Tuesday, December 02, 2014


How silly it is for me to say I miss this little blog? I don't really understand why I stopped pouring out my life on these pages. After all it was a white washed version of my life. Not the nitty gritty. It was the kind of life how I wanted to live,  not exactly how I really am.

I have stopped examining my life and the situations and experiences that define me. It is as if I have laid myself out on a swift moving river and am allowing it to take me where ever it pleases. At times I am astounded at where I have landed. But that is what happens with the unexamined existence.

I have bounced around from Clarksville, TN to Memphis - the largest city in Mississippi -  back to Kentucky and now have landed (softly) in Indiana and, hang on to your hat, am getting ready to become a Trailer Trash Snow Bird in Florida for the winter.

My mother has passed away several months ago and I feel like an orphan, a motherless child. I think of her still as if she were still with us. I suppose in time I will stop this. It is disconcerting and slightly sad to follow up a thought about her with the reality of her death.

My husband has retired and life is very different! I will say no more but this ..... I never thought too much about what this would be like. Day after day of vacation. Endless vacation. I am not certain it is a good thing. But it has been interesting.

And so ......I guess I am back.

Sunday, April 06, 2014


It happened several years ago. A memory stirred by a song on the radio.

"What is that?" I asked myself and turned my entire attention to the music.

"Why that is Bob Dylan!"

I closed my eyes and struggled to remember when. I labored to remember where. And then the memory slowly washed over me. 

College. Summer at the Ghetto. A smoky room, a toothy grin, legs stretched out taking up the entire room, beers in hand, joints passed around, cigarettes smoldering in overflowing ashtrays,  record player blasting, hanging out with a gang known as the "Bolio's", trying to be cool among the cool.

The music overwhelming me with its beauty. Realizing I liked it. I, who had never bought a Dylan album in the past, was baptized  into the fold.

Recently, on a television program, the power of music on the brain was reveled....again. How Alzheimer patients will become engaged when presented with music from their past. Memories stirred. The soundtracks of their lives. 

Recalling the experience of hearing Mozambique, the way it was like a time machine,  taking me back to a place, a time, a memory of a young 20 year old in among a crowd that probably had a line on corrupting her. 

 I loved it then and cherishes the memory now.

When I am too old to remember anymore I would like a map of songs to take me back, if not to the memories, then to the feeling of being young and swinging the world by the tail .

Thursday, January 30, 2014

I met Ringo Starr ..... Again

I was a dreaming beast last night. The images in my head transformed into incredibly interesting scenarios were brought on by several instigators. The best dream was meeting Ringo...again. That was the telephone call I made to Joe as Ringo sat in a lawn chair in a semi-circle with a group of people I was hanging out with at a party of some sort. "Guess what? I am with Ringo...again!"

I was also trying to solve a mystery murder while hobnobbing with the ex-Beatle. That was the contribution from the television show Justified and the book I am reading, The Dean in Their Vaulted Arches. All in all it was nice to meet Ringo again. He is charming.

My life and situation is so totally different than a year ago that it bears reflection. My husband is retired and I quit my job at Cracker Barrel last July. My husband is home all the time! I have altered and adjusted.

My Mother is very ill and dying. I am helping to care for her at home and make her final months as comfortable as possible. I am apparently not a very good nurse. I have an highly refined gag reflex and I am angry with her for getting sick. I wanted her to live forever, or at least until I could wring all her wisdom into a spray jar that I could take out and spray at the appropriate times. 

I am writing like crazy in my journal and it is lame. I feel that if I challenge myself to once again take up the keyboard maybe I can force myself to make sense out of this new stage in my life and not just rant and rave with an occasional whine.

I am off to spend the night at Mom's after coming off a week of a semi-flu attack. I have been cooking up a feast to take with me wearing surgical gloves and face mask.

Wednesday, June 05, 2013


Monday I ventured into downtown Frankfort, a place I have rarely been. Funny, because it is only 10 miles from my hometown. I never went to the west, always to the east, to Lexington, the Big City, the city of my high school, the city of where we shopped, the city of dreams. So Frankfort was a very pleasant surprise in many ways.

More to come...maybe.

Friday, January 04, 2013

What's up Pussycat?

I begin the new year saying I am going to write more and then the computer goes kaput!

Right now I am dressed as a rag woman, in my 1974 Irish Fisherman sweater my Mom brought back from her trip to the old country that year and handed to me. I shunned it for a long long time as it is wool and very scratchy and I am "allergic" to wool. Can not wear it without constantly pulling the neck away from my skin and squirming in agony. But, I wear it all the time now. My skin still responds the same but I have learned to protect it. My sister took one look at me over Christmas and asked me to please throw it away, she would give me three Irish Sweaters she has and never uses.

Are hers over 35 years old? Did Mom give it to her knowing she is allergic to wool? Does hers have a spot right on the front that is slightly coming apart? Does hers have a stain where the spaghetti sauce exploded?

So, I wear it when I get up in the morning in lieu of a bathrobe. I almost like the scratchy neck line. I love it because it is old and from Mom. I wear it out in public today because I am sick and it comforts me.

I also have a red running cap on my head. I am styling. 

Monday, December 31, 2012

New Years Resolutions

Write More.

Take More Photo's.

Find New Job.

Lose 20 Pounds.

See as many Music Festivals as Possible.

Go to New Orleans.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

There is no friend as loyal as a book - Hemingway

There are books and then there are books.  There are books you read just pass time or it appeals to you for one reason or another. Sometimes it is because  a certain author is your favorite so you read anything they publish. A book club selection or the new books offered at the library. Sometimes  you take the recommendations of friends and magazines, perhaps Oprah. It could even be the shelf at the book store that says "Staff Pick".

However you chose what to read sometimes out of the enormous sea of possibilities a book will rise above the rest  that effects you in some profound way. It could be something as simple as alter the way you think about a subject or a theme or a philosophy. At other times it can be life altering.

I remember the first "life altering" book I read. I think I was around 12. My Mom would take us to this little second hand book store in downtown Lexington called "Dennis Books". We were allowed to go through the mountains of books and purchase what we wanted. (My Mom was/is one of a kind).

I came home with a purple paperback, "The World of Henry Orient" by Nora Johnson. That book rocked my little sleepy southern home town world. 

I wanted to be "Val" and fly around NYC wearing my mothers discarded mink coat and be a brilliant vivacious musically talented neurotic 13 year old. I just fell in love with Val. I think I willed myself to be slightly neurotic ever since!

I re-read the book several years ago. It took me a long time to find a copy! The book had been reissued and I was just out of luck hunting it down. This was very pre-Amazon. Every bookstore I entered I would look, always in vain and leave disappointed. If memory holds correct, I believe the local book store in Lexington, Jo-Beth, special ordered the book for me. Finally (!) I got my hands on it and read it in a single sitting.

Like all magic carpet rides it took me back to the enchanting era of being 12 years of age, sitting in my pink bedroom in the over sized easy chair discarded from the family living room and laid to rest in my second story bed room. I would throw my legs over one arm and cosy up in the soft comfort of its snugness and read for hours.

I was almost relieved that I still felt its charming appeal. And somewhat alarmed that it is considered "Young Adult" fiction. Geez, am I the only person who has actually read this book! 

Do you have any special books from your youth that you remember fondly and have re-read as an adult?