Category Archives: fantasy

Catch Up

This is gonna be quick. If I don’t post right this minute, I don’t know when I’ll ever get the time so here goes.

This has been a wild and crazy summer so far. Back to back things going on and not a lot of time to breathe in between.  But here’s the best part. Forgive me if you already know all this because I’ve been shouting it from the rooftops posting bits and pieces of my good fortune all over the internet the past month or so.

At the end of the month I’m going to be able to cross three items off my Bucket List.  One item in particular was a complete and utter fantasy because I didn’t think it was possible, that being SEEING THE REPLACEMENTS.  Since they sort of split up (parted ways and have not performed together since) in 1991, fans of the band only dared to dream that they would ever reunite.  As fate would have it, they are doing the Riot Fest tour this summer in Denver, Chicago and Toronto.

Long story short (my bedtime, I HATE Sunday nights) I’m going on a road trip with my daughter to Toronto to see The Replacements perform ALIVE AND IN PERSON.  And those three things are all on my Bucket List.

Now, if my passport only arrives in time, I’ll be all set.  Another story for another time.


I like this only slightly more than my last attempt at finding a new look for my blog.  It’s becoming clear to me that trying to customize someone else’s idea of how a blog should look isn’t working for me.  I truly wish I had the tools (read: smarts) to design and present you with the Real Me blog.  There’s one more item to add to my Bucket List : )

On another note and in the same creative vein, PD and I are hard at work trying to get our living room redone in time for the holidays.  I must say, it’s looking pretty good.  The living room, I mean… not necessarily meeting the deadline.  It’s becoming clear to me that some other holiday preps are going to suffer due to the time it’s taking… things like gifts and wrapping and baking and things.  The carpet is due to be installed on December 2nd so that doesn’t leave much time for putting up the tree and decorations.  BUT this pretty much happens to me every year, one thing or another puts a crimp in my time frame.  And just like every year, it will all get done and the Holiday WILL happen and we will be grateful for times spent with the family and all the joy that entails.

In the mean time, if any of you have any free time laying around, you’re more than welcome to deposit it into my bank.  Every single second will be greatly appreciated.  Remember, the real Joy is in the Giving : )  Kthxbai.


This weekend’s project is cleaning out and organizing the attic.  I’ve put it off for way too long.  In the interest of feeling more in control of  my life as well as looking forward at the prospect of my children resenting me after I’m gone, I decided it was TIME.

As I was rooting through “the Kids’ Corner,” I found myself rapt in memories of times long ago, good memories.  Memories of a simpler time.  Looking at special baby clothes that I’d saved made me hungry to hold a baby.  Not just any baby, but one of mine.  Michael and Jennifer were two of the World’s Greatest Babies.  Both were beautiful beyond imagination and joys to take care of.  Sure there were fussy times and scary times as there are with all babies.  But looking back, I’m beyond positive that I would do it all again.   Of course, times were different then.  There were not so many conveniences.  There were no vibrating baby chairs that would lull the baby to sleep while Mama took care of other things.  There were no microwaves to heat bottles.  There were disposable diapers but I was as stubborn then as I am now.  (And environmentally conscious too)  but real diapers didn’t work well for me and my babies each had the wicked diaper rashes as proof.  I caved in the interest of my children’s bums and used the cursed all-absorbent land-filling disposables.

But back to my thoughts of simpler times.  How did everything get so complicated in a span of just 20-30 years?  Everything has become so specialized.  Used to be if you were going to cook something, you just did it.  You grabbed a pan and turned on the stove.  Now there are tons of different kinds of cookware depending on if you’re grilling, nuking, using a convection oven, toaster oven, whatever.  It’s become a big old circus.  And yet so many of us opt for grabbing something out of the freezer, throwing a paper towel over it and blasting the living shit out of it in a microwave.  That includes vitamins, enzymes and all the other things that are supposed to be in food.  All in the interest of saving time.  And ultimately starving our bodies of much-needed stuff like nutrients.

Do you remember when soap was soap?  It was something you washed with.  Now when something needs cleaned, your choices are endless.  You have bath and shower gels, body bars, pump sprays, scrubs, liquids, lotions, beads, oils, scented, unscented, emollients, exfoliators, with and without sunscreen, vitamin-enriched, organic, yadda badda bing. I could go on but I won’t.

Used to be if you had a headache, you simply took a freakin’ aspirin.  Now, omigawd, by the time you decide what to take, either your headache is a) gone or b) has escalated to migraine level which necessitates a whole ‘nother kind of pain reliever with about a gazillion other options.

Yeah well, I was just taking a break from the attic thing and needed to let some thoughts out.  Back to the sifting and sorting.  Anyone interested in six large boxes of slightly used stuffed animals?


Robert Francis – Junebug – taratata

Confession:  I have an old-fashioned school girl crush on Robert Francis.  I’ve been listening to this song for ages and never get tired of it.  First I fell in love with the song.  Then when I saw what he looked like, I was all, like, WOW.  Sure, he’s a little wee bit scruffy but I picture him clean-shaven with a haircut wearing boots and a long coat kind of like this.  So maybe you can understand the appeal.  Anyway, I was excited as heck when the official video came out for Junebug.  I had already made up kind of a movie in my head.  Now I found the live version of the song and yeah.  Oh yeah.  It’s official.  Paul Westerberg and PD have nothing to worry about but I REALLY like Robert Francis.  And OMG when he says “Merci beau coup” at the end,  je vais cuckoo. (Il me faut un docteur.)   Il est chaud!

As you may know, I have a birthday coming up this weekend.  I’ve compiled a little of my own birthday trivia for your amusement…

  • I was born on Albert Einstein’s birthday.  And although Robert Francis and Paul Westerberg and Gael Garcia-Bernal and PD all hold places   (varying degrees) of importance in my heart, Albert is my hero.  (As is TC)
  • My birthday is pi. (3.14)  This is kind of a new development, but I now celebrate my birthday along with, or should I say, in conjunction withSteak and BJ day.  I’m quite anxious to hear your humorous, yet tasteful, comments about this…
  • I also share my birthday with Michael Caine and Liza Minelli.  I’m sure there are others but I grew up knowing of these two.
  • I am  Piscean and that means I’m about as cool as you can get, not to mention impractical, intuitive and mysterious.  But you knew that.

Ok, these bullets totally screwed up and I can’t fix them because I’m a Pisces and I don’t give a sh** because I don’t.

PS I got a comment that is, for all intents and purposes, spam. But I left it on my sidebar because it  made me laugh like hell.  It’s Mr. Fordinsnorkel or something to that effect.  Look over there in my side bar, read what he wrote and click on his name and prepare to LOL.

Update: Mr. Spam has decided to vacate the premises. Imagine that. Maybe I dreamed him up…


Pure. Magic.


Fat Boy Slim – Weapon of Choice

(Thanks to Bella via FB for finding this)


…or at least considering it.  I’m a little more inspired to go now that I know Marky Ramone is going to be there this year.  Thing is, I don’t want to push my luck with my foot.  It’s been pretty good except that they have me working at the entire other end of the building the last two days and I’m really feeling all that extra walking in my foot.  The cafeteria and locker room are at my regular end of the building so I’m having to hike down there when I get there in the morning, at lunch, both breaks and before I leave at the end of the day.   I dunno, it bites that my job and responsibilities there are affecting my homelife.  I can’t convey to you how pissy that makes me.  I should just say “[insert appropriate swear word here] it” and go but…  I dunno.  Whatever.  I’m sick of making decisions based on how I feel or how I’m gonna feel.

In the old days, my BFF Kate and I used to walk the perimeter of the fairgrounds several times in a night and practically every night of the week that the Fair was in town.  We used to have our favorite rides that we would ride until our tickets ran out.  I would “need” to have a blue or a rootbeer SnoCone and a half-dozen French Waffles.  Kate would “have to” have pizza and an icecream cone.  The vanilla kind covered with chocolate and nuts and a cherry.  We would both stop and buy fudge before we left the park and I would grab some cotton candy for the walk home.  She lived about 5 blocks from the park and walking was always fun and easier than finding (and paying for) a parking spot.  There were times that we would “do” the Fair all day and get our hands stamped at the gate so that we could go back at night.  We lived in a town where the Fair was the highlight of the summer and believe me, we lived for it.

Monday night there was always a huge parade that started after dinner and went on well into the night and there were fireworks after.  Up until a certain age, I was never allowed to go to the Fairgrounds after the parade because there were a gazillion firemen from half the counties in the state wandering around in various states of inebriation.  Thinking back, despite how indignant I was about that rule, it was probly a pretty good rule.

I have wonderful memories of the Parade.  I was lucky enough to have grandparents with a big old house with a yard along the parade route.  My mother’s entire family would gather there, arms laden with lawnchairs, jackets, blankets and pajamas for about nine kids and whomever else would show.  After dinner we would line up our chairs along the curb and spread blankets for the little ones to sit on, “up front” with a better chance to scramble for the candy that the firemen would throw from the trucks.  If you got enough kids yelling “Blow your siren!”  we would be rewarded with a long, loud blast of the truck siren accompanied by joyful squeals of delight from about a block’s worth of excited kids.

We would beg to sit on the curb hours before the start of the parade, which was signalled by the blowing of “Mooley” promptly at start time.  Mooley was the name given to a loud siren which I believe was originally used during the war for the air raid drills way back then.  It would start out low and rise to a very loud and high pitch and then fade back down and then go up again.  I’m pretty sure it was also the fire whistle but not sure about that…  Anyway, we would sit there excitedly as vendors would wander up and down the sides of the street barking their wares.  There would be, of course, helium balloons of every shape and size imaginable.  There were inflatable cartoon animals, whistles, hats with feathers, flags, anything that a whole bunch of could be carried by a man sporting a canvas apron with pockets for money.  I would “shop” carefully, making sure I had a firm grasp on everything there was to be had so as not to make a hasty purchase and then find something else later that I wanted more.  It was a one-shot deal so you had to be sure.  I can remember my little heart pounding in my chest when I would make my decision and wait for the vendor to come down my side of the street.  Lots of people (grown ups or “bad” kids) would cross the street to make a purchase but that seemed to risky to little me.  After a point there would be no more cars on the street as the police would put the road blocks up.  After that point there were still people and their lawnchairs marching by in search of an empty spot to park theirselves.  I would fret that they might get between me and the prize I’d decided to buy so there was more than a little anxiety involved.  Not to mention that we were closer to the big dangerous street that we were forbidden to be near any other time of the year.  The temptation to stick our little feet out into the street was sometimes unbearable.  So anyway,  the deal was that you would flag down your intended vendor, point out your prize and inquire about the price, praying against all you held dear that you had enough money.  If it was in the stars, the elation was indescribable.  And you looked all hot stuff to be sitting on the curb holding a helium balloon or an inflated Fred Flintstone until the parade actually started and you had to beg Mom or Dad to hold it in case they threw candy.  Heaven forbid that you only had one hand for candy grabbing.

The grown-ups all took turns managing kids at curbside or running inside and upstairs to “use the facilities.”  That was what was so cool about having grandparents on the parade route.  If you had to pee, you looked down the street and if there wasn’t a flashy band approaching with good drums, you could high-tail in inside, take care of your business and make it back to the blanket before you missed too much.  And chances were, if a truck with good candy just came by, there wouldn’t be another one for at least 5 more bands.

The clowns were scary.  I’m not even going to talk about them.

One of the best parts of the parade were the Shriners.  They would walk in unison wearing their balloon pants, gold painted shoes, sashes and turbans, slowly raising and lowering their swords as they slowly marched by.  A portion of the group would play what I called, “snake flutes” because they sounded like the flutes those swami guys would play in India to make the cobras come out of the baskets.  As I got older the Shriners would ride in little corvettes or on mini-bikes, criss-crossing the pavement in intricate patterns at designated places on the parade routes.  I think it was if there were “people of position” were gathered in one place, celebrating with their pricey alcoholic beverages, more likely to make donations.  My Uncle Jack was a Shriner and I was sometimes wont to sneak into the closet where he kept his gold shoes.  I was kind of disappointed to find out that they were just regular shoes, not magic, merely spray-painted metallic gold.

At some point during the parade and after dark, the grown-ups would come out and bribe one or two of us to come inside for a quick bath and to put jammies on so that we could be put to bed when we returned home.  I can still remember the fretting, sitting in the lukewarm bath that smelled of Ivory soap with the sounds of horns and drums and cheering and truck sirens wafting in through the open window in the bathroom.  I swear I was never quite dry when I would pull my jammies and slippers on … and the novelty of wearing a sweatshirt over my sleepwear was just weird but not weird enough to keep me from racing back outside to watch the end of the parade.

Traffic was always nutso after the parade.  We lived across town but my dad would never venture home until the worst of the traffic had passed.  My memory isn’t clear of where we would watch the fireworks.  I will have to think about that or ask my mom.

We would arrive home late at night worn out from the excitement.  And coming down off the sugar rush from the candy, of course.  The best part was that we could fall asleep knowing that we had a full week of riding rides ahead of us.


Lee Michaels – Do you Know What I Mean

I don’t remember ever actually seeing Lee Michaels, there weren’t videos for every popular song that came about back then but I TOTALLY had a major crush on this guy’s voice.  I wanted to marry it.

Sidenote: After watching some of these videos, I checked out what some of these people are doing now.  I decided not to do it anymore.  It’s too painful to see how some of the bands have aged.  I’d rather remember them the way they were back then…


Grass Roots – Let’s Live For Today

This is another one of those 45s that I wore out from playing so much.  The “chills” I would get at about the 2:oo spot were what I would later come to identify as “arousal.”  LOL


PD and I had a lovely weekend with my daughter JuJu and her terrific family.  We celebrated Juju’s birthday, my granddaughter’s birthday, Easter and Mother’s Day.  A lot to cram into less than 48 hours.  Saturday night we had a fire and ate popcorn and had “beverages.”  That didn’t last too long, as the little ones pooped out early and it actually got quite chilly rather quickly.  We also started to watch Bedtime Stories and laughed a lot but we quit for some reason and never got back to it.  Mostly we played and talked and ate.  But it was good, however short.  Seems that with all of our work schedules and my limited absence of driving skills, it gets harder and harder to get together.  And that makes me very sad.  Really makes hitting the lottery and buying a helicopter look appealing.

So my house is quiet now, but still relatively clean.  It was a bit of a wreck before the weekend.  PD isn’t quite finished with the front porch closing-in.  The outside wall in the living room looks like we took a wrecking ball to it but the new window is in and when the dry wall gets put up and the painting gets done, all will be good.  The new window looks out on to the new room window so we still have a wonderful view of the field across the road and the hills and trees beyond that.  I can still watch the sunrise and the colors of the seasons change in the trees.

Well, this is short and I’m tired.  Plus, I hear the music of the Good Humor truck outside.  I need to run.