Is Hogwarts real?

Liv and I have a nightly routine. She has her bath. I wash her hair, making sea serpentine styles with the shampoo. Then, after she is rinsed and shining, my mermaid with a crooked smile, I towel her off and she slides into her nightie with the hearts all over it, or the shamrocks, or..her favorite: the sea turtles with wise smiles on their ancient faces.

She gets into bed and we read one chapter (sometimes more if we both can't stand the suspense) of a Harry Potter book. We began the series on her 7th birthday. We are now on book six and the next to last book in the set: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince.

I have so often had Harry Potter on the brain at night, that he often weaves in and out of my dreams. I'll be dreaming of baking a cake or riding a too fast train and it is not uncommon to have Hagrid, the gentle half giant sharing my compartment or Harry eating a bowl of cornflakes at my kitchen table while I dream of baking a cake with ingredients from a mesh bag of exotic things.

Last night, Liv settled into her bed and I began to read. A few moments into this, I glanced up and my ever polite child was patiently holding her hand up in the air to ask a question. I smiled.

"Yes?"

"Maria?"(She has recently started calling me by my first name. I can't decide if this amuses me or alarms me.)

"Yes, Olivia?" (Right back at you, dear.)

"When I am eleven, will an owl come to us with an invitation for me to go to Hogwarts?"

I only hesitate for a moment, but it is long enough for her eyes to fill up with tears.

"There is no Hogwarts, is there? It's a make-believe place, isn't it?"

I sigh. Scrunch up my mouth, thinking.

"Well, honey, I don't know," I finally say.

"Yes, you do," she says, tears streaming now.

I set the book down, careful to put our marker in to hold our place and I pat my lap, indicating for her to join me in the rocker...this rocker that I used to rock steadily back and forth to will her baby self to sleep.

She crawls into my lap, my big long legged colt girl. She tucks her head under my chin, something she's done forever when she needs assurance. Her hair smells like chlorine from the swimming pool and lemon scented shampoo. We rock.

Finally, I speak. And I tell her the truth.

"Liv, I don't know if Hogwarts is real or not. It could be. Or maybe not. We live in a really big world. It's full of possibilities. It's hard to know what to believe, so I choose to pretty much believe in everything."

"Everything? Like trolls and pirates and Peter Pan?"

"Yup. Now keep in mind that I am not saying that all of it is real, but I think that there is always room for possibility. Maybe the author of Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling, just knows something that the rest of us don't."

"So..an owl COULD come with an invitation?"

"Yes. I think it could happen. Or maybe not. Let's just plan to cross that bridge when we come to it, okay? Or maybe you'll get an invite to another school for wizards and witches."

"No," she says firmly, "My heart is set on Hogwarts. But...I am afraid that I may not be a Gryffindor."

"Well," I reply, "Maybe you'll be like me and be a Ravenclaw..."

She looks up at me for a long minute and I wink at her slowly. Then we both smile. She crawls back under her bed covers and I pick up our book.

"I can't wait to see who Harry picks for the Quidditch team," she says.

I begin:


Harry decided to start with a basic test, asking all applicants for the team to divide into groups of ten and fly once around the pitch. This was a good decision: The first ten made up of first years and it could not have been plainer that they had hardly ever flown before. Only one boy managed to remain airborne for more than a few seconds....

Text messages and bauxite deposits in Mississippi

Oh, what a long day.....

It started early. I had to get Liv to swim team practice at 7:30 for team photos. So, I was sitting on the sidelines, breathing in the chlorinated, muggy air of the indoor pool, trying to wave merrily at Liv every time she turned to make sure that I was watching her.

My cell phone rang. It was Tinton, Liv's father. I was fairly surprised as I know that he said he had a busy summer going this year and he rarely calls. He got right to the heart of the matter, luckily he isn't one of those types who wastes a lot of time asking vapid questions about the weather or what's new.

"I was wondering if Liv would like to spend some time with me in Mississippi."

Huh?

It seems that he will be in Mississippi for most of July, doing some field work studying bauxite deposits in the Holly Springs National Forest. He thinks that Liv might enjoy camping out with his team. I guess there are a few who are bringing their families. They will be staying in tents, but nice tents. No real roughing it; they all sleep on cots. And they will also spend some time in Oxford at a hotel. Tinton reminded me that Oxford was William Faulkner's home. I told him that it is also where John Grisham lives.

"How long would she be gone?" I ask.

"Well, we would leave Omaha on the 10th and I would bring her back on the 27th," he says, his voice as calm and unemotional as always.

I swallow hard. That is a really long time.

"That's a really long time," I say. "And, she would miss her last swim meet."

He was silent. He wasn't going to bug me about this. If I said no, he would just say okay. I knew this.

I told him that I would talk to her about it and call him back.

I did this. And she wants to go. She thinks it will be fun to go camping and studying rocks.

I told her that Mississippi is hot in the summertime. She looked at me, questioning. Like Nebraska isn't? Pretty lame argument, I thought.

I talked to Bing about this. She told me that this will actually work out well. That she and I are leaving to go to California (she has an Apple seminar), Oregon, and Nevada around then anyway, and this way, Liv won't have to stay with my sister for a week, which was something that neither one of us was too wild about.

I know she is right. Liv wants to go. I trust Tinton. He has proven himself to be a great caregiver to Liv. He takes excellent care of her. And she will learn something.

I called him back and said okay.

Shit. Shit. Shit. It will be the longest we have ever been apart. But...yes, need to let this go. She will be fine. She will have fun.

I will miss her so much.

So, this afternoon, I went to the college that I teach a night class at every year. I hadn't been by to collect my mail in over a month, plus I needed to see if some books I had ordered had come in.

The office was packed. Everyone in my department seemed to be there doing catch-up work. I took a break to get a candy bar. When I got back, John, who has a desk next to mine, told me that I had gotten a call on my cell phone. I checked.

From Bing. A text message. I stared at it, puzzled.

John, seeing my bewilderment, asked me what the problem was.

"Well," I said, "I have a text message from my partner, but I have no idea what this means."

I showed it to him. "I am less than three you?" I said.

He smiled. "Um, Maria, look closely. It is I <3 u."

What??? Oh. I see now. I heart you. I love you. I felt myself blushing.

Sat back down and glanced at some schedule changes.

I heard a small male voice next to me (John) start to slowly sing.

Bing and Maria sittin in a tree. K I S S I N G....."

Chuckles. Lots of them. I picked up an eraser and threw it at his head.

"Actually," said Narcissa, another co-worker, "This kind of relieves me. I mean...rumor had it that you were part vulcan, you know. Some of the kids called you Spock and they didn't mean the baby doctor."

I looked at her. "ME?" I squeaked.

Narcissa and John exchanged a look and laughed. John said, "You're just so...unflappable. Very cool. You're like Professor McGonagall from the Potter books. It is hard to imagine you being....frolicsome, you know...frisky, rollicking."

"I get it," I told him. "Frisky, rollicking, frolicsome,blithe, gleeful,larky,coltish. At least I'm not foppish, like some people I know...."

"And your little girl, Liv," says Narcissa. "She is like you in miniature."

I was astonished. Liv is nothing like me. She is the one who can make me laugh so hard that I want to pee my pants. She dances like a madwoman to the radio. She hangs by her legs from the monkey bars with no fear.

Narcissa continued, "Now, don't be mad. She is cute as a button, but once when she came to work with you, she was playing this computer game where you had to make polar bears leap over snow banks and she told me that the key to winning the game was to CONDUCT the polar bear over the snow smoothly. She said the word CONDUCT. And what is she, like 8?"

I said that she is 7. And excuse her for being brilliant. She goes to Montessori. Blame them. And my somber, studious genes. Would they prefer that she wear those loathsome wanna-be-Britney tee shirts that say things like YOU CAN'T AFFORD ME! and play vapidly with her Barbies all day long?

No, they told me. I am just very...Marian the Librarian.

"Hey," I said, defending myself. "I can get loosey goosey."

They both looked skeptical.

"I CAN!!" I shouted.

John smiled at me. "Okay, kiddo. Do something...loosey goosey."

I sat for a second, thinking.

And then, I did something that surprised even me. I yanked my tee shirt up over my head quickly and showed off my new bright red bra. I did it very quickly and furtively, making sure that no one else was looking. And then I snapped my tee shirt back down licketty split. Boy howdy, that was brave of me.

Both John and Narcissa hooted.

"Holy shit!" John said. "Who knew that underneath those Hermione Granger robes, there lives a Jezebel? Wowwee. Okay. I heart you too, you wild thang."

I snickered at him. "In your dreams, buddy. Only in your dreams."

It wasn't until I was in the car on the way home when I thought about how...how...how...BALLSY that was of me. At first, I was embarrassed, but then, no.

I'm proud. I can too be frolicsome. So there.

Sven, Part 2

Sven and his mom, Lynette, were gone all last week at something called "family get acquainted week" at the college he will attend in the fall. I watched their house, got their mail, fed Sven's lizard and watered their lawn.

They came home on Saturday and both said it was ok. Actually, I knew it had been stressful for Lynette, but she is putting on a pretty good game face for Sven.

Last night, after I got Liv to bed, I was out sitting in my back yard with a cold diet Dr. Pepper. I heard Sven's hip hop music blaring about three blocks away and saw him pull into their driveway. He got out, we waved and he started up the back steps to his house. And stopped. Turned around and stood at our fence line.

"Care for some company?" he asked.

I said sure. He leaped the fence like the in shape teenager he is and plopped down next to me, stretching his legs out in front of him.

We talked about his college visit. He said that he thought it seemed like a good fit. That he didn't see any guys on the football team that he couldn't match or take.

"I think I was the only one there from Nebraska," he said. "So, I'm sure I'll have the nickname hayseed or corn cob or something until I can prove my mettle. Then...well. They will call me whatever I want."

We talked about registering for his classes. He said that he and his mom stayed with his Aunt and Uncle and borrowed their car to drive around. That when his mom had dropped him off at the freshman registration, he had turned to wave goodbye to her and she had her head on the steering wheel.

"I think she was crying," he said.

She was, I told him. She had called me on her cell phone shortly after dropping him off in tears. She said that it had been very hard for her to do that. "He's still so young!" she lamented.

Sven reached for my diet soda and took a sip. I am funny about sharing drinks. I usually only like to do that with Liv, but I was fine with sharing with Sven, even though he was a champion nose picker when he was 11.

He said that he was feeling bad for his mom. That after his dad left them, she had tried to date a few times and he had acted like an "asswipe" with the guys.

"I think she stopped dating because I made such a racket about it," he said.

Naw, I told him. He was just being a kid. If she really had wanted to date, she would have found a way. I don't know if this was true or not, but felt that he probably needed to hear that.

I asked him if he ever missed his father.

He didn't answer right away and I almost changed the subject. But, then he let loose.

"No," he said. He didn't miss him. But, he had learned from him. "I learned exactly what I didn't want to be," he said. "I never want to be the sort of man who leaves my wife and child up shit creek. What a loser."

I asked him if he remembered much about him.

He said no, but what he did remember was his bowling bag.

"It used to sit right by the front door all the time," he said. "And then it wasn't there anymore. Once, before he left, my mom and I decided to surprise him and go to the bowling alley one night to cheer him on. I mean, that guy lived at that bowling alley. So, we showed up and he got so pissed. Told us to go home and quit ruining his good time. My mom cried all the way home. They never fought much. I mean, he was hardly ever home. He came home, ate dinner and went bowling."

I nodded.

"Actually, for a long time, I thought he left because of spaghetti and meatballs," he said.

I gave him a long look. Spaghetti and meatballs?

"Yeah. It was near my 6th birthday. My mom asked me one night at dinner what I wanted for my birthday dinner. Said she would make me anything. I said I wanted spaghetti and meatballs. We never had that. We never had what you would call ethnic foods. My Dad hated any food that was like enchiladas or chop suey. Stuff that he didn't think was American. When I said I wanted spaghetti and meatballs, he laughed and said that it was just his luck to be stuck with a son who wanted some pansy ass eye-talian meal for his birthday. Jesus Christ. I was FIVE. Anyway, he left like a week later and for years I thought that he left because he didn't want to eat spaghetti and meatballs. Anyway...all I really remember about him was that stupid bowling bag."

I handed over my diet Dr. Pepper. He took another swig. And went on.

"I saw him once at a game, though," he said.

I asked him if his mom knew that. He said no.

"One night, I was quarterbacking. You remember that game. It was the state championship. The one we lost."

Yeah, I told him. He was FINE that night. He smiled. Yes, he admitted, he had played well.

"Anyway, after the game, I'm coming out to the field with my friends, all down and depressed and there was this guy standing there wearing a bud lite baseball cap and looking all scruffed ass. I recognized him immediately. He said something to me like 'good game' or something. I tried to walk past him but he grabbed my arm and said he was my Dad. Like he was Darth Vadar or something and I was Luke Skywalker. You know...Sven, I am your father...I told him that I knew who he was and kept walking. And then he calls something after me like he guessed I got his genes since I was such a fucking athlete. I turned around and made sure I laughed right in his face. Fuck head."

"Wow." That was all I could come up with. And then, he handed my soda back to me and I took a drink. "Yeah, what a fuck head," I said. "Did you tell him that he owes about a million dollars in child support?"

We laughed. I stretched my legs out to rest them on a chair. "God, my dogs are barking tonight," I said.

Sven looked at me, curious.

"Um, I mean, my feet hurt, young grasshopper," I said.

He grinned and nodded. "Nice toenails," he commented, gesturing at my sparkling glittery golden toenails.

"Ah, that would be Liv's handiwork," I said. "Remember the time you let her paint your nails?"

He grimaced. "Hell, yes. The second I got home, I went for my mom's nail polish remover..."

"You are a good kid, Sven."

"Yeah..."

I asked him if it was going to be hard to leave his girlfriend, Beth. She was never much of a scholar and will be staying here in Nebraska, going to community college.

"Well, sure," he answered. "We've been together since we were sophomores. She's the only girl I've ever...you know...been with. That way."

I put my fingers in my ears and started humming.

He laughed. "Okay. Too much information. I know. But, you know what? Remember that time I caught you in your back yard with your top off suntanning?"

"Yeeesss," I said, slowly. I was glad the porch lights were dim because I could feel myself blushing.

"Well, I have a dark secret to share. You were like the poster girl in my pre-adolescent fantasies for YEARS after that."

"God, I feel very Mrs. Robinson right now," I said.

"Huh?"

"Never mind. Shit, I am so old."

"Well, I turned 14 and realized that the world was full of girls who were my age and um...more interesting than my next door neighbor."

"Your ELDERLY next door neighbor," I completed.

We were quiet for awhile, star gazing. And then, Sven said softly, "I hate the thought of leaving Beth. I think...know...I am SURE, fucking sure, that I'm in love with her."

"Well...." I started.

"No, don't tell me that we will meet other people. We plan to do our college time and then get married."

I didn't say anything. I knew that he wouldn't listen. He slowly got to his feet and said that he'd better turn in. He leaned down and for one strange moment, I thought he was going to try to kiss me or something. But instead, he leaned close and said softly, "Look after my mom when I'm gone, okay?"

I promised.

He went into his house and I saw his kitchen light come on and his mother came through the doorway in her curlers. She is the only woman I have ever known other than my mother who actually wears orange juice can curlers in her hair. Lynette is four years younger than me, but looks about ten years older. I think that raising Sven on her own has aged her. She once told me that the week that Sven's dad left, she wasn't able to get out of bed and that Sven had pretty much waited on her, that he had brought her bowls of bran flakes and tepid glasses of milk. That finally, she had forced herself to get out of that bed and go back to work...for Sven. He needed his mom and she had to catch herself before she fell into a very deep pit.

Sven and his mother are very close, very loving and gentle with each other. Sven must have said something a little naughty to her in that kitchen because I watched as she laughed and punched him lightly. And then the light went off and I guess they both went to bed.

I stayed for a little while on my back steps, watching the stars and thinking about Sven and his girlfriend, Beth.

They probably won't stay together. The chances are slim. It happens that people marry their high school sweethearts, but rarely.

I suspect that they will attempt the long distance thing for a few months. And then he will meet some California girl with swinging long blonde hair or maybe some brainy girl with glasses who makes him really think about Chaucer for the first time. And he will be a little lost and a little found. Beth will slowly sink into the place where we store all our beautiful memories.

And Beth will probably meet some guy at the community college. Some boy who is going to take over his dad's plumbing business or hardware store. They will fall in love. She will send a sad goodbye letter to Sven, who will feel hot and cold all at once the way you always do when you get a Dear John letter. But, he will secretly be sort of glad because, yeah....there are all those girls out there.

And he is a good boy. He will call his mother every week at first. He will eat the oatmeal raisin cookies that I send to him. He will come and visit and wonder how the hell he ever lived in Nebraska when he has grown to love California so much. Once people leave home, they hardly ever come back.

I suppose he could surprise me and buck the odds. But, I doubt it.

One day, Sven will marry and make some woman very happy. He will be a good husband and a great father.

And he will never have a bowling bag.

Sven

He was 11 when I met him. We moved in right next door to Sven and his mom. Liv was just past one year old. It was near Christmas.

Sven and his mother came by with a Frosty the snowman candle and welcomed us to the neighborhood. His mom said that she had watched us move in. (I figured you were a lesbian when I saw all the women hauling the big boxes and the men were running alongside them screaming,"Be careful! There is a Tiffany lamp in there, missy!")

I laughed and invited them in for cocoa. There were boxes everywhere. We all sat down on whatever chairs we could find and they told me the story of the woman who had lived in the house before me. That she was elderly and very odd. That she had died of lung cancer but was so addicted to her smokes that she used to lug around her oxygen cannister with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. Sven piped up that she had died at home, probably in the master bedroom, which was now mine.

I didn't flinch. Said that I hoped she would haunt us. (She did!) Sven was chubby, tow haired, a full of gingersnaps boy. He made me laugh, but more importantly, he made Liv laugh. She adored him from day one.

As time went on, we grew to be good friends and neighbors. We watched each other's houses when we went away for vacations. I found out that Sven's father was a classic dead beat dad. That he disappeared when Sven was five, that Lynette, his mother, was trying hard to hold on to the house with her lone income as an ER nurse. Sven spent most of his afternoons at our house after the school bus dropped him off. I didn't charge Lynette. She babysat Liv whenever I needed her to, even though she wasn't particularly good with babies and admitted it. She also made us dinner a lot.

Sven and I grew to be very good friends. He helped me get Liv to go to pre-school by telling her how much fun it would be. On nice days, he pushed her tirelessly on her tire swing in the back yard and her wooden one in the front. We had a few ups and downs. I once caught him smoking in back of his garage and made him give me the pack of Marlboros he had managed to buy at the local pharmacy. I made him swear to never smoke again and I've never caught him again. Either he kept his word or became better at hiding. Once, he saw me pull into my driveway in my car without my seat belt on and came over to tell me that if I loved my kid, I'd buckle up. I have since never failed to do so. Once when I thought he was at school, I was laying in my yard sunbathing without a top and he came over to say hello and I don't know which one of us was more embarrassed, me or him. I jumped up and grabbed my towel for cover and he knocked over a can of paint in his back yard in his haste to get back into his house. We've never said a word to each other about that.

He started high school and we saw less of him. He had a growth spurt when he was 14 and suddenly shot up to nearly 6 feet and that chubbiness literally melted off of him, leaving behind a gangly kid. He loved football and often tagged along to the Cornhusker games with us, sitting in the nosebleed section because that was the best he could afford on his paper route income. His mother didn't much care for football until he was accepted on his high school football team and rapidly became a rising star.

He started weight training and overnight he went from gangly kid to this incredible hunk. A Prince William lookalike with muscles like a lifeguard and something he told me was called a six pack on his abdomen. He snagged a girl friend, a cheerleader named Beth who was not only great looking on the outside, but the inside as well.

By his junior year in high school, he was a jock. A total hottie, as my friend Harriet christened him. He was 6'4, built like...well...like the quarterback he was.

His hair was still blonde. His smile was still sunny. And Liv still adored him.

He would come over sometimes and beg me to bake his favorite cookies: oatmeal raisin. I always did. He would pretend that Liv was a stray squirrel or beaver or fox, whatever. He would say, "Uh, Maria. I see that a squirrel (or beaver or fox or roadrunner or chipmunk) has gotten into your house. I will rid your house of this varmint!"

Liv would run squealing joyfully through the house with him in hot pursuit. He would catch her, turn her upside down, screaming like a banshee, giggling uncontrollably, and pretend that he was going to throw her out into the backyard. Then, right before he got to the door, he would pretend to finally notice that this was LIV, not some rodent. He would look shocked and apologize profusely, setting her down.

And then ten minutes later, start the game all over again.

He dug my car out of a snowbank more than three times. He held doors for me. Thanked me for birthday gifts, brought Liv candy bars. He once bought me a dozen roses when he discovered me crying alone in my backyard one night when I had just broken up with someone I cared deeply about. He never asked me if I wanted to talk about it, I just looked up to see him standing at the fence separating our properties and he said, "Are you okay, Maria?" I miserably nodded yes, and went into my house as quickly as I could. The next day, the roses came with the message: You are one of my favorite people. Hope things get better! Love, Sven (and his mom)

We went to all of his high school football games and screamed our lungs out at his expertise as a football player.

Colleges noticed too. And when we attended his high school graduation this year, he had already accepted an offer to play football at a division one school. Now, instead of wearing blue and gold, he will wear purple and gold next year in college.

The college is five states away. His mother is proud (he has a full ride scholarship) but she is also mourning the fact that this kid who gave her hair it's full salt and pepper status, will now be a four hour plane ride away.

We will miss him too. More than I can say. I won't miss his ridiculously souped up car with the bass music so booming that I know what time he gets home from his dates every weekend night.

I will now have to send him his oatmeal raisin cookies, carefully wrapped in tissue and put in a shoebox. Liv will miss him sorely. He is like her big brother.

I can't even think of how hard this will be for Lynette. They are a close mother and son.

But, mostly I will miss my good friend, Sven, who lived next door.

And Sven, sweetie pie? (And yes, I am the ONLY one besides your mother who you will let call you that.)

Go knock 'em dead, mate.

Another damn crying jag song and spas in Las Vegas

Keith Carradine's I'm Easy

It's not my way to love you just when no one's looking,
it's not my way to take your hand if I'm not sure.
it's not my way to let you see what going on inside of me,
when it's love you won't be needing you're not sure...

Please stop pulling at my sleeve if you're just playing,
if you won't take the things you make me wanna give,
I never cared too much for games, and this one's driving me insane,
you're not half as free to wander as you claim.
But I'm easy,yeah I'm easy,give the word I'll play your game,
as though that's how it ought to be, because I'm easy......

I heard this on the radio in the car today. And started bawling. Jaysus. Menopause is turning me into this sentimental ninny ass.
GI Jane sent me this song years ago. We were friends. We went on a road trip. She tried testing the waters to see if we could be more than friends and I shot her down.
She recovered nicely and is now very happily in coupledom with a wonderful woman and they recently had a child together.

So, I wasn't crying because I regretted my decision or because I suddenly realized that I was in love with Janie or whatever.

I don't know why I cried, really.

Well, maybe I do. I cried, I think, partly because I think everyone has someone in their lives whom they loved, (or thought that they did) and the feeling wasn't reciprocated. I remember a couple of those. Women who made me go just a little weak in the knees when I am fairly certain that I didn't make their knees turn to jelly.

And I remembered getting this song on a cassette with some others she said reminded her of me. I remember being a little shocked at the depth of her feelings as she had seemed pretty lackadaisical at my spurning of her.

I also cried because I can't remember what I did with that cassette. That makes me a little ashamed. I should have been more respectful. It mattered enough to her to send me that. It should have mattered enough to me to save it.

And it hardly matters now. In one conversation we had a few months ago, GI Jane commented how glad she was that I didn't let her "fuck up" our friendship by letting it go where it had no business going. And we both know that it would NEVER have worked for us. She and I are both with the people that we should be with now. If we had let things go a different way, our friendship would have died when the relationship did. And it would have died. Probably sooner rather than later.

But, still that song made me cry. I'm older now, and so much more sentimental. I cry much more easily. But, I laugh more easily too. I think that once you've experienced so many facets of life, you just cave more.

And menopause is turning me into a frackin idjit.

Did anyone else see the article about the new spas in Las Vegas? Take a look-see. The ones where you sit in a hot tub/sauna/whatever and then go out into a room with SNOW coming down? They claim that it is "refreshing and delightful."

As a woman who lives in a state that has snow for half of the year, I can only snort.
What sort of jackass would think it was FUN to get out of a nice steamy hot tub and walk into a room with snow coming down? With only a towel on?

My first thought was Only in America. How embarrassing. Can't you just see some couple in England or Scotland or whatever reading this article out loud to each other?

"Well, aren't those Americans just a bunch of nut jobs?"

We have so much in this country and instead of figuring out how to replace fossil fuel, we use our brain power to come up with a SNOW SPA in Las Vegas.

It is almost as bad as our obsession with bottled water. Ask any water specialist. They will tell you that the water in your tap is fine. You do not NEED bottled water. This is insane. And the companies make it look so inviting.

Our water filters out of pure streams, softly spraying geysers bursting with cleanliness and the icy cold taste of Spring!"

I'm all for going green in a lot of ways. We refuse to eat meat from CAFO's. Our meat is grass finished or nothing. Our eggs are only from chickens who have been ranged freely. I plant a big garden each year and by September, my basement walls are full of canned tomatoes, dill pickles, cherries. I freeze things too.

But, I am not going to go around lugging a 3$ bottle of water. No sirree Bob.

And now, I just realized that I have become an old woman ranting. I bet you are picturing me shaking my finger and wearing a poke bonnet.

No. I eat fast food. I like my oreos and Cocoa Puffs.

But, I would feel plain idiotic going to a spa in Las Vegas and walking out of a hot tub into a room where it is....snowing. In fact, I think I would laugh my ass off or be mad as hell. ( Holy shit. I came to Vegas to escape the damn snow and it followed me!!)

We have so much brain power in this country. Surely we can do better.

More mishearings....

Today, Liv and I were sitting at the table eating our favorite breakfast of Vermont honey yogurt.

Bing came rushing in to make her daily kefir smoothie before she went off to teach her summer class. Liv held her arms out for a kiss and a hug. Bing hugged her and said, "Hey, I have nun breath, so kiss me at your own risk, Livvy." (Bing and I are both the products of Catholic schools and have often commented on how awful the nun's breath was.)

Liv gave her a smacky kiss anyway.

Liv finished up her yogurt and went to go change into her swimsuit for swim team practice. (She has taken second place in the butterfly stroke and third place in free style for eight and unders in her meets! Yeah. I have to sneak that braggart thing in.)

Bing and I were alone. I turned on her, glaring. Bing looked bewildered.

"What the hell are you looking so mad at me for? I just GOT UP. I can't have messed up already!"

I said, "I don't EVER want to hear you say anything that vulgar in front of Liv again!

Bing looked at me, incredulous.

"WHAT???!!! What did I say?"

"I'm not going to repeat it. You KNOW what you said. And I can't believe that you thought it was okay. You are just lucky that she didn't know what that word meant!"

Bing put her head in her hands. I could see her brain spinning. Then finally, she looked up. "Nun breath?"

It was my turn to look surprised. And then embarrassed. And apologetic.

"Oh, good lord. I am SO sorry. I thought you said CUNT breath!"

She looked mad as hell for one moment and then we both burst out laughing. She WAS sort of mad. I mean, she couldn't believe that I would actually think she was capable of saying something like that in front of a child. Especially when she and I don't even use that word. Ever.

But, we had to laugh.

And then she called me later on this morning. I answered.

"Hi, honey. I just wanted to say that I love you and um...how is your cunt breath, by the way?"

Crazy lyrics

Liv's father brought her home last night. My bff, Harriet, was over with her husband. Bing was home.

After we all listened to how the trip went, etc and I put Liv to bed (safe at home in my arms at last!), we all sat outside in our backyard and talked.

We started talking about song lyrics for some reason. Song lyrics that we heard all wrong. We ended up laughing so hard that we nearly cried. Here were some of them:

Tinton, Liv's father, had these.

Michael Jackson's Beat It.

The lyrics are: Show them how funky
Tinton heard: Show them hot monkey.

Simon and Garfunkel's Mrs. Robinson.

The lyrics are: Hide it in a hiding place where no one ever goes.
Put it in the pantry with your cupcakes.

heard:Hide it in a hiding place where no one ever goes.
Put it in your pants between your cupcakes.

Alanis Morissette's You Oughta Know.

The lyrics are: It's not fair to deny me of the cross I bear that you gave to me.

heard: It's not fair to deny me of the cross eyed bear that you gave to me.


John Denver's Country Roads.

The lyrics are: West Virginia
Mountain Mama.

heard:West Virginia
Mount yer Mama.

Nirvana's Smells Like Team Spirit.

The lyrics are: Here we are now, entertain us.

heard:Here we are now, in containers.

Harriet's husband had these:

Jimi Hendrix' Purple Haze.

The lyrics are: 'Scuse me, while I kiss the sky.

heard:'Scuse me, while I kiss this guy.

Creedence Clearwater Revival's Bad Moon Rising.

The lyrics are: There's a bad moon on the rise.

heard:There's a bathroom on the right.

The Bee Gee's Stayin Alive.

The lyrics are: It's alright.It's okay. You may look the other way.

heard: It's alright. It's okay. You make love the other way.

Toto's Africa.

The lyrics are: I bless the rains down in Africa.

heard:I left my brains down in Africa.


Harriet had these:

Roberta Flack's Killing Me Softly With His Song.

The lyrics are: Killing me softly with his song.

heard:Killing me softly with Islam.

Corr's Breathless.

The lyrics are: Go on, leave me breathless.

heard:Go on, feed me breakfast.

Bing had these:

Robert Palmer's Addicted to Love.

The lyrics are: Might as well face it, you're addicted to love.

heard:Might as well face it, you're a dick with a glove.

Bon Jovi's Living on a Prayer.

The lyrics are: It doesn't make a difference if we make it or not.

heard:It doesn't make a difference if we're naked or not.

Elton John's Tiny Dancer.

The lyrics are: Hold me closer, tiny dancer.

heard:Hold me close and tie me down, sir.

Marvin Gaye's Sexual Healing.

The lyrics are: Darling, you're so great, I can't wait for you to operate.

heard:Darling, you're so great, I can't wait for you to ovulate.

The Beatles' Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds.

The lyrics are: The girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

heard:The girl with colitis goes by.


And last, but not least, these are my mishearings:

Irene Cara's What a Feeling.

The lyrics are: Take your passion and make it happen.

heard:Take your pants down and make it happen.

And lastly,
The Eagles' Desperado.

The lyrics are: Desperado, you've been out riding fences for so long now.

heard:Desperado, you've been outright offensive for so long now.


I thought we were all going to pee our pants.

We laughed and talked and looked at the sky. Finally, everyone went home and Bing and I went to bed.

And Bing thought of one more:

Bob Dylan's Blowin' in the Wind.

The lyrics are: The answer, my friend is blowin' in the wind. The answer is blowin' in the wind.

She heard: The ants are my friends, they're blowin' in the wind. The ants are a' blowin' in the wind.....


Good hell.....

Busted by a seven year old.....

Well. Bing and I had a lovely time last night. We went here and had some delicious pasta. And wine. And bread. And ended with a decadent pastry for dessert. We came home.

And that's about all I plan to say about that except that a good time was had by both of us. More than once. My stomach was so full that I honestly felt like I was sloshing around like a piglet...but oh well.

We slept in. We both woke up around nine and smiled with indecent pleasure just because WE COULD actually sleep in. We fell back asleep for a few more hours. I would wake up and then fall back into sleep. I can't remember the last time I did that.

Finally around noon, we both yawned and decided that we probably should think about getting up. The sun had moved from the edge of the end of the bed all the way up to my neck by then. I stretched.

Bing sweetly offered to give me a back rub before I got out of bed. I sweetly accepted because I am just that kind of person. I turned on my stomach and she straddled me and began digging her hands into my back with just the right amount of pressure. I was purring like a cat. Putty in her hands, that is what I was. It felt so wonderful to be so sublimely....relaxed.

And then my cell phone rang.

I sleepily reached for it, opened one eye to see who it was, sighing a little.

LIV.

I leaped up quickly, knocking Bing off of me like a bucking bronco. She went flying to the side of the bed, knocking into the table on her side.

"Yes??? Hello?? Yes???"

My voice sounded strangely high pitched and strained. Like a teenager caught in the back seat engaging in some hanky panky and looking up into the flashlight of a cop.

"Mama?" I heard Liv say. "Is that you?"

"Well, of course it is, silly! Who else would it be, honey? Is everything okay? How are you? Are you having fun?"

I was shooting questions at her so fast that she must have thought I was insane.

"Um....what are you doing?" Liv asked, her voice sounding concerned.

"NOTHING!! I was just um...well...NOTHING, really. How are you? Is everything okay?"

I sounded so guilty of something that I almost laughed at myself. Instead, I could see see Bing beginning to grin slowly.

"Were you sleeping?" my little inquisitor asked.

"Yes," I answered. "I was sleeping."

"But, it is nearly lunchtime. Are you sick?"

I told her no. That I was just...sleepy. Yes, very sleepy. Now, I was sitting there thinking that all her father's relatives are probably sitting right there thinking that I am such a lazy ass to be sleeping until noon. No. They were probably thinking that as soon as Liv left, I was going at it like nobody's business with Bing. Such a sex starved lesbian that I only came up for air to answer the phone.

I felt Bing reach over softly to rub my leg and I slapped hard at her hand, as if it were a tarantula. I leaped out of the bed and promptly knocked over a glass of wine that was left on the floor and stepped right into a plate of leftover crackers and cheese that we had snacked on in the wee hours of the morning. I sat back down and carefully pried the cheese off my foot while I attempted to make conversation.

Well, Liv had lots of news. She wanted to tell me about going to a Sun Dance, how she and the other children sat around listening to stories at night around a fire, told by an elder. Stories about Canotila (forest fairy), Cetan (hawk spirit) and the god Haokah, the god of thunder and lightning who laughs when he is sad and cries when he is happy.

"Grandma made me a bracelet with Skan (god who made the world) on it and she is making me a skirt too! It is so pretty! She wants to know your size because she is going to make you one too. So, what is your size?" she asked.

Well, now. I didn't want to share my size. I tried to say something totally ridiculous about one size fitting all, but Liv pressed. "No, she really wants to know your size."

I deliberated. Should I lie? I was tempted, but then I would never be able to wear the skirt and I knew that would disappoint Liv. So, I took a deep breath and just said it.

I wear a size 14, honey. Great. Now, not only did her relatives think that I was a lazy slut, they also knew that I was a chubby, lazy slut.

Liv then told me that she had told everyone that I had suffered a bout of COLITIS ("I said that you really had trouble pooping for awhile, but that you were better now. And grandma said that she would send you some chicken collagen home to help you go to the bathroom!")

Well, thank you so much. I look forward to ingesting some chicken collagen and wearing that pretty skirt over my gargantuan size 14 ass.

By this time, I had managed to throw a tee shirt over my head. It was making me very uncomfortable sitting naked while I talked to Liv, as if all her relatives were watching me on TV or something.

We talked some more and then Liv's father, Tinton, got on. And HE asked me in this concerned voice how my COLITIS was. I was so embarrassed. I told him fine. I am just glad that he didn't ask me why I was in bed at noon, was I fornicating, flopping around on my size 14 ass?

He said that they would be home by dinner time tomorrow and then he put Liv back on so that we could send big noisy kisses over the phone to each other.

"Are you going to go back to bed?" Liv asked.

"OH. NO!!" I answered. No...time to get up and go see the garden. Did I tell her that the sweet banana peppers were up? I would have one waiting for her when she got home.

We hung up. Bing was smiling at me from the end of the bed.

"Well, remind me to play poker with you sometime," she drawled. "You are an edgy little liar. Why were you acting so oddly?"

I told her the truth. That I didn't actually know...I just felt...embarrassed.

"I think she knows that we sleep together, Maria."

I said I knew that, but for some reason, I just felt so...naughty or something.

Bad, slutty mother!!

Bing laughed and strode naked across the room, not one bit embarrassed. If she had answered the phone, she would have been casual and calm. Not giving any information, but not acting like she had anything to be ashamed of either.

She really, really does look great. It is all those workouts and all that mowing lawns. And well, SHE isn't a size 14.

I bent to pick up the cheese plate and wine glass off of the floor. She peeked around the corner at me.

"Hey, darlin. There is room for two in the shower, ya know...." she said, smiling wickedly.

And so there was.

Thank god the phone didn't ring......

Missing Liv and other stuff....

Liv is away for the weekend with her father. She doesn't do this very often (he lives out of state and is not very involved in her life) but the few times she has traveled with him, she says that she has had a good time.

He is a kind, gentle soul. Good with Liv. He has never been interested in being a father, really, though. He is a Native American and a geologist. Travels a great deal. When he takes Liv, it is always to a pow wow on the reservation where he grew up. He doesn't want to be actively involved in Liv's life, but he does think it important that she understand her ancestry. I do too. We have many books on her tribe's history and he sends her bracelets and jewelry, a blanket that she keeps on the end of her bed.

Their relationship is easy, for now. I have no idea how it will evolve as she gets older. She has never shown any real interest in knowing much about him. Yet. If that changes, I will adapt. I asked her if she wanted to make him something for Father's Day to take with her on their trip and she looked bewildered.

"No," she said. "He is more like a friend and I think we both like it best that way."

I get that. And I am comfortable with it. But, it will be a very long weekend for me. I'm not really worried about her. He is a genuinely careful caretaker. I know that she will be well looked after and he tells me that the women in the tribe dote on Liv. She will come home with rocks to show me, probably with a new skirt or mocs, maybe some jewelry. Lots of stories about dancing and learning some new steps from her aunt, cousins and grandmother. Once, she brought home a small card for me with a recipe for maize soup that we tried and I failed miserably at.

He will take a few photos and send them to me via e-mail a few weeks after they come home. I will be able to pick Liv out instantly. She will be the single dark blonde child in a sea of glossy black hair. Her eyes are his, dark and velvet brown. Her skin is not as dark as his, but still much more olive toned than mine. She tans like a dream and by the summer's end, she truly will look as my mother would say, brown as an indian. She is very tall for her age, is 4'6 and weighs only 62 pounds. She is tall and slim, easily the tallest child in her class, but among her Native American family, she is about average. She says that everyone is very kind to her and while she doesn't ask me to go with her father, she never acts like she doesn't want to go.

I'm the one smiling and waving goodbye in the driveway and then weeping in the bathtub that night.

I just miss her. So much. Bing is incredulous, thinks that I should be kicking up my heels in some freed Mama time. Instead, I clock watch. I wonder what Liv is doing. She calls me every day and you would think that she was in Iraq the way I run for the phone. Her voice on the phone brings me to tears which I have to fight to hide by keeping my ear to the receiver, but holding the mouthpiece up so that she won't hear the catch in my voice. I keep swallowing hard until I am back in control and then keep my voice as bright and chirpy as a fracking bird.

Bing wondered aloud this morning what I will be like when she leaves home for college. I can't even go there. Jaysus.

Today, I went out to the garden and everything was doing so beautifully. I took your advice, Stacy, and used newspaper to help with the weeds. I heaped straw over the newspaper and those weeds are having a terrible time trying to pop through. Plus, I get the added bonus of being able to savagely pour water all over George Bush's head (he was in several articles) whenever I damn please. And I do it A LOT.

I watered Liv's petunias and her bleeding hearts. I remembered that she had mentioned that she wished that she had some daisies, so I headed right to Earl May and bought several flats of shastas and some tiny yellow golden fleece daisies and planted them to surprise her when she gets home.

I came inside and went into Liv's room and sat crosslegged on her bed for awhile, holding her rabbit family dolls in my lap. Bing came in and sighed. Sat down next to me. Honey, I know you miss her, but you need to get out and have some fun. When will we ever get to go out again without worrying about a babysitter? Let's go get some lunch, huh?

I agreed to go out to dinner tonight and a movie tomorrow, but said that I wanted to work in the garden this afternoon. Bing made me promise not to sit in Liv's room all day.

I am borderline pathetic here. Ten years ago, I would have balked at even BEING a parent, let alone sad sacking with misery when my child was gone for a weekend. Ten years ago, I felt pity for people with children, they seemed so tied down.

Now, I know that those ropes are self inflicted. I like being tied to my little girl. And the weird thing is that when she is home, we can spend hours away from each other and we are fine. I even get weary of her when she sticks too close to me. But, having her really gone makes me feel as if I am missing one of my arms or something now.

Ah, well...go on.

On a side note, if you want to read an incredible book, try Bill Bryson's The Life and Times of The Thunderbolt Kid. It is fantastic. Such a good read that I felt momentarily bereft when I finished the book. I had taken such a cotton to the characters that I didn't want to say goodbye. It is a library book and overdue, so I won't even have the luxury of a long goodbye which I sometimes do with books I love: I actually carry them around with me in my PURSE and reach in and touch them now and then until I am ready to let them go.

But, I will bite the bullet and take it back to the library today. It will get me out of the house, right?

God, I really need to get past this yearning for Liv bit.

Maybe I will make Bing take me out for a really romantic dinner tonight and then let her get lucky when we get home. I mean, we can twist and shout without worry tonight, yes?

I have shaved legs and pits. A recent good haircut. Nice breath. I could pull this off. Some dancing in the dark may be just the trick.

A few nights ago, Liv and I were out laying on the grass in the backyard on our blanket, singing the vegetables to sleep and we went into a rendition of The Stones, "You Can't Always Get What You Want."

That should be my motto tonight.

You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes, you might find
You get what you need......

The blind date

Every one I know has a story about a blind date. Here is mine.

I was in my early thirties. Had recently ended a seven year relationship that should have only been a four year one. It took me that long to realize that no matter how hard we tried, it was just not going to work.

I went to Chicago to visit two good friends of mine, Van and Thuan. They were a Ricky Ricardo and Lucy couple. Lots of big crazy fights complete with hysterics and then they would fall into each other's arms declaring that they couldn't live without each other.

Plus, they were excellent cooks. In fact, Thuan owned a Vietnamese restaurant with his sister and to this day, makes the best coconut soup that I have ever tasted.

I was childless then and happily so. In fact, if someone had suggested that I have a baby, I would have hooted. And frankly, no one who really knew me would have even given me a child to hold for fear that I would either drop him/her on their head or wander off and forget that I was supposed to be watching the child.

Van and Thuan had a party in my honor. It was the second day of the new year and I would be leaving in a few days after a Christmas vacation spent sleeping late, drinking and eating too much and shopping like I had money to burn or something.

Van took me out and insisted on buying me a total fuck me dress. It was red. I had shiny black high heels to wear with it. I was thin and still had long auburn hair. After a visit to a salon where I had my eyebrows waxed for the first time (holy bat shit that hurt) and a hair cut that made me look all Rita Hayworth, I decided to actually get a bikini wax.

I was talked into a Telly Savalas wax. Yes. It is exactly what you think it is. If you saw The Break Up, you will remember this too. That made the eyebrow waxing seem like child's play.

I came back to the boy's apartment smooth and bald everywhere on my body except my head and eyebrows.

I wore the fuck me dress. My hair looked great. In fact, when I look at the photos that Van snapped that night, I am a little stunned at just how damn sexy I looked. I looked like I wanted something very badly and very soon. In the photos, I am smiling up at the camera like I want to be thrown on a bed and given a good time.

The party was fun. I drank way too many martinis and smoked way too much um....other stuff. I didn't hook up with anyone, though. I may have looked the part, but didn't really want to do the lead role yet.

Apparently, a woman there liked me so much that she asked Van and Thuan to fix us up before I left to go back home to Omaha. Let's call her Sue.

The boys knew that I would never agree to date anyone, I had made it more than clear that I was just looking, didn't want to play. So, they didn't tell me until about an hour before she was to pick me up that they had arranged a date for us.

I whined. I didn't want to go. They told me that it would be good for me, that it was time that I "got back out in the trenches."

I agreed only after they promised that it was only a very casual dinner and a movie. I could not even remember Sue from the party but they told me that she was a lot of fun.

She showed up in a very nice outfit, some sort of velvety pants and a jacket. I had on jeans and a sweater. I had braided my hair down my back. No glitter makeup like I had worn the night before. Just lip gloss, I think.

Sue gave me the once over, clearly not expecting me to be so...casual.

We left after politely eating some canopes that Thuan had made.

Sue hailed a cab and took me to a very cozy Italian restaurant. I tried hard to make small talk, but my heart wasn't in it. I wasn't a very fun date. And Sue didn't help. She kept saying things like, "Where is that party girl from last night?" and "Hey, I was hoping you had another red dress in your closet..."

At the restaurant, she talked about her job. She worked in a pet store during the day and said that she was a "comedian" at night. I wasn't sure if she meant like she was a working comedian or just thought she was a very funny woman. The conversation was strained.

After we ate our pasta and had a few glasses of wine, she asked me if I was okay with skipping the movie. I was ecstatic, thought she would be taking me back to the boy's house.

When we got into the cab, I didn't really pay attention until I realized that we had pulled up to an unfamiliar brownstone. I asked her where we were.

"Well, MY house!" she answered.

I told her that I had thought she was taking me home.

"Well, just come in for a piece of pie, then," she said. "And then, I'll send you home in a cab, okay?"

I sat there for a moment, contemplating what exactly she meant by a piece of pie. Decided not to get all freaked about it.

We went into her house. She had SIX cats. All of the cats wanted to sit on my lap. All of them. Her house smelled like a litter box. She gave me the tour. When we got to her bedroom, she smiled and patted the bed.

I smiled back, but told her that I wasn't going anywhere near that bed.

She sighed. "Well," she said, "I think that you will regret that one day as I plan to be famous."

I didn't answer, just walked into her kitchen. A moment later, she turned on some music and I turned around. The song was Bette Davis Eyes. She was lip syncing and gyrating all over her living room. Wearing only her underpants. Grinning at me and probably wishing dearly that I was in that red dress and high as a kite again.

Her hair is Harlow gold
Her lips a sweet surprise
Her hands are never cold
She's got Bette Davis eyes.....

I knew that I might laugh. I didn't want to hurt her feelings, so I bit the insides of my cheeks as hard as I could and flared my nostrils in an attempt to hold it in. I imagine I looked like the queen mother.

And then, I casually reached for my jacket and walked out the front door, waving and pointing to my watch.

I literally RAN down the four flights of steps to the street. Luckily, she lived on a busy block and there was a cab right in front of the building. I jumped in and frantically just told him to GO!! while I searched in my purse for Van and Thuan's address. I found it and sat back, peeking out the window as if I thought she might be coming after me in her Bette Davis trench coat over her hot pink undies.

When I got to the boy's house, I told them the whole story. They hooted. They said that they didn't know her ALL that well, but that she was a good friend of a friend, etc. They were sure that she was harmless.

I sort of knew that, but I also knew that Bette Davis Eyes would now take me into strange territory each time I heard it.

Sue never called. I was grateful for that. I went back home shortly after.

Several months later, I was getting ready for bed and the phone rang. It was Van.

"Turn on Saturday Night Live, " he said. "You are going to pee your pants, girl."

I did. And there she was....

A semi regular on the show. Well, now. Boy howdy. If I had stayed put, I might have had a rich girl friend who could have introduced me to David Spade.

And I'll just leave it to you to guess who she is....:)

All the boys think she's a spy
She's got...Bette Davis Eyes....

Goodbye to Tony and a really good book.

Bing and I were both huge fans of The Sopranos. We each had our favorite characters (hers was Carmela, mine Christopher) and not once did we miss dancing when the theme song of that show came on.

We slithered over the living room, sometimes in each other's arms, other times ricocheting off each other while we snaked all over singing..

You woke up this morning
Got yourself a gun,
Mama always said you'd be
The Chosen One....

Born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes.....

We made sure that our last dance with Tony and his family was a good one on Sunday. And then we settled down to watch.

What would happen? Would Tony get whacked? Go into the witness protection program?

Every fan and non-fan knows what happened by now. Nothing. Life went on. Tony found a way to go on. The ending was a David Chase piece of brilliance. One casual last look into everyone's favorite mob family. Lots of crazy moments when you just knew something terrible would happen. And then...nothing. Which was kind of like what the series was best at. Someone would get whacked out of the blue, stunning you back into your seat. Doesn't it make sense that it could go the other way too? That you'd sit there waiting for something to happen and then...nothing?

I never understood why I loved this show so much. It was uncharacteristic of me. I am not into violence and have never had much interest in the mob.

I think it was the black humor. It was dark and very,very grisly. Macabre, but well...also sweet and funny and full of goose bumps and roller coaster turns. Or as my sister, Patrice, told me, "It is just like you to get involved with some show that is just...heathens and full of bad language." Yup. That's me all over. I love those foul mouthed heathens.

I loved all the characters. Tony especially, the mob boss who suffered from anxiety attacks and worried about things like his daughter getting into a good college or what to do about his son's bad grades. In fact, my absolute favorite episode was the one where he took his daughter to look at colleges and also managed to do a hit on the way. I mean, wow...job stress melting into your home life...

I will sorely miss him. I have no idea why. And I would be scared shitless if he moved in next door to me, but I loved that show. When it was over, Bing and I just looked at each other and sighed.

Goodbye, Tony and Carm. The kids. Uncle Junior, Paulie, Silvio. Janice.

And I am so heathenishly glad that Leotardo got whacked. So there.

On a lighter note...I just finished a great book that I recommend to anyone who needs a good summer read. It was called Whistling in the Dark by Lesley Kagen. I love to read, but this one held me good and fast. I stayed up late in bed reading it and I am so selfish about my sleep that I have to really love a book to do that. So, go out and read it, you will be glad that you did.

I was just getting ready to close up the blog for the night and go get in some weeding in my garden before the sun goes to bed when I remembered something really interesting that happened to me yesterday.

I had a bird land on my shoulder.

Yes. It landed and perched right on my shoulder. I was out in the garden, taking big unladylike sniffs of my tomato plants. They smell divine, they really do. I sat down in the middle of my garden, cross legged, and let myself have some zen. I sniffed. Closed my eyes.

And felt this scratchy little sumpin, sumpin on my shoulder. I didn't leap up but opened my eyes. It was a cardinal. A fairly niced sized one. Perching right on my shoulder. I sat still as a statue. Thought, "no one will ever believe this... and didn't move. Neither did the bird. I moved my eyes to the far left to peep at him. He actually turned his head and looked directly into my eyes. Cocked his head and I swear to God, if he had said hello to me, I wouldn't have been surprised. But, he didn't. He raised on one foot slowly and then soared away to sit on the telephone pole and chirp down at me.

I slowly got up and went into the house. And no. No one was around. No one saw this. I told both Bing and Liv at dinner and both looked like I was tripping out on an acid dream or something. Bing actually asked me if maybe I had dozed off in the garden.

No, I didn't. A cardinal came and sat on my shoulder.

Me, being me, I went all Dickinson and wrote a memory about it to put in my box. The box that Liv will find when I die and wonder how on earth she got stuck with such an odd mother. A mother who saved her ticket stub to Garden State because Zach Braff said everything in that movie that I wish I had. A mother who wrote strange things on slips of paper like, I hugged that cherry blossom tree in the front yard today and I swear I heard a heartbeat in there." And a cardinal came and perched on my shoulder today. I think it was trying to tell me something.

Yeah. She is going to have a lot to discuss with her therapist about me.....

And then, the weird thing was that at breakfast, Bing suddenly pointed out the window and said, "Hey, is that your cardinal?"

There was a cardinal sitting on the back porch railing and looking in at us eating breakfast. I said that I had no idea.

"Maybe he has a crush on you," she said, smiling.

I rolled my eyes at her, but when she had left for her summer class, I took some toast crumbs out and set them on the railing before I took Liv to swim practice.

And now, I believe I will dance on outta here...

Woke up this morning
And got yourself a gun,
Got yourself a gun...
Got yourself a gun....

Goodbye, Tony.....

Why I love Cleo, my hairdresser.

I met her about five years ago. I have never been the type of person who had their hair styled or even cut on a regular basis. I had long hair, wore it either in a braid down my back, in a sloppy bun or on the occasions where I wanted to look prettier, down and gently curled with a curling iron.

But, five years ago, my hair began going gray. Fast. I am not kidding when I say that I practically went gray overnight. One day, I had this pretty reddish brown hair that I got complimented on with regularity. The next, I had salt and pepper hair and it wasn't shiny, just sort of haggie maggie, as my sainted Irish mother would have said.

I truly needed some help. I tried dyeing it. It looked...well...dyed. I tried every shine product I could get my hands on with no luck, I finally wandered into a salon that was right down the street from me. It was one of those chain beauty shops. You know the one: Merely Okay Clips, etc.

I gave my name and a few moments later it was called and there was Cleo, an immensely fat black woman who had hair in a small afro. She wore a muu muu. Honest. It was yellow with big red birds all over it. I hesitated, then decided that she couldn't make me look any worse.

She didn't. She looked at my hair and the picture that I held hopefully out to her, a picture from People magazine of Halle Berry with her new short do.

To her credit, she didn't snicker. She didn't ask why a lily white, only slightly attractive older woman like me thought that I could even halfway resemble Halle Berry. She tilted her head and said, "I think that style might be a good choice for you, honey. You need to get some of that weight off your neck."

She didn't talk, there was none of that inane visiting that I heard all around me. She cut my hair. And hummed.

The humming had a sedating quality that I would come to use with Liv when I very much needed her to take a nap. But my voice could never equal hers. Hers was like something deep and honeyed, slipping and sliding all over the chair I sat in.

I emerged an hour later, looking pretty damn fine. My hair was cut close to my scalp and free of the weight, it had a natural curl that made the gray actually kind of pretty. Cleo had also put some sort of oil in my hair that not only took the ragged kinkiness out of it, but made it gleam in the sun without looking oily.

Cleo said the first sentence she had uttered since telling me that she could cut my hair like Halle Berry.

"You have a fine shaped head."

I went back for a trim once a month. About a year into our relationship, she handed me a small card as I left. It said that she was moving to a new shop and gave the address.

Gracelda's

Gracelda's was in a part of the city that could kindly be called dangerous. It was in the projects where if there was going to be a shooting in the city, it would be on that block.

I went anyway. I was hooked. I believe that I have always been the one and only white woman in that shop. It is run by a tall thin black woman, Gracelda. And all the beauty operators are black. After my first trip there of initial shyness, I relaxed.

Mostly because the operators and Gracelda sing.

Yes, they sing. While they work. And most of their customers sing too.

Not me, though. I have a voice that is not meant to be heard singing. I believe it is kind to say that I have no pitch, can't carry a tune to save my life.

But, Cleo and her co-workers can.

They sing spirituals. Cleo's scissors perch daintily above my head (and yes, she is a very dainty hair cutter in spite of her girth) and she or one of the other women will begin to hum and then one by one, they all join in.

I got a robe, you got a robe
All o' God's chillun got a robe
when I get to heabin I'm goin to put on my robe..

They sing Zekiel Saw the Wheel, I Shall Not Be Moved, Sweet Canaan's Happy Land, Walk You in the Light and You May Bury Me in the East.

In harmony. And it is so breathtakingly beautiful that it is like listening to angels. Sometimes Cleo or one of the other women will take up a note and hold it, lingering a little, while the others chime in.

At those times, I have to close my eyes or worry about crying.

Getting my hair cut every month is better than therapy.

Not that Cleo and I talk. We don't really. She has pictures of several smiling little children in her station. I assume they must be her grandchildren.

Once, when she was cutting my hair, a striking black woman with hair towering so high on her head that she looked like she was wearing the leaning tower of pisa, came in. She tried to get Cleo to give her some money to go buy something. Cleo told her to sweep up the shop and she'd see if Gracelda had a few dollars for her. The girl stalked out angrily.

Cleo's eyes met mine in the mirror.

"She can be a hell cat," she sighed. I nodded and she went back to my hair.

That is the extent of our family talk. She has never asked me what I do for a living, if I have children, if I am married, nothing.

Sometimes when I am there, there is gossipy talk among the other beauticians. They will talk about how so and so has no business sniffing around those older girls or how someone's son moved on up to Chicago and is now in a show.

Mostly, though, they ignore me and just sing.

Once, a woman getting her hair cut in the chair next to me asked her hair dresser what "that white girl" was doing in here.

It took me a moment before I realized she was referring to me.

Cleo gave her the evil eye.

"You shut your trap, Yolanda," she said evenly.

And Yolanda did.

I figure that Cleo must sort of like me although she has never said so. Once, when I fell asleep in the chair, she told me to go home and get some rest. Once, when I looked at myself in the mirror and commented quietly that I wished I were prettier, she said, "You are a lovely woman, child. You have nice pretty skin. But, it wouldn't hurt to smile more."

I said that I would keep that in mind, but I was shy.

She laughed. "I don't guess you are THAT shy," she said. "You look like you could hold your own with a buzz saw if you had to. I know that look. Like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, but no one better try to take that butter away from you."

I think that was the longest conversation we ever had.

It is almost time for my 6 week trim.

I look forward to this. I look forward to sitting in that chair and smelling Cleo's unique smell of lemon oil, nicotine, and apricots. I look forward to feeling her gentle fingers swishing in and out of my hair, snipping and sliding.

I look forward to her humming and then the others joining in, until it is like a pulse in my body.

I look forward to seeing my friend, Cleo who knows little about me, but seems to like me just the same.

Booty from Borders, softball, and chicken enchilada soup.

It was my 49th birthday recently and to my delight, everyone seemed to give me Border's gift certificates. So, today became the perfect day to use them.

Liv had her first soft ball game this morning. She is fine to watch, a little too intense (and of course, I immediately took responsibility...think it is my fault somehow for practicing too much with her in the back yard), but honestly...there are times when I look at her now and see such a separate person from myself. She is nearly always the tallest on her team, has long colt legs and is so skinny that she could almost pull off being knock kneed and gangly if she wasn't so damned coordinated.

I had slipped her hair up into a little ponytail and flipped it through her baseball cap. She ran to join her teammates while Bing and I found seats. Her coach, who is actually a college student, looked to me to be about 13.

When Liv was up to bat, I leaned forward, feeling every bit of nervous that I saw all over her face. Yet, she was excited too and I felt that as well. I used to be very good at stick ball when I was her age, but back then girls didn't play on softball teams so I will never know if I was actually any good.

She cracked the ball and went running. It was a lovely shot. She stood grinning on first base, pretending not to look at me. I hooted properly.

I wondered, as I always do, how she became this big soft ball playing girl when I seem to recall it as yesterday when she was watching The Wiggles in her onesie with the moons all over it. She doesn't really resemble me much, is very tall and thin with golden blonde hair and snapping brown eyes. I was always the average one; average height and weight, average brown hair and brown eyes. Average intelligence. Average singing voice.

She is not left handed as I am. I am grateful for that. I think the world works much easier for righties.

On the way home, I decided that I felt well enough to finally stop at Borders and Liv and Bing headed for the children's section and let me run loose and alone in the fiction section. It didn't take me long to find the books I wanted. Here they are:

1) Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver. Kingsolver is worth reading any time, any place. I will read anything she writes and you should too.

2) Happy Birthday or Whatever by Annie Choi. It looked like Choi might be a smart ass and I love smart ass writers, so I grabbed this one.

3) Between, Georgia by Joshilyn Jackson. This one has been on my "wish" list forever.

4) The Lumby Lines by Gail Fraser. Took a chance. Never heard of her, but I thought the premise sounded interesting.

5) Eat the Document by Dana Spiotta. Oh, this one looks luscious.

6) The Department of Lost and Found by Allison Winn Scotch. I read the words "breast cancer" in any work of fiction and think of my sister, a breast cancer survivor, so had to get this one.

7) Little Heathens by Mildred Armstrong Kalish. Written about growing up on an Iowa farm. I can relate.

When we left, I had spent my gift certificates and only went 2 bucks over, and this was counting two rainbow fairy books for Liv and a Bruce Springsteen cd for Bing.

I love bookstores. No matter how I feel, a bookstore will cheer me up almost as much as a library.

We stopped at our favorite cafe and I ordered the chicken enchilada soup. Can this day get better?

Yes, it can. Bing wanted to stop at two garage sales in hopes of finding a new screen door for our back porch. We didn't find one, but Liv found two pairs of shorts, I found several tee shirts in just my size that were in superb condition and Bing? Well, no screen door. But, she did find some stakes for the garden and a set of first edition Ralph Waldo Emerson books for me!

We came home in great moods and ready to take naps. Yes, naps. Liv and I settled on the sofa and Bing laid on the futon on the floor. We slept like fat, happy dogs.

After an hour, Bing went out to mow the yard, Liv went to earn her allowance by picking up sticks in the yard for her and I sat down at the computer to write and catch up on blog reading.

Oh! And I just received my order from Melanie. I cannot wait to slather on that avocado hemp oil and use my silken rosewood soap. If you want some incredible soap, go to her site. I can tell this stuff is going to be addictive.

I am a little stunned at how well things have rebounded after my horrible, terrible, no good, very bad weekend last week. I wonder sometimes if I am charmed. I feel sassy and full of great good fortune.

Summertime...and the livin' is easy....

The library

We went to the library every other Saturday when I was a kid. I loved it. Would stock up on an armful of books and crash into them when we got home like a thunderstorm. We were allowed to get seven books and I usually finished the stack within a week and then spent the rest of the time before we went back....shivering with anticipation.

At one point, I decided to read every book in the children's section (just like Francie Nolan in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn!) This was a mistake and I realized it as soon as I ended up slogging through seven books on astronomy one week. So, I just read what I loved and found appealing.

Some of my favorites were:
1) Wind in the Willows
2) Little Women
3) The Wizard of Oz
4) A Little Princess
5) Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
6) Anne of Green Gables

and all of the Betsy-Tacy books by Maud Haud Lovelace, the Beany Malone books by Lenora Mattingly Weber, the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder, and of course, Beezus and Ramona and their whole set.

I loved to read more than anything else in the world. My favorite thing to do was to grab a dill pickle (one of my mother's canned ones, I never ate a mass produced pickle product until I was in college. Ditto for bread, cookies or cake. I grew up on a farm and we pretty much ate everything from the land...when I got to college and discovered vending machines, I was in heaven and promptly gained 27 pounds) and go curl up in a chair and read the day away.

My mother was not an avid reader and I think she found it totally revolting that she could come out to the front porch on any given evening and find my Da, me, and my sisters all huddled up with books. She used to constantly tell me to go outside and get some fresh air. So, I would take my book and settle in under the cherry tree.

When I was older and established in my career, I left libraries in the dust. I was making a superb salary and now I could buy any books that I wished. I built up an impressive library.

And then I had Liv and decided that I couldn't take care of her the way I wanted and work full time too. I went down to part time and had to figure out how to live on a small salary. It was doable, but I could no longer afford to just glide into a book store and buy anything that took my eye.

I returned to the library with a three year old Liv perched on my hip on one bitingly chilly October morning. This library was very similar to the one where I used to go as a child. It was an older building and the second I walked in and that delicious read me now smell went up my nose, I was lost.

And choked up. There is nothing to compare with the smell of a library. While there, I noticed a toddler story time and signed Liv up. She went for two years and then after she started to read on her own in kindergarten, we began going once a week.

We both look forward to it. She has much different tastes in books than I did. She probably could easily get through seven books on astronomy. She likes books about horses, is a big Misty of Chincoteague fan. She is nuts for Harry Potter, although she doesn't read it herself, it is our daily hour of reading together with her laying on the floor drawing horses while I read it to her.

She likes books about a little girl named Junie B Jones and the rainbow fairy book series by Daisy Meadows. I have tried in vain to get her to read the Betsy-Tacy books that I used to love when I was her age. She um...thinks they are moronic, I can tell.

Why did you like these books? I mean, it is just about two little girls who play together! There are no fairies, no Hogwarts, and it is just plain boring!

I read the Little House books to her each night before bed when she was four and five. She was tolerant, but not really engaged. We started the Harry Potter series when she turned six and received the first book as a birthday gift; she came to life in a way that comforted me, told me that she would love books too.

She loves adventure much more than I did. I was a quiet child. Liked quiet stories. She revels in stories of wizard school and magic wands. Anything with fairies enchants her.

And we both love our library. We walk in and place our feet in the grooves of the steps worn thin in the middle by so many other feet before us. We walk in and the first thing we do is sniff.

A nice deep sniff of what we love the most: books.

She wanders into the children's section and to Miss Katie, the ancient children's librarian who has such pink cheeks and a rosebud mouth that she looks like a wizened old fairy herself.

I wander into the adult section and to Miss Audrey, who is exactly like every librarian should be. She protects her books, dusts them lovingly, nods a little curtly at me. I know better than to incur a late fine.

The library has gotten us both over a bridge or two.

We come home, arms loaded up, happy. We grab apples and Liv settles in on one end of the sofa, me on the other.

Time to sink into our own little private patch of heaven.

Breaking down in Dr. Brittan's office.

Helacious. That is what it felt like. I NEVER break down. Well, not in FRONT OF PEOPLE!

I have Meniere's Syndrome. It is a condition that involves my inner ear. It causes problems with balance (I haven't worn heels since I was diagnosed about 15 years ago), vertigo and hearing. I am maintaining (lost 40% of my hearing in one ear and 20% in my other ear, but now I seem to have stabilized) well, but my md likes me to come in every year for a hearing and balance test. He is an old friend and I like him a lot.

So, I was up for my yearly appt. I almost bagged it, what with the lovely colitis and all. But, decided to just grit my teeth and get it over with.

Bing agreed to babysit Liv while I went. Her days of being the parental figure began to wear thin after day two. She began to anxiously tell me how much better I was looking, how...well...yes, how healthy! I saw through this instantly. She was sick and tired of playing the alpha mama. She wanted to be back on the sidelines where she is comfortable. Liv, too, had decided that I obviously was not going to bite the dust on her, so she had become needier with each day. Both Bing and Liv wanted to be back in their comfort zones. This would be with me in charge of pretty much everything except cooking. When I went to tell Liv that I was leaving, she needed me to show her on the clock exactly how long I planned to be gone. Exactly. I gave her my best ball park time. Even then, they both told me to hurry back. I think they want me back to normal...like yesterday.

So, I walked into Dr. Brittan's office and there was Joanna, his nurse. She looks like Nurse Ratched. Sort of like a fullback in a paisley dress with a boxy white coat over that. She looks fearsome, with her serrated edge features and constant look of deep sternness, but she is actually a very sweet, tender woman. A woman whom, I suspect, often gets thought of as headstrong and bullish when she is quite the opposite.

She hugged me. "Long time, no see, sweetie!"

She took me in the back for my hearing test. And then we sat across from each other, going over the last year, changes in meds, etc.

I told her about the colitis fun day. She put her hand on my arm, her fingers cold from the too high air conditioning in these buildings.

And I just lost it.

I was horrified when it happened. It was almost as if some part of me just disengaged from myself and watched this sad Maria person break down into tears.

Joanna looked terrified. I felt horrified.

I DO NOT BREAK DOWN. EVER.

It was that concerned smile, that tentative touch that did it. If she hadn't looked so concerned or hadn't touched me, I would have been fine.

"I'm just so tired of pretending to be strong," I heard myself say.

She looked up and there was Dr. Brittan, my old buddy, Teddy, standing in the door, looking like he had just witnessed a car wreck. He sat down next to me. Gave me a huge hug.

"What in the hell is wrong?" he asked.

He has this sweet, gentle voice. I do better with voices that aren't nearly so sweet or gentle.

I sputtered a little. Ended up mumbling something about just being so tired. That this colitis had taken a lot out of me and that I couldn't be sick, Bing and Liv couldn't handle it, they kept looking to me to...well...improve. And all I really wanted to do was sleep. But, instead, I was forcing myself to act like everything was fine, all back to normal.

I couldn't stand to see Liv scared. To see Bing frustrated. And, of course....JAYSUS. My house. It looked like a cyclone had hit it. It was like Bing was totally unable to multi task. She could take care of Liv or keep the house clean, not both. What in the HELL would they do if something really bad happened to me? What if I got cancer? They'd never make it without me.

I took a breath. Grabbed the tissue that Joanna handed to me. Sopped up my face. Told myself to stop this at once. That they had patients to see, no time to sit around holding my melodramatic hands.

And then Teddy (Dr. Brittan) said one word.

Poppycock

I looked up.

What?

"Maria," he said. "You need to realize that both Bing and Liv wouldn't be okay for awhile if you died or whatever, but then...well...they would. People rise to the occasion every day. You scared them. They hung together. You are getting better and they are sighing with relief, pushing you to get better more for them than for you. But, if everything went the other way, if you were getting sicker...well...yeah, they'd deal. For Christ sakes, you aren't holding the house up. It is standing without you, isn't it?"

I nodded. Had to smile. I mean, I have actually given this speech to others like me. Why couldn't I see it when it was right in front of me?

Teddy smiled back and then said exactly what I was thinking. "God, you of all people should know that you are simply experiencing some deep Mama guilt."

I thanked him. Told him that I was fine, really. Just give me the damn scrip and I'd get home and take a nap and be better.

He patted me. Stood up. I stood up. We shook hands and then did the one arm hug thing. Joanna walked me to the front, chirping about how windy it was, how Nebraska was just so damn changeable, wasn't it? She was filling space with words. Needed to. I think the LAST thing she expected me to do was cry.

It was the last thing I expected me to do.

Because, you see, I am superwoman. I am not unique. We are a dime a dozen. We raise the kids up, keep the house up, play spouse to our partners, wait for the plumber, are the only one in the house who knows how to change the toilet paper roll. We keep things moving and in the right direction. We are so good at what we do that until we derail, no one really knows just how necessary we are.

Before Liv, I had a rather stressful career. I made the big bucks. I worked hard all week and then played hard on the weekends.

After Liv, well...the motherhood thing seemed easy enough. I mean, if my daft Aunt Tootie could do it, I figured that there wasn't THAT much to it.

Until I did it. I kept a toe in the career place. Hey, I didn't spend 14 years paying off student loans for nothing. But, Liv came first, my work second.

And now, I know what stress is. I know what a lot of other things are too: unconditional love, patience, boredom, feeling like I never get to sit down. And I suppose I created this around me, these people who seem to depend on me to keep them going too.

But, when I had to stop, when I became ill, I realized, short term, that I was just so tired of being the one.

I didn't enjoy being sick, but laying in bed for more than ten minutes without either Liv or Bing (or both) coming in to talk to me, to bug me, to ask where the salt, the butter, the scissors that aren't gummed up, the red sweater, the shoes with those laces are, well, it was sort of delicious.

Until, I raised my head, of course. Then I realized that the house looked like shit. That I needed to get back in the damn saddle.

And I half expected someone to say, "Hey, the doctor said complete bedrest for two weeks, missy. Get back in that bed."

No one did. Instead, Bing looked nearly sick with relief (Freedom! I can go somewhere and not worry about taking Liv with me. I can stop doing laundry. She's up! She is finally fracking UP!)

Liv leaped right back into her regular self.

I just wasn't quite ready yet to come back. So, I broke down. Because, well, that is how this body works. Stress finds it's way out one way or another. If I hadn't broken down at Teddy's office, it would have been in the supermarket aisle or in bed, finally, tired to the bone.

Lucky for me, it happened with Teddy. And now, well...I need to go get back into that life again.

Don't get me wrong. I love my life. I'm just a little tired and surprised that everyone was so keen to hand those reins back to me.

I suppose now I better drive, huh?

Jealousy

Well, this is a new one.

I spent the weekend mostly sleeping. I got up and read a few blogs. It felt good just to be moving again and sitting still wasn't painful. But. Mostly, I just slept. I did notice that Liv was carefully avoiding me, my room.

Asked Bing about it.

"Well, she is just a little freaked out. You never get sick, you know and she is kind of scared."

I asked to talk to her. Bing brought her in and she was clinging to her as if she was afraid of me. I reached out to pull her next to me and she was obedient, but stiff as a board.

I told her that I had a problem with my intestines, but that I was going to be okay. That it was nothing for her to worry about. She nodded. Looked longingly at the door. Funny. She never behaved that way with Orna.

So, I let it go.

Then, today...I thought I felt well enough to take Liv to her swim team practice. Bing came in, so sheepish.

"Hey, just rest, okay? I can take her."

I said that I wanted to take her.

Now, this is crazy. Because on a regular day, if Bing offered to take Liv to her practice, I would be shocked and Liv would be leaping up my side begging me to take her. Only me.

Liv came in dressed in her bright blue suit, goggles in hand.

"We'll," I said. "Bing says that she will take you to swim team. Does that sound okay with you?"

She nodded vigorously. YES.

I sighed. "Okay, then. See you later, alligator. Got a kiss for me?"

She did. A small one. Nothing like the ones I usually get.

I know that she is acting this way because she is scared. I am thoroughly trained and understand perfectly why she is behaving this way.

But, I find that I am jealous.

God, I FINALLY get what I want: Liv and Bing are bonding.

And leave it to me to be jealous.

How pathetic is THAT?

And so typical of me. I always have to be the head mama, the alpha, the one who is wanted the most.

Ah. Time to jump back into bed and sleep again.

I need to find a way to be grateful for this instead of jealous.

Very sick...

Ugh. Bing took me to the ER last night. I've worked at a few hospitals, but never in the ER. And I don't think I could be there.

I spent most of the day Friday laying on my bed with the worst stomach ache I have ever had. I couldn't even stand upright when I tried to walk. Liv was too quiet. Bad situation.

Finally, after Bing got Liv to bed, she came in and found me well....no pretty way to say this...shitting up lots and lots of lovely bloody diarrhea.

I don't think I have even been in THAT much pain. I could barely talk.

And Bing was wonderful, considering that she is squeamish beyond words about both shit and blood. She called our neighbor to come stay with Liv and took me off to the ER. I was nearly incoherent, so embarrassed, always considered myself to be a professional. I'm the healer, not the healee.

But, after insurmountable tests, finally got to the conclusion that I had no blockages, etc....just ulcerative colitis. So, I was released with some pain meds and told to be on bed rest for several days.

If you don't hear from me for awhile, I'm thinking of all of you and will return when I can do this gig again.

Now, I just want to sleeeepppppp. Goodnight.