools much.  You will most likely find him in Churches or synagogues.  He is also present in the souls of those small children.  But we, the American people, have gone to great lengths to make sure that GOD, Christmas Trees, Menorahs, or any type of religious symbol are absent from public view, or on public land.  We've washed GOD right out of our every day lives.  Then we ask, at time of troubles, where was GOD?  Incredulous!

I pray for those wee souls.  I pray for their parents, and for the teachers who stood in the line of fire.  I pray for Adam and his mother, who he savagely murdered.  I pray for those who erase GOD from public view, for those battling mental illness, and for children who are being taken over by the growing displays of violence at every street corner, or turn of the channel.

The Demise of Hope and The Renewal of Spirit

At times, more often then I might like, I find my mind wandering.  To where I do not know.  Shades of muted violets, greys and black.  All along my path, the insidious obstacles of life seem to hurl themselves at me.  I wander past these blocks of depression and fight my way back to the top of my life.  Everyday brings another sunrise, hours of daylight, more wandering and finally, at night's first glimpse, the God given strength in knowing I have conquered yet another day.  These are the times of greatness.

We all face demons in life.  To think otherwise would be foolish.  How we go about battling the perils is up to us.  I'd like to see my world as a canvas.  Stark white paper, stretched across an artist's easel, waiting for brush strokes from the owner.  Wide sweeping strokes of  color.  Colors too vibrant to imagine as they hurt the eye to even look.

My canvas has the brilliant shades of spring.  Spring, with its rebirth of  all life - runs like a deep, blue river through my soul.  Brush strokes of violet, regal royal purple, with a dash of striking yellow, on tender blooms of  tiny flowers.  Green pokes it head through the remnants of winter's snow, and once again, my spirit is suddenly struck with the warmth of renewal and the eternal hope of yet another season blessed.

This is the hope for joy.