The Greatest Gift

Friday is known by the news media (mostly) as black Friday. Just because the stores want to make record sales and the news media wants us all in a state of frenzy, I refuse to go to sales. I refuse to buy anything on black Friday that has anything to do with the holidays or giving gifts. To me, buying presents at a huge discount is not what the holidays are about. I'd rather skip the whole season. I'd rather not celebrate with gifts than buy into this media madness under the guise of what was originally the celebration in my religious upbringing -- as the birth of Jesus. I'm not a crazy Christian. I believe that Jesus symbolizes reverence for life, compassion and love for human kind. If more people embodied those Jesus-y qualities, this world would be a far better place.

So instead of sitting on a cold sidewalk near a shopping mall, warming my hands by lighter, waiting for stores to open so I can buy a fitty cent TV for everyone in my family, I'm going to celebrate a National Day of Listening.

Stick around. I may call you to ask you some questions.

If you want to take part in this year's National Day of Listening, conduct an interview with someone you know and blog about the experience. 

Here are some tips:

• 1. Let your fingers do the talking! Include details about why the National Day of Listening is meaningful for you and how you plan to participate.
  
• 2. StoryCorps' Do-It-Yourself Instruction Guide has all the information you need to get started.
  
• 3. Pledge to participate! Tell us how you plan to get involved, and read about all the other ways people throughout the country are participating.
  
• 4. Post StoryCorps' web banners, logos, customizable web text and Facebook fan button on your blog. Download these materials at our Share page.
  

If I could, I'd interview my Grandma Nellie who I was named after though I never met. She died when my father was young, about 6 years old. I'd also love to talk to my mom's mom, G - Lois which is what I liked to call her ala P. Diddy. And of course, I miss my dad. Instead I have to find a living human with which to have a conversation. A way to honor that person's existence, their life, dreams. Who can it be now?

On the other hand, I am extremely thankful for the people in my life and more than extremely thankful to be alive to appreciate all of you.

Now go away and find someone to talk to, to question about their life, and then, ask them about themselves instead of thinking about your stuff as usual. And just for this once, listen instead of thinking about what you're going to say in response.

And you thought I didn't know you.

Eating Green

I made the spicy cauliflower soup again. You'd be so proud! This was my second attempt making the soup from Alice Water's The Art of Simple Food. The first batch tasted delicious. I am not a big time cauliflower eater. Until I found this soup recipe - and gobi masala. (and I'm racking my brain trying to think of any other cauliflower related foods that I've eaten.)

(photo: Jane Spice)

I've been eating more "green" and now I'm trying to figure out if I'm eating green correctly. I really don't even know what that means -- to eat green. At first I thought eating green meant adding more spinach. Every morning I have a spinach smoothie. Then I thought if whatever I ate gave me gas I must be eating green. (I believe I may be halfway there!) (Is that gre?)

I don't understand my own home-made logic, however. I mean what does gas have to do with green other than one letter of the alphabet?

I discovered a list of 50 ways to eat green out of Bon Appetit magazine. So far - out of 50 ways, I've accomplished the following short list though I only made the discovery a few days ago. I have a ways to go (to get to green) especially since I didn't see farting anywhere on their list.

1. Eat more chocolate (often)
2. Cook more often (soup!)
3. Treasure your trash (I *heart* my garbage!)
4. Veg out (veggie soup)
5. Turn off the lights (eat in the dark)
6. Eat more tofu (No, really, eat in the dark)
7. Bag it (So many bags, now I need more storage)
8. Pack your own lunch (and suitcases)

For awhile I thought the reason I loved to cook was because I am an admitted food addict. Don't food addicts love to cook? I dunno - maybe. Maybe I'm not really a food addict. Maybe I'm just a really good cook.

Random Sunday Notes

I'm leaving for the Sierra foothills.

I am nearly finished with Eckhart Tolle's book A New Earth. It's very interesting, deep reading. You have to actually concentrate. If you're the kind of person who's into cars, chicks and beer for all your external transitional excitement -- don't bother reading it. I'm also finishing Mary Karr's Lit. I downloaded Jack Kornfeld's Buddhism for Beginners for the trip.

I keep beginning. Someone's got to.

Please feed my cat while I'm out of town and don't make her diabetic.

That's my job.

Aloha Oe

Until we meet again, until we meet again

Thus sweet memories come back to me

Bringing fresh remembrance of the past

Dearest one, yes, thou are mine own

From the true love shall ne'er depart

Another shot of Bobby playing Creepy Doodoohead to my Row-goo/Rogue. I'm the cute-ish child on the bicycle, still looking a bit like Tooter the Turtle.

I had the boy's bike complete with "gas" tank - I thought that bike was super (though we did not use words like super back in the days of yore). The only bad thing about that bicycle was falling on the bike and slamming my crotch into the gas tank. I swear all I have to do is think about that and I hurt all over again.

My sister had a girl's bike, no gas tank, painted pink. She was more of a girlie girl. My parents may have been slightly disappointed that I was not born a boy. But that's okay. They tried again and got 3 boys. Next time practice birth control!

From the looks of this photo, I was the only Hawaiian in our family. I remember while growing up, and even in high school, I would occasionally be asked my nationality because my eyes were somewhat slanted though since I grew up with these eyes, I never gave them much thought. In my high school english class, one boy asked me if I were Japanese? (This is a true story - I know you don't believe me.) Japanese?! And I said, "No (idiot!), I'm Caucasian."

Family Portrait

When I showed this photo to my sister, her comment was "That's about the time we really started going downhill, wasn't it?"

Who's this "we" she's talking about!?

(Look how serious my dad was? He's the man who taught me how to laugh though you wouldn't know from this photo.)

A Leg Up

In this photo I am enjoying childhood oblivion, sitting along side my trusty sidekick, Bobby McKinney, who I had a major crush on though not as big a crush as I had on Pat and Mike Bray. (Whatever happened to those boys? I'm going to see if they are on Facebook.) I'm sure my sister got to Bobby first. He was cuter and younger than his brother, Ralphie.

Good thing these kids never discovered that I am the face behind the infamous Rogue, (officially pronounced Row-goo now that Sarah Palin's book has been released.)

I believe I eventually had to develop my super powers to get that leg off the ground. Just kidding!

Time for This One to Come Home

All these years I've been bitching and whining about having lymphedema. In the photo above, you can see that my left leg is swollen. (I'm the child in the photo that looks Tooter the Turtle.)

Then come to find out -- after looking through all these old photos, I discover my sister only has one leg.

Further Adventures of Rogue

In this episode of Rogue, she discovers a dastardly plot brewing between her own mother and sister. Plot to be revealed as soon as Rogue decides the ending or the ending decides Rogue. Stay tuned!

Later, Rogue attempts to turn her sister into a prince by forcing her to kiss a frog.

Nothing like reinforcing all that bad karma, Rogue!

Word to the Wise

I laid down in tan bark to take this photograph. After I got back on my feet (which btw, did not require calling the paramedics), I spent the remainder of the day pulling splinters out of my body.

Rogue Comes Clean

Today's Adventures with Rogue:

In which Rogue stands along side her Grandma Polly Parrot (for real)with Rogue's older sister (who won a coveted beautiful baby award) while Rogue shows Bucky Beaver that she means business, and gives the fashion industry a head's up that it's perfectly fine to wear horizontal stripes with vertical stripes as long as one's eyes remain closed.

Going Rogue

Last night a young man working at an Indian restaurant told me "You look like Rogue."

(What's kind of funny is I thought he meant that woman from The Golden Girls, Rue is her name --she must be in her 90s now.)

I said, "Who's that?"

He said, "You don't know who Rogue is!?"

I said, "If I knew who Rogue was, would I ask "Who's that?"

He said, "Look her up online.

(image Elfwood.com)

So I did.

Yep, That's me al-righty.

Below is a rare photo of Rogue at a much younger age playing her part in The Trailer Trash Twins. (I don't think these people owned a washcloth.) My sister (foreground) said she *actually* thinks this was our bedroom. We both noticed how she was sitting right below an accident waiting to happen. Notice the left leg swelling (from lymphedema) on poor innocent Rogue? And no, Rogue is not sitting on an outside toilet. She's quietly sitting on a plastic stool, reading a book that eventually will be published as her memoir. She's a bit forlorn (this photo was back in the days when we actually used words like forlorn) because her mom cut her bangs whilst Rogue was jetting down the hallway on her way to her next adventure.

Could this next adventure be "Finding The Soap"? --

Tune in next time for Rogue Comes Clean.

Get It?

There is almost nothing worse than being angry at someone and having them not know you are angry. It's all so pointless. You just gotta tell 'em. Right? I said, RIGHT!?

The only slightly worse thing I can think of is telling whoever it is that you're angry, and having them not understand what you're saying. A tad worse than the person not understanding your point, is going to great lengths to tell them by working the plan of the telling out in your mind thoroughly in order to get your point across accurately. Finally giving the telling one last go round, enunciating carefully, using words you know they will understand, checking your spelling, you carefully tell the person with whom you are angry one. last. time. And they still do not understand. Then you realize all this time it was you that needs to understand.

Attracted to Me

"It's not you, it's me."

Random Doofus

If you've ever been on the receiving end of someone frying your ears with the phrase, "I'm not attracted to you (anymore, ever, now,)" it can be painful to experience.

When that line was used on me, about 3 weeks post break-up, I said, Your not being attracted to me ... "has nothing to do with me. I haven't changed. I'm still the same person." I shrugged my shoulders when he added that he didn't want to hurt my feelings - I guess by admitting that he was no longer attracted to me, my feelings were supposed to be hurt - worse? I was already hurt enough - smacked upside my til-death-do-you-part, committed stupor I must have been in as the drama unfolded.

I mean, duh.

Anyway, I found this article/opinion today and think it's interesting, "Cancer is killing my sex life" -- My partner says he's just not attracted to me "right now." I was thinking about that jackass politician who dumped his wife while she was in the hospital dying of cancer. What kind of creep does stuff like that!? Oh, yeah, that was Newt Gingrich, and then John Edwards pulled something similar. Dammit. I wonder if I would stick by someone? I mean, knowing what I know now after my own illness?

Although this has nothing to do with creepy politicians and people who are too unconscious to be around another person's illness, I leave (pun) you with my photo of "leaves."

One person's fence is another man's art.

Changing Transmissions

I went to Weight Watchers on Sunday after about a 6 week hiatus (HIGH-ate-us. Get it?). One Sunday I refused to go to the meeting.

I sat in the trendy little coffee shop next door watching my fellow weight-watching meeting attendees melting away by the week, coming and going, in and out of the coffee shop while I sat, warming my hands by the fake electric fireplace, drinking nonfat pumpkin-spiced lattes, and assorted winter-spiced creations and other (almost pre-pre) seasonal faire. (Not to interrupt the flow of this post but whoever thought of putting pumpkin in coffee to begin with or peanut butter, I mean, come on!? I'm going to invent Green Bean coffee. Similar to pumpkin, yams come in a can and they're squishy. Can we put yams in coffee?) I recently received a postcard from the WW leader saying how much she missed me. Ahhh. To escape further humiliation from my post(man)person, I was forced to go back to the Sunday morning WW meeting.

When I weighed in, I had gained 2 pounds though in all fairness, I had forgotten to remove my iPOD. Those things weigh a ton!

While in my coffee shop mode, when asked, I told one WW guy meeting attendee who's lost the equivalent of two other humans (because he actually attends meetings) that I was not coming back to WW until they splurged on a fake fireplace. But those WW folks are tight with the cash. They have metal chairs. If they got a fake fireplace, the metal might be too hot to sit on. People might get too comfy and want to stay with WW forever -- obviously my plan.

The subject of the yesterday's meeting was holidays and changing traditions. I like the idea of changing traditions around holidays mostly because I've been forced into it so often. Someone dies, you change a tradition. Someone is in chemo, you change tradition. Someone dumps you, chg trad. Car transmission going out, change tradition. No money, C.T.

Incorporating the phrase "changing tradition" sounds like a person is actually making a choice rather than saying a person was forced into something. I'd much rather make a choice or at least pretend I am the person making the choice. Changing traditions is another way of saying that I'm going with the flow which I'm learning to do more and more. I'm not directing any events. I'm not arranging the festivities. I'm riding the wave on my own personal holiday surfboard of choice. Rather than stick with my traditional holiday dogma, I'm chillin, waiting to see what someone else has planned and praying to Gah, the Grand Pubah, the Big Juju or the Universe - that whoever *they* is, that *They* do not forget to invite me to whatever *they* plan.

And as I write that all out, this isn't just changing tradition for me, this is what guys do at the holidays, right? They don't plan shit. They just sit back and wait to be invited. They ride their personal surfboard of choice throughout the holidays. Guys don't have traditional holiday dogma. My friend, PK, recently said I was more like a guy. (that's a different post).

Because tradition changing is a subject near and dear to my heart when the weight watcher leader asked us to tell the group, in one word what reminds us of holidays, we shouted out our one word holiday reminders such as booze, food, cookies, stuffing, drunktank (my contribution). Most weight watchers attendees had a difficult time sticking to one word much like sticking to one meal or one cookie or one pie. Statements about the holidays and what they meant quickly turned into three words, then whole sentences, then paragraphs, and tomes of what the holidays meant. It turned into WW mayhem. I was nauseated listening to the cheesy, good-natured holiday-themed camaraderie. I tried to elbow the woman sitting next to me who had lost so much weight in the last year, if my elbow had landed, she would have been hospitalized.

People mentioned their own traditions that had changed over the years. "We get up early and take a family walk!" "We go to the shelter and feed the homeless." "We get all our money together and support one family." "We mow our neighbor's lawn." "We skip buying the tree, and the presents, sitting around a late afternoon fire, singing carols, holding hands, turning to one another and smiling." "We decided instead of gifts at Kwanza, we'd collect coats for the homeless." "We take one slice of turkey and divide it among the 12 of us, saying grace 100 times - then we run a 10k!" "We don't give out gold foil coins when singing the דרײדל song, we hug one another instead." "We sing carols for all our neighbors while carrying the American flag around our block 100 times!"

Yay us!

When the WW leader said "change traditions" she wanted one word and these people were cheating as usual, taking more than their allotment which is really the only reason they attend Weight Watchers meetings to begin with. These people simply do not know when to stop!

But then, you know that I am all about rules. My own.

After the meeting I thought that sitting in front of that fake fireplace for 6 weeks was about as sincere as listening to that group of chubby fibbers talk about their changing holiday traditions.

Once again I have to change traditions this year. Got any *real* ideas you can offer? Should I skip everything? Should I focus on another family, a child, adopt a pet or tape a video of my singing my favorite holiday songs and put it on my blog? (that idea is as fake as that fireplace and a room full of WW). In one word, what says "holiday" to you? And in one sentence, paragraph or tome, how would you change a tradition if someone dumped you and your transmission is going out?

On the Park Bench Like Bookends

You'll never guess who I saw yesterday. You won't! Mostly because I saw a lot of people. I went out with my friend, Joanne. We drank our not-quite-matching drinks at Stockton Bridge in the late afternoon. The waiter really got into the idea of photos. He had to bring another lime slice. It was beautiful weather, warm, sunny, and some sewage but the folks at Margaritaville had to sit closer to the sewage. Joanne and I had the bird's eye view.  I took photos of the sewage but I'll spare you the visual deets unless you're writing a report and need photos. Lots of cans, plastic containers, wood, foam that looked like sponges, filth. Not pretty. The sewage-y stuff was riled up in the last storm.

I saw, Chris, who was standing around at the weekly car "show" doing his thang, being car-y. I got a good hug out of the brief "seeing" and I have to confess that I have not had a good hug like that since he dumped me in July. I was a streetwalker out looking for hugs at a car show. Seeing him didn't make me cry, didn't make me nervous. Seeing him, the great hug and our conversation made me feel happy. And driving away did not make me sad. 

And if you're going to comment, remember this old adage?

Thanks to toothpastefordinner.com for the comic.

The Paradox of Croaking

"This is the paradox death imposes upon us: it grants us the possibility of a meaningful life even as it takes it away. It gives us the promise of each moment, even as it threatens to steal that moment, or at least reminds us that some time our moments will be gone. It allows each moment to insist upon itself, because there are only a limited number of them. And none of us knows how many."

Todd May

My sister sent me a post out of the New York Times yesterday. Problem with the NYT is when I visit them, I'm gone. Seriously they should charge or I *should* voluntarily pay though I really only read the book section on Fridays, and the health blogs when I remember -- in the hopes that some of health rubs off. Maybe if I paid, the health would rub off.

The NYT takes me away, a Calgonian retreat from the mediocre. Inside the NYT, I am on an information vacation for hours. I have to watch myself, time myself, make sure I'm focused, make lists, and get out asap.

This item is the article to read. It comes from a blog called Happy Days: The Pursuit of What Matters in Troubled Times. I vetted it. Trust me. My sister doesn't recommend garbage. Go read it.

Photos are from this past weekend.

Memory Makeover

I returned from my get-away weekend intact. I had a great time. I saw unparalleled beauty though in more unconscious moments I found myself attempting a parallel.

Yes, the Grand Canyon is the most beautiful.

No, Yosemite is the most beautiful.

Why can't I just STFU and enjoy where I am in a single moment? It's almost as if I need another person cracking me over the head with a stick. Oh, yeah, there was a time that I knew that other person. Hi, mom!

While on this adventure I saw my mom too. She looked great.

Unparalleled beauty.

Over the weekend there were some fun times and some cranky times (for me). Almost as soon as we arrived, I started to feel kind of sore-throaty. That feeling occasionally got me feeling cranky. We stayed at PK's friend's place on Friday night, moving on to my mom's house in Murphy's for the next day. Spending part of Saturday in Murphy's, then off to visit my brother and his wife in Angels Camp. Howard (newly dead) is my sister in law's father. We talked about Howard and Sherri of Howard and Sherri fame. We talked about Yosemite. We reminisced. PK grew up down the street from our family and vice versa, though she had not seen my brother in years. After the visit, we drove back to mom's, then out to dinner, saw another brother, tricked and treated Ann and drove back to mom's again. She had the most comfy bed, using fleece sheets - fleece sheets are not menopause-friendly though I may buy some of these sheets regardless. Very comfy for winter weather of which it is not today. It's in the high 70s here today, sun shining, warm breeze, no fleece.

While on this weekend adventure I needed gum for my heinous coffee breath so we stopped off at a small store where liquor is kept behind a glass case - a liquid Fort Knox in the center of the store. The guy behind the counter had one of those old-guy liquor-noses, bulbous, veiny, all-but-flashing the word "alcoholic" in neon. I couldn't get my wallet out of my purse easily so I told Mr. Liquor Nose that I was on the verge of an exciting invention. I was going to make a new kind of wallet, a locatable wallet so that when you own a huge, dark purse and a tiny wallet, well, with my invention you can find it easily (or painfully). I quickly called my invention the porcupine wallet. If you can't grab the wallet inside your huge dark purse after being stabbed, the wallet can jab into your flesh and you can pull the wallet out that way. I offered my not so secret idea to The Nose because I had plenty of time to discuss all sorts of crap while sifting through object's d'purse. LN laughed. We laughed together. My new best friend! He concurred on the wallet invention. Co-inventor? Perhaps. I told him, "One day I'll be famous!" He agreed, "And I'll say I knew you when." I replied, "Yes, and I will snub you." To which he responded, "That is so like you." In those few brief moments, Liquor Nose got to know me well. I snubbed him and left.

Then off again to PK's friend again and a trip to Yosemite for the day. Yosemite was breath-taking though I continued to breathe. We went to the Ahwahnee Hotel. I know why the powers-that-be named the hotel that name...Ahwahnee live there. We hiked a short trail to Bridalveil Falls; a young bride splashed while being photographed, holding a fake-flower bouquet. Some day she'll be reinventing herself. And hopefully, she'll use real flowers because she'll tire of inauthenticity.

On our way out of town and toward home, we stopped to meet Sherri, freshly widowed. We had a good visit with her, I wish I could have stayed longer. She cried. I cried. There will be times when she is alone and will feel as if she's gone insane with grief. PK coped with our shared widow tears. PK's aunt passed away Sunday evening - adding still more sadness.

Some of these weekend memories brought with them some new learnings. Appreciate people and beauty. Stop being judgmental. (Again) (Pretty please with sugar?) Be quiet and take notice. Stop thinking when it's not necessary. Be your own mother. And it's okay to take Jack Tone road if someone makes the request. It's not an affront. It's a short cut!

In fact -- it's fine to take any road home as long as you make it back to your true Self. Choosing this weekend to make new memories was part of the journey back to me.

(Special thanks to PK & mom for helping to make this makeover possible.)