If I could Turn Back Tiwwwwwme...

I sing. Songs are constantly skipping through my head and seldom are these ditties restrained to my innards. Even though I don't have the capacity to sing well anymore, I'll still belt out whatever I got. Oh and believe you me, I OWN it.

Many a kitchen spatula has transformed seamlessly between practical household utensil to dynamic, silver microphone as supper gets served up with a show tune.

I enjoy putting on a concert as I drive, much to the bemusement of my fellow motorists. It is especially fun to get caught at a stoplight in full Susan Tedeschi mode just in time to catch the horrified faces of the drivers next to me. They point and laugh when I am a hair band with my windows down, music up and armed with my air-mic - I have seen a million stoplights, and I have rocked them all!

Since I have no fear of dispensing my vocal stylings to strangers, you can imagine what my coworkers, friends and family endure. I have seen the evolution of expression from "Sweet Mother of GOD is someone hurting her?!" to "Just don't make eye contact with it or it will keep singing!" But I never let the blatant mocking stop me. Clearly what people are really saying is "Yes, Please!"

I remember once driving with my sister in upstate New York. A Heart song came on the radio, very retro and not a song either of us would have on our players. We both started to sing meekly to ourselves. The soft singing gave way to loud singing which led to the use of some make believe instruments we happened to have lying around the car (like we all do.) Our concert culminated with lead vocals, backup vocals, drums and air guitar, which incidentally is a challenge to do in a compact car. I mean the simultaneous guitar riff and kick combo? But we didn’t let that stop us. We sang it yet didn’t really play it like it meant something. We. Were. Rock stars!

I like to finish many of my songs with the Vegas style smile, wink and point to the invisible audience member crazed for my musical genius. "Hi there" I imagine. "Hey - you look great over there, thanks for coming!" I feel confidant I have the lounge singer mastered!

OH! And you should see my inner Cher!

Good Things~

When I grow up...

When I was young I was going to be a singer. Then I wanted to be a veterinarian and have acres of pets. The years past with aspirations to be an actress or even a cafe/bookstore owner with my Mom. At one point the list included wanting to be the President of Charlotte Motor Speedway! Here I am on the very cusp of adulthood and at 34 years, thankfully have never been married. Perhaps I have a "problem with commitment."
I won't commit to a favorite color. I love red, but not on a car. White is clean and uplifting, unless it is on furniture. I am unable to lock in one specific movie or song. I can't truthfully answer the simplest of questions. Even those Face book quizzes are enough to give me the cold sweats. For example: "Do you prefer day or night?" Well, it depends on the day. Did I work overnights the night before? Do I have the day off? What is scheduled in my planner? "Do I prefer day or night"? What kind of ridiculously vague question is that? I live my life in shades of gray.
Mom told me just the other day that the best times in our lives occur in our 40's because we know who we are and don't care what people say. Part of me is envious of those confident souls so committed to their identity. The other part of me is left wondering how well we really know ourselves when our convictions are constantly challenged, considered and modified. I mean we are supposed to grow and evolve with each circumstance. I read once that the Journey is the Reward. If we know ourselves so completely in a young fourth decade, than what is the purpose of the rest of the Journey?
This may simply be a veiled attempt at justifying my inability to commit to one idea or it may be a valuable question. For now I am content in my inconsistencies. I will say this for sure though, Nachos are by far my favorite food! Or cheesecake. Oooh and I really like a nice blackened salmon or homemade chicken wild rice soup? Ugh, just forget it.
Good Things~

You're gonna get it!

Photo courtesy of Photobucket: ChillyMephisto

I was hard core. I mean I was Scrappy! I had a couple of life and death situations so I learned to be scrappy in the name of survival.
Let me first state that the purpose of the seventh grade is to eradicate any semblance of self esteem one may have accidentally acquired to that point. My seventh grade did exactly that. I was skinny, awkward, a little opinionated and outgoing yet perpetually insecure. That meant the makings of enemies in Junior High, mortal enemies who want nothing more than to pluck waifs like me from the face of the earth. Enter a girl whose initials start with Denise Olson and the first example of my evolution to become the fighter I am. I sensed she loathed me by the constant barrage of threats to my person and daily picking me apart in the hallway. One rainy day she “jumped” me as I was walking to a friend’s house. I was a solid seventy pounds to her buck twenty, however she came up behind me with surprising speed. Well it was fight or flight time. That is when the Dragon first reared her ugly head. I dropped to a tight ball, screamed like the little girl I was and prayed to a God I then believed in to save me. Of course it startled her, and as luck would have it also caught the attention of an onlooker. My tormentor dropped on top of me and threw repeated punches (I think thousands but can't be certain) as she pried me from my ball. Thankfully the man who witnessed this atrocity for at least 10 seconds longer than he had to, stepped in, shamed her (because that made a difference in her general disposition) and made us go our separate ways. She never came after me again. After that display I can only assume it was the very real fear of getting a piece of me?
With the second attempted whacking, I had heard ALL day that this particular day was to be my last. Afterschool three freshman cheerleaders were going to “Kick my little ass”. They were the epitome of Mean Girls. I imagined them cornering me, dropping their pompoms, forming a small pyramid and psyching themselves up in a perfectly formed cheer just before my demise. How does anyone go up against that? Afterschool I darted out a side door and weaved my way to a highly visible sidewalk to walk home. No matter. They saw me. I could hear them, quite a ways behind me, screaming their dislike for me, detailing my offing and laughing an evil cackle all the while. I walked more expeditiously and they answered my gait. The G. Reaper Squad caught me along a white picket fence and enclosed me tightly. My jelly legs barely held me up when I remembered what proved to be a game changing little nugget. Earlier that day at lunch, I noticed a shiny, metal, golden, heavy object between two vending machines. I had no idea what it was, but noted it had four small circles in a line and a long space underneath those circles. I tossed it in my Esprit book bag and planned to show it to my brother or mom that evening. Back to the impending death, The Dragon grabbed the first heavy thing she could find in her bag, which was the same thing she found at lunchtime, and launched it at Middle Mean as hard as she could. Bulls eye! The brass object hit her square on her forehead right above her eyes. The Flanking Means immediately aborted the mission and went to Middle Mean’s aid. To steal the phrase from an iconic movie: “From then on, when I went anywhere, I Was Running!” As it was before, I wasn’t bothered anymore by the Mean Girls. In their defense, they probably thought I was going to nunchuck their arse next. But that’s what happens when a Dragon gets all Scrappy!
Good things~

Golden Retriever named Buck

I don’t get my hair cut very often. I forget to, or I can’t squeak a time in for it, or by then I am out of money. Regardless, when I finally do get it cut, I swear there is a shift in the molecular structure of the air around me. For that whole day – everything is Fantastic! I display an overabundance of exuberance everywhere I go. I am like that dog that just got a bath and proceeds to run around, wagging, panting, shaking, and rolling all over the ground. Seriously it is just like that. Well except for the rolling on the ground part. Anyway, I got a cut the other day.
I flitted to the grocery store afterwards, eager to show off the Do to every random stranger, who could care less, as I possibly could. As I was picking out apples, I saw myself a worthy ambassador for produce with my sassy haircut. I imagined a couple saying, “Well that young lady with the nice hair likes Braburns and clearly she would know – I mean she is put together!" br />I went to fill my tank with gas and – What? Wait a minute. Is that the motor running smoother? Yes, I do believe it is. Arriving at the station, I was convinced that the price of gas appeared less expensive and I noted that vocally. Of course, there was a Rainer on the Parader there to remark that, in fact, it went up 6 cents. No matter – I felt Fabulous! After my haircut, it stopped snowing, I found a 5 spot in a pair of jeans and I got the first in a series of packages in the mail that would equal my new computer. My new cut made everything better.
It is a glorious thing for me to feel this great about myself for a minute or an afternoon, especially to feel this way about my hair. About ten years ago a gal told me I look just like her Golden Retriever whose name was Buck. She loved her dog and simply couldn’t get over how much I looked just like him. Now, I don’t care who you are, when you are compared to someone’s (albeit beloved) Golden Retriever, it stays with you. I just don't know what was she thinking? Clearly I am more Irish Setter. The point is one should run with those good hair days because they are wonderful. Grab the Frisbee, wag your butt, pant a little and just run with it. Good Things~

Open Road

I remember once meeting my Aunt for lunch while driving back home for the weekend. This red-headed road warrior was uncharacteristically road weary, so a lunch stop to visit family was a welcome break ...as opposed to the other roughly 478 breaks from mass amounts of road construction. It took a toll on my demeanor. My expression dared anyone to even glance my direction. My exuberance for the visit was spent on that last detour before reaching the restaurant. When I arrived there I met a smiling, excited, doll of a woman who quite literally had sunbeams shooting right straight out of her arse. Aunt Karen! Amazing. She too had navigated the same construction yet her demeanor came out unscathed. Her attitude hadn't been assaulted. She was simply happy to be there! I was floored. There was a lesson in that moment. The same things happen to people everyday but how we allow ourselves to manage those events can make all the difference. From that moment, I made a choice to be more aware of how I manage things and to just try to do a little better. I am recently split from my boys' father. You could say I am navigating along my open road, and have been experiencing great deal of construction and delay. I try everyday, scratch that - every five minutes to manage how I deal with things that occur in a more positive manner. My instinct is that my journey could be a long one. Well that should give me a fantastic (bordering obscene) amount of opportunity to practice my management skills. Here's to the open road and Sunbeams! Good Things~