Dear Jen, 

You know that I like to write and I have so many feelings I need to get out.  Wow, a blog in your memory, I bet your feeling special.  I’ve been on such an emotional roller coaster since Friday morning when I got the call. 

I can’t believe I’ll never see your smiling face again.  When I dropped you off the Airport as you headed off for a new adventure I wish I had hugged you a little bit harder.  It’s so crazy how fragile life can be and how unseen circumstances can change a life. What if the waitress had taken a little while longer to bring you your check, you had ordered something that took a little longer to cook, you didn’t have that cigarette outside that I know you did.  Then maybe that driver that hit you would have already driven down the street and your paths would not have crossed.  

I know that some people believe that we are all predestined to depart this earth at a certain time, I don’t know if I really believe that, there are just to many variables that have to come into play. 

I know that although we didn’t talk about it much you were a bit of a tortured soul that you tried to hide with a smile and a hearty laugh. But, I always knew…

I’m trying to find comfort in the fact that you don’t have to worry about anything anymore.  You don’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders any longer.  I know in time I will feel that way.

But, I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.  Can you call me?

I knew the day was coming close and I could feel my anxiety level rising.  I woke up feeling extremely warm and knew that I wasn’t having a hot flash, at least not this time.  Summer has arrived in Southern Nevada. 

I took a deep breath and headed into my closet.  And there they hung,  “my shorts,” taunting me from the rack.  “Would they fit, zip and still fit across my ass,”  I was truly nervous.  I saw the scale in the closet but didn’t dare climb on it, that could put me in a depression all day.  I slipped on a pair that were a little loose  on me last year.  I must have really over dried them before I put them away because honestly,  they did seem a little smaller.  I did that low dipping squat that all women “instinctively know” that stretches our pants a little bit in the hips and thighs.  The shorts now fit, thank God!  

There was a ray of sunlight  that hit my lower leg and I saw all the fur that had grown over the winter.  I gasped in horror, I mean I can’t go out of the house looking like a caveman.  This shit was so long I heard myself humming a Bob Marley tune and thought of spinning out some dreadlocks on my legs.  And the toe hair, where the he’ll did that come from, just kidding. 

I’m happy to report that it’s safe for me to leave the house again.  I hope all you ladies have an easy transition into the summer season.  Sometimes the “maintenance” is just too much, right?



We’ve got a free month with Net-flicks so I’ve been watching all the episodes of this show called “Ruby.” She’s a, “let’s say” extremely healthy size woman who is on a weight loss journey.  She weighed over 700 pounds and has lost over 300 pounds so far.  She is from Savannah, Georgia and “y’all” she’s just likable.  I laid on my couch last night and watched almost every episode on season two.  

“And y’all, my ass was almost as large as Ruby’s when I finally rolled off the couch”. 

It’s hard to believe that today is three years since my Dad passed away.  How can that even be possible? Where has the time gone? I’m a bit of a “kook” who is always looking for “signs/meaning,” to explain and understand life. 

I sit out on my back patio and look at the Calla Lily flower that was secretly growing in my yard when my Dad died.  It chose to make its appearance the week he died with one single white flower.  Every year since it appears.  Last week I saw a single white flower open, there was a second bud that wasn’t quite ready.  It waited until today.

Thanks Dad –


From winds far away

As I hear my fathers voice

A flower grows…




Sandy
Writer/Poet 🙂

It’s so strange how all of a sudden an image or thought will provoke me to start writing.  I’ve felt a bit blocked lately but I’m kinda feeling it today.  I’m sitting out on my front patio doing some schoolwork and enjoying the beautiful weather.  My cat is laying on the patio slabs completely covered in dirt and looking up at me, I know he is smiling.  I’m so happy about my new iPad that Dale bought for me last week.  I can sit outside and write as a soft breeze blows across my face, I’m in heaven…

The city put in all new grass turf a few weeks ago in the park that lines my street.  There is a huge 6 foot chainlink fence surrounding the fields to allow the grass to get established before any kids can play on it.  I was just watching two boys who were being “total boys” that thought they were being unobserved grab the fence and shake it to see if they could knock it down.  I think they must have sensed someone watching them as they turned and we made eye contact.  I felt like the crazy old lady ready to shake my ratty old slipper at them, “you boys get away from that fence this minute.”  Don’t worry I didn’t say that but my stern look did.  I kept an eye on them as they walked down the end of the street.

 Boys are just so mischievous and I was transported back in time to my childhood.   God, I love when that happens, its almost like a movie playing in my head.  I wonder, does this  this happen to everyone.   Sometimes I think I should write about growing up on 2 Sharp Street, “cause” it sure was fun.

One of the “characters” in my neighborhood was “Frankie Silver,” he was a year younger than me and lived two houses away.  He was always a “little rough” on the pets in my neighborhood and mainly wildlife in general.  I will not go into much detail on that, but once we saw him punch our cat, or was it kick it.  He was banned from our yard for a long time.  He would stare longingly through our chain link fence as all the kids played in our yard on warm summer days.   Looking back, we could have had a future serial killer on our hands and we didn’t even know it.  

Now, as I ponder on my own life and my struggles of figuring out what I want to do with this “so called life,” I think “Frank”, as we call him now was always on the right path even as kid.  He is now the animal ordinance guy who you call when the raccoons decide to make a home in your attic, he get’s “rid of them.” If you were to ask me what he does with them once they are captured I do not know or want to know.  But he’s lucky, he turned his childhood passion into a lucrative job, go figure!

I’m not even sure how this story went where it did.  I was remembering when Frankie shook the heavy metal tie down off the telephone pole on our street.  “Frankie you better stop it,” we said as we saw two wires hit each other and spark above our heads and slowly all the lights on our street went dark, including the houses.  “oh you’re in big trouble now, here comes Mr. Oppenheimer and he looks mad, RUN…”

My class assignment this week was to write five Haiku’s  – which is something I’ve never done.  Haiku’s are the traditional form of Japanese poetry and generally consist of 17 syllables – five in the first, seven in the second, and five in the third.  Haiku’s usually deal with subjects of the natural world.  I thought Alaska was so beautiful and  what better place to use as inspiration. 



1.  Scarlet red, burnt orange

    A fire in the night sky

    As day turns to night


2.  The lull of the train

     Quiet and peace fill my mind

     Eyes closed, I smile

3.   My ship is a drink

      Floating in a sea of ice

      Through the still water


4.   Walking through the woods

      Total stillness in the air

      I hear myself breathe


5.   Our plane softly lands

      White blanket of snow, so bright

      Quiet fills the air

We pull into the casino parking lot, it’s definitely not the nicest area of town so we double-check that the car doors are locked.  I look across the parking lot and see that the decrepit trailer park is still up and running, yes its still there.

The building is about 13,000 square feet, it’s a big square box with peeling white paint covering the exterior and large flashing white lights surrounding the bottom of the roof, almost like large Christmas lights that we hang on our houses during the holidays.  There is an old faded red canopy on the tacky walkway to the main entrance, I feel like I’m at the Academy Awards except on the wrong side of the tracks and I’m not wearing a gown.

My husband and I both take a deep breath of the cool night air before we step inside the casino.  We know what awaits us and we are not surprised when the acrid stench from a trillion stale cigarettes permeates the air.  We can feel our lungs tighten up and always think this place is the poster child for a second hand smoke commercial.  The smoke is so thick you could probably cut it with a knife.

The carpets look like they haven’t been replaced in the 60 odd years this place has been open.  The pattern is red and black checkered, I think there are yellow lines also, buts it’s so dirty it’s hard to tell.  My husband thinks it looks like a dirty old Scottish kilt that hasn’t been washed in over 500 years. 

This first room we walk into has slots machines running down the middle of it and also down all four sides.  Most of the people playing are older women, retirement age and they don’t really look like they are having much fun in this dingy, depressing place.  The ceilings are low and the ventilation is horrible, if they even have any, I think this is mainly why it smells like a large ashtray in the middle of the desert. 

We pass through to the second room that has more slot machines and a large bar that encircles most of this room.  The bar is our destination.  We sit in the middle of the bar, there are  .25-cent video slot machines built into the actual bar in front of each bar stool.  My eyes are stinging from all the smoke here, they actually hurt, I can’t see the smoke but I sure feel it. 

Jack our favorite bartender is working; he’s a strange character but has a good heart.  He’s been slinging drinks at this place for over 30 years.  He’s probably 70 or so but is in really good shape; well he looks it at least.  My husband and I still laugh at some of the stories he has told us over the years.  He has not eaten “hot food” for over 20 years and has not had a glass of water in that long, he only drinks soda.  He’s about 5’6”, salt and pepper hair and has about one of the worst front to back comb over’s you’ve ever seen.  His main hobby is collecting hundreds of used cars “Junker’s” that he stores in a large dirt lot and has “Larry the drunk mechanic” fix them.  Larry is now our mechanic; he lives in a trailer in this dirt lot.  Larry does good work on our cars if we can catch him before “Miller time” which is usually early afternoon. 

We both order a drink and two shrimp cocktails that Jack takes from the small refrigerator with the glass door that sits on the back of the bar.  He uses a small ladle to put the cocktail sauce on top of the shrimp.  “Jack, can we get a side of sauce,” I ask.  This is mainly why we come here, for the cheap shrimp cocktails that are so damn good and only .99 cents. 

There is a large mirror on the back of the bar.  There is an old display for Pabst Blue Ribbon beer on the back of the bar.  It shows an old car probably dating back to the twenties, it’s bouncing and the wheels are spinning.  There is a man in a white overcoat, cap and goggles sitting in the drivers seat.  There is also an American flag on the display.  We laugh thinking what a great advertisement for “drinking and driving.”  Boy, times sure have changed.

The guy to my left sitting about 4 stools down is getting kind of loud, he’s got that look of a major alcoholic and seems to be tying a good one on.  He is trying to talk to a lady sitting a few chairs away who’s playing video poker at the bar.  She turns to him, smiles and then turns away and begins to ignore him.  She’s busy trying to find that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

We finish our drinks and head out for the night assuring Jack we will see him soon, that is, once we get our new lung transplants. 


* This is my second assignment for my class.  We had to go to a place where locals go and try to use some strong imagery.  Hope it wasn’t too long…

I left work a little early today and decided to put on my new sneakers and take a walk around my neighborhood.  I’m always so thankful that we chose this street in my development.  The view I see when I step out my front door is a city park that stretches from the top of my street to the bottom and is quite deep.  It always gives me a sense of peace and tranquility.  We landscaped our front yard last year and created a great patio that I sit on often.  My cat loves to play around on all the rocks we put out there, 2 tons, crazy, right?

Most weeknights there are kids playing football and soccer games and tonight is no exception.  I always feel bad for the parents; they always look so tired rooting for their kids from the sidelines.  I can hear the sound of the kids laughing in the air and the sound of the coaches blowing their whistles.  I love how green and sort of unnatural the grass in the park looks with the large stadium lights on.   I know the grass is real because sometimes I’ll take my shoes off and just walk barefoot in it, it takes me back in time to my own childhood except there are no bee’s trying to sting our feet.    

I’m walking around with an extra spring in my step, it must be the new sneakers.  We live in the desert and the night air feels invigorating on my face.  It’s crazy that 2 hours ago it was 70 degrees and now it’s in the fifties.  The sky is clear and there is a beautiful full moon right over the center of the park, I stop to take it in, wow, it’s beautiful.  I think to myself why don’t I walk more, I mean come on, how lazy can one be.  The park has a great walking trail that’s a ½ mile all the way around, I’ve clocked it with my pedometer, “walk, fat ass, walk.”

The houses in my neighborhood seem to resemble “cardboard cutouts.”  There are about 5 different models that we had to choose from and the color selection was light tan, medium tan and darker tan, how boring? It made me happy a few years ago that one neighbor painted their house a totally different color.  As I walk around the different streets tonight it makes me smile to see others have followed suit and put their own originality in their color selection.  “We are not robots.”

I was under the illusion that the economy hadn’t hit my neighborhood but as I walk on some of the back streets I notice dark houses, dead lawns and notices posted on some doors and windows.  I know that my state has the highest foreclosure rate in the country and I see this first hand, it saddens me.  

I see the sun setting as I head west down one street and feel day and night collide, the full moon is directly behind me and the sunset directly in front of me.  I can see the silhouette of the mountains in the background being illuminated by the moon, really quite beautiful.  It sometimes feels like we live in a big crater with the mountains circling around the whole valley.  I stop in the middle of the street and just stare at the moon and realize what a small speck we are in the scheme of things.  We are just a planet floating around the universe and we are just little worker bees racing through life. 

I continue walking and turn on my street and begin to head towards home.  On the top of my street is a large mountain that I hear at one time was a volcano, it is a great back drop and wow, what a visual!  I wave to my neighbor who is just getting home from work.   My face and ears are so cold as I open the front door to my house that seems so “inviting” and “warm.” It’s amazing how much more awake and alive I feel since I left the house.  


– I’m taking another writing class and walking around my neighborhood and describing it using all five senses was my first assignment, so here it is.  

I’m a gum chewer, yup, “major gum chewer.”  I’m kind of sneaky about it at work; I lock it in my jaw almost like a tobacco chewer.  I just like to know that like an old friend, its there if I need it. 

As I’m leaving today and walking down the hallway I find a small piece stuck against my teeth that I didn’t know was there and I accidently swallow it.    I wasn’t quite ready for this and began to choke a bit and totally loose control of my bladder.  I don’t even have time to think about a “keigel.”  Then I follow up with spitting “uncontrollably” my gum into my hand.    

I proceed to open my hand expecting to see a remnant of my blue spearmint gum but no it’s a big old “loogie,” Jesus Christ, now I have wet under wear and gooey saliva in my hand.  Welcome to my world…

I know my mother will read this and think, “Did this kid grow up in a barn”. 

What can say, I find humor in the things we all go through but just don’t talk about. 

My blog should be called “What we think, but do not say.”

This morning was one of those mornings that I knew I should not have hit that snooze button one last time.  I just hate being in what my husband and I call the “ultra jam mode.”  I knew when I hit it for the fifth time I was pushing my luck.

I took my shower; toweled off, put my “root boost” in my hair.  I couldn’t live without that stuff, as Oprah would say, “love it.” I then proceeded to the kitchen to do who knows what, and this threw off the whole routine. 


 I know this is going to sound crazy but if I don’t blow dry my hair within a small window of time and it begins to “air dry,” the whole “good hair day” will not happen.   I just don’t feel like myself without my Rod Stewart “high hair.” 

Okay, so no matter how many products I try to put on I just can’t get the look I like.  “My day is ruined, my hair is too dry too blow dry.”  Oh, and my bangs were acting crazy too, going in 8 million directions and kind of getting in my eyes.  “Oh, I don’t have time to deal with this, I’m late,” so off I went to work feeling very uncomfortable in my skin. 

So,  I get to work, change into my uniform and slowly go to the full length mirror for “damage control.”  It’s worse than I thought.  I begin to pull out my arsenal of “hair products,” and my bangs, what a mess, they are all over the place and totally in my eyes.  Even though I was never a girl-scout I think “what would any good girl-scout do?”  


So naturally,  I pull out my small swiss army knife because I think “hey they have scissors on them.  I then proceeded to trim my bangs which was “super hard” with these tiny scissors that were almost microscopic.  I looked and felt very clumsy and got a lot of strange looks from my co-workers.  “Jeez, it’s not like I was cutting my toenails or something.”    

After my butchery job my bangs are all different kinds of lengths, how can they not be, right? They are almost like the way my Mom used to do them when we were kids.  Hey, maybe she used a little knife too.  To this day I still don’t know why we had such rough looking haircuts and uneven bangs.  I could have been the poster child for “pixies.”   Maybe she was secretly drinking lots of vodka martinis and was a little tipsy with the scissors, could be…


So at this point I’m feeling a little bit nostalgic wishing I had on my bellbottoms and desert boots because I sure looked like a throwback to the seventies.  

And as anyone who knows me knows,  I love any opportunity where I can showcase the famous family portrait of my sisters and I, check out our bangs.  That’s me on the left and that is what I saw staring back at me in the mirror, “pretty scary, right?”    

Let the good times roll…