HAPPY HALLOWEEN FROM MILDRED

To celebrate Halloween I thought something a little "magical" might be in order: 

THE MAGICAL DOOR: POWER COLORS TO PAINT YOUR ENTRANCE

In feng shui and the magical arts, your front door is known as one of the most powerful places in your home.

It’s literally the threshold where the energy from the outside world – visible and invisible – enters your home and becomes your own. Even if you don’t use your front door frequently, it’s the symbolic entry point of blessings and wealth.

In feng shui, the front door is known as the “mouth of chi.” Just like our actual mouths are the places where we receive nourishment that keeps us alive, our front door is the place where we receive the energetic and physical resources that keep our homes happy and healthy.

With that in mind, a front door color is sort of like lipstick: it draws attention to this power point and defines the energy in a particular way. Energetically, your front door color defines the vibration of your home and advertises the qualities of energy you want to call into your life. Painting your front door a vibrant color can work well whether your house is brick, natural wood, gray, white, beige, tan, brown, or anything else, and will help boost the unique visual appeal of your home.

In a number of feng shui schools of thought, the direction your door faces informs the shades you have to choose from. In my personal opinion and experience, following your intuition about what feels right to you overrides potential directional considerations.

Here are six auspicious and protective door color ideas and the meanings and magical properties they possess.

You might want to consider the meanings and magical properties associated with these door color ideas in when you choose the color you want to paint your door, or you may prefer to paint your door the color that calls to you most. Paint color choices can be a form of divination: your intuitive preference will indicate your subconscious magical intentions.

(Of course, if you can’t paint your door because you’re renting, don’t worry! While a freshly painted door can add a nice magical touch, it’s not a make-or-break scenario. But you may be surprised, and it doesn’t hurt to ask! Some landlords are open to the idea.)

MAGICAL DOOR COLOR #1: RED

Red is a classic door color in feng shui. That’s because in feng shui, the color red is considered celebratory, successful, prosperous, and protective. A red door is one of the best door colors because it has a cheerful, radiant vibration that keeps negativity out and calls positivity in. If you’re wondering what shade of red to paint your door, keep in mind that bright shades are considered the luckiest.

MAGICAL DOOR COLOR #2: BLUE



Blue is a favorite magical door color of legendary Witchcraft author Scott Cunningham. In his classic book The Magical Household, he recommends painting your door blue for protection. A blue door is one of the best door color choices for Witches and other magical practitioners, as it wards off negativity while inviting in harmony and peace. If these magical qualities appeal to you, choose a bright royal or deep sapphire blue for your front door.

MAGICAL DOOR COLOR #3: PURPLE



A purple door is a glorious, magical thing. In addition to enhancing wealth and prosperity vibrations in your home, a purple door invites in magic, synchronicity, and divine guidance. A purple front door helps anchor your magical worldview and preserves a sense that life is magical within your home. Choose a vibrant purple for your front door in order to reap the most benefits from this color choice.

MAGICAL DOOR COLOR #4: BLACK



A black door emanates elegance and promotes success, which is why feng shui considers it one of the best color choices for your front door. As the color of the water element in feng shui, a black front door helps align you with your most ideal career path and promotes a harmonious flow in work. If you’re focused on your career and life path at this stage in your life, black might be the front door color for you. From a feng shui perspective, navy blue possesses similar properties to black, so you if these door color properties appeal to you, you might like to choose navy blue as an alternate.

MAGICAL DOOR COLOR #5: GREEN



If you’re drawn to forests and the magical properties of plants and herbs, chances are good you’ll love having a green door. As the color of money and healthy greenery, a green door also calls in wealth and abundance. Green is one of the best door colors to choose for money magic and aligning with the magic of the earth. Be sure to choose a green that reminds you of a lush and vibrant landscape in order to maximize the luxurious benefits of this magical door color.

MAGICAL DOOR COLOR #6: PINK



If you think a pink door wouldn’t be protective, think again! While pink gets a bad rap as a cutesy color, it’s actually a surprisingly powerful and useful color in magic and witchcraft. It keeps harshness and negativity out, calls in sweetness and positivity, and generally promotes good vibes and good luck. A pink door also invites in friendship, harmony, and love. Choose any shade of pink that you like for your door, but be aware that less noticeable pinks will begin to lose their magical qualities. In general, brighter and more vibrant colors are the most powerful when it comes to door colors

DAY 22 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

Day 22: A song that moves you forward 

Just because this reminds me from where I came and I needn't say any more...

YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE!

I just looked back over the things I've posted since I started blogging years ago and smiled when I realized how disjointed my posts are.  Perhaps I need to go back to the beginning and put my life's story into chronological order so it makes more sense.  Being scattered is indicative of what lurks just below the surface.  It's like a game of dodgeball.  Being scattered makes the reading more difficult and the reliving it even more difficult.  I tell one story, but I skip over the before and after...those parts are most likely more important than the story I selected to tell.  Those parts were the true catalyst for what drove me, so here's my second attempt to right a

wrong by starting my story in a better spot.  

I was born into a family with a mother who was a seamstress, a father who was a fireman and three older brothers who were jocks by the time they reached high school.  That sentence depicts a rather normal family, but the period after the word "jocks" is where the normalcy ends.  I look at photos of myself from my childhood and I never see what I would call a happy child.  I never smiled except during school photos and then it was forced.  I felt ugly and awkward growing up.  I was always the tallest in my class.  During that era it wasn't fashionable for a woman to be tall, so when I started wearing jeans I had to buy boy's jeans to get the inseam long enough.  I bought Levi's at Freese's Department Store on Main Street for $4.95 a pair. I can remember licking and sticking green stamps in books so I could buy blue jeans that fit my curveless physique.  I was so relieved when tall super models hit the scene and changed perceptions of what beautiful looked like.  Thank you Twiggy!

I don't ever remember being teased about be tall or for wearing glasses except from my brothers.  They would tell me I was going to be 6 feet tall when I finished growing.  I would cry and feel like a freak.  They made it seems like I'd never be called beautiful or looked at by a boy.  In fact, they made me feel that I looked like a boy.  I was doomed to be an old maid!  Perhaps that's a brother's job to keep their sister from getting too full of herself.  If so, mine were excellent at that job.  I do have to reveal that their prediction about my height was wrong.  At my tallest I was 5'10 and now, I've begun to shrink.  The last time I was measured I was 5'7".   By the time I'm a very old woman, I might be considered of average height.  Hooray for the golden years, but BOO for having  so many problems with my back!

In hindsight, I don't know why my mother didn't take me under her wing and show me what girls are supposed to do.  She dressed nicely and wore make-up, but by the time I reached my teenage years I wasn't interested in learning to be prissy.  I always hated make up and rarely wore any.  I hated the way it felt on my skin. My closet was full of nice clothes my mother had made, but I wasn't interested in dressing in of them.  A pair of holey jeans and a T-shirt seemed to suffice.  When mini dresses were in style I wore them, but I was never comfortable with showing off my long legs.  I never felt like I had any redeeming physical qualities because no one ever told me I did.  I just assumed when you look like me people say nothing to be polite. When you look like me, you have no reason to primp or smile.  You just learn to keep it all in and suffer in silence.  When you look like me, every other female in the world is prettier.  You envy your female friends and feel horrible because you can't hide the ugly you were given. I mentioned Twiggy earlier...well, I can't really thank her because I truly hated her because my mother had me get my hair cut short like hers. If you cut a girl's hair like that who has a shapeless body you doom her to look like a boy. You talk about having a complex! 

The same went for all my other qualities and potential talents.  I never realized I was smart and that not everyone was capable of getting A's.  I just assumed because I got A's, everyone else did too, but by the time I reached 7th grade I knew I'd never finish high school.  It was like a dark cloud hovering over me preventing me from seeing the good inside myself.  I longed for recognition, but I wasn't good at doing anything.  I was never patted on the back and told "hey kiddo, I think you have something there.  Maybe you should pursue that."  When the dark side took over completely, I discovered I was excellent at hate, discontent and sorrow.  I had a gift for getting into trouble and being outrageous.  Ah! Finally recognition!

From a very early age I loved to write and often times sat in my room writing little stories and drawing pictures.  Paper was in abundance at our house because my grandfather worked at the Eastern Papermill in Brewer and one of the perks was free paper. As I wrote and drew, I always felt as though I was just wasting paper and that it was awful being so wasteful. I tried to hide how much paper I used by stashing away everything I created under the bed, in the closet and in my drawers.  Surfacely, my room looked presentable, but like my life it was actually cluttered and disorganized. As I wrote and drew, I assumed everyone could do the same.  It wasn't until much later in life that I made a startling discovery and at that moment, I was filled with so many emotions I thought I was going to lose my mind.  I was angry because I didn't receive any encouragement when I was growing up and I was sad because I had wasted so much time living behind a wall. I made myself remember how my creations were never showcased, but thrown away each time my mother decided my room needed a thorough cleaning.  Our refrigerator door was bare except for the occasional newspaper cartoon that was taped there.  The void I grew up in wasn't loud and maddening.  It was dark and cold.  There was no praise and encouragement.  There was only waves of pain and disappointment.

As I got older and could no longer avoid making certain realizations, I felt worse the more potential I discovered I had.  You would think a healthy person making those types of discoveries would feel elated.  They would open their wings and soar amongst the clouds.  Not I!  I stopped writing and drawing about the same time I stopped doing drugs around age 30 and didn't start again for almost 15 years. I had this overwhelming need to punish myself, to stifle myself and to deny myself any recognition for a job well done.  I called myself stupid for not seeing obvious things and for allowing my inner demons to run amok.  I hated being weak and I hated me!  I still struggle with those demons, but I'm able to comfort that little girl inside myself and tell her that she's the bright spot in my life.  Mildred, you are my sunshine!

*reposted from 10/26/2019

DAY 21 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 21: A song you like with a person’s name in the title 

In a 1969 interview, Fogerty said that he wrote it in the two days after he was discharged from the National Guard. In the liner notes for the 2008 expanded reissue of Bayou Country, Joel Selvin explained that the songs for the album started when Fogerty was in the National Guard, that the riffs for "Proud Mary", "Born on the Bayou", and "Keep on Chooglin'" were conceived by Fogerty at a concert in the Avalon Ballroom, and "Proud Mary" was arranged from parts of different songs, one of which was about a washerwoman named Mary. The line "Left a good job in the city" was written following Fogerty's discharge from the National Guard, and the line "rollin' on the river" was from a movie by Will Rogers.

"Proud Mary's" singer, a low-wage earner, leaves what he considers a "good job," which he might define as steady work, even though for long hours under a dictatorial boss. He decides to follow his impulse and imagination and hitches a ride on a riverboat queen, bidding farewell to the city. Only when the boat pulls out does he see the "good side of the city"—which, for him, is one in the distance, far removed from his life. Down by the river and on the boat, the singer finds protection from "the man" and salvation from his working-class pains in the nurturing spirit and generosity of simple people who "are happy to give" even "if you have no money." The river in Fogerty and traditionally in literature and song is a place holding biblical and epical implications. ... Indeed, the river in "Proud Mary" offers not only escape but also rebirth to the singer.

The song is a seamless mix of black and white roots music ..."Proud Mary" is, of course, a steamboat traveling up and down the river. Fogerty's lyric sketches out a vivid picture of the protagonist finding a comfortable niche in a community of outsiders ... The story connects back to Mark Twain; it brings the myth [of "the rambling man and life along the Mississippi"] into the sixties.

In the Macintosh application "GarageBand", Fogerty explained that he liked Beethoven's Fifth Symphony[clarification needed] and wanted to open a song with a similar intro (descending by a third), implying the way "Proud Mary" opens with the repeated C chord to A chord. Fogerty wanted to evoke male gospel harmonies, as exemplified by groups he was familiar with such as the Swan Silvertones, the Sensational Nightingales, and the Five Blind Boys of Mississippi; especially on the line, "Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river"; and in the guitar solo he did his "best [imitation of] Steve Cropper." The basic track for "Proud Mary", as with the other songs on the album, was recorded by John Fogerty (lead guitar), Tom Fogerty (rhythm guitar), Stu Cook (bass), and Doug Clifford (drums) at RCA Studios in Hollywood, California, with John overdubbing instruments and all the vocals later.

Billboard described "Proud Mary" as a "driving blues item with a strong beat."Cash Box described it as "a steady moving mid-speed chunk of funk and rhythm that will make itself felt in both pop and underground spots." Cash Box ranked it as the No. 55 single of 1969.

*(borrowed from Wikipedia) 

THE PATHOLOGICAL LIARS CLUB

The Pathological Liars Club is now accepting applications for membership. Please make all inquiries within and state your qualifications for consideration by the prestigious membership committee. Club meetings will be held at the following location: The Pathological Liars Clubhouse on every 3rd Monday of the month.

*reposted from November 15, 2011

DAY 20 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 20: A song that has many meanings to you 

For each of the other songs I have included during the 30 Songs In 30 Days challenge I've included information about the group and/or the song but for this one since this one is so personal to me I'd like to include why it touches my heart. I started a website in 2001 in attempt to bring a whole group of old friends and acquaintances back together. I was told at that time, "build it and they will come!" Yes, it was my Field of Dreams moment! So I built it and they came. This is the song I used on the home page of that website. Since then, some have passed on and some have remained and those who have never found their way home because they can't or won't, you my friends will remain forever young with the rest of us... We are here waiting with open arms!

DAY 19 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

Day 19: A song that makes you think about life 

This is about how people turn away from the “weak and the weary”, despite the fact that suffering is such a big problem in the world.

David Gilmour (Only Music, December 1987): “‘Turning Away’ is about the political situations in the world. We have these rather right-wing conservative governments that don’t seem to care about many things other than looking after themselves.”

 

On the turning away

From the pale and downtrodden

And the words they say which we won't understand

"Don't accept that, what's happening

Is just a case of other's suffering

Or you'll find that you're joining in

The turning away"

It's a sin that somehow

Light is changing to shadow

And casting its shroud over all we have known

Unaware how the ranks have grown

Driven on by a heart of stone

We could find that we're all alone

In the dream of the proud

On the wings of the night

As the daytime is stirring

Where the speechless unite in a silent accord

Using words you will find are strange

Mesmerised as they light the flame

Feel the new wind of change

On the wings of the night

No more turning away

From the weak and the weary

No more turning away from the coldness inside

Just a world that we all must share

It's not enough just to stand and stare

Is it only a dream that there'll be

No more turning away?

HERE'S YOUR SIGN

Bill Engvall suggests that stupid people should wear a sign cautioning others of their stupidity. Well, I have a group of people I can add to that ever growing population of willfully dense people. 

 On October 7, 2022 I wrote a blog post titled  A SIGN OF OUR TIMES discussing a reading comprehnsion problem and what that problem might cause. The other day my son called me on his lunch break informing me that my prediction had finally come true. Instead of handing out fines, I suggest they shame people by placing stickers on these peoples cars indicating that they can't read and/or follow directions.

            

 HEAD IN PARKING ONLY

OOPS!

DAY 18 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

I took the liberty to change this from a song from the year you were born to the the decade you were born for security purposes because you can never be too careful. As a friend of mine reminds me often that we live in a world that is unsafe these days and too many people out here are looking to do us all harm. His warning comes not from paranoia but from the job he does. 

Day 18: A song from the decade you were born

In The Guardian, Joe Queenan wrote that "Johnny B. Goode" is "probably the first song ever written about how much money a musician could make by playing the guitar", and argued that "no song in the history of rock'n'roll more jubilantly celebrates the downmarket socioeconomic roots of the genre". In Billboard, Jason Lipshutz stated that the song was "the first rock-star origin story", and that it featured "a swagger and showmanship that had not yet invaded radio."

When Chuck Berry was inducted during the first Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony on January 23, 1986, he performed "Johnny B. Goode" and "Rock and Roll Music", backed by Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. The Hall of Fame included these songs and "Maybellene" in their list of the 500 songs that shaped rock and roll. It was inducted into the Grammy Hall of Fame in 1999, for its influence as a rock and roll single.

"Johnny B. Goode" has been recorded by a wide variety of artists in different genres. In 1969, country musician Buck Owens's version topped Billboard magazine's Hot Country Sides chart. In 1972, Jimi Hendrix had a posthumous hit with a live version, which peaked at number 35 on the UK Singles Chart. and number 13 on the New Zealand Top 50 in 1986. Peter Tosh's rendition peaked at number 84 on the Billboard Hot 100, number 48 on the UK Singles Chart, number 10 in the Netherlands, and number 29 in New Zealand in 1983. In 1988, Judas Priest's version reached number 64 on the UK Singles Chart. The Sex Pistols also covered it for their soundtrack The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle in 1979.

A cover version is included in the film Back to the Future, when the lead character Marty McFly plays it at a high school dance. Actor Michael J. Fox explained his approach to "incorporate all the characteristics and mannerisms and quirks of my favourite guitarists, so a Pete Townshend windmill, and Jimi Hendrix behind the back, and a Chuck Berry duckwalk. And we worked all that in." Reviewer Gregory Wakeman described it as "one of the best musical performances in movie history".

*(borrowed from Wikipedia) 

ME TOO! PART TWO

I'd like to thank Brett Michael Kavanaugh for inadvertently tearing through my rather tough scar tissue and causing some ugly wounds to reopen. I remember a time when I couldn't be in a room if there was something on TV about sexual assault or molestation or if the topic happened to come up in a group of people I instantly became invisible in fear I'd be asked to contribute something to the conversation. God forbid, if someone made a tasteless joke about the subject...I'd die a hundred silent deaths without anyone knowing I was in pain. I think it's common for people with any deep wound to eventually learn how to skillfully mask any visible pain they have.

So here I sit wide awake in the middle of the night alone with my thoughts recounting my episodes of sexual abuse. That's not a good thing for anyone to do, but as the old saying goes "you can run, but you can't hide." Do you remember how I once wrote that I'm an emotional cutter? I guess this is one of those times. So consider this an invitation to stroll down memory lane with me as I cut away and have an emotional blood bath.

Before I get started, I'd like to make a few comments regarding Judge Kavanaugh. The first comment is that everyone is innocent until proven guilty. He knows that better than anyone. The second is that it's far too common for people in power or people who lead a privileged life to abuse their power or their status in life. The last thing I'd like to say is that I hope justice is served in this instance and I hope if Judge Kavanaugh did what he's being accused of doing that he does the honorable thing and helps his accuser, Christine Blasey Ford end her years of torment. If you're guilty, admit it, make a sincere heartfelt apology to Professor Ford without any justifications or excuses (oh, but I was young and drunk...as if that makes anything okay) and step down immediately!

Like so many other women I, too have a story. Mine isn't unique, but it's mine to tell. It's mine to remember and it's mine to deal with in the way that works best for me. When I was just a child I was repeatedly molested. This went on for several years. I could write a dissertation or more on this alone, but I won't for many reasons. Regardless of what my molester tells himself or others, he knows the truth and so do I. He permanently altered my life and helped me form some twisted thought processes and behaviors. For that, I want to thank him! [Please pardon my Maine sarcasm...it's just a lovely little defense mechanism I have.]

My next experience was getting my bare bottom spanked by the good Preacher I Like Young Bare Butts and for what? I didn't memorize some Bible verses! The holy man of God, the good Pastor may have enjoyed the experience immensely, but I didn't. I can definitely say he helped sour my views on organized religion and God in general. For that, I want to thank him! I have no belief in God at all. 

When I was in Junior High School/Middle School I had stayed after school to watch some wrestling matches. It was already dark as I made my way home carefully watching each step I took because the sidewalks were slippery from the snow and ice. You see, I wasn't smart enough to wear boots so the price I paid for being "cool" was that I walked like a drunken sailor on my way home hoping I wouldn't fall.  As I approached my house, I passed a nondescript man bundled up in dark winter clothing walking in the opposite direction. Before I knew it, he had turned around and pushed me into the snowbank and quickly ran his hand up under my dress and grabbed my crotch. I was stunned and the only thing I could do was to yell at him to "get the fuck off me" as I pushed him as hard as I could to get him off me. As Mr. Let's Grab A Young Pussy went running away up the street, I gathered my composure and made my way inside my house. I never said a word to anyone about what had just happened several yards from my front door, but I never went without boots again in the winter. For that, I want to thank him!

The next thing that happened on my chronological list of scars was a year or two later when the guy who I had a mega crush on got a little carried away one evening while we were all high at my house started tickling me. He got a little rough and carried away with what he was doing. It took a few people to pull him off me. Yes, I wanted his attention, but not like that. My close friend and partner in crime, Joyce and I talked about it afterwards because she knew I was really upset. We both came to the conclusion that he hadn't meant to hurt me. We were both high and things just got way out of hand. Maybe that was true...maybe it wasn't, but thank you, Jimmy Crane for teaching me a valuable lesson. 

Next, came Mr. I'll Make You Wicked Hot who decided while having me tied up for some sexual brouhaha that burning my breast with a lit cigarette was a what needed to be done in order to get him off. That little adventure not only caused me emotional trauma, but it caused immense physical pain as well along with a nice well-placed scar now long since healed and faded, but still quite visible to anyone looking at my breasts. Thank goodness, these days that scar is only visible to me as a reminder of what a fool I was at times. For that, I want to thank him.

When I was in my early 30's I became the first female member of a volunteer fire department in Gulf County Florida. One evening during our weekly training session, the assistant chief, Bobby Pliar sent everyone off to do various jobs and had me stay behind to show me how to change the oil in one of the fire trucks and how to man the pump on one of the trucks. As he begun showing me all of these things, he motioned for me to come over to where he was and when I did, he grabbed my breasts. I usually have a quick comeback for everything but I was so stunned and absolutely speechless I just didn't know what to say. All I did was stand there and look at him while he had both my breasts in his hands. It took me a few days to tell my significant other who was also on the fire department. He was furious and was the type of person who believed in revenge, but revenge wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want it broadcasted it because I knew I'd get a"I told you so" from all the people who didn't feel it was a woman's place to be on a fire department. That was small town good ol' boy thinking for you at its finest! After thinking it through, I felt my worth as a fire fighter was much less than his worth because not only was he assistant chief, but he was a EMT as well. I did get an apology from Bobby, but shortly after that I quit the fire depatment. My heart was no longer in it. For that episode, I want to thank him!

During my 40's, I had a few incidents of men who felt because they bought me dinner that I needed to repay the favor with a blow job or a hand job guided rudely and forcefully by them and strongly deferred by me. Nothing says "hell no" quite like someone trying to force you to perform sexual acts in a parked car or in a movie theatre while they lean back and digest their dinner. Needless to say, I never accepted a second date with any of these men. It always puzzled me why anyone would assume sex was repayment for the cash they dropped on dinner. What I really want to know is do I really look like an after dinner mint? For that, I want to thank them.

Now, I stay my ass at home and out of the line of fire! That may be the wrong thing to do, but it works for me. I'm sure many people wonder why I gave up on men and put myself in permanent time-out. All these things combined with a few relationships from hell made me see that a troglodyte's life is for me. Nothing in my cave will ever hurt me except maybe the cave itself...

*reposted from 9/19/2018

DAY 17 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 17: A song you’d sing a duet with someone on karaoke

"I Hate Myself for Loving You" is a song by American rock band Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, released as the lead single from their sixth studio album, Up Your Alley (1988). The song reached number eight on the US Billboard Hot 100, Jett's third single to reach the top 10, and was her first since "Crimson and Clover" in 1982. The song spent six weeks longer on the charts than did the group's biggest hit, "I Love Rock 'n' Roll" (which was on the chart for 20 weeks). On September 10, 2011, the single reached number 39 on the US Rock Digital Songs chart.

Former Rolling Stones guitarist Mick Taylor played the guitar solo in the song. One of the backing vocalists featured on the Up Your Alley album was Louie Merlino, later the founder of the band Beggars & Thieves.

The song received a nomination for Best Rock Performance by a Duo or Group with Vocal at the 31st Grammy Awards.

A cover of The Troggs' song "I Can't Control Myself" was featured as a B-side on the CD single, a non-album track.

The song was adapted for NBC Sunday Night Football, named "Waiting All Day for Sunday Night" with Carrie Underwood (previously Pink and Faith Hill) on vocal and Joan Jett on guitar.

The song was used in the opening scene of Harley Quinn moving on after her breakup with the Joker in Birds of Prey and for the Season 5 trailer for Big Mouth.

Taiwanese amateur composer Pei-Li Sun had extracted the chorus of this song for his solo work for Zhongruan named Zhongruan Rock, written in 1993 and revised on 2008.

* (borrowed from Wikipedia)

ME TOO! PART ONE

You see it time and time again. Some woman, any woman, maybe even some woman you may know personally experiences any sort of sexual assault and as soon as she gets the courage to speak out about her experience, she's immediately confronted with opposition instead of support. Sexual assault/abuse comes in many forms (anything from some unwanted groping to being raped) and every form of sexual abuse/assault causes permanent scars. These scars aren't visible. The scars a woman carries with her from sexual abuse have been hidden away, yet under close scrutiny those scars are worn with everything she thinks, she feels and she does. All one needs to do is open their eyes and see the pain.

I totally understand why it takes some women years to be able to speak about their experience. I understand the years of self-hatred and shame they bear. I understand the feeling of knowing how speaking out will open an ugly can of worms devouring maggots and once it's open, it can't ever be closed again. I understand the feeling of knowing how some people will think you have an over active imagine, you just want to cause trouble and of course, some people will do the worst thing possible. They'll pity you and try to keep you in the "victim" box. It's especially damaging to anyone who has managed to move past being a victim to be constantly stuffed back in that cold, dark box by everyone around them.

I understand being reluctant to say anything because once you say anything, a barrage of questions follow. How could something like that happen? Are you sure it happened that way? Why has it taken you so long to say something? Why didn't you just say no? Why don't you remember all the gory details? Being the center of attention is the last thing anyone who has been sexually assaulted wants.

I understand how people question how it's possible to forgive the person who assaulted you. Forgiveness has little to do with  the person who caused you pain. It has more to do with taking back your power and allowing yourself to heal. In order to do that forgiveness is required. That forgiveness includes forgiving yourself for being too weak to stop the assault or for putting yourself in harm's way. How many times do you hear "well, she asked for it?" No one asks to be sexually abused unless they're a masochist. For most, sexual abuse is a horrifying, crippling experience and it takes a lifetime to heal.

Imagine in some cases having someone you know and trust sexually assault you. Imagine not knowing who to tell or how to tell someone because you don't know if anyone will believe you. Imagine feeling conflicted about saying anything because you know if you say anything it will cause pain for the person who assaulted you. Why in hell should that matter? Trust me, it does matter, A twisted sense of loyalty can form to protect the person who assaulted you if you know and love that person, but along with a twisted sense of loyalty a permanent sense of dread forms as well. If someone who's supposed to love you would harm you in that way, then what is the rest of the world going to do to you? What are all those faceless nameless individuals who don't care about you going to do? You feel as long as you protect your abuser, you protect yourself as well.

Being constantly on guard takes its toll on a person. Sometimes the person lets that guard down and says "what the hell!" Some people become promiscuous as a way to deal with their pain. They see having sex as a way of being in control. So the more sex you have, the more control you have. Some people turn to drugs and/or alcohol to numb the pain. In the end, nothing works. The pain stays with you staring you in the face each and every day.

I understand that it's an ugly topic to discuss. People who have been subjected to sexual abuse would like nothing more than to keep that ugliness hidden away, but the longer it's hidden away, it festers and affects how you look at the world. It affects every relationship you have and often times, it prevents you from having a lasting relationship. Many people who go through this experience spend their entire life seeking something they just don't know how to have or where to find it.

* reposted from 9/18/18

DAY 16 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 16: A song that’s a classic favorite

Glenn Frey said that originally "We decided to create something strange, just to see if we could do it," and that the song was meant to mimic the imagery of the 1965 novel The Magus by John Fowles, about a man in an unfamiliar rural setting who is unsure about what he is experiencing.

Don Henley has given a number of explanations about the song, ranging from "a journey from innocence to experience" to "a sociopolitical statement". In an interview with Rolling Stone, Henley said that the song was meant to be "more of a symbolic piece about America in general", and added: "Lyrically, the song deals with traditional or classical themes of conflict: darkness and light, good and evil, youth and age, the spiritual versus the secular. I guess you could say it's a song about loss of innocence."

The song has been described as being "all about American decadence and burnout, too much money, corruption, drugs and arrogance; too little humility and heart." It has also been interpreted as an allegory about hedonism, self-destruction, and greed in the music industry of the late 1970s. Henley called it "our interpretation of the high life in Los Angeles", and later said: "It's basically a song about the dark underbelly of the American dream and about excess in America, which is something we knew a lot about." In the 2013 documentary, History of the Eagles, Henley reiterated:

On just about every album we made, there was some kind of commentary on the music business, and on American culture in general. The hotel itself could be taken as a metaphor not only for the myth-making of Southern California, but for the myth-making that is the American Dream, because it is a fine line between the American Dream, and the American nightmare.

In a 2009 interview, The Plain Dealer music critic John Soeder asked Henley if he regretted writing the lines "So I called up the captain / 'Please bring me my wine' / He said, 'We haven't had that spirit here since 1969'" because wines are fermented while spirits are distilled. Henley responded:

Thanks for the tutorial and, no, you're not the first to bring this to my attention—and you're not the first to completely misinterpret the lyric and miss the metaphor. Believe me, I've consumed enough alcoholic beverages in my time to know how they are made and what the proper nomenclature is. But that line in the song has little or nothing to do with alcoholic beverages. It's a sociopolitical statement. My only regret would be having to explain it in detail to you, which would defeat the purpose of using literary devices in songwriting and lower the discussion to some silly and irrelevant argument about chemical processes.

In his Encyclopedia of Great Popular Song Recordings, Volume 1, Steve Sullivan theorizes that the "spirit" that the Hotel California hasn't had since 1969 refers to the spirit of social activism of the 1960s, and how disco and the related pop music of the mid-1970s had turned away from it.

The metaphorical character of the story related in the lyrics has inspired a number of conjectural interpretations by listeners. In the 1980s, the Rev. Paul Risley of Cornerstone Church in Burlington, Wisconsin, alleged that "Hotel California" referred to a San Francisco hotel that was purchased by Anton LaVey and converted into his Church of Satan. Other rumors suggested that the Hotel California was the Camarillo State Mental Hospital, which was shut down in 1997, and redeveloped into California State University Channel Islands.

The term "colitas" in the first stanza ("warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air") has been interpreted as a sexual slang or a reference to marijuana. "Colitas" means "little tails" in Spanish; in Mexican slang it refers to buds of the cannabis (marijuana) plant. According to Glenn Frey, the "warm smell" is "colitas ... it means little tails, the very top of the plant." The Eagles' manager Irving Azoff appears to lend support to the marijuana hypothesis; however, Felder said: "The colitas is a plant that grows in the desert that blooms at night, and it has this kind of pungent, almost funky smell. Don Henley came up with a lot of the lyrics for that song, and he came up with colitas."

Other interpretations of the song include heroin addiction and cannibalism. On the various interpretations, Henley said: "Some of the wilder interpretations of that song have been amazing. It was really about the excesses of American culture and certain girls we knew. But it was also about the uneasy balance between art and commerce."

*(borrowed from Wikipedia)

[Dedicated to Kinsman Hall because you can check out anytime you want 

but you can never leave...]

A TASTE OF BANGOR MAINE

I'd like to introduce you to my hometown, Bangor, Maine and in doing so, you get to meet two talented people. Josh Landry is a chainsaw artist who was commissioned by Tabitha and Stephen King to do a sculpture at their home (now a writers' retreat) on West Broadway. An ash tree that was slated for removal due to a severe insect infestation instead was turned into a breathtaking piece of art depicting some of the characters from Stephen King's books.

You also are introduced to beer brewer, Cory Ricker owner of Two Feet Brewing who has established quite a name for himself in the area. Their signature Barn Burner, a roasted jalapeno-ghost pepper dark saison sounds interesting, but alas I don't drink beer so I'll leave it up to others to try out!

DAY 15 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

 Day 15: A song you like that’s a cover by another artist

THE ORIGINAL VERSION: American R&B, soul, rock & roll singer and songwriter Wilson Pickett recorded this popular version of "Mustang Sally" in 1966 that climbed to #6 on the R&B charts and #23 on the Pop charts. It ranks on the Rolling Stone's 500 Greatest Songs of All Time.

THE COVER: The Commitments is a 1991 musical comedy-drama film based on the 1987 novel of the same name by Roddy Doyle. It was directed by Alan Parker from a screenplay written by Doyle, Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais. Set in the Northside of Dublin, the film tells the story of Jimmy Rabbitte (Robert Arkins), a young music fanatic who assembles a group of working-class youths to form a soul band named "The Commitments". The film is the first in a series known as The Barrytown Trilogy, followed by The Snapper (1993) and The Van (1996).

Producers Lynda Myles and Roger Randall-Cutler acquired the film rights to the novel in 1988, and commissioned Doyle, a first-time screenwriter, to write an adaptation. Doyle spent one year working on the script before Myles brought in veteran screenwriters Clement and La Frenais to help complete it. Upon reading the novel, Parker signed on as the film's director in 1989. An international co-production between Ireland, the United States and the United Kingdom, The Commitments was the first film produced by Beacon Pictures, which provided an estimated budget of $12–15 million. The film's young lead actors were mostly inexperienced, and were cast because of their musical backgrounds and resemblance to the characters in the novel. Principal photography took place in Dublin, from late August to October, 1990.

The Commitments underperformed at the North American box office, grossing $14.9 million during its theatrical run. Reviewers praised the music, performances and humour, while criticism was occasionally aimed at the pacing and Parker's direction. The film resulted in two soundtrack albums released by MCA Records; the first reached #8 on the Billboard 200 album chart and achieved triple-platinum status, while the second album achieved gold sales status. At the 1992 British Academy Film Awards, the film won four of six BAFTA Awards for Best Film, Best Direction, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Editing. It also received an Academy Award nomination for Best Film Editing. The film has since gained cult status.

* (borrowed from Wikipedia)

 

DRIPPING ON MY KEYBOARD

I first became aware of my grandparent's disappointment of me when I was a teenager. It was deserved, but it still hurt when my grandfather told me his dog was better than me. I had done some horrible things and yes, I had deserved scorn, but I didn't deserve cruelty.  Now, as an adult I look back on that part of my life and I wonder why no one stepped up and saw that I was in crisis. I was struggling. Jesus, I had my first overdose back then. Was it so hard to figure out I had some serious problems? I'm not excusing my behavior because I was incorrigible. I hurt many people and I'm deeply ashamed of that and always will be.

Whenever I would go "home" to Maine I always spent one day visiting my deceased relatives.  My brothers always thought this was rather morbid of me, but it never struck me that way.  I ways grabbed some lunch at a fast food place and ate lunch with my father, grandfather, grandmother and aunt.  They were all buried next to each other in the same cemetery.  On one such visit, I had had an emotional awakening the entire time I was in Maine.  My feelings were raw and I needed to vent so sitting there in front of my father and grandparents who were all non-participating entities in my life growing up I blasted them with everything I had.  I'm glad I was alone because if anyone had been in earshot, they would have thought I was crazy.  My final words to my father were, "Carl Goggins, are you listening to me?" Of course, he wasn't!  He had been dead for over 30 years at that time.  My words fell on deaf ears and my tears fell on stone marker bearing his name.

My next stop was to visit my mother's parents. My heart was so heavy because I knew what a disappointment I had been to them and I had just come from having "words" with my father.  I wish I had been able to say I'm sorry to them while they were still alive.  I wish they had known the turmoil I felt inside me growing up.  I wish they knew the panic I felt.  I wish they knew that I felt I had nowhere to go and no one to talk to and how trapped I felt.  I had to keep everything inside and for a child that's a huge burden.  Eventually it's going to erupt and it did erupt.  When it did, all everyone saw was a kid acting bad and not one person questioned why I was acting that way.  I don't think anyone cared or wanted to know because no one wanted to take any responsibility.

I pulled into the small cemetery where my grandparents are buried and got out of the car.  But instead of going to their grave, I stopped dead in my tracks. On top of their headstone was a huge roll of duct tape.  There wasn't a soul in the small cemetery and why would someone leave a roll of duct tape on my grandparents headstone?  I started laughing because I have a "thing" about duct tape and I took it as my father's answer that he was listening to me. I took the roll and sat down with my grandparents and told them I was sorry for being a disappointment to them and I wept.  It hurt to say that.  It hurts to admit that I hurt so many people that I loved and I wasn't able to tell them I was sorry while they were alive.

Now, let me fast forward to the present day...my mother is 92.  I love her dearly, but we've had a what I'll call a "ruffled" relationship my entire life.  It's never been smooth.  I'm her only daughter, but I've always wondered things like why she never sat me down at a certain age and showed me how to put make up on or how to style my hair, etc. when she herself dressed to the nines and looked like a model whenever she left the house. The other day I sat down in hopes that with the time we have left together that I might try to mend our relationship somewhat and make it smoother by offering an apology.  It was so difficult for me to hand her the olive branch, but I did it. I told her that I was so sorry that I wasn't the daughter that she needed and wanted me to be.  I told her that I really wanted us to enjoy what time we had left together and that I didn't want us to keep butting our heads together all the time (that's a story for another day.) I said I didn't want to be a disappointment to her any longer. My mother sat there without any reaction whatsoever while I wept and said nothing. She said nothing. She said nothing and she has said nothing about it since. End of discussion.

I can't even begin to describe the emotions that have flooded through me lately. I feel as though she continually punishes me for things I did long ago. I know karma is a bitch, but when is enough enough? When have you paid your dues? When are you truly forgiven? I can't help, but feel that my mother's silence is her way of being cruel because at 92 she's limited in what she can actually do now. I mean she can't whack the hell out of me with a hairbrush or a wooden spoon. Oh, I guess she could try, but I'm a little faster than her. I really hate to say that I think it's her way of being cruel  because I do love her. Jesus Christ! Now, I'm crying again! And I have to go find some meme to fit this stupid ass whiny post. Blah! Blah! Blah! Oh Mildred! Dry it up! Go get a Kleenex! You're dripping all over the keyboard!

By the way, I still have that huge roll of duct tape my father gave me and I use it quite often.  Each time I use it, I think of him and I actually thank him. The last time was to tape a hole worn in the fingers of my favorite pair of gardening gloves. Don't say "get a new pair!"  I've looked and they don't make that exact same pair and that's the pair I want so when I wear a hole in the fingers...duct tape it is! Thank you, Carl Goggins!

Can I get an Amen up in here?

Addendum: written 10/23/2022 Sunday morning - My mother passed away almost six months after I wrote this blog post on 6/1/2020. Although I'm much better now grieving has been a difficult process and finding purpose in life after being a caregiver for two elderly parents for the better part of two decades of my life has been challenging. When the options are limitless, how does one choose what to do?

DAY 14 - 30 SONGS IN 30 DAYS

I learned never to say never, but I'll say it's highly unlikely that I'll ever get married again because it's not something I desire or need for any reason but since it was on the list of 30 Songs in 30 Days, what the hell...

Day 14: A song you’d love to be played at your wedding 

Queen comments on the song:

I listened to a lot of soul music when I was in school, and I've always been interested in that sort of music. I'd been wanting to do a track like 'Another One Bites the Dust' for a while, but originally all I had was the line and the bass riff. Gradually, I filled it in and the band added ideas. I could hear it as a song for dancing but had no idea it would become as big as it did. The song got picked up off our album and some of the black radio stations in the US started playing it, which we've never had before. Michael Jackson actually suggested we release it as a single. He was a fan of ours and used to come to our shows. —John Deacon

A fantastic bit of work from Freddie really. I mean, I remember Deacy having this idea, but Deacy doesn't sing of course, so he was trying to suggest to Freddie how it should be and Fred just went in there and hammered and hammered until his throat bled, making... you know, he really was inspired by it and took it to a new height, I think. —Brian May

John Deacon, being totally in his own world, came up with this thing, which was nothing like what we were doing. We were going for the big drum sound: you know, quite pompous in our usual way. And Deakey says, "No, I want this to be totally different: it's going to be a very tight drum sound." It was originally done to a drum loop - this was before the days of drum machines. Roger did a loop, kind of under protest, because he didn't like the sound of the drums recorded that way. And then Deakey put this groove down. Immediately Freddie became violently enthusiastic and said, "This is big! This is important! I'm going to spend a lot of time on this." It was the beginning of something quite big for us, because it was the first time that one of our records crossed over to the black community. We had no control over that; it just happened. Suddenly we were forced to put out this single because so many stations in New York were playing it. It changed that album from being a million-seller to being a three-million seller in a matter of three weeks or so. —Brian May

[Freddie] would certainly fight for things he believed in. Like 'Another One Bites the Dust' which was a bit of a departure for Queen. Roger, at the time, certainly felt that it wasn't rock and roll and was quite angry at the way it was going. And Freddie said, "Darling, leave it to me. I believe in this." John had written the song. But it took Freddie's support to make it happen. —Brian May

I remember laying down the backing track with him and... he really wanted the drums as dry as they could possibly be, so I just stuffed it all with blankets and made it as dead as I possibly could and very low tuned. —Roger Taylor

Credit for the song should go to Michael Jackson in many ways. He was a fan and friend of ours and kept telling me, "Freddie, you need a song the cats can dance to." John introduced this riff to us during rehearsal that we all immediately thought of disco, which was very popular at the time. We worked it out and once it was ready, played it for Michael. I knew we had a hit as he bobbed his head up and down. "That's it, that's the gravy. Release it and it will top the charts," he said. So we did and it did. —Freddie Mercury

Use in medical training:

"Another One Bites the Dust" was used in a study to train medical professionals to provide the correct number of chest compressions per minute while performing CPR.] The bassline has close to 110 beats per minute, and 100–120 chest compressions per minute are recommended by the British Heart Foundation, and endorsed by the Resuscitation Council (UK).

 *(borrowed from Wikipedia)

WHERE HAVE ALL THE FLOWERS GONE?

It always amazes me that as a child I paid such close attention to my surroundings. For example, I vividly remember the leaves as they changed colors in fall and the smell of lilacs as they bloomed in the late spring. What amazes me even more than that is every once in awhile, but not very often as a child I did as I was told by the adults in my life. Because I paid such close attention to my surroundings, I have memories with vivid details of those surroundings. When I think back to my childhood, it's almost like being there again. I can almost feel the leaves scatter beneath me as I jump in a pile of freshly raked leaves or how a McIntosh apple smells when I pick it from an apple tree.

My exposure to horticulture started early on and the neighborhood flora seemed to have played a pretty significant role in my formative years and in some of the memories I still deeply cherish. When I remember the plants growing around my house it always makes me smile even though the plants themselves weren't anything super special or rare. At the corner of my house grew a lilac bush that bloomed every May (60 years later that same bush is still there). If I close my eyes I can still smell its sweet fragrance. Nameless, naughty children would eat the blossoms. Why? Just because they could! In fact, they did many things just because they could. It's a good thing I never associated with any of those hooligans! Along the front and street side of my house grew irises and day lilies. The purples and oranges were stunning when they were in bloom, but they always remained safe from the nameless, naughty children's wrath and veracious appetite.

Early on there were two bridal wreath bushes that framed the front entrance of my house. The lovely delicate white fluffiness never lasted very long and were quite messy as the blossoms were dropped on the concrete walkway. Those bushes were removed at some point in time, but I wasn't consulted on their removal so I don't have a clue as to why they were selected for elimination.  In the back along the alley between my house and the neighbors grew a few burdock bushes. Burdocks are no more than an invasive weed, but for nameless, naughty children they were a plethora of trouble and fun rolled into one. Many a burdock from those bushes found their way into the neighborhood children's hair. They would stick like velcro and tangle long hair in merciless, matted clumps and then cause quite a little hoopla when removed.

Dandelions are also considered weeds, but they were so beautiful blooming against the deep green color of the soft, velvety grass of my lawn. I never understood how something so lovely could be called a weed. As mentioned in a previous blog post, nameless, naughty children found mischievous uses for those lovely weeds like staining white porches with them. My grandmother used to dig up the dandelion greens from her yard in the country and cook them...OMG! They used to make me gag. Now, fiddleheads on the other hand are a great treat to eat.

In the neighborhood, I remember blue hydrangeas (no one ever seemed to add any chemicals to the soil in order to turn them pink). Chinese lanterns had a firm orange ball inside that always fascinated me. The naughty, nameless children thought they were great to pelt at each other because they hurt less than pebbles and didn't leave any marks. Buttercups (why don't you build me buttercup...sorry, I couldn't help myself from singing that song and now damn it, it's stuck in my head) were used by nameless, naughty children to make predictions.

If a yellow glow could be seen when holding the flower under someone's chin then that meant crazy things were going to happen. If I remember correctly, the predictions were as naughty as the children were. Of course, none of this ever pertained to me! The neighborhood maple trees turned brilliant shades in the fall and when the leaves started to drop, we raked them up into the huge piles to jump in and the cherry trees a few houses up from where I lived had gnarly diseased branches that nameless, naughty children used to chase other children around with claiming it was dog poop on the branches. Those nameless, naughty children seemed to be like the hoards of "walkers" from The Walking Dead...what a menace they were! I can't help, but wonder what naughty things they do now as naughty, nameless adults!

While I was looking at pictures of various plants that are indigenous to Maine, I discovered one of the weeds/plants from my childhood days that grew everywhere. Luckily, none of the nameless, naughty
children ever tried to do anything with the berries other than pick them and throw the ripe juicy berries at one another. I tend to think someone must have told us that they were poisonous, but I have no clear memory of any such warning. The bittersweet nightshade plant is in the tomato family, but is highly poisonous. Wow! I'm almost in a state of shock that I never pushed the envelope and tried eating one or that my brothers didn't hold me down and stuff a few in my mouth to chew to see what would happen. The possibilities really make me cringe! I guess it really is true...ignorance is bliss and what you don't know can't hurt you. Those naughty, nameless children were invincible!

*repost and edited from April 1, 2019