The Sugar Plum Fairy History

DECEMBER 24, 2006

Off in a far away land many years ago a plum tree grew with a field of daffodils, and buttercups, and daisies. One morning in late spring the temperature began to rise so rapidly the blooms of the plum tree burst with firework flare. The sparks touched the surrounding flowers, which were equally as warm. Magic took place birthing the Sugar Plum Fairies.

Bursting out of thin air as you can imagine is a very traumatic event so many of the fairies fluttered into craziness. Some discovered they had amazing abilities for looking very attractive in tutus so they became ballerinas and got hired to dance in a fruity ballet. Others were recruited by the union to be Tooth Fairies. And one sect was offered a position as Sparkling Gold Dust Dropping Dream Fairies. Later the name was shortened to Sugar Plum Fairies because of their origin.

Among this last group were two fairies who considered themselves sisters because they bursted right next to each other. They were very different from each other, but had a common bond. Instead of sprinkling gold dust on sleepers they whacked the unsuspecting dreamers with spit-wad dust balls. The two sisters were good at their work. Many of a foolish souls had dopey dreams of riding large purple rabbits and eating clumpy mash potato flavored jell-o.

The sisters named one another because no one else was around. The tallest named the blond Spring because she could sing like a cool spring rain. The blond, Spring, named her sister, the tall one, BoogerButt, but the Sparkling Gold Dust Dropping Dream Fairies Coalition did not think it sounded very fairy-like so that is how she acquired the name Maury. Maury the giant. She was very tall for a fairy, but secretly Spring still called her BoogerButt.

One year on Christmas Eve the sisters-by now they had received the title Sisters Well Done because they did such an outstanding job-they came to one house in a town called Mount Juliet where they caught sight of the most peaceful lovely sleeping couple. The couple slept close snuggling one another yet they looked very sad. The Sisters Well Done had sympathy for the couple because they realized what caused the sadness. They had no children. The fairies thrust spit -wad dust of a special kind for this couple. The dreams that were conjured suddenly brought smiles to the young couple and they looked lovely as ever in a state of contentment. The couple dreamed of children and the wonderful parents they would become. The dreams were meant to act as fertility enhancers.

The next year the Sisters Well Done visited the same sleeping couple and noticed there was a baby crib near. They fluttered over to see a beautiful sleeping baby girl. They threw spit-wad dust at her and she giggled. The Sisters Well Done made frequent stops at the couple's home over the years each time with a new baby sleeping peacefully. Some years later the fairies noticed the couple no longer slept restlessly. The tiredness of raising children could not be eased with the spit-wad dust dreams. The couple sank into deep exhausted sleep that could not be penetrated by dreams.


The Sisters Well Done were overcome by grief for their good deed gone bad. They realized there was nothing they could do to correct the mistake. Spring and maury made one more visit on Christmas Eve to the couple's home with the glimmer of hope, but when they arrived they were instead engulfed with sorrow and regret. The house was filled with sleeping children everywhere. The home was an utter mess of clothes and homemade toys. The kitchen was cluttered with towering dirty dishes, but the most disheartening sight was the absence of a Christmas tree or presents or stockings. The only sign of Christmas were a few Christmas cards scattered about. The couple had become too desolate to support all their many children.

The Sisters Well Done felt so ashamed for the trouble they had created. They fluttered into the night without saying a word to each other. They fluttered on into morning until they could flutter no longer. The next few years Spring and Maury remained in isolation never seen nor heard nor imagined in dreams.

It has only been recently that the Sisters Well Done have made their appearance. They decided to use their uniqueness as an advantage to make money. For their was no money for fairies in dream making. Since the Victoria Secret Angels have been so successful Spring and Maury are starting a new line of lingerie for Victoria as a strategy to raise money for the couple. This new line of lingerie is meant to be comfortable, but oddly sexy in a fairy kind of way.

So support the couple by buying Sugar Plum Yummy bras and underwear. You will make a child very happy for Christmas.

WILD BEARDEDNESS-DECEMBER 14, 2006

Sitting across the table receiving his words into a funnel of my ear processed, chewed, deciphered, rated, and relieved out my other ear. I stare examining his features determining my approval. The hairs from his face feather out like a lion's mane. There is no separation from his skin to his beard. It is all one cohesive piece.

I watch him speak, but I am not listening to the words. I am watching the movements of his mouth. His teeth perfectly straight and pearly white. Almost too perfect looking rather artificial. His lips thin barely pronounce definition from his teeth for when he smiles his mouth disappears. His teeth form the shape of joy.

I am mesmerized by his beard. The warmth of its colors. The fullness of each strand collected. His beard is a symbol of wildness more animal-like than human. Fiery and valiant. With the slightest penetration of white glorifying age with wisdom. As he laughs I await for a roar to join the tone. His eyes intense, yet gentle offering security as an assurance not to fear his untamed persona.

I listen to him with my eyes. I agree with my smiles. I am not so interested what he has to say as how he chooses to communicate. Watching him keeps me entertained as he lifts his eyebrows and raises his cheeks. To watch the small details of expression tickle underneath his cat-like mane.

LOVE-DECEMBER 13, 2006

As creatures of the earth we have been made by love, with love, for love. The conclusion for the most important element for life, is love. Love is binding. It is the glue to increase kindness, generosity, understanding, wisdom, patience, hope. Love will create happiness and wonder.

Then there is a life without love or love has been mutilated into a guise that is hardly recognizable. Love is no longer the form, but a consumer that is never satisfied. The love that has gone corrupt or never made the opportunity to bloom devours, lies, steals, and destroys.

Humans are designed to need love, to be fulfilled by love. However, as a culture we have allowed the privilege and the honor to be muted by selfish distain for ourselves. We have removed the purity, the innocence of a beautiful holy concept. We search in all the wrong places asking the wrong people for a gift that is incorrectly obtained. There is only one source to sustain all of our needs for love. Some spend their whole lives seeking this source. And some spend their whole lives determining whether or not to acknowledge the source.

I would fall in the later category. Not so much as acknowledging it as depending upon the source. Then the real conflict becomes about mind and spirit. My spirit yearns for one love, one source, one companion, one energy, one match.

This is my design, to need one. The conflict comes into play by waiting for this one and finding the one. I impatiently fill inn the gaps until the time comes creating, I fear, disillusionment, perhaps jaded, jaundiced incompetent view of love. I want to wait for this specialness to arrive at my door, for the thunder bolts to sound, for the curtains to part, and the lover to make a grand entrance, but I need to now and need be loved.

May I never loose the significance for the love of one. May I never loose the importance of one bond. May I never loose respect for the unity of love. May I never loose grasp of what true love means to me.

JOEL-OCTOBER 20, 2006

His build demonstrated strength, unwavering to weakness. yet in his stride and deep within his eyes spoke a shyness suspicious of irregular activity.

He glanced back and forth as he walked awaiting any surprises. he eased his way from one point to the next within his mind, but his feet commanded the stride determined to be proud as well as humble.

The effort however did not match his stare. his face neither handsome nor ugly. He was veiled with blankness, not from lack of intelligence. Quite the contrary, but lack of expression. Unable to show anger nor frustration could be apart of his infrastructure. As well he could not convey joy or pleasure either.

Because of this void of expression his presence could often be overlooked. Hiding his true nature from the world few were allowed to view the amiable goodness and valence of his character.

MAIL ORDER BRIDES-NOVEMBER 29, 2006

I am not entirely certain how the subject came up, but in the break room some co-workers and I started talking about mail order brides. Apparently, Russian women who are rather on the rough side are in desperate need of a non-Russian man. Chinese women are cute and usually a safe bet. Czechoslovakian just want to get out of the country.

The whole process of choosing buying and meeting a complete strange I find rather astounding. It seems so emotionally unattached. It does not seem very healthy. However, in a sense it is not all different from the days of prearranged marriages except matches were usually made within the same culture.

This makes me consider the idea is not to be so bogus after all. However what would I rather do: be the mail order bride or be the buyer?

As a mail order bride I could be brought into other countries. I would be well provided for. I could learn another language. Experience a whole another culture. I might luck out marry wealthy to have lots of freedom and travel. On the other hand, it could totally back fire. The family could be a nightmare. I am sent somewhere near the South Pole on the Russian side. I basically become an indentured servant sex machine and I eventually receive bad teeth because there is not dental services at the South Pole.

Now, if I buy the groom I can choose someone whose career could match my lifestyle. I could determine if we will have good looking children. I could be the dominate spouse because I bought him, which means I could boss him around as I please. make him clean, wash clothes, do yard work. if I want to take off for New Zealand for a week of paddling he will agree. If I want to snow ski in the Alps he will tag along. So I guess he better be fairly rich to support my habits, but he cannot be too involved with his work because we have places to go. He will always want to do what I want and he will never argue with me. his reply will always reply, "Yes, dear. I love you. You are so beautiful when you give orders." Of course, I will basically be marrying a robot, but who knows I might learn to like it.

Maybe I should marry a robot because I do not think it is possible to a find a man like I just described. Well, I might but he would not be very interesting. More like a card board-cut-out.

I wonder if there is even a man will to be a mail order groom. What do you think? If you are male would you be willing to do mail order? I bet you would have your stipulations as well. Might be best to stick with the whole dating thing, but fare more complicated. Then there is the route of ultimate singleness.

Well, I will have to give credit to mail order brides. You are ballsie for doing whatever it takes to abandon you situation in hopes of being offered a better one. It is not the kind of risk I am willing to take. Too many what ifs depending on a man never met. I think I have more need for being compatible.

However, I would try the dating game. It would be fun to ask ridiculous questions, like, " If I was a doe and you are driving in a truck at dusk. You have just hit me and I died. Would you eat me of hang my head on your wall? If yes, which room would I be in?" Or, "If we have been dating for a while and I find out you have been cheating on my with the cashier from the Piggly Wiggly so I decided to key your brand new Mercedes and dump manure on it. What would you do to me?" Then once I pick the guy and we go on our date I will pretend I am having hot flashes hollering about how I am on fire and order the most expensive items on the menu stuffing myself silly. Men like a woman with an appetite, right?

THE SAND-OCTOBER 19, 2006

Walking along the coarse shore Alexi's feet geology's magic rub her feet raw. The pain caused her teeth to grit, but it was not so wholly unwelcome. The waves rolled in rhythm of her heart. She focused her attention to the sound slowing her thoughts then a crash from a wave awoke her trance reminding her of her present state-of-mind.

Alexi trembled the word, "help."

For such a small word it circumference all the meaning necessary to her thoughts.

Alexi waited. Waited for a miracle. THe mighty wind blew. The stars continued to shine. Silence from within.

Alexi had two options she could consider: run deep into the waters until exhaustion dominated or she could return to her home to live one more day. The cold waters came up to tickle her toes. The next current covered her feet. She felt heavy in the sand.

Alexi bowed her head. Took a deep breath, reached down to splash the salty water to her face. The bitter water burned her eyes and her throat gagged, but she felt alive.

Dusk surrounded her now. She glanced behind her to see the still darkened silhouettes. The darkness groaned at her spirit. She whipped around to the horizon line again. At that moment the sun made its peak. Slowly, slowly the sun shown her radiance glistening upon the rolling waves, sparkling over the sand, glowing upon Alexi's face. her body soaked the warmth finding her every bone and cell with light.

The light blinded her view. She squinted. Eventually her pupils adjusted to the light. Alexi took a few steps back and sat in the sand. She brought her knees to her chest watching the sun light the world with her rays. She watched having peace.

SEARCHING FOR ANSWERS-DECEMBER 12, 2006

At the age of 26 one would think I have some idea of what I want to do. However, I seem to be clueless as many people my age are. We have been raised with particular values of our parents, but after intense scrutiny of their example their progeny are not exactly sure following in their footsteps is a good course to make. I see how my are tied down to things that seem like it possess them. I cannot say with certainty that they seem happy with this possession. They act more controlled by obligation and tradition-"This is how my parents lived. I better do the same."

Call me crazy but I do not see it necessary to get married, settle down, be tied to a job I care nothing about, have babies, then be owned by a house that becomes my ball and chain. God created a certain order to life, but I do not believe there is the same formula everyone must follow. I believe my God is not that boring. That anything is possible.

In searching for answers to the possible or from the impossible one must do a lot of soul searching and be very desperate. WIth desperation brings the heart of fulfillment. Last week I began a new stage of initiation. I drove down to Chattanooga State to start my nursing classes.

I need the opportunity to leave town to explore another avenue of my life. I believe that Boone is beautiful, but I have issues that are complicating right and wrong. A little vacation from my troubles brought a little relief. It gave me many hours of driving to think and think some more.

The initial visit to the college was an encouraging one as I met with an adviser. Ms. Green was very kind and supportive to my needs. I felt like I had received the answers I needed to complete my decision.

Afterwards, I drove through the city of Chattanooga determining if this was a twon that indeed I could live for two plus years. She is not the fanciest of cities, but she will be a good fit for the time I need her. I have been going back and forth for what to do and not to do these last few months. I am just content that there are motions starting to take flight. It is exciting to have something to look forward to, to have a goal I truly want to accomplish.

I know I am not meant or designed to live the typical American dream of marrying well, have a job that works me hard, but pays well as I juggle the kids' schedule while maintaining the home improvements to a house with a 30 year mortgage. No Spankyou!

My ideal life allows me to keep moving or traveling. If kids do become a possibility I home-school them. A permanent house is not necessary because I truly do not need an object to, in all honesty, own me. I want to teach my children with world experiences. I do not want them to be sheltered from how the rest of the world lives. I want to appreciate my heritage, but able to enjoy other cultures as well. There is such wonderful diversity amongst us, I want to experience it all.

Accumulating nursing skills will allow me to be of service to many organizations, whether nationally or international. I will definitely be documenting fulfilling my internal design. As I think about it I am filled with excitement of the possibilities. I have a new hope that offers me peace.

There are other details in the decision process, but I am hoping that will work out as I move along. One day at a time, I keep telling myself. Get myself in school, make it through school, pass the nursing board, get hired. One day at a time. Through God's strength alone I can achieve all things.

DON'T PUSH ME AROUND-DECEMBER 12, 2006

Because I have certain beliefs it is time for me to rant. As a Believer in Christ I am becoming rather annoyed by the continued rights that are being taken away. First, tell me where in the Constitution does it states, "Separation of Church and State." Second, any lawyer will tell you, if they are being completely honest, that Roe vs. Wade is bad law, yet innocent life is still allowed to be wiped out because no one wants to be responsible. Yet the same people who believe in free-choice condemn capital punishment condoning once irresponsibility. Hypocrisy!

Now argue all you want about the beliefs of Founding Fathers, but read their memoirs and clearly their faith in God is apparent. So please do not tell me this is not a country based on God and faith. Do not tell me I cannot pray or declare my faith on public land as every other organization is allowed to do. Do not tell me I have lost the right to educate my children when the public school systems has failed. Do not tell me godly morally correct principles can no longer be displayed because more or less it offends you that someone is saying you are not living life with good standards. Do not tell me my thoughts and opinions are ancient and narrow minded because you have formed a prejudice that I can not think outside the box when in fact the sky is the limit for my options and I act in obedience. Do not repute me because me because I believe in a higher deity full of love and mercy while you live to the rick of chance.

WINTER FALLING-DECEMBER 8, 2006

Winter has officially shown his smiling face in Boone. With 35 mph winds, 2-3 inches of now, rapidly dropping to temperatures, and rumors of traffic die to broken water mains and accidents I decided it best to walk home from work. I have a rear-wheel mid-size pick-up with bad traction. Had it been open roads I might have attempted the feet, but I did not trust other drivers and I did not trust my reaction to other drivers.

Bundled up as well as I can be for the unexpected I cut through the gusty winds, plow past the snow bomb-barring my face, encounter of a snowball propelled from an on-coming car, and trying to ignore the wind chill factor as best I can trekking an hour to get home. Then I get to the main street where it is relatively quiet. The street has been blocked off from vehicles allowing only sidewalk plows to clear the streets of snow and the few bold pedestrians racing home.

The movement of the street intrigues me. Christmas snow-flake lights hanging suddenly become one with the falling snow clothing the streets and buildings. The people hastily seeking the closest warmth, the plower on a mission to remove the snow speedily and effective out oxygen as a vessel motivated by sight. The world is white glowing by yellow flames towering the sidewalks. Beyond the roads are the black shapes of mountains doused by the blinking houses outlining the ridges.

The further I move from the city lights the more silence intensifies. I can hear snow falling. I can hear the snow landing. The silence penetrates my ears. The few street lights unaccounted are my escort home as I float with ease to my last remaining steps. The glistening snow of an untracked path is my gateway to home. Oh! Wonderful sweet warm home. She embraces me and I enjoy her comfort.

I can now officially grumble as an old person stating, "When I was your age I walked two/three miles through snow to and from work." As cold as the experience is there is something invigorating about the -1F wind chill taking your breath away as air is not necessary for life.

Though I rarely find myself comfortably warm. I feel myself entranced my the coldness. I allow the discomfort because I want to acknowledge my weakness. I want to seek to be strong. I want to prove I can do it.

I realize my decisions made will by my downfall. I can no longer avoid what I have done. I can wrestle with the truth, but ultimately the truth is binding. The cold truth has sneaked into my home, into my room. It stares me down informing me he knows. About the winter air nothing is hidden. The chill will expose the most sacred of secrets. The secrets of love. The secrets of loss. Secrets of denied heart. Secrets of a virtue's end. Secrets of lovers.

The weight of the cold presses upon me. I am feeling suffocated as warmth moves closer and closer. I do not say "yes," but "no" is not uttered either. I am surrounded by heat. It is my passions that keep me comfortable amongst the chilliest of nights. It is the coldest nights that bury my secrets deep below.

My uncomfortable agony has passed on as I look out the window watching lights move away. Chillness has returned to my room as its weight is upon my mind. Things seem complicated during the cold nights. However, there are other nights when I am filled with the pleasure of warmth.

As the night keeps passing the clouds have rolled on leaving the moon to reveal nature's glory. In darkness there is light, bright white silk in blue. Reflection upon refection illuminating the earth's surface. As the snow has stopped and the wind has calmed where peace is radiant. Stars cannot compete with the moon's glow. Something amazing needs to happen. Instead, I make a phone call among my secrets then I fall asleep to the sensation of cold.

The following morning is a different scenario from the previous day. As I make my way walking to work the town seems to have reawaken. Vehicles are free to drive the streets. People are feeding off the sunshine to keep their cold bodies moving. The sun is so bright that water, snow, ice strike with blinding glare. Snow blankets the ground proving winter wonderlands do exist.

I march briskly for there is still a mighty wind chill. I think of previous nights and how my opinions and thoughts are changing. I think of winter's arrival and my new coarse. I think of how it would be nice to have my cold numb face embraced. I think of my mistakes and my decisions to be made. I think of love moving along with hurt. I think of all the foolishness occurring on cold winter evenings.

TO THE MOON LIGHT

Past the blackened cast
A beckon follows beside
She cannot run past it
Only watch it fade
To the glow of the moon
He offers his guidance
Along sparkling waters
Night becomes day in the shadows

Within the nights shadows
All secrets can hide, however
Moon will attempt to reveal them
His lasting strike sent upon his command
Radiating highlights piercing the land
He sends his messengers to follow me
As a slithering protector of light pressing strong

I roll up and down, to and fro
I can best see the protector by shimmering waters.
While creatures of night grasp sensations of day
I press on watching movement soak in the rays.
Life carries on all through the night
I fleeing from persistency showing my untold.

RESTLESS NIGHTS

White lights blinding the thoughts
coming into and out of consciousness.
Beckoned to the world of dreams
Startled to the sphere of reality.

The blurs of pain arouse
images fade into hazy apparitions.
Swallowed into the deepness of night
regurgitate to the likeness of dusk.

A slumber wrecked by tossing and turning
When waiting only lengthens the sluggish hours
A hopefulness when daylight breaks
But the night's passing leaves its mark.

Fighting any urge to remain awake
Drowned into peace struggling to resist
The harassment of an untamed psyche
Ready to unleash the furry at the moment of surrender.

Oh! Restless will. Resist no more
Calm the storm of spirit and mind
The burden of fate as an unwelcoming fear
Shall die with the waking

Countless dreams and desires left to the living
Subconscious enigmas rial for the sleeping
When eyes have opened to the sun
The wallowing effects still linger on.

O, TO THE NEIGHBORS- NOVEMBER 30, 2006

Destiny moves along tugging at our lives rotating directions: North, South, East, West. The lives that collide forming friends from molds of strangers to connect according to time. The moments cherished by the knowledge learned from different souls Experiences made. Experiences exchanged. We move circling each other.

Events take place, opportunities unfold, our neighbors grasp new heights to new hopes towards possibilities of any once unknown. The friends we had will soon be metaphors of the friends to come where new memories will be made. More memories exchanged.

To our dear neighbors we wish you the best. May adventures abound surpassing the greatest of expectations. May peace joy and love be your faithful companions to help overcome the trails yet to face. may honor, patience, integrity, trust be partners with your marriage. We will miss your company, your generosity, but are pleased you will spread your kindness to others.

Do not remain strangers forever. May our paths merge once more where again memories can be made and exchanged.

DECEMBER 12, 2006

Our struggle for righteous and evil. Our mental challenge for good and bad. We have truths built within our soul. We have righteousness mended into our Spirit. We have principle blended into our heart. However, we have been misguided for correctness conditioned to be corrosive. We have allowed ourselves to learn lies speaking in truth.

I know the truth. I know the rules. I know the righteous. And I know the judgment. I do not want to forget. I do not want to compromise. I do not want to be unable to feel convicted. I want to look forward. I want to practice patience. I want to be honorable.

But I am loosing. I am allowing myself to be defeated by my own worst enemy. Myself. I want what I should not, indulging in the destructible. My battle is never ending. My only options are to sink deeper and deeper, to hide, or to die.

I look for hope in myself, but see little reason for smiling. I know I can overcome, but my second battle is do I want to?

DECEMBER 13, 2006

Our souls in love turning and twisting towards directions unseen, untouched. We travel a mile a minute looking this way and that searching, but have not pin-pointed what. Though circumstances, blindness, achievements yet to reach our shapes have not come aligned. There is a voidness trying to cover the cracks of enigmas. Answers are not always pronounced where motion seems safer. Perpetual movement is necessary, but moments become lost missing what is before and surrounding. We will loose sight, but there is hope for an awakening.

Weightless souls floating aimlessly with the personified within aching restless hearts the soberness remains stagnant preventing euphoria's bloom. Clanking notes with no opus to follow. Our melodies will not ring true until the notes reflect the guidance from wondering paths.

Kindred souls cannot be denied, divided, or torn. Assemble to one another can be assured. Only time finds the judge of when. Where soul finds heart. Where heart finds love. Where love finds bliss.

Down with iPODS & MP3 players

The other day I went into a cd store browsing for new music to add to my collection. Normally I would not pay full retail price, but the was having close-out sales with 40-50% off. I browsed each aisle A-Z searching for names I have on my list as a must. Some of the band names I desired were missing so I moved on then there was an album I had been dying to own. Be long I had six cds in my arms. I could not possibly afford them all so I had to rate on level of importance.

It is a bit of a shame now how internet and iPods are changing the direction of music sales. My parents keep asking me if for Christmas would I like an iPod. Call me old fashion, but I just shrug off the suggestion. I like holding the cd tangibly in my hot little hands. I do not love the struggle of removing the shrink wrap then picking at the sticker strip, but it is still apart of the experience of buying new treasured music. Because then come the best part. Sliding/placing the cd in the cd player, turning the volume up, waiting for the first track to begin. With full approval the music sings, my excitement builds with each song. I follow along with the lyrics with the insert knowing exactly how to harmonize. During the musicians' rifts I gaze at the albums artwork approving or disapproving the coherency to the music's soul. I am completely submerged absorbing every meaning to the musician's emotion.

I can remember similar experiences occurring to my mother a couple of decades earlier purchasing Tracy Chapman and Paul Simon's Graceland. Over and over she listened. Under African Skies by Simon was her favorite as she had the volume turned up extra. No sooner would the song finish then she was there lifting the needle to play the song again. At Christmas while putting up the tree and decorating it we listened to the Drummer Boy album on the record player. There was a nostalgia about hanging ornament to the crackling static of the drumming chore.

The same record player I grew up listening to my Disney and Mothergoose songs, as well as Mom's albums of Paul Simon and Crosby, Still, Nash, and Young, I now own. None of the records I have bought. All the records in my possession belong to my mother, but I love pulling out the vinyl discs, placing it on the turn table, lowering the needle causing the table to spin. Then oh so carefully lowering the diamond to touch listening to the rumble as the needle picks up every flaw in static. The anticipation ends when the music plays. It allows me to hear the past as once current greats are now classics. I receive a sense of my parents history with the issues they faced and what was important. With the ancient larger stereo system I crank up the volume allowing me to feel the vibrations of past musicians' convictions as their emotions ring through my body.

I am older now with an appreciation for diverse music, however the acknowledgment of the iPod age disheartens me. Future generations will not have the opportunity to use all the senses to experience music if iPods take over. There will be no hardcopy for a young child to tangibly grasp the with greasy finger tips to place on the turn table. To try ever so gently bring the needle down without a boom. I can remember when I became of age receiving permission from Mom and dad, trusted enough, to play a record on my very own. Every time I held my breath as I cradled the needle's arm with my finger. With a whence I placed it down. Most often the scratch could be heard, but I breathed in relief when the percussion began to thunder then the strings accompanied in harmonious approval. My smile grew larger as I turned up the volume. I had in a strange minimal way helped create the music that now reigned.

Thanksgiving Traveling

Driving the day before Thanksgiving has always been a dreaded task to me. However, it seemed to me this year returning was more hectic. For the first three hours almost every half hour I came across an accident. The interstate was fully loaded with college students, families, and anyone else visiting for the holidays packed in their vehicle trying to return home as soon as possible, like myself. However, some may have been in too much of a hurry, hence the collisions.

First, it astounds me how slow everyone insists on moving to rubberneck towards the carnage. Can you not gawk traveling 50 to 60 mph. Second, use the left lane as the passing lane. If you are not passing then you are in no need to be in the left lane. Third, if you are going to pass then pass and move on. It is always a test of patience when I am behind someone who acts like they will pass the vehicle beside them, but instead sit at the same speed causing traffic to build up. Fourth, if you are being passed to not be offended causing you to speed up making it impossible to pass creating bottle-necking.

During my driving I found it particularly interesting how many mini vans and SUVs most likely transporting children had DVD players. On several occasions when a vehicle passed inside I could see small monitor screens, sometimes on in each passenger sear. I felt left out. All I had was my CD player to keep me company.

We truly have become a TV induced society. Do kids not read, color, or fight in the car anymore? As parents, have we allowed principle to become so inconsequential that we will throw mindless images as a trance for the children in order to keep them quiet? What happen to music to sing along or games, like I Spy (my family actually had Travel Scrabble), What is wrong with the sibling rivalry of punches and "Thats mine," and "Get out of my space?" Do parents talk anymore to their kids to find out what is important? It may not be the most stimulating conversation, but the child will appreciate you care.

My favorite pass time on long drives was listening to stories. A radio program that my sister and I loved call Adventures in Odyssey provided moral lessons to learn and imagery for the imagination. Then there were Garrison Keillor's stories from Lake Wabagon. From Keillor's descriptions I could always envision the Great frozen Lakes and massive snow drifts. I could imagine a summer night on a wrap-around porch sipping ice tea surrounded by the smell of freshly cut grass and home grown tomatoes in the garden. But are children able to create any such imageries anymore. Too busy hoping for Christmas to receive a Playstation or cell phone that matched their purse or an Ipod that can hold 50 hours of songs and movies.

But now I am sounding too much like Dana Carvey's Grumpy Old Man: "In my day we didn't have cars. We grabbed four brats that behaved the worst and strapped boards to their backs and made them run on all fours moshing like wild wolves as we road on top. In my day if someone slowly moved in our way hogging the road we shot them. We hung their bodies in trees upside-down by the ankles, placed a sign on declaring them as disturbers of the peace as "Slug Pugs," And thats how we kept the children entertained. Non of this X-Box nonsense or chatting on the phone. You wanted to contact someone you screamed from the top of your lungs till you started wheezing from lack of oxygen eventually loosing your voice. If you wanted to play games you thumped your brothers and/or sisters until all your bruises made you look more like a disfigured grape. Who ever had the biggest deepest whelps won. If the kids did not behave they were roped up and dragged behind where they became too dirty and unrecognizable. Most often they were lost and/or forgotten becoming wild hethens howling at the moon, eating crickets and ground worms, often going half mad, AND WE LIKED IT!"

The Traveler

The road has no beginning or end. It is rugged. It is smooth. The road travels through steep ravens when the elevation rises so high ears pop and it feels like there are inches from falling into the abyss. The road will drive for miles in a straight line as an entrance to a geometric equation where forward is the only direction. There will be sites of towering mountains, then rolling hills, rain forests surrounded my waterfalls. There will be such desolate voidness that it will be easy to forget life exists. There will be sceneries of quaintness and homeliness and poverty and lavishness. Such wonders will appear as it will seem impossible to be earthly, but the presence of awesomeness will create pride to be amongst it.

No road is too easy. There is no road too impossible to travel. Our Odysseus cannot be held back from his ventures. He has a wondering eye and a curious spirit. He soaks in all the views whether good or bad to store in his repertoire of memories. He is unbound to the errors of this world seeking only what he knows is right in his heart.

It could be a possession of selfishness, but it could also be a mark of a true explorer. No longer tied to the establishments of conditioning our traveler explores the worlds of his thought desiring the desperation of freedom. Cages of materialism, duty, responsibility cannot contain him. He has a moral obligation to himself: to seek, to wonder, to learn, to experience, to never, ever limit himself to the possibilities of a world of nature.

Upon his Odyssey, the hero crosses boundaries to dare to resist conventionalism. His heart is eager and his mind is focused. Does he dare to travel alone, which can be a lonely lifestyle, or does he meet existing travelers along the way? Does he find what his heart searches? Does all his hopes and expectations become fulfilled? Is he the hero we applaud and envy because we are too scared to achieve his attempts? Or do we judge and condemn his foolish efforts.

Does the traveler have the story of all ages with examples of courageousness and valuer? Do we see him as an example to learn and be inspired or do we remain content to be contained? Does he tell our stories we are too afraid to accomplish? Or does he laugh at us for our lack of faith?

I see myself in him running at the opportunity to embrace the freedom. I feel myself filled with excitement of an adventure that can only be mine. There is hope in the unexpected and joy for whatever may come.

I go with the traveler because he is a good companion for the journey. He listens well and offers good conversation. He reminds me of what I love and what I long to see and do. I keep the traveler close so I do not forget. I do not want to be filled with regret that will later make him laugh at my lack of faith. I travel with him because I am open to views that others ignore or overlook.

Along the many roads of various conditions we travel steadily, faithfully. I have our destinations mapped. Our anticipation grows to the anthem of notes playing continuously amongst us. The music that never stops playing as our soundtrack moving to the shapes of passing scenery. Like a locomotive's piston to keep the engine running to a rhythm-the music is out meter to the passing miles helping time to pass as if it never existed bring new meaning to there is only now.

With any journey there is an end. Depending on attitude and vision determines the journey's rate of success. How profitable is the experience? Did you visit all the destinations? Did you stay under budget? Did you meet many people? Did the driving run smoothly? Did you manage to avoid unwelcome surprises? Or, is it possible to experience the journey as another dimension and not the pure physical? Is it possible for every wrong disastrous occurrence to happen yet still have the best experience? Is it possible to have been completely lost but also viewed as a time of discovery and new possibilities? Is it possible to strike every emotion never feeling more alive? Is it conceivable to be surrounded by such loneliness that you soul welcomes the peace? Is it conceivable to enjoy the trouble because you know it makes you stronger?

Stories are not built on the foundation of good luck or perfect harmony. Stories are constructed upon the adversities faced then the challenge to overcome. What interest is there if everything moved perfectly. Where would the growth be? Where would the captivation exist?

For myself, I will shine for my achievements and scoff at your fears for I attempted what you could not conceive. I dared to resist my fears pressing into my dreams. Not just my desires, but what I know is impossible I now believe can be realty.

The traveler knows this. He knows it all to well. He moves with ease as I watch from his lessons. We move with no fear, only forward to the One who knows best.

The Traveler.

Disgusting Habit of Dipping

Can someone please explain to me the attraction to chewing dip. I understand the need for nicotine and the accessibility of it at all times even where smoking is not allowed. So, for convenience sake and the need to fix a nicotine craving are the only two excuses I can think of to justify such a grotesque habit.

To take this clump of tobacco, place it in the gum of the mouth to sit against the cheek or teeth, then to proceed to talk while this glob protrudes from the face, like a tumor, mumbling hardly understandable about how redneck some in the family is while spit is being flung out barely missing the person present immensely enjoying the conversation. Then once the wondrous flavor has vanished the saliva drenched black yuckiness that now looks like a bad case of bird diarrhea is launched with great thrust from the mouth hucked into the the nearest trash can, bottle, empty container, or better yet, onto the ground so that the next unsuspecting passer-byer steps into the lovely surprise.

So..... This dear fellow will grin about his successful thrusting tar infested missile revealing black grime caked upon his rotting teeth. What an endearing habit to obtain. Mmmmmm.... Don't you know I would love to kiss someone who has obtained this as a cherished pass time. Maybe I'll start too!

Ridiculous

What is worse than a flying pregnant hippo on steroids eating artificial multi-colored daisies about to come in for a landing near a Mongolian Buddhist school playground? - Boredom without ends and all the time in the world to think about how lonely and broken hearted you are.

Actually, I could probably come up with worse things than a lonely broken heart so maybe deciding the degree of discomfort is a fool-hearted attempt. But think of all the fun I could have deciding what is worse.

Like, an avalanche compacting into a huge snowball headed straight for Denver evolving to the rotating circumference of the Sears Tower traveling at the speed of a a Boeing 747 flattening everything in its path including small dogs and ugly cats. One can only imagine how it will destroy the downtown skyscrapers, airport, and golf resorts. - But don't you agree a wondering heart searching for her long lost love is worst than an enormous over sized snowball.

November 13, 2006

A beautiful day has abound the valley filled with warmth and light. As the sun +should be setting in rolls great gray clouds form the west filling the horizon. Starting as distant shadows then spreading out to irrepressible weight then conquering blackness consumes the valley. The rains start as a trickle evolving to a hammering strike. The thunder rumbles. The lightning illuminates the skies. The wind, she is filled with sorrow, wails at the trees and mountains. With her cries she summons the cold winter chill.

An hour later the battle is over. No harm has been committed. The storms have moved on, but the winter chill is unrelenting. She continues to leave her mark.

By the following morning the gloominess has made himself comfortable among the mountains. With the gloom sleet and snow have been beckoned. While keeping each other company, the town hibernates to avoid the un-welcomed guests. The gloom and the chill rest their weary forms with the anticipation of sun poking his smiling face.

The valley is lifeless. No one will stir. The occasional body to attempts to flee the fury of the wind seeking shelter from the task in need. Loneliness inhabits the streets, the yards, the parks, and sidewalks. There are no sounds besides the howling wind, which possesses a moment of nothing. Nothing is all within existence.

After a full day's captivity within my home, I prepare for a venture to the outer world amongst the cold windy loneliness. Bundled from head to toe I break loose into the night. No sooner am I free in the open then the wind grabs me to be suspended in air unable to move forward. I press by body forced myself to the unknown destination. It is not important. I must keep moving. I cross the street. I hug the buildings as my bodyguards from the wind. The wind whips through my clothes. It is as if I have no muscles or skin or flesh. I am merely bones as a chime for the blowing air.

The task is futile. The wind and the cold are winning. I am no match for their harshness. They laugh at my efforts sending me back for my failure. I trek through mounds of leaves making my retreat. I feel defeated and weak for surrender. The rustling leaves escort me home as the only sound breaking my loneliness.

Stick it

I have decided the concept of "Sticking it to the man" is not possible. "The Man" must be a butthead to the "Little Guy" for there to be order. Instead, I will become a hermit living off the land and making cave art. Perhaps my cave art will be discovered. The carbon-dating will record inaccurately leading people to believe the cave art is prehistoric. I could be famous.
However, if I take credit for the work the public will know it is phony.

I will become Amish and build rocking chairs.

To love

I often wonder if we ever listen to one of the many songs we enjoy at the exact same moment while distances apart. Do you capture the same meaning I receive from the words and notes revolving as if speaking to us directly? Do you sit back strumming practicing the precise moment I am hum the words we know together? I can hear you hands playing to my subconscious. There are new songs as strangers to your ears that have been old friends of mine that I want to share.

Though other women may welcome you with bare skin I am the only one who understands your soul. This truth I believe only you possess for me as well looking deep beyond the face. I carry your mark. Every time I stare into the mirror I am reminded of how I have been spotted by each day spent with you. There there are the photos of our life with the caption of how we were snickering at what we are. Each captured moment is a mockery of what I cannot be and powerless to reverse it. I turn my cheek to take the hit as an encouragement for me to let go. Some thoughts, memories, feelings I relinquish. Others I bury deep inside to never release.

Cherri-o

Have you ever wanted to talk with an accent. Like, with a British accent trying to throw words like knickers and ballocks into a sentence as often as possible. Or in a German accent shouting out "Nine!" or "Schitzer!" My aunt, by marriage, is half Polish. I always loved hearing her pronounce her mother's maiden name. Gishscrimski. She knew just how to make her r's roll off the tongue. Gishscrrrrrrimski. It always made me want to talk like Sophia in Sophie's Choice.

I am not sure what it is about Boone, but it seems to attract many British and German descents. I just helped a woman, originally from Britain now living here, wearing fancy looking galoshes (the British always have a wonderful collection of shoes). She made me want to declare, "Oh Ballocks! I'm dreadfully bored. I'm going out in my knickers and boots romping in the puddles. What a fancy jolly time I'll have." Or maybe some customer will ask me if I can help them where upon I will scream, "Nine! Nine! Schitzer! Gitt owt!"

In past jobs I use to pretend I was Irish or Swedish to fight boredom. Maybe I should try something completely different. I will try to learn a Kenyan or South Korean accent. Not North Korean. No one would appreciate my efforts. I think North Korea is trying to blow us up.

Boone, North Carolina

Like the winter waters, I keep moving with coldness searching for a source to enter. Like the barren mountains stripped of leaves exposed to the wind I feel naked with an emptiness, a melancholy, wishing for the day of spring to cover and protect. Like the winter chill bringing snow and rains I wonder aimlessly with gifts to offer, undesired to anyone because the love has grown cold, jaded, and rigid.


I have not yet made my opinion of these North Carolinian mountains. They are strange to me, but also enticing. With the grandeur of the peaks while streams cascade down she seems mysterious and elusive. However, the weather she calls upon seems ready for revenge for a debt unpaid in the days of old. With vengeance the wind rips through the valley determined to isolate the freeze within every body. The wind demands respect with control able to weaken any creature that acts out of disobedience.

The valley of Boone seems to have me wrapped within her allure puppeting my emotions to the sequence of her movements. My temperament is decided upon her whim. On particularly cold and solemn days I can feel my soul giving into her bitterness. I become reclusive and irritable. I loose patience for my environment and disdain envelopes me to becoming unrecognizably quiet. Then the sun returns revealing his smirking face warming the air beckoning a new tide of hope and renewal. A new surge of patience abounds feeling the strength continue with a stamina of hope acting as my companion.

Thanksgiving's Thanks

What does this holiday mean to people? Does its meaning still fit its title?

It is typically the one holiday family members will go out of their way to gather around the table to endure each other's company long enough to fulfill the year's family obligation while stuffing one's self with food of the most fattening kind.

There is no holiday songs like the Fourth or Christmas. No holiday candy or parties like Halloween or New Year's. The only true recognition Thanksgiving makes is it marks the beginning of Christmas shopping the day after with Black Friday. The day is loosing its respect by most major retail remaining open on what should still be a family day. Soon all luxury will be lost where everyone will be open for business voiding any sacredness.

Thanksgiving, as a small child, I must admit holds little memory for me. However, in my teenage years through college it holds more meaning. Somehow my family on my mother's side started meeting at my grandparents' time-sharing in Gatlinburg. There Granny would prepare her finest meals of every delicious kind. Then we spent the remainder of the evening recovering from bloated bellies by surrounding the fireplace or adjourning to the hot tub. The following day we rarely went shopping just because the Black Friday in Gatlinburg, particularly in Pigeon Forge, is hell on earth. Wall to wall traffic inhabiting the biggest rednecks. Instead, my family usually endured the traffic long enough to reach Chimney Rock Trail- 2 miles up to wonderful views of the Smokies Mountains.

In more recent years it was decided that Granny worked herself too hard with preparation and it would be easier for her to remain in Nashville, which has been a good experience as well. Usually someone is invited as a guest, whether present boyfriend/girlfriend or friend. It is a time for the extended family to catch up on personal events and any other current event topics. Thanks to my cousin Brook and her studies in psychology we always have the pleasure of hearing new current psycho research. Thanks to my aunt's interest in the environment we are drawn into political debates. And thanks to my father and uncle no one is allowed to take themselves seriously. Since my family encompasses several different religious and political and social views conversations are always lively with intrigue and edginess. The conversations are what I am thankful for because we do not take the disagreements personally.

This year however will be very different for all my family. It will be the first time we have come together since my grandfather's death in January and it will be our first Thanksgiving without him at the head of the table. I will admit I will not miss walking on eggshells about topics of discussion in his presence, but knowing there is an empty chair will be hard to accept. His abstinence, his hardheaded opinions, and his laughter will be greatly missed.

So yes, Thanksgiving does have true meaning for me. I am thankful for my family and the time I have to spend with them.