Monday, January 30, 2006

I am music

I AM MUSIC, most ancient of the arts.
I am more than ancient; I am eternal.
Even before life commenced upon this earth, I was here in the winds and the waves. When the first trees and flowers and grasses appeared, I was among them.
And when Man came, I at once became the most delicate, most subtle, and most powerful medium for the expression of Man's emotions.
When men were little better than beasts, I influenced them for their good.

In all ages I have inspired men with hope, kindled their love, given a voice to their joys, cheered them on to valorous deeds, and soothed them in times of despair. I have played a great part in the drama of Life, whose end and purpose is the complete perfection of man's nature. Through my influence human nature has been uplifted, sweetened and refined. With the aid of men, I have become a Fine Art.

From Tubalcain to Thomas Edison a long line of the brightest minds have devoted themselves to the perfection of instruments through which men may utilize my powers and enjoy my charms. I have myriads of voices and instruments.

I am in the hearts of all men and on their tongues, in all lands and among all peoples; the ignorant and unlettered know me, not less than the rich and learned. For I speak to all men, in a language that all understand. Even the deaf hear me, if they but listen to the voices of their own souls.

I am the food of love. I have taught men gentleness and peace; and I have led them onward to heroic deeds. I comfort the lonely, and I harmonize the discord of crowds.
I am a necessary luxury to all men.
I am MUSIC. -

~ALLAN C. INMA

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Moon Night

It was as if the sky
Had quietly kissed the earth,
So that she in her shimmer of blossoms
Would dream of nothing but him.

Breezes blew over the field,
Gently the corn ears swayed,
Soft rustles ran through the forest,
So starry and clear was the night.

And my soul spread
Its wings wide
And flew through the peaceful country,
As though it were flying home.




Joseph Von Eichendorff

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

on Yoo-hoo's and peanut butter crackers..

No rhyme or reason with this post really, just stream of consciousness writing that was triggered by a bottle of Yoo-Hoo - of all things...


Dad, I remember watching the Thanksgiving day parade with you. And Bugs Bunny cartoons. You standing there, eating a bowl of cereal in front of the TV, in your blue terry cloth robe, while Mom was preparing the turkey. I remember not being able to sleep - at all - on Christmas eve. I remember how wonderful the house looked all decorated. I remember the great dinners, and using the good china and silverware. And Christmas morning - all sparkly and shiny. I remember Easter, and new shoes, and how you helped me put together the coolest bike in the neighborhood. Red tire wheels, red banana seat, and a battery operated real-sounding motor that was mounted on the frame. All of the boys in the neighborhood wanted to try it and make red skid marks. I remember how, when I had to get a test signed, you wrote your name HUGE across the whole entire test. I worried I would get in trouble with the nuns - (you somehow knew I wouldn't.) I remember crying before school every day of first day and remember seeing you peek in through the back door of my classroom - just checking to see that I was okay. But I bet you didn’t know - that I cried after I knew you left...

Grades later, I remember you making me write each multiplication table twelve times - so I would never forget them. It worked. And how you took an evening nap with your glasses on your nose, with the newspaper open on your chest, and your hands interlaced on top. You snored - an open mouth, kinda soft snore. I remember the smell of your pipe. And thinking how tall you were. I remember how you used to wear hats when you went to work. Men should still wear hats. I remember feeling proud that everyone knew who you were - everywhere we went around town. You were well liked and respected in our community, and you made a difference there. I remember walking hand in hand with you.

I remember how you told me one day riding to school- that I shouldn’t be upset - that my pimples would clear up one day - (and here I thought I was having a good day that day) - but I appreciated you trying to make me feel better about myself.

For the record, I still get pimples - but not as many.

I remember the seven of us going to church as a family, and then out for turkey clubs at the Robin Hood Restaurant, and Sunday drives - that sometimes ended up in a fancy restaurant with lemon sorbet to cleanse our palates while dressed in our Sunday best. I remember people coming up to our table to compliment us on being such well behaved kids. I remember swimming with you in January in Bermuda. It wasn't really swimming weather - but you knew we needed to experience it. We had a couple of underwater Barracuda for company.

It was cold.

And it was cool.

Cooler than you sporting that Nehru jacket during the Sunday church collection. Funny, I don’t recall you ever wearing that suit again....

I remember you taking us on our first family cruise to the Carribean - on the SS Marconi. A whole new world opened up for me. I never knew water could be so beautiful, or places, so exotic. You were smart to spend money on us like that. Those memories have never faded for me.

I know the exact sound of how your ankle cracks when you climb a set of steps. I remember you bringing me a perfect cup of coffee and a piece of buttered toast while I readied for work in the morning. I remember how you taught me to change a car tire, the oil, and check the transmission fluid. You said If I wanted to drive, I needed to know how to do these things. You were right.

I remember you pulling out our loose teeth with your white hanky before school in the mornings. And how I used to play with your shaving brush. And walked around when I was little, in your too big shoes.

I have great memories of summering down the shore, I am crystal clear on how you stand while you are piloting a speed boat, and I could pick the pattern of your tanned varicose veins out of any lineup. I still can. I remember every action of how you fish for fish...and how you jig the line. And the intense look that you get, the pause, and how your eyebrow goes up - just a little - when you think you got a bite...I remember watching your hands in motion. You have good hands, Dad. I bet you don’t know that I have your hands.

As well as your damn varicose veins.

I know precisely the tone of a halyard slapping against a mast on a breezy day. I can still hear the flags cracking in the wind. I remember walking over hot pebbles and sandy parking lots, and working in the boatyard - scraping and painting the hull on our old wooden boat. I remember fixing the smoky oily engine with you - and handing you the tools. I remember sailing. And swimming, and beachcombing, and days trips with lunchmeat sandwiches to Ocean City via the back waters. I remember you having to dive off the back and under the boat with a kitchen knife, to free up the prop after cousin Jack had entangled a fishing line in it while we were moving. Even then, you kept your cool. And never scolded Jack for doing that. I knew you would free us, and you did. I remember thinking you could do anything.

“My dad can do anything.” I would tell my friends.

I remember learning to navigate the high seas with you at age four - with a peanut butter cracker, a huge metal steering wheel, a sloshing compass, and a nautical map. You stood to my left and showed me where to point the bow. I knelt on stacks of seat cushions just to see over the dash. I remember sleeping on the Stella Maris - only to wake with a million mosquito bites. But that didn't matter.

I remember how you showed us how to build dribble castles, and moats to keep the water away from the beach blanket. I remember diving off of your shoulders in the ocean surf. And how you taught us to dive under the big waves. I always wanted to swim the same way that you do in the water - slow, methodical, efficient. You could hold your breath underwater forever, it seemed!

I lived for the weekends we would go fishing in the early morning - wearing our old faded bathing suits, armed with nothing but a half can of bug spray, a six pack of Yoo-Hoos, some peanut butter crackers, a few packages of Tasty-Kakes, and an old Maxwell house coffee can filled with frozen squid for bait.

It was there in those morning rays that we sat in the boat all suntanned and salty, drifting with the current, swatting the green-heads off of each other, while being gently rocked by the movement of water. And it never mattered if we ever landed a fish. When we tired, or it got too hot, or too buggy - we hauled in the lines and sped toward the open sea. I remember the wonderful evil smile you would shoot me when we went flying full throttle out of the inlet - slamming through the rough seas. I know how and when and how much I need to adjust my knees to cushion each bounce of the boat going against a swell. I remember you pushing me off of the boat - telling me if I didn't want to wear a life jacket, then I better learn how to swim. Needless to say, I soon became a good swimmer. I can tell the difference with my eyes closed - between the sounds of an outboard, an inboard, and a jetski.

I know inside out - how wonderful it is to be on the open ocean, with not a sliver of land in sight. How the water changes from murky green to crystal blue, and how quiet the world is just 5 miles out. I remember understanding just how big the ocean really is, and just how small people really are out there. I remember feeling very at ease - always in my element there. It is a spiritual place there methinks. I remember thinking that those damn greenheads flies were olympic flyers - following us all that distance too - only to be methodically smashed again a seat cushion at a given first chance. For the record, I do not regret killing any one of those little biting bast*rds, in the least. Later we would go back and pick up Mom and the girls for an leisurely boat ride to wherever.

I was a happy kid Dad - especially those mornings I had you all to myself. My sisters just thought I wanted to get out of cleaning.

Stupid sisters.

They didn't know what they were missing.


Dad is now 82, widowed and remarried, and living a full retirement, active and independent. Summering still at the Jersey Shore, and wintering (where else) along the water somewhere in Florida.

We were a family of seven, once - five girls and our parents. Mom, passed away 19 yrs ago. Dad always said he felt like he lived in a sorority house. (You know he loved it...)

Friday, January 13, 2006

on random entries

chewing on a pretzel and thinking..


"I need some mustard."

running up to the kitchen....

Saturday, January 07, 2006

Star Jones is the new aol love coach. Of course.

"Star Jones is the new AOL Love Coach

I'll help you find out if "he's the one".
Yep...you heard right...I'm the new AOL "Love Coach"!

AOL Coaches is a multimedia, self-improvement website that provides answers to your questions about romance, diet, fitness, career, money and family with a combination of video tutorials, self-assessment quizzes and printable task lists. AOL Coaches help you face the big and little challenges in your life.

As the new AOL Love Coach, I plan to inform, entertain and hopefully help women move their love-life from boring to brilliant and from sorry to Shining. How do I know what works...because baby, I've been there...done that and bought a tee shirt!..."

oh PUH-LEEZE! Is she for real?!

and she's got her own AOLHELLjusttopromotehernewbookblog here too--->

Shine, the official blog!


so, of course, I just had to comment:


"Congrats on your book - and your brand-spankin-new - first time marriage.

I'm just a little curious Starr on how you came to think you were/are qualified to give advice to others - when you're still just in the newlywed stage yourself...and married after a brief - very brief, whirlwind courtship...

Unlike you, I've been married over 26 years to the same man - first and only marriage - and have been successfully raising three bright *and* well adjusted, healthy, happy, kids for the last 23 years while working harder than you do to make a living. Forgive me, but in some major circles that makes *me* the expert and you well...uh...

not.

And just think, we managed to get it right the first time (even at the ages of 21 & 23) - without a self help book, or fame, or money, or priviledged opportunities, or gastric bypass, or contacts, or free rides...

go figure.

I guess you can say I'm just a little tired of all of the pseudo-psychology imposed on us by people who actually think they know what they're talking about just because they get a book published. Again, a feat not so hard to do, given your celebrity status.

Time, and *only* time - will tell if you really have it all figured out. I hope you do. You're either brave or incredibly stupid for opening up this particular can of worms - Cause, even with all I already know a quarter of a century later - *I* still wouldn't presume to know enough to touch it with a ten foot pole.

But I will go this far and offer one, okay a few, single pieces of advice -

Be realistic in what you expect from other HUMAN beings. Look in the mirror and be honest about all your own faults. Ask yourself what you can do today - to make the day better for your mate. Random acts of kindness really do matter. Hold hands. Hug a lot.

And give.

Selfless-ly of yourself.

Like my father said to us on our wedding day - "Marriage is a 60%/40% proposition" ...then he paused to make sure we heard him correctly... "Where both of you give 60% of yourself all the time" - and with his hand on my shoulder, he smiled and said - "Then you can make it - no sweat." "It works for mom and me." And you know what? He was right. (He then became widowed after 38 years together.)

But believe it or not - I wish you nothing but continued good luck and success. Lord knows, you've had plenty of it."


am I right?

of course, I am right.

I am the real Queen, remember. I carry a faux Prada bag.

And do real work for a living.

I wonder if she'll block me now.


NEXT DAY UPDATE: Of course, HER BLOG is now ------>"PRIVATE"<-----

TO UPDATE THE UPDATE: The Blog, as Mrs. L, correctly noted - took a nosedive and is deep 6'd...removed, nada, gone.

I hope that is not a reflection on how she will hang when marriage gets hard....



AMATEUR.

Friday, January 06, 2006

on good friends that think on you...

Hi Floraliliawonder,

Pretty sure your busy with some very important stuff. Anything you want me to be doing while your gone? Maybe that I should water your camel, stroke and sing to your fuscia plants, join the dance been going on in your garage, or take down the tree? Just let me know and I'll be there!

Always our love,
Us

--
Posted by Ayn to floralilia here... at 1/06/2006 12:09:31 AM



Sweet Ayn - offering to water the camels...now, that's a friend for you, if ever I knew one.

So I thought I would share my response with all of you too - to update and to update, as it were...(yah, I'm efficient like that)(or...um...lazy)

Hi dahlings-

I am up to the waist in camelshiza right now. The website needs attending to, (www.believblebalderdash.com) <---cheap plug.... the beads need to be strung, and the (elective) surgery recovering husband needs his bandages attended to. The daughter's fender bender needs mending, the soup needs to be made, and the babies at the hospital need diaper changing.

but, the decorations are down, the house is clean, the husband is recovering nicely, the daughter is feeling better, and the rain has stopped.

life is good.

but the journals will have to wait or subsist on the meager scraps I can throw at them.

but thanks for your concerns, and offers of help ayn et all!

love,
flora