What I thought about while I drove eleven hours (700 miles) to California.
“God gives us dope! God gives us dope! God gives us dope!” (Remembering back to when my young boys screamed this through the house, after they misheard the song lyrics: “God gives us hope.” I never had the heart to correct them.)
Oh, I can pinch much less fat around my waist now.
I wonder if I should use the all-wheel drive option for hills. Oh, what the heck. Let’s see what happens.
Blue sky! I see blue sky! I wonder how tan I’ll get?
“You know what? Bird shit could easily be considered abstract art. Just look at it. (points to sidewalk) Even a good artist would have a hard time duplicating that.” ~ My middle son’s comment a few weeks ago
The time when I was twelve, the seventh grade fieldtrip was to Ashland, Oregon, a seven hour school bus ride. On arrival I stepped on a nail and had to go the emergency room for a tetanus shot. On departure I threw up all over the backseat.
The time I was a teacher and went to science camp with my fifth grade class and ended up in the emergency room for severe breakout of poison oak.
I’ve been in an ambulance at least six times.
The time when I was a student at middle school, and in science class a boa constrictor snake wrapped itself around my waist, went through my belt hoops, and got stuck. I had to give the boa constrictor’s owner my pants to take home. Why does weird stuff always happen to me?
There are a whole lot of songs about love and heartbreak on the radio, that pretty much cover every possible scenario, and that I’ve just about experienced every single scenario.
My muse. My darling muse. The enigma who makes me read, write, and digest erotica.
My youngest son is much like a wild hamster in the way he nests and clutters up the backseat of the van. Is there such a thing as wild hamsters?
I never ever see tailgaters in Washington, but see them all over California.
Who thought it was a good idea to close California state parks? Who thought it was a good idea to elect the Terminator as a governor?
Country singers can make anything sound sad and sexy.
It was so kind of the restaurant waitress to subtract the price of the vegetarian omelet from my bill after I politely explained that they might want to be careful not to accidentally have chunks of ground beef in the veggie omelet.
How wonderful that you have to let someone pump your gas in Oregon. It’s the law.
How fortunate that out of all the gas stations in the upper portion of California that I happened to pick the only free full-service gas station. And that the man with the one arm and missing teeth who pumped my gas had the most beautiful energy and spirit. And that I could feasibly marry a man with one arm and missing teeth. And that looks do not matter to me nearly as much as the energy I share with a person. And that I need to stop worrying about my looks, because I radiate love and positive energy. And I am beautiful just like the man with one arm and missing teeth.
How great that so many people have the capacity to travel the manmade road, through manmade passage ways, passages that were exploded with dynamite.
Trucks are sexy. I would make a lousy truck driver.
I think way too much about way too much, and could probably survive with my sanity intact in solitary confinement because of my vivid imagination and inquisitive thought processes.
For some reason the phrases “pump my gas” and “big rig” sound erotic.
I’m so happy. I wonder if I drank too much iced-tea.
I’ve stuffed my emotions for so many years. The fire in me is now burning, and I’m loving the independence, and new found freedom. I feel like I’m thirteen again. Only much more wise, mature, confident, and damn sexy!
I love songs, like I did back then. I am dancing. I can’t get enough of the outdoors. I am enjoying my friends, as we giggle a lot over girl talk.
I am so excited for life and all life has to offer. I am very satisfied with who I am, where I have traveled, and what I have overcome. I feel like the Cat’s Pajamas. I am the Cat’s Pajamas! I’m great, incredible, and special. Just like YOU! And I’m moving towards my own style and own innovation.
I’m chuckling over the silliest things, like this definition of bee’s knees:
Coined circa, in the 1920’s, bee’s knees means something along the lines of very good, excellent, great, amazing. A bee’s baskets for pollen are located near its knees, so when the bee’s baskets are full of pollen, they are filled with the good stuff.
That just cracks me up! Filled with the good stuff!
I feel filled with good stuff. I truly do.
And of course this stuff turns into the sweetness of honey! Yummy honey….
I also laughed aloud at the less popular terms of endearment that never quite made it through the years—words like: the flea’s eyebrows and the canary’s tusks. I so want to call someone the flea’s eyebrows. Just once. “Hey, you sexy!” “Yea, YOU.” “You, MY MAN, are the flea’s eyebrows!” I’d like to say that to a biker dude with a bunch of awesome tattoos or a twenty-year old kid, just to freak him out. Old lady diving off the deep end.
I am truly enjoying this rush, whatever it is. I don’t really care anymore. I am happy. Balanced. Loving. Focused. And for the most part feel sane…just constantly aching. But hey, an ache in the loins makes for marvelous poetry….
Here’s a poem I wrote in a matter of seconds yesterday, posted, then deleted. I fretted the words would seem silly and non-sensical to the onlooker. But after reflection, I really dig this poem. It makes sense to me. It moves me. It makes me feel alive. And that’s what I am aiming for during this phase of my life. What moves me. No one is stopping me this time. I’m me. And I love me.
Whatever transitions are happening in 2012, I seem to be surfing the wave of the collective unconscious. Or, like my bud Lisa said, maybe it’s early menopause.
Like I said. Makes no difference. Bring it on!
Maui 2012
Ocean to Moon
Butterflies at bedtime
Tuck wings into sleep
Dream of when we last touched
And emptiness moved in rhythm
The ocean to the moon
Coming from the twilight
Of heart’s intention
The summer wakening
Whispering sweet surrender
We dance
As lovers last remembered
When wisdom paid her toll
We dance
As enchanted lairs
Where lioness is held
Kissing tender
Beneath the nape of desire
Spin me round the eagle’s call
Inching in as rivers to sand
Play me
This tired swooning captain
Into the darkened state
Where silence beckons
And aches divide
Nothing
But ever merging ecstasy
giggles….”Do you want to have a slumber party in my basement”….giggles
My husband took this photo and the other. He is gifted that way.
I was with a crowd of people the day I lost my butt. I searched everywhere for my butt. In desperate need of a butt, I clasped my two hands over a stranger’s butt, imitated pulling off her butt, and then I tried to fit her butt onto my butt. But her butt wouldn’t stay on me. When the stranger asked, “How does my butt fit?” I responded, “Too small.” And with a frown, I sighed, shrugged my shoulders, hung my head low, and gave her back her butt.
As I walked in embarrassment without at butt, I covered the place my butt had been with my hands. Sometimes I slid across the floor to hide my missing butt or I squatted down and walked low to the ground. When I sat, I placed my hands beneath me on the chair to protect the skin where my butt had been. Other times I sat on my knees.
Off and on for an hour, I searched for my butt. One time I asked the crowd, “Have you seen my butt?”
I looked under my chair for my butt. I looked in corners and underneath people’s legs for my butt. Later, in desperation, I found a microphone, and again asked, “Has anyone seen my butt?”
No one had seen my butt.
After we left the crowd, and returned home, for weeks my three sons, and sometimes my husband, would peer from around the corner, at random intervals, and ask, “Where’s your butt?” One day my family gathered together on the couch to view the recording of the day I lost my butt.
It didn’t matter where I went in our home. I could be sitting on the toilet, climbing the stairs, or cooking dinner, and someone in our house would ask, “Where’s your butt?”
I will always remember the day I lost my butt.
My butt is back now. My butt actually never disappeared. I only thought my butt had vanished. In reality I’d been hypnotized on stage to believe my butt was stolen.
I believe at times we all think we’ve lost our butts, or at least we believe we’ve lost a portion of ourselves. Many of us think an essential part of us is missing or lacking. We believe we aren’t worthy, aren’t enough, aren’t special, and aren’t lovable; when in actuality we came into the world fully equipped with everything we need. Our butts are firmly attached.
Nothing is missing and nothing has been taken away. We are worthy, we are enough, we are special, we are lovable, but we forget. When we think we are lacking that is like our mind tricking us into think we have no butt. When we think we are lacking, we walk the world like our butts are missing. We hang our heads low, we hide, we search, we ask, we fear and worry.
We trick ourselves. We hypnotize ourselves into thinking we are lacking when everything is right there where it is supposed to be. All we have to do is to reach down and grab our gifts. They are right there waiting.
So the next time you find yourself lacking, remember the story of the lady who lost her butt. Think of her standing on stage, speaking into a microphone and asking, “Has anyone seen my butt?” That is exactly what you are doing when you are searching for your worthiness.
Don’t ever think you’ve lost your butt.
Your worthiness is firmly attached to you.
Now get out there and shake your booty!
The answer for yesterday’s post was number 9. Number 9 was the fiction.
Number 9 was a little bit true. The object was a tampon that flew across the cafeteria and hit someone in the head, but I ducked, covered, and ran before anyone knew I was the culprit. No one picked it up and handed it to me.
Don’t feel bad, my husband guessed the wrong one.
For those that guessed number 7, you were close. I could have worded that fact more clearly. I did review 100 men, but I reviewed the recordings they left, then I called a couple dozen back. So, if you guessed that number, you get a free pass.
Everything else was true. Including Patty Hearst and the swimsuit model. Thanks for participating. I had a great time reading your lists.
If I stuff earplugs too far in they hurt and at night they squish and press against my ear and the pillow but they allow me to stay in the same bed with my husband.
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Supplements
I could have gone on several cruise ship vacations for the same price I paid for my supplements but they keep me moving.
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Clean Clothes
There is always a pile of laundry staring at me from the corner of the living room but usually no one in my family stinks.
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Waking up my Youngest
He is sleeping so soundly, so soft and warm and cuddly, but after he wakes up he says cool stuff like: “Mom, guess what? I just peed, burped, and sneezed all at the same time!”
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Lab Tests
They induce panic attacks and sleepless nights, and often lead to more supplements, but they provide vital information.
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My Dog (Spastic Colon)
I often wake up to surprises she has left me in all forms but I laugh when she eats my underwear and wags her tail so super fast her little butt shakes.
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Documentaries
They make me over think and conjure up dread but knowledge is power.
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Washington State
Yes, it rains and rains, and there are tons of spiders, but the greenery and scenery are pure heaven.
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My China Doll
I have had her since I was twelve and I think she is haunted with my spirit, so I am afraid to move her, get rid of her, or hide her in a dark closet, but she makes for interesting conversation.
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Dark Organic Chocolate with Espresso Coffee Chips
Need I say more?
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Tiny Black Ants
They are overtaking my kitchen but they also carry away crumbs.
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My Little Brain
My brain barks, begs, and beckons to be heard but I live in a state of constant entertainment and fascination.
Everyday Asperger's 
