Monday, December 1, 2014

Love and lost love in telephone ghosts

Way back when I worked for a famous catalog company that rhymes with H.P. Henny, the days following Thanksgiving were nothing short of hell. If you had taken yourself a happy little vacation to visit the family and eat dead poultry, you had to cart your ass back in time for the barrage of folks who just couldn't wait to get Timmy or Betsy or Susanna or Jim the best new toy, the best new pair of shoes, the best new lingerie—and for daddy—the best new tie. Unfortunately, early shoppers had beaten the pack and it was my job to tell the newbies they were crap outta luck, try another item, and another, and another. But first . . . upon arriving at the telephone center it was customary to stand against the wall and wait for an extra station to open up. Why? Because the staffers had over-scheduled their employees like Santa's elves munching on candy canes dipped in crack. They didn't care if you stood there for an hour, nobody was going to miss this fantastic event of mass consumerism via electrical wires of telephone trading. If and when you found that open station, and the bedraggled worker whose back end had been permanently molded to the shape of a lightly padded office chair passed by with a salute and a muttered, "Is the sun still shining?" you plopped down to a long day broken only by bathroom treks and forays to the cafeteria where husky-voiced women compared ass fat and whose husband had left who that week. It was a good job, and it paid well. I spent most of my time droning out the voices that came across America's over-bloated pocketbook, thinking about a man I'd been dating, and the failure, and the sadness, but the rebirth that comes from failure. The voices helped erase my own less-confident musings. You're no good. "And your next item is . . ." You're not pretty enough. "Repeat that number, please . . ." Would anyone ever love me again? Would I be lonely my entire life? Or would this go on and on and on?

I spent most of my breaks reading and hanging out with the black women who sat by themselves in a far corner of the cafeteria so the white women couldn't hear. I loved their camaraderie, their laughter, their warmth and shared sorrows. They accepted, but cautiously allowed me into their conversations. Then it was back to work. I doodled a lot, faux-shopped a lot. After work I'd light up upon closing the door of my el crappo Chevy. Taking frantic puffs of a Marlboro, I'd ask the angels to guide me. Was I heading in the right direction? Who the fuck was I anyway? Who the fuck was I?

Eventually I got over that man who didn't love me. Christmas came and a new year started. Sometimes it still feels like I'm in that vortex of voices, of sorrow and constant indecision. But this is a new Christmas, a new year and a new time. The questions will never stop, but that's how life is. It's when they go silent, that you should really start to wonder, that you really start to feel old. Ah . . . but I was older then, I'm younger than that now . . .

Monday, November 24, 2014

Happy Bleeping Thanksgiving!

By Photo by M. Rehemtulla [CC-BY-2.0 (], via Wikimedia Commons
Photo by M. Rehemtulla

So here it is Thanksgiving week in The States and we're all going to carve that turkey and eat that stuffing. Some like canned cranberries, some like natural. I like both, but that's not the point here, the point is . . . what's your favorite thing about Thanksgiving, dear blogger friends, and do you actually plan on rushing out into the cold just a few hours after being cozy, just so you can buy a $300 laptop for $270? Me, I prefer to stay home and watch my favorite Turkey Day movie, which is actually the ONLY Turkey Day movie I know of: Planes, Trains and Automobiles. Btw, if you don't like movies and would rather curl up with a good e-book, you can always download one of mine. I got two!

I was telling Julia about PT&A and how it's one of my favorites, holiday or not, but I had to add that there's a cuss-word marathon in one particular scene. Her eyes lit up—one time I told Julia that I cuss like a sailor in my head and how it's pretty darn impressive I don't actually say those words, and then Julia said that inside her mini-me noggin, she cusses like a sailor too—anyway, she asks about the PT&A scene, and I say, "Oh, if we watch it on TV they'll edit it out. They delete the bad stuff then blend the good words together so it sounds like Steve Martin is an alien." I further explain, using the word bleep instead of, well, you know: "In the real movie, he says, 'I want a bleeping car, a bleeping this, a bleeping that, and I want it rightbleepingnow.' And the ticket agent says, 'Oh no.' And he says, 'Oh no, what?' And she says, 'You're bleeped.'" Julia's eyes lit up again. That bleep stuff doesn't fool her.

So, I'm going to watch that movie, eat leftover turkey, stay warm and cozy and I hope you'll be warm and cozy too.

What are your plans for the coming holiday(s)?

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Still thinkin'

So I had this crazy idea, which isn't that crazy really, but it might be, it just might be. I thought, hey . . .  why don't I go finish that novel—that one about the small town I grew up in? One reason I never finished it was because doing so meant I'd have to focus a certain percentage of memories on my father, a person who I'd much rather forget, and if you knew him you'd understand why. And yet, it still lingers that it's something that should be done. And I don't want to write it as show off, I want to be very conversational and open about the whole thing. Just tell it like it was. So, I guess I'll start working on that, along with the other stuff waiting in the sidelines. What really makes it crazy though is that I have this idea to write an album along with it--songs that go with the stories. And then I could tour.  Crazy Amy with her crazy book about her crazy childhood—and songs to boot. I've never gotten to do a whole 'on the road' thing before. It'd be fun.

And how about you? Ever had some crazy ideas that actually worked out?

Monday, November 17, 2014


A few weeks ago my sister asked if I'd like to see Lucinda Williams at Liberty Hall in Lawrence, Ks. Lawrence is a college town located about twenty miles down the road, sort of like "over the river and through the woods." I told her that I, as usual, was low on cash and couldn't afford a ticket, to which she replied, well I'll buy you one . . . if you do some painting at my house. That's the way my life is, but hey, I got to see Lucinda Williams! And yes, a few days later I painted floorboards and doors and walls. . . I actually saw Miss Williams come out of her tour bus the night of the concert. She's quite little and had her blonde hair all sprayed to wild perfection and wore tight blue jeans and high heel boots. A male companion followed as she walked past the que into the building. Cool. During her concert she sang "Joy," a particular favorite of mine. I'm going to make it my song of the day.

Has anyone ever taken your joy? If so, blast this song real loud.


Saturday, November 15, 2014

Options, Options

My brain is still turning, but I am happy about deciding to go back to songwriting again. However, my problems are not far behind as I am still conflicted about not only what I should do in life, but what is it that I like to do, and what will provide monetary relief. Some people get seriously angry when you mention money around any artistic venture, but too bad for them, a person has to make money or they can't afford to do what they love. The perfect setting is making it in your desired field and going with the flow of abundance the universe provides. But more often than not, the universe is hanging out with a Kardashian. Oh boy, those pictures! So, I still need to find a way to make the, I know it's a dirty word, CASH. Shiver.

Also, writing is still a huge source of happiness, so I'm not going to stop doing that. Actually, I'm still under contract for a third book, which is a great thing. I'm really proud of it and look forward to the edits. And there are a few other writing projects I want to get off the ground, so the literary portion of my life is still at Go.

But wait, there's more . . .

I love angels and spirituality, so you might see some of that here. I'd love to do something with art and angels, and I'm also drawn to astrology. That's probably going to come into play here on the blog. Bear with me as I go through this mess of 'too many' ideas and ventures. There might be days when you come here and I'm all like, "Here's the new song I wrote," and then the next day, "Do you know who your guardian angel is?"Adding: I just started a new blog called Earth Spirit Girl. I think that will help keep things organized.

Also, I might try to do wedding event planning as something keeps pushing me to at least try it. With the same-sex marriage ban being lifted in so many states, it looks like it could be a great time for that sort of venture. The time has come for same-sex couples to come together in a lawful, loving union. I think they will show the opposite-sex couples what it means to have a true balance of power in a relationship. Give and take. No more of this macho, John Wayne crap. No more old world dogma. The new world is love and balance. It is happening and it is for our benefit.

So, that's what is happening here in Kansas. How are things in your neck of the woods?

Tuesday, November 11, 2014

A revelation

By Motorrad-67 at en.wikipedia Later versions were uploaded by Liftarn at en.wikipedia. [Attribution], from Wikimedia Commons

I meditated this morning because it's a very spiritual day in numbers: November 11th; 11-11. To increase the effect I meditated at 11:11 am. But anyway, after yesterday's glum post it feels weird to say this, but what the heck I'm like one fruit loop short of a breakfast right now with all this stuff going on, but I had this revelation that I was to start writing music and singing again. Namely, that I need to pick up my guitar and start doing it ASAP. That voice inside of me (my spirit guides, angels) made it very clear. The world needs my voice, my tenacity, my wisdom, my spirit. I wrote down the gist of what it said, and I know . . . it sounds crazy. This is what I wrote down after the meditation:
--> This is your calling in life. Other jobs will come and go, but you must write and sing. You are a beautiful cardinal—you know you are. Someone caged you. Someone hurt you. People are good at that, though they seldom recognize it’s what they are doing. But you must break free and continue your gift. 
 So there you have it. A voice of reason? It's not going to be easy. But I guess I'm going to pick up my old guitar and start writing again. I'll take any good vibes you want to send out, prayers, thoughts, etc. Peace.

Monday, November 10, 2014

Dead Ends and Unseen Options


Lately I've been asking myself a lot of questions. Looking for signs.

Am I really a writer? I love to write. But that doesn't make a person qualified. At times what I come up with is halfway decent. But . . . is this really my profession? The numbers tell me no. Dead end. Quit while you're ahead, honey. And part of me is so relieved to get this kind of confirmation from the universe. Okay, got it. Stop writing. But then, what do I do? I have to keep busy. No more messing around. It's time to find an occupation that will pay the bills. What is it? Music wasn't exactly fruitful for me. Art?

More dead ends.

Ah, Life. Why didn't you tell me this years ago? Or did you, and I wasn't willing to listen?

We should all come with a guidebook at birth with step-by-step instructions: "Pick this job, don't get into that relationship, don't buy that car, it's time to ask for a raise . . ."

Have you ever experienced a moment in your life where you were forced to question everything?