I guess Florida Scott Maxwell was right… ” No matter how old a mother is, she watches her middle-aged children for signs of improvement.”

Today, I’m not feeling improved. I am feeling pretty spoiled though. Darling Hubby made me breakfast in bed, bought me flowers and mowed the lawn today. Yes indeedy. Pretty spoiled.

Call 911 for emergency help. If you really don’t think it’s that bad, then at least call Poison Control for advice on handling the after-effects of exposure and cleaning up the chemicals. The number for Poison Control is:1-800-222-1222

“And now,” cried Max, “let the wild rumpus start!” 

My father was a gifted story-teller and I thank him for the many nights he read to me as a child. He did so of his own works and he read stories others had written as well. One night, he read me a book that inspired my love of fantasy and science fiction that I carry to this day. That book is “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak. 


Maurice’s book transcended generations of young children and their parents alike. He took away the boundary lines and gave us something that is oh so memorable.  You see, the way I look at it everyone has fears whether they are a child or not and those fears need to be addressed, not sugar-coated or pushed aside like they don’t matter. I think Mr. Sendak agreed with me by something he once said. He said,  “. . .from their earliest years children live on familiar terms with disrupting emotions, fear and anxiety are an intrinsic part of their everyday lives, they continually cope with frustrations as best they can. And it is through fantasy that children achieve catharsis. It is the best means they have for taming Wild Things.”


This man wrote and illustrated more than 50 children’s books. But the legacy of “Where the Wild Things Are” will live on for an eternity

“But the wild things cried, “Oh please don’t go – we’ll eat you up – we love you so!”

And Max said, “No!”

The wild things roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws but Max stepped into his private boat and waved goodbye.”

– Maurice Sendak- 

“If dogs could talk, perhaps we would find it as hard to get along with them as we do with people.”

    -Capek-

I love dogs. I must for I have three, each with personalities as individual as you or I.  One of my herd, Maverick – the Amazing Beardie, appears to have been blessed with the most personality and is a constant source of amusement and frustration for all of us. This morning was no exception.

Occasionally, I have to move to the couch in the middle of the night because Darling snores. I don’t necessarily like it, but came to accept it years ago. It makes for a much better night this way. Maverick hasn’t quite grasped the concept of letting sleeping writers sleep. This morning about 0500 hours, I was right in the middle of a pizza dream. (I know it was a pizza dream because it was weird enough that I was like, “Duuuuuude.” And now with the light of day, I can’t freakin’ remember it. Stupid dog.)
However, he comes up and nose bumps me.

The nose bump.
Ingenious.
Frustrating.
Guaranteed to get your attention.
Almost guaranteed to get a dog shot.

What is it you might ask? Well… Maverick is tall enough that his head can pretty comfortably sit on my dining room table so he’s a pretty big dog and could theoretically use his size to great advantage. But instead, when you are sound asleep and the “Dog Stare” doesn’t wake up you, he comes and bumps your face with his nose. It’s all rather Snoopy and Charlie Brown. Unlike Snoopy, it’s not nearly as cute at 0500 hours.

Maverick nose bumped me at 0500. I told him in no uncertain terms to go lay down and leave me alone.

Maverick nose bumped me again at 0530. I got up and let him outside under the assumption he really had to go. I didn’t want an accident and I didn’t want to clean it up.

THE MOMENT I let him out and shut the door. He began talking to a friend of his.

It’s not like he could have waited a couple of hours I suppose, but really?

So, I opened the door and “yelled” at him to quit talking about the squirrels or birds or what have you and to come – back – inside – now!

He came. Shock.

I went and laid back down and from my perch on the couch I told him, “Dufus. Lay down.”

I just got back to sleep and just started another pizza dream.

Bonk.

The alarm went off one minute later.  Yes. One. Instead of hitting the snooze, I bonked him back.

Ah…. “Smash” was on tonight and I missed the first twenty minutes. However, I have to say I think I got the gist of the show and next week I won’t miss the season finale. In the meanwhile, I will probably have to see if it’s on NBC.com or Hulu and catch what I missed. In case you wondered, the answer is yes.
I am.
Addicted.

Tomorrow I have a training session for half the day at work and I can honestly say that I really don’t want to go. It’s not that I want to listen to the construction crew jackhammer the concrete walls and ceiling during the remodel tomorrow either. (That’s getting really, really old.) However, the program “they” are “demonstrating” for four hours, I have been using for a while now. I’m pretty sure I need about 20 minutes to fill in some blanks  and I’m good. There are people I’m sure that need the full four hours. Heck, there are some that might need more than that. Who knows? But I am not one of them and I am considering taking my Nook to class to read for a bit. Would that be horribly wrong of me? (Anyone have a good book to recommend?)

Anyhoo, I’ve been having what my niece and I call “Pizza Dreams” at night. Usually they occur when we eat pizza a little too late, but I have to say some serious weirdness is going on in my subconscious. I’m thinking Freud might have some kind of  field day with the old gray matter, if ya know what I mean. This morning I woke up in the middle of a flight to God only knows where, but the plane was upside down and Kurt Russell was the pilot. And I’m not talking a little plane. I’m talking about a Boeing 737/747 or something along those lines.
Yeah… rut-roh Shaggy!
 I have no idea where on earth Kurt Russell would have come from either. I haven’t seen a movie, read a news article, or anything with him in it. But BOOM! There he was.

So, I suppose I’m going to go to bed shortly… and yes, I had pizza for dinner tonight. God help us all.

Every day I look across the way to the Col. C.T. Herring Hotel. She is the 14 story, 600 room Grand Dame who sits on the corner watching people scuttle by and ignore her inevitable decay. She was born in an era when the Cattle Barons still ruled the plains and the oil tycoons purses were heavy with black gold.  Businessmen and bankers would discuss business in the hotel’s Old Tascosa Room. I wonder what secrets were told.

The lady stood through the Stock Market Crash of ’29, WWII, Korea and ‘Nam. She’s watched as black and white children, once segregated, came together. Her structure never faltered as Kennedy, Malcom X, RFK and MLK were assassinated. As the wall in Berlin fell, hers stood firm and on September 11, 2001, I swear you could hear her mourn.
 
She’s seen the the radio, television and movies transcend from silent films to iMax 3D. And communications improved from the telegraph to the switchboard to universal and satellite cellular service. What hasn’t she seen? She’s seen the best and the worst mankind has to offer and still she stands on the corner just watching people scuttle by and ignore her inevitable decay.

When something is forbidden it becomes more desirable, more delicious. It’s a temptation we contain through self-control and that nagging feeling in our subconscious when we entertain the idea of taking a bite of the forbidden fruit. And I’m sure you know the fruit is metaphorical; however, even though it’s late in the evening, I wouldn’t mind wrapping my lips around a strawberry and feeling the sweet juice of spring explode in my mouth.  Yes… the diet continues. (Happy, Happy…. Joy, Joy…)

Anyhoo…
 I was watching “Smash” on NBC tonight. For whatever reason, I dig that show. And this show is in so many ways about the forbidden fruit and the attempt (though not so successful for so many of the characters) to deny themselves what they are so longing for. The show is a tangled mess of interrelationships during the creation of a Broadway musical, “Bombshell” centered around the life of Marilyn Monroe. Uma Thurman is cast as the “lead” on stage as Marilyn and I just have to say “Why????” I’m not sure of the casting choice exactly, but she plays the movie star come Broadway star wannabe well. However when I think of Marilyn, I don’t think of a 41 year old woman and on the close up shots of Uma, I see too many fine lines, which I never saw with Norma Jean. Call me cynical, but really? Marilyn died at 36 and I don’t think she looked it, but that’s just me.

With two episodes left, I’m not going to sweat it too much, but I have to ask what I think is a pretty good question. What was Marilyn’s forbidden fruit? She was the golden fleece for so many, but what was it that was forbidden to her and was it enough to push her over the edge?  I know I’ll never have the answers to those questions, but it does put into perspective some of my own forbidden desires and makes it a little easier to acknowledge their existence and say, “Thanks, but no.”

So I guess I’ll just have to tune in next week for the next to the last of the Season 1 episode and see if Ivy has screwed up with Karen’s boyfriend (pun intended) and hope that Julia doesn’t lose what’s left of her marbles when she runs into her old flame. And does Rebecca Duvall steal Derek’s heart. Heck… does Derek even have a heart?  Forget those daytime soaps folks…. we have a “Smash” on our hands.

Celeste

I’m introspective and contemplative –

I have been on a hiatus for a while. I’ve been working on those pesky New Year’s Resolutions and trying to get my life into some semblance of order. So far, I’ve made some progress and I’m pretty happy with how things have gone. I’ve lost weight and have reached my first goal (lost about 30 pounds total thus far!!!.) I’ve simplified a lot of things and am working on my relationships. All of that falls under the category of “Work in Progress.”
Ok, it really falls under the category of “Rome Wasn’t Built in A Day,” but carry on I shall.

The kick in the pants is my writing life. I just can’t seem to get a grip on that. I’m not sure what direction I want to take and I probably should keep up with the blog just so I can keep writing something creative and “me.” I mean, I write every day. However, I can’t really say that my reports are titillating for the average bear and definitely NOT accessible for anyone else to read. So what to do, I don’t know.
I’m telling ya… this is a conundrum for the ages.
I wonder if Shakespeare, Twain, etc went through this kind of angst or if it just “came” to them.

In other news… eldest graduates in about a month and will start working at the vet clinic full time. Yay! Youngest is making plans for college and culinary school in Rhode Island in a couple of years. Wow!
Darling is doing really well at work and is getting to travel some and do a lot of interesting things since he found a job that really takes care of employees. A rarity and we are blessed.
The dogs are all good. I guess all in all, the family is doing pretty well.

Mother… oy. Maybe I should write about mother, but no one would believe me. They say truth is stranger than fiction, but even then I don’t think I could properly convey the proper tone of borderline lucidity/insanity that prevails in her universe. I’m gearing up for her nervous breakdown any day now. This will be breakdown number 3 or 4. If she doesn’t break, either myself or my Gotham sister may instead. We love her. We also do a lot of head shaking because we can’t adequately explain her thoughts, words or actions. If I could, I am pretty sure I would have some sort of DSM-IV medical miracle on my hands.

Well, I need to get some sleep. The alarm rings early (anything before 10am is early) and I have to try to get a bunch of stuff done at work tomorrow. This writing thing though… lots to mull over.
G’night.