JAYEFF'S MAKIN' STUFF UP AGAIN

A RACING FAN'S OPEN LETTER TO MARCO ANDRETTI

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 27 May 2011 17:23:00 +0000

Dear Marco,

Racing fans everywhere know your family history. Here’s a little of my family history.

I’ve been a racing fan my whole life. My Dad was a mechanic and machinist, and he was brilliant. He was a man’s man who also had a helluva brain for history, science, art - you name it - a Renaissance man with grease under his fingernails.

Daddy’s name was Louie, and I am Louie’s Kid the Mechanic’s Daughter.

When I was a kid he raced go-karts locally here in Texas. Before I was born he raced other things, too. He loved anything with a motor - and so do I. The first thing I ever drove was Daddy’s single-engine racing go-kart. I was 11. Mama wouldn’t let me race. :\

That was okay, though, because I would go out to the practice track with Dad and he would sneak me into the go-kart and let me drive it. HA!

I used to work in the garage with Dad on restoring old American cars, and all kinds of stuff. It was a great way to meet guys. ;)

Dad and I went to races around here, but we mostly watched races together on TV - especially the Indianapolis 500 - the King of all Races! I would ask him questions and he would answer them. He knew everything about all the drivers and all the cars.

We were Andretti fans for sure.

Even after I grew up, moved out of my parent’s house and moved to Dallas, Dad and I would watch the races together over the phone! :)

One day some years ago, Dad got out of the shower, had a massive heart attack and dropped dead in the middle of the bathroom floor. My world tilted the wrong way on its axis that day.

May rolled around and I didn’t watch Indy. For a few years after that I didn’t watch it, or any other race. I just couldn’t.

Then I couldn’t stand it anymore. Time had passed and I wanted to see the 500, so I tuned in again.

It was 2006.

That’s when I became YOUR fan - and I’ve been your fan ever since. It was a bittersweet day - heartsick over the outcome of the race, but so happy because my love of racing had been re-awakened. I felt my Dad’s spirit there with me, loving every heart-stopping minute of that race.

Every year I put out two beers on the table for Indy. One for me (which I drink as I watch) and one for Dad (which I drink while the winner drinks the milk).

Daddy would have LOVED that qualifying run you made last Sunday. He would have been right there standing on his feet with me yelling “Come on, Marco!”

My Dad got to see Indy live with his best buddy, Bernard, one year. Someday I will get to see it live, too.

On Sunday, I’ll be watching from my living room - with two beers on the table. When I drink that second beer, I hope it will be YOU drinking the milk.

You go out there and be safe, drive this thing smart with a good strategy. It’s a long race, and you have time to bring it to the front, so don’t lose your head about it.

You have to be in it to win it.

I have one last thing to tell you, and that is something Louie would say:

“Blow the soot out of that thing!”

Polla Filia,
J.F.

MANUAL GEARBOXES AND REAL MEN

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Sun, 26 Dec 2010 20:54:00 +0000

“Don’t ride the clutch.”
My Dad, Louie

The other night on Craig Ferguson’s show, a viewer wrote in on the email and told Craig that her boyfriend didn’t know how to drive a manual gearbox, and she told him a real man should know how. Her question to Craig was: “Am I wrong?”. Craig shook his head slowly, and then said “No, if you’re a dude, you should know how to drive stick.”

All of which got me to thinking.

I couldn’t agree more with the girl, and Craig.

Real men *do* know how to drive a manual gearbox - period.

Actually, I think everyone should know how to drive “stick” shift, to be quite un-sexist about it.

Most people, though, don’t enjoy driving and only do it because they have to. This is a fact which I have never understood in my heart, but my intellect acknowledges that it is true.

It’s kind of like knowing that some people mix ice, water, or (***gasp***) soda with their scotch. I know it is true intellectually, but I find it impossible to wrap my head around it. I mean, if you’re mixing your scotch with something, why are you drinking scotch? Go drink gin, or vodka. For the record, scotch should be drunk NEAT, people - NEAT! Anything else is an abomination before the Deity of Your Choice.

Okay, on a super hot day, *maybe* you can drop one cube in the glass - ONE CUBE ONLY - and drink it fast before the ice melts! Otherwise, just order a water back with that sucker, and keep the scotch pure, as nature intended. ;)

Back to driving.

So, I know some people don’t like manually shifting gears, and I’m never going to convince those people that driving “stick” is fun, and that it makes the whole experience better; but, I wish I could convince them. It saddens me to think that some are missing this joy.

A manual gearbox also gives a person more control over the vehicle - that is, if that person *really* knows how to use a manual transmission. If they’re just driving it like it’s Grandpa’s farm truck then they’ve missed the whole point. They’re probably also the kind of person who puts soda in scotch.

The net of the above is: my thoughts on manual gearboxes don’t just apply to men; however, I do believe that a real man *should* know how to drive one.

I personally would not date a guy who only knew how to drive automatic. For one thing, he couldn’t drive any car of mine, since I don’t *buy* any car without a manual transmission.

Hmmmm, now that I’m thinking about that, maybe that’s a good way to keep my guy from driving my ride. :)

All of the above is why I am teaching my 15-year-old nephew to drive “stick”. We go to one of the local high school parking lots after hours (when it’s empty) and I sit in the passenger seat, and I turn the controls of my 3,750-lb. motor vehicle over to a 15-year-old male.

Yes, I am a brave, brave chick. A brave chick who has neat scotch waiting at home after the lesson is over. ;)

Seriously, though - I have brass, just like my Daddy did. No scotch necessary for that. :) If Dad were still with us, he would be the one teaching my nephew to drive stick.

So, I am passing down a treasured skill in my family. A skill taught to me by my beloved father - who was a real man, and for so many other reasons than just driving manual gearboxes.

Just like his grandfather, The Nephew took to stick shifting like a duckling takes to water. Learned how to smoothly slip the clutch on an incline on his first try. He only killed the engine *once* during the entire first lesson! That’s my boy! That’s my Daddy’s grandson. That’s the beginnings of a real man.

To all you guys out there who can’t drive stick, you can cuss me for my opinions, or you can get off your lard backsides and go learn. I suggest the latter. It’s a lot more fun.

‘Nuf said.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

FRIED APPLE PIES

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 01:56:00 +0000

There is a statistic I heard on the news the other day, and I had heard it recently before that. Here it is: kids stay off drugs and out of trouble when they have dinner with their family. That was it. Yeah. Somebody probably did a “study” to come up with that one. My parents could have told them that (and my grandparents, too).

We’re Greek, and in a lot of Mediterranean families (I know it’s true for my Italian friends) - we eat together. I know other cultures do that, too. What a concept. Food isn’t just physical nutrition, it’s mental and spiritual as well. Dinner with ecoyennia mou (my family) is an essential part of our culture.

Tonight we had such a dinner - at a restaurant, but nevertheless, it was a family dinner: me, my two sisters, my brother-in-law and my niece and nephew. It’s what we do on a regular basis. My sister has family dinner with the kids and her husband daily. My niece and nephew don’t know any different. You eat with your family - don’t you? Yes, is their answer.

What this means is, if you have trouble, or need help, you know you can go to your family, because you’ve been eating meals with these people since forever. You’re a tight group. You have actual conversations. You share food. You actually like each other. My family and I all *love* each other (wow, another concept, right?).

It all started with my grandfather -a Greek from the “old country”. The man was a chef. He had a little café in Austin before I was born. He could come into your house, take your leftovers out of the fridgie and rustle up something marvelous for dinner. You would be asking yourself “These are *my* leftovers?” You wouldn’t recognize that food (in a good way) after he got done with it.

We have a saying in my family (a joke): When two Greeks get together, they open a restaurant. It’s almost true. Of course, as I said above, food for us is more than just food.

Tonight over our family dinner we discussed our plans for Thanksgiving this year, and that lead to a remembrance/conversation about my grandmother (maternal, not on the Greek side) and her fried apple pies.

First of all, I need to tell you about love. This woman was not my actual biological grandmother. She was my great aunt. My grandmother died when my mother was two months old. My grandmother and grandfather had five (count ‘em) children! My grandfather was a farmer (again, this is on the non-Greek side of the family). My grandmother was dying, they had a two-month old baby (my Mom) and they had to have a plan. My grandfather could not run the farm and take care of the other four kids and an infant. My eldest aunt (then only eight) had to help him manage the other three kids. She couldn’t manage the infant either - since she was eight - you know - years old.

My grandparents decided before my grandmother died (at the age of thirty-one) that my mother would go live with my grandmother’s older sister. So, the woman I referred to as my “grandmother” was actually my great aunt. In order for all of this to come to pass, my great aunt had to agree to take on this responsibility (she had two biological children of her own).

She met the task.

As children, we would go to my grandfather’s farm house and spend time with him, and also go to my “grandmother’s” house (great aunt) and spend time with her and her husband (who we called “Pop”).

On Sunday afternoons, this woman would lay out a spread that would feed the Dallas Cowboys. I kid you not. There was cold ham, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, macaroni and cheese, green beans, peas, carrots, squash, green salad, fruit salad, rolls, bread... are you getting the idea yet?

We would sit down at that table and have Sunday dinner with “Grandmother” - the woman who raised my mother and told everyone we were her “grandchildren”.

The Grand Finale to this meal would be her homemade fried apple pies. Yes, people, I said *homemade*. Pie crust from scratch rolled and cut into a round shape, apple filling from scratch spooned into the middle of the round crust, crust then folded over into a half moon, sealed around the edges with the tines of a fork and plopped into hot oil and quick fried. Then she drained them on paper towels over a plate and dusted them with cinnamon and sugar.

My father (who was her son-in-law, technically her nephew-in-law) loved these things (hell, who didn’t?). He often could not come with us on Sunday, because, as a mechanic, he was frequently making extra money working on cars.

Grandmother would pack up three or four (or more) of those delicious apple pies in a big piece of foil and send them home with us. She would say: “I know Louie likes these, so they're his, since he’s working hard and he couldn’t come.”

You didn’t touch those pies when you got home. They were Daddy’s - from Grandmother - and Mama would swat your hands if you tried to snag one of those.

Daddy would sit down to supper and then afterward dive into Grandmother’s homemade fried apple pies.

We had dinner together every night, and we had family dinners with grandparents and cousins on a regular basis. Family was, as my Greek grandfather would say, “number one”.

The fried apple pies? They were far more than just a tasty treat. They were all that love my grandmother had to give: the love she gave to her sister’s child, her sister’s grandchildren, and her sister’s son-in-law.

Love like that will keep you out of a whole helluva lot of trouble in life, people - and it tastes damn good, too.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

HOMECOMING

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Thu, 30 Sep 2010 04:26:00 +0000

I have been a long time away from this blog, and I have no real excuse except that it has been a long, hot summer, and I have been working on the next book. Now, to more important matters.

I am from Austin (born and bred), but I lived in Dallas for many years before moving back here to Central Texas (I live just outside of Austin now). Austin is not the same as it was in my youth, and that is a bad thing. I cannot bear what the interlopers have done to it. In their ignorance they irrevocably changed that which drew them here in the first place. Stupid. Consequently, I have taken to living in the hills outside the city, near Lake Travis.

Why I left Dallas and moved back to the CenTex is a story for another day - hell, that’s about three or four different blog posts.

Next week I am going to Dallas for five days. That may not sound to you as exciting as the trip I took to San Francisco last year, or the trips to New York City I dream about and pine for on this blog (ah, New York, how I miss you!). It may not seem exciting to you; but I am longing to see Dallas.

You see, Dallas is my second home. I wasn’t born there, and I didn’t grow up there by conventional definitions of “growing up” in a place; but it *is* my second home. It is changing and never changing. Dallas’s charm is defined by change. Whereas, Austin’s charm *was* defined by its unique and previously never-changing spirit. Gone are those days - and if you didn’t grow up in Austin like me, with a Dad who also grew up there, then you cannot debate this point with me. You simply don’t know enough to know what you’re talking about. Now, back to Dallas, because I have digressed into my “Austin Ain’t What It Used To Be” rant.

When I left my parent’s home, I moved to Big D to begin my “day career” (that is the thing I do while I work on the writing gig). It was in Dallas where I first began to seriously water the seeds of my writing dream. It was also there where I truly “grew up” (to the extent I can at all be considered to be grown up - although, I can fake it pretty well for short bursts).

Dallas is more home to me in many ways than any other place. Even after many years away, I still know it like the back of my hand; and I know its nature, its pulse, its hidden magic.

Dallas puts on a face like a sprawling, glittering metropolis; but it has heart - real heart. It is a heart it hides from the superficial traveler; but it will open itself to the dreamer who explores its depths, and who is open enough to understand its warmth.

I leave one week from today. I will relax and breathe in My Great City, My Home Town of Dreams. I will see old friends and very familiar places. I will look at that great dazzling skyline and remember exciting days as I began a new life there, and that excitement will bloom in me anew. I rejuvenate some of the best parts of myself in that place and take them away with me each time.

I will feel Dallas in my blood again in that way only I can know, but can’t describe. Whenever I go back, it claims me again. I feel as if the time that has passed from my last visit is no time at all. Dallas and I are old friends and too close to ever truly grow apart. The familiarity will wrap itself around me as soon as I look out that airplane window and see it sprawled across the north Texas plains.

When I leave it five days later, it will break my heart again, as it has every single time; but as always, I will promise to return. For I never say goodbye to Dallas. I only ever say “Until next time, my old, good friend.”

Polla Filia,
J.F.

TEACHER, FRIEND, HERO - FATHER

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Sat, 19 Jun 2010 17:08:00 +0000

“I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. It might even be the greatest of the arts since the medium is the human mind and spirit.”

-- John Steinbeck

In honor of Father’s Day the below is a re-write of two posts I previously put up here about my Dad. Happy Father’s Day, Daddy!

My father was a great father. Like all great fathers, one of the things which made him great was that he was a great teacher. He also managed to be those things and be a friend. Combine all of it, and he became one of my greatest heroes as well.

My Dad died some years back. He got out of the shower one night, had a massive heart attack and that was it. As bad as it was (and for me it was a great darkness), I still say that’s the way to go - so fast you don’t know what hit you.

Dad was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. We were required to spend our time only in our yard, and in contemplation of how we would improve ourselves and amend our ways. Consequently, we followed Daddy’s rules.

I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult. I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me. I had been gone a long time. This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.

My Dad was a mechanic and a machinist. He did the machinist thing as his main livelihood (the man could fix or fabricate *anything*), and he did the auto-mechanicin’ at night and on the weekends. When I was a kid, he raced go-karts. Before my time, he raced other stuff. All of it was just local - in Texas; but, I grew up with cars on my mind, and racing as my favorite sport to watch.

When I got old enough to hold a wrench (or any other tool), I was out in the garage learning from Dad, and when I got old enough to know what I was doing (about 15), I was actually working on cars with my Dad.

Dad didn’t work on new cars - he restored and worked on old American cars (you know, the kind before they put computers in them). I was right there with him, up to my elbows in grease.

Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew (when I was legal). I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning.

While hanging out with my Dad, I was learning a lot more than just cool stuff about cars and racing. I was learning about work ethic, integrity, and the importance of approaching a project with organization, focus and the right state of mind.

My Dad was a high-school dropout who later got his GED, but the man was wicked smart. He was an autodidact. He read anything and everything, and absorbed it like a sponge. He had a red-neck Texas accent, but you’d be a fool to think he wasn’t smart. He made straight A’s in high school English before he dropped out. He could speak perfect English if he wanted to, and he could discuss physics with you if you were smart enough to keep up. It was from this Renaissance man I learned to value the acquisition of knowledge, and to strive for constant improvement of myself.

All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was.

Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often.

Don’t get me wrong, he got angry; but, his anger was a controlled and calm kind of anger. His was a stern look and “Don’t ever do that again.” And that was it. No histrionics or drama. Just a firm and serious reminder of what was right and what was wrong. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect - and *love*.

He was a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.

He also had a great sense of humor, and a terrific laugh. He was, and still is, the best Dad a girl could ever have. He was Louie - teacher, friend, hero - Father.

I wish you could have known my Dad, because you would have been like every friend I ever had who knew him. You would have said “Your Dad is soooo COOL!”

Yes, he was.

Every race I watch on TV, or go to live, I know he’s right there sitting next to me enjoying every second. I know he’s in my corner no matter what I’m doing. He’s ready to whisper advice in my ear and remind me about the right way to do things - anything. His spirit will always be near me, because he’s there, and because he left so much a part of himself in *my* spirit.

He was Louie, and I am lucky enough to be Louie’s Kid.

I know he’s out there driving down Heaven’s roads, winding through Elysian fields, golden sun shining down, wind across his face, laughter in his wake.

Drive on, Daddy, drive on!

Polla Filia,
J.F.

I NEED A VACATION

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Wed, 16 Jun 2010 02:08:00 +0000

Long, hard day at the “day job”. I think I’ve mentioned here before that I do legal work for a living. Today I read legal documents and summarized them.

Yes.

You guessed correctly. The work was riveting! Enthralling!

As compared to watching grass grow, maybe.

*
*

Oh, wait...

If I watch grass grow, and I’m sitting on my back deck with a cold beer in my hand...

Revision to my previous statement. The work was neither riveting nor enthralling! I mis-spoke.

Upon further reflection and reconsideration of the potential circumstances and setting, watching grass grow is infinitely more exciting.

*

*

I’m in a blue funk tonight. Feeling a bit punchy, too.

I need a vacation.

Lately I’ve had an uphill struggle on a matter in the *business* of writing. More on that in another post. The manuscript is finished and now the “business” part of it all has to be worked out.

I love the writing part, and I can handle the business part, but that doesn’t mean I like it. I LOVE the writing part - the research, the plotting, the planning, the outlining and getting it all down on the paper - all of it. I tolerate the business part.

I could tolerate that business part of writing a whole lot easier, if I didn’t have to go to the “day job” and do all the “business” there.

*
*
*

Have a I mentioned how exciting it can be to watch grass grow? All you need is a cold beer on the back deck...

Maybe a slight evening breeze...

A shade tree over your head...

**sigh**

The business matters in my writing career are not at a point of being resolved - yet. There is much to do, and no guarantee of any success. It’s a crapshoot, this “business” is.

I soldier on.

Tomorrow I go back to the “day job” and read more legal documents. I have a conference call in the afternoon, too. Then maybe I get to review some more legal documents. Then more conference calls the next day, emails, drafting a legal document.

Unh...

What I wouldn’t give for a first class ticket to... somewhere lovely and relaxing... maybe with a beach and the surf, and a really handsome man (I currently don’t have one of those).

OR, a night in New York City, on the town, dinner at a great restaurant, a handsome man - (are you seeing a theme here?)

I have a writing conference for which I need to prepare. I have a “day job” for which I must get some sleep. I have ACTUAL WORK TO DO!

**sigh**

**sigh again**

I need a vacation.

I’m going out on the back deck. I think I heard the grass growing. Hand me a beer please.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

MERCY MERCY ME

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Mon, 10 May 2010 14:26:00 +0000

This is for our precious Gulf of Mexico which is being damaged beyond any kind of repair in the next decade - and maybe longer. I won’t say what I think about offshore drilling or BP in particular because none of it is good. The whole situation makes me furious.

I will say that I have been a card-carrying, and very proud member of the Sierra Club for a very long time. There are ways for us to have the fuel we need and grow a robust economy in the process. In fact, the one would create the other quite nicely. We are smart enough to do it. We must do it.

On top of what they have done to our ocean and shorelines, eleven men - ELEVEN - are dead. Their families grief-stricken. May their memory be eternal, and may God bless their loved ones.

My heart also goes out to all the people who live along the Gulf Coast which is being beset by this ecological disaster, and especially to those hard-working people who are losing the livelihoods they have worked so long to build. May God bless you all!

The late and blessed Mr. Marvin Gaye wrote this outstanding tune around 1971. It appeared on his “What’s Going On” album of that year. You can read more about the tune here: Mercy Mercy Me on Wiki

Click on this and you may read the lyrics below while you listen to the Great Mr. Gaye sing his song which is so fitting to our current situation: Mercy Mercy Performed by Mr. Gaye

Mercy Mercy Me

Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no

Where did all the blue sky go?
Poison is the wind that blows
From the north, east, south, and sea

Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no

Oil wasted on the oceans and upon our seas
Fish full of mercury

Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be
No, no

Radiation in the ground and in the sky
Animals and birds who live nearby are dying

Oh, mercy mercy me
Oh, things ain't what they used to be

What about this overcrowded land?
How much more abuse from man can you stand?

My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord
My sweet Lord

Polla Filia,
J.F.

SPRING FORTH

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 20:27:00 +0000

Now, with more rain, the plants are *covered* in blooms. Even this is just the beginning! I wish I could post the fragrance of that pink one. If it could be bottled, it would sell for thousands! :)

The hedge goes all the way across the front of my house from one side to the other. I can't believe I had the presence of mind to plant these like this, because I had no idea how they would fill out and become something this lovely and thick.

Ah, and now it rains again outside my window. :)

Here they are - as always click on the photos for a larger view:

THE ALIGNMENT OF FORTUITOUS CIRCUMSTANCES, FIREWORKS,THE BOSTON POPS, AND HEAVY CANNON

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 23 Apr 2010 05:47:00 +0000

The thing that always astounds - always comes through for me somehow in this crazy writing game, is how things seem to just line up for me in these stories. You work - no, slave over details. There is some problem in this part of the plot, or you need to nail down the motivation for this character here or there, or the sequence of something is off, or (God forbid) you just can’t get a handle on the “hook” - and then, BOOM!

There it is.

Some crazy thing that lands at your feet and it starts the wheels turning, and an idea forms, and the “what ifs” start... and oh, sweet Lord, you have just found a way to save that freakin’ story you thought might be a goner! Except in your heart you loved it, and you just could not pronounce it DOA. Now, thanks to the Alignment of Fortuitous Circumstances, you don’t have to. IT IS ALIVE!!!!!

I have a series I’m writing which I call the “Art of Crime”. I am currently revising manuscript number one (ms #1), writing ms #2, and I have ms #3 banging around in my skull.

Ms #1 is basically in the bag. The revisions are just clean up stuff. Ms #2 is fully fleshed out and I’m already writing text on it. I have some research yet to do, but it’s all stuff I know where to go, and what I’m looking for, etc.

Ms #3 has been begging - BEGGING for more form - a more cohesive high concept. The basic concept was there, but certain pieces of it wouldn’t gel! I could not get a string of events fitting together the way I needed them to in order to make the story really work. Pardon the pun here, but I needed a skeleton upon which to overlay the story. This would give me a framework for my plot, which gives me a framework for all the details, and so on.

So I’m having a conversation with someone today. This person told me an offhand story in support of a point they were making. The story they told isn’t important for purposes of this post. What is important is that two small details in that story - its location within a certain Houston neighborhood, and the presence of certain cemeteries - those two details, which were insignificant in the story the person was telling me - those details absolutely LIT UP THE SYNAPSES IN THE DULL GREY MATTER OTHERWISE KNOWN AS MY BRAIN!

Bright lights! Bells! Whistles! Dizzying and thrilling electric currents!

So, I call my best friend who lives down in the H-Town and start telling her about these details because she is an actual, bonafide HOUSTONIAN. As soon as I mention this particular neighborhood (which she and I have been to before), and the cemeteries, she’s like “Oh yeah.” Then she goes on to tell me about ghost stories in a certain place near there, and bayou stuff, and oh, Oh, OH!!!

MORE LIGHTS GOING ON IN THE GREY MATTER!

Ding, ding, ding!!!!

After I got off the phone with her, my brain would not shut down.

I brain stormed. I printed maps. I had a detailed high concept now, and I was laying the plot over it. There will be more plotting soon. There will be trips to the H-Town, and photographs, and notes, and excitement, and more plotting, more excitement, and then detailed outlining, and even more *excitement*, and then actual, Honest to Mike writing of MS #3!!!

YYYYEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!

I love days like this when some one little thing gets laid in my lap, and I see how a seemingly insignificant detail can start a creative fire.

I add a little extra spark to it and suddenly I have a Creative Fire Works Display - with Boston Pops playing the 1812 Overture, and heavy cannon firing right on cue! Metaphorically speaking...

*Breathing now.*

These are the kinds of days a writer lives for. The stuff that makes you deliriously happy and totally nuts at the same time - deliriously happy for what it has brought to the story, and totally nuts because it was pure fortune.

What the Hell would I have done if that one story with those two insignificant details had not been told to me?

I will not dwell on the way in which fortune deigns to visit or pass me by, as the case may be. No, I will simply revel in what is here for me tonight, because...

It. Is. Good.

I only have one problem.

You know, with all the fire works, and symphony, and cannon fire...

How the Hell am I going to get to sleep now?

Polla Filia,
J.F.

FIRST BLOOMS

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Wed, 21 Apr 2010 00:00:00 +0000

The front hedge is just beginning to bloom, but not in the splendour we will have in a few more days. We must be patient for that.

Meanwhile, the first blooms are showing their pretty heads. Enjoy!

Click on the photos to get a larger view.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

THE MIDNIGHT OIL

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 09 Apr 2010 20:14:00 +0000

“We spend our midday sweat, our midnight oil; We tire the night in thought, the day in toil.”
-- Francis Quarles

I don’t know what Francis Quarles was on about with that quote, but it seems apropos for this subject.

I’m getting down to the “lick log” as we say here in Texas (they probably say it in Wyoming and other “cowboy” states - it has to do with cattle). I’m getting to the end of the revisions on this manuscript. I always have the next book in mind. Actually, I usually have the one after that lurking around in my head as well.

I’ve also been contemplating a standalone for quite some time - that is, a book that is not part of my “Art of Crime” series on which I am currently working.

During the day, thoughts on my various projects cruise in and out of my head. At the end of the day I begin to actively cultivate those thoughts. I run scenes in my mind, revise them, re-run them, revise them again, and when the spark catches real fire, I quickly commit them to paper. I have been doing this in regard to these recent revisions.

The other night, something I had been fussing over in the manuscript revisions just clicked. This was about 10:00 at night. I think I mentioned the “day job”. It seems my highest productivity in writing comes after 10:00. I think this is because a certain amount of decompression time must take place after work before those ideas really click. The problem is, when they do, I cannot then just turn that off. First of all, the ideas re-energize me completely so that it would take some time to “re-decompress”. Secondly, I have that writer’s fear, which I think is innate, that I could lose something valuable if I don’t set it down on pen and paper, and set it down quickly.

So, you do what you can to capture the thoughts, the feeling, the essence, and to train yourself to then somehow let it go, believing that falling asleep with those ideas in mind may breed something even better.

So it was the other night. The “aha” for the revisions to ms #1, and then - something that just sprung into my head on the standalone. I have struggled with one element of that standalone story for a long time. I think it is going to be a great one, and someday I will be able to discuss in detail the concept, how it came to me, and all that; but, not now.

So, this “solution” to the one element just started to roll out in my mind. I see my stories like film. I think that’s because I am an artist as well as a writer, but who really knows? So, there it was playing out with narrative and dialogue and details for me to put into my notes.

By this time, the “aha” from revisions to ms #1 had taken me a bit of time to put down. It was now around midnight and I am sitting on the edge of my bed with large index cards (I use them to structure scenes and map out details because I can move them around later), and I am working out these new details for the standalone. I don’t remember what time I actually finished, but it was late. I slept well (a bonafide miracle). When I awoke the next morning, and looked at the index cards again, and contemplated all the previous nights revisions and ideas, they all still seemed exciting. That’s the litmus test for sure.

These are exciting moments in the life of this writer! I carried the index cards with me the whole day. I didn’t look at them. I just carried them with me. Okay, so maybe that’s weird to you, but to this writer having them right there is - I don’t know - comfort, a way of keeping the thoughts going. It’s like carrying the love letters from an absent paramour. No, I’m not kidding.

The revisions to ms #1 will be done soon, and then I will have a big task on my hands in another respect - but, more on that at a later date. I will also begin the next book in my series - well, actually, I already have - but, I will focus on it without revisions to something else.

I will also continue to cultivate these exciting ideas for my standalone book. I don’t know when I’ll get down to the business of really plotting it out, but I’m thinking I won’t be able to hold off for long.

As with love, the passion builds in writing until resisting the urge to leap is utterly futile.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

THE FULLNESS OF THE DREAM

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Mon, 05 Apr 2010 19:34:00 +0000

From my Hero, Mr. John Steinbeck there is this:

“The profession of book-writing makes horse-racing seem like a solid, stable business. ”

I might have gotten into horse racing by contrast, but I have dreamed of writing books since I was at least 5, and maybe it was closer to 3 - that’s as far back as my memory goes and the dream goes back to the beginning of that memory. There have been set-backs for sure. Some were of my own making, but the ones most lately were not.

If it’s not your dream, if you don’t love the work as if it’s a part of you (because for me it is), then you don’t keep going. You throw in the towel. You say, “I gave it a shot.” Except of course, if you threw in the towel, you didn’t give it a shot - not by a *long shot*.

This work takes the kind of determination and perseverance that makes Literary Greats compare it to the “stability” of horse racing.

Here endeth the preamble, now we begin the recitals:

I have a “day job”. Okay, so I’m not bagging groceries down at the store. I actually have more of a “day career”. I work for a certain Fortune 50 company in their legal department. I’m not a lawyer, I’m a paralegal by training, but I am nevertheless a person with a good deal of legal education, training and experience who negotiates contracts, makes decisions and generally drains her brain daily to solve other peoples’ “issues” (that would be “problems” in non-corporate speak - for those of us who prefer to call it the way it is - and I do).

I would prefer not to have a “day job”. I would prefer to write all day; but, for most writers this doesn’t pay enough. This is especially true for those of us who are starting all over again. I wrote a book under another name once - no, I’m not going to tell you. It did okay. It was a good book, but things happened in life and I got derailed by duty and responsibility to a family member. I had to take a hiatus.

Recitals over, here is the “meat” of the "contract":

I never gave up. I will never give up. I have been published by a major house, I have been in the game, I’m a card-carrying member of the Author’s Guild (they don’t admit every Tom, Dick and Jane who come along), I have been paid for my work. I AM A PROFESSIONAL WRITER.

It does not matter to me that the vast majority of my income comes from the “day job”. I am a professional writer. It has been my dream for as far back as my memory will go, and I brought that dream to fruition once. I will bring it to fruition again, and this time I will do so to the Fullness of My Dream!

Of late, I have had to revise my vacation plans for this year to accommodate my writing needs. You see, friends, I spend all my time off, all my nights and all my weekends working on this Writing Dream - whether it is researching locations, researching details for some part of the work, riding with law enforcement officers to get the “ring of truth” into the stuff, taking photographs, making notes, plotting and re-plotting, or FINALLY downloading that story in my brain into this technological machine we call a “computer”. That is what I do while some of you are booking flights to the beach for Spring Break.

I would tell you to go suck your mai tais, but I do get to book flights and go places, too. Last year I went to San Francisco (and environs) to do location research. That trip bore much fruit, which will not be seen for several years, but nevertheless...

This year, I have a lot of special challenges to face, and I will not bore you with those details now (I’ll bore you with them later after I’ve overcome each and every one of them). I am now in the deep of writing (hence my long absence from this blog - which is not an excuse, but it is a reason). This year I will have to re-work my vacation time around my writing calendar as it is currently shaping up. There won’t be any trips, except possibly to New York City for writing business - if so, it will be a whirlwind in and out trip of only a few short days.

The rest of my time will be spent finishing the revisions to this bloody manuscript we shall call #1 (for purposes of clarity), then I will be knee-deep in the bowels of the Austin History Center doing more research for ms #2, my head stuck in books for ms #3, AND scratching out notes and shuffling plot cards (large index cards) for #2 and #3 and a standalone I hope to write.

All of this after the Colossal Brain Drain of my Day Job. I don’t know how I manage it, other than by pushing relentlessly forward. I would tell you that I manage all that by drinking, but I don’t. I do drink, but only occasionally and not to manage all of the above. Even Steinbeck only “got into his cups” on Sunday nights, and that was because he took Mondays off. He didn’t have a day job. He had a wife with a day job. He later divorced her for a blonde hussy. **sigh** I can’t help it, I still love and respect the bastard. :) Men are just like that - at least the ones who are interesting enough for me, but that’s a Whole Other Blog Post. :)

No hubby here - just me and the Attack Cat - slogging away to Dream City.

This time I will see that Great City. I won’t just drive through, sleeping overnight in a cheap motel.

No, people, I have a plan.

It is built on the foundation of all the crap I’ve had to wade through just to get to this point. With every fall, I got up and made my legs stronger for the next wave come to take me down. I don’t look at the waves anymore. I have waded out into the deep waters and I’m riding those sons of bitches now! I have built me a custom board and I am hangin’ those monsters all the way to Waimea!

Because if you don’t believe, you will never make it.

If you can’t see that Dream big as life in your head, it will never come.

It has to be so real to you that you can taste it, smell it, touch it!

It is so real to me I am living it right now - because I *am* at the beginning of it, making it happen with everything I have.

Hang in here with me, People.

The Fullness of that Dream is coming.

Dream City is the next stop.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

BLOG REDUX: BE THE GARDENER

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Thu, 18 Feb 2010 05:23:00 +0000

I'm still working on manuscript revisions, so here's another blog redux.

BTW, yes, the roses are actually my garden. Annual pruning coming up in early March. Photos will ensue after the pruning, then we'll contrast that with mid-Spring's lush green canes and thick floral abundance.

How gratifying to take such care, work with such precision, invest so much muscle and sweat, and anticipate such beauty with so much confidence. Ah yes, to make our lives such a garden!

December 26, 2009
BE THE GARDENER

“Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.”

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

Attitude is what it is all about.

I have two weeks off of the “day job”. I covet these two weeks. I covet them passionately. I am almost through the first week. I have a bit more than one week left.

I have been working on a project here in my house. I am moving some books around from one room to another and vice versa. It is a re-organization project I have needed to do for a long while. It relates to the office I have in which I do my writing, and it relates to cleaning up another room in the house.

Also, I am going to clean out my bedroom closets when I am done with the book project. Goodwill is going to “inherit” the stuff I get rid of (that is, the stuff which doesn’t go to the trash can).

I was fretting yesterday about knowing these two projects are going to take another three to four days to complete. The projects are eating into the remainder of my two weeks off!

I was getting my knickers into a little twist over it.

Then I took a deep breath. I took a few more deep breaths and said to myself, “Self, you have two brilliant weeks off. They are being used for a good purpose. There will be ample time to play after the projects are done, and you will feel refreshed when they are finished. You will be satisfied to finish them, and it will make the remaining time off all the better. Quit your lame whining and knickers twisting.”

Attitude switch over occurrence. **click**

It is the day after Christmas and yesterday I got quite a lot done, thank you very much. I had my Christmas festivities with the fam yesterday. Then I came home and did some work on the computer, and I worked a bit on my book re-org project. I am very happy I was industrious enough to accomplish a good deal - especially for a holiday.

So, I am going to be the gardener come what may. Out of damp and gloomy days, solitude, and any loveless words directed my way, I will not allow anything to grow like fungus. I will not be the soil of the plants that grow in me. I will instead be the gardener and cultivate something more - more than fungus, more than whatever plants grow of their own accord. I will be the gardener who tends the plot and brings it to beauty.

Click on the photo for a larger view.

So, my friends, let us all Be The Gardener.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

BACK TO OUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 22:21:00 +0000

Yeah, I know. I didn't do what I said I was. I didn't keep up with this. **sigh** All I can say is, life intervened. So, while I get myself collected again, so I can post something better, here is a Blog Redux. Enjoy!

Oh, and I am STILL missing that Big Apple. **sigh**

NEW YORK STATE OF MIND

I am missing New York City lately. I haven’t been to the Great City in a while. As soon as I am able I will arrange a trip there, but it may be a bit. Meanwhile, here are some photos I like.

I shot all of these on two separate trips - in fall one year and in early spring in another year. The last photo of the Flatiron building in snow is not mine. It’s an old photo shot in 1920, but I just love it, so it’s here, too.

Meanwhile, click on the link below and listen to the Piano Man himself sing the song while you enjoy the photos. :)

New York State of Mind-Billy Joel

Click on the photos for a bigger view.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

POST HOLIDAY BLUES

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Wed, 20 Jan 2010 20:43:00 +0000

I heard it on the evening news.

Monday, January 18th, the bluest day of the year.

This is supposed to be because we have all suddenly awakened from our Holiday Bliss to discover: a) credit card bills from Christmas; and b) back to work responsibilities (collectively hereinafter referred to as “Freaking Sucky Reality”).

Okay, maybe that was a little harsh...

No.

It wasn’t.

I will not retract it. It was good sarcastic legalese (see “See More Here” on the right-hand sidebar, or click on this link, scroll down under “Specialized Training, etc”, read that last line there, and you might understand). :)

Who needs Monday, January 18th?? Crap, I was blue beginning Monday, January 4th, when I had to go back to the “day job”. I have been existing in a seriously blue Post-Holiday Fog ever since. **sigh**

I’m working on it, though. I believe in good attitudes. I believe in making choices about who we want to be, and how we want to feel. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, instantaneous, or without the occasional temporary failure.

I’m in such a state of Temporary Attitude Failure right now.

I’ve tried the chemical boost. No, not drugs (per se). I’m talking about red wine, margaritas (no, not in the same day, and not everyday - and not in excess - well, okay, I had 3 margaritas at one sitting last weekend but I had a heavy TexMex meal and a designated driver), chocolate - dark and milk, mac and cheese... **sigh** Alas, no joy. LITERALLY.

No.

Joy.

I’ve tried making sure I’m getting 8 every single night (hours, not minutes).

I’ve tried the Patchouli/Sweet Orange Bubble Bath Solution. Very nice, but no go.

I’ve been on the indoor bike off and on, but I’ve only done one really hard weight workout after the holidays.

It has become obvious this calls for the following Absolute Guaranteed Cure for the Blues. Here’s the recipe:

1. Put on your workout clothes and socks, dummy (dummy is me, not you).

2. Plug the iPod into the surround sound system and set it on the Absolute Guaranteed Rockin’ Workout Playlist.

3. Turn that mother on and rock that volume up so the walls vibrate just enough to feel it, but not so much it scares the cat (or so the neighbors can hear it - which would have to be pretty loud, because their houses and mine have a reasonable distance between them). Luckily, kitty doesn't scare easily - he's a rocker at heart.

4. Go into the gym (f/k/a one of the spare bedrooms in my house).

5. Slip your mitts into those weight-lifting gloves, put your butt and back on that bench and start pumping some serious freakin’ iron!!!

6. Then rock out some curls, overhead tri extensions, upright rows, bentover rows, etc. - you get the picture.

7. After all that, sit your butt down on that indoor bike and pedal off some serious speed for some serious minutes (like 18 or 19 mph for 45).

8. Finish with a protein recovery drink (a/k/a protein fruit smoothie made in my own blender).

9. Shower - when your legs quit wobbling. :)

10. Kick back in bare feet with an nice, refreshing glass of iced hibiscus tea (unsweetened - I’m a purist when it comes to herb tea).

11. Reflect on how good life really is.

Ahhhhh......

I’m off to fill this prescription, people. Be back soon with a better post and a better attitude.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

THE FRUIT OF THE VINE

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 21:40:00 +0000

The holiday vacation is about to come to an end. **sigh**

It has been a great break - much needed. I have re-grouped and re-prioritized and I am ready to move forward on many goals.

I have some great plans for the new year, and I’m excited about that.

There were a lot of good things I thought about/discovered/decided during this time off. Most of them were big things, and too personal for this blog. I also made some real progress on the next novel, which is very exciting and good news for me.

Symbolic of good discoveries during this time is a bottle of wine I found. Finding it was total chance. I stumbled over it in the wine section of my grocery store! I had a good feeling about it. It has a good price point. I took a chance, and as soon as I un-corked it I knew my small risk had paid off in a big way. It’s a beautiful Zinfandel from Sonoma called Rancho Zabaco. It is smooth and rich and it spoiled me for some other wines I had. That’s how good it is.

I’m hoping that’s a harbinger for how my new year will go. I don’t drink champagne (it gives me a headache), so the Rancho Zabaco is what I drank to ring in my New Year. Maybe the new year will be as nice of a surprise as this new wine. I hope the year goes down just as smoothly - for all of us.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

ONCE IN A BLUE MOON

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 18:05:00 +0000

I am still slogging away at my book project, but wanted to stop and wish everyone a very Happy New Year!

Tonight we will have a "blue" moon to herald our new year. The moon will not be really blue. It is the second moon within one month, and those are typically referred to as "blue". They are rare, hence the phrase "once in a blue moon". The last one we had was in 1990.

For more info on blue moons, you can read this on Wikipedia, or you can go to this article on ABC News.

Also, this is the beginning of a new decade. The last one wasn't so great - globally or personally; but, I'm trying to focus on the good parts and build on those for the new year and decade.

I am reminded of Mr. Dickens who said in "A Tale of Two Cities":

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair..."

I think our last decade *was* a bit like that - for me personally, it surely was. Let us grab on to the best of times, the age of wisdom, the epoch of belief, the season of Light and the spring of hope. Let's make those the things we take into our new decade.

Let's make the good parts happen more than once in a blue moon.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

THE GREAT BOOK PROJECT

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 21:56:00 +0000

Well, folks, nothing interesting to post today. Sorry, The Great Book Project continues (and is nearing its end). I am knee deep in book stacks and dust. Now that all the books have been moved, I'm on to the last phase, which is the shelving. I'm going in. Wish me luck. :)

Polla Filia,
J.F.

SAN FRANCISCO REDUX IN PICS

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 06:10:00 +0000

I am in the midst of many things today, so I'm posting some previously unpublished photos from my trip to San Francisco in August.

These are photos of Mr. Steinbeck's resting place in Salinas,California (the flowers in the bunch with the yellow ribbon around them are from me); the Pacific Ocean from Monterey, California; and the Great Mr. Steinbeck's camper truck, Rocinante (named after Don Quixote's horse), which made the trip around the United States with him. That trip was immortalized in his non-fiction work "Travels with Charley: In Search of America". This happens to be one of my all-time faves of his.

Check out the inside of the truck. I think it is so cool he slept there as he and his dog drove all around the entire Continental United States.

Enjoy!

Click on the photo for a larger view.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

NEW YORK STATE OF MIND

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 21:17:00 +0000

I am missing New York City lately. I haven’t been to the Great City in a while. As soon as I am able I will arrange a trip there, but it may be a bit. Meanwhile, here are some photos I like.

I shot all of these on two separate trips - in fall one year and in early spring in another year. The last photo of the Flatiron building in snow is not mine. It’s an old photo shot in 1920, but I just love it, so it’s here, too.

Meanwhile, click on the link below and listen to the Piano Man himself sing the song while you enjoy the photos. :)

New York State of Mind-Billy Joel

Click on the photos for a bigger view.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

THE HONOR OF BEING LOUIE’S KID

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 19:35:00 +0000

“Every day I remind myself of all that I have been given.”
-- Luciano Pavarotti

Yesterday was the day after Christmas. Great day for sales, and to spend more time with family.

For me, it is and always will be the anniversary of the last time I ever saw my father. I was living in Dallas at the time, and my parents lived in Austin where I was born. I had driven home for Christmas. I was working at a big blue-chip law firm in Big D, and I had to leave the day after Christmas and drive back to the big city to get back to work. No rest for the wicked (or weary, depending on who you talk to).

I stood with my Dad next to the driveway of my childhood home (which is no more). We had discussed when I would come home again, and I told him I thought I would come back in mid-February for his birthday. I hugged my Mom and said bye, and then I hugged my Dad and said “I’ll see you next time.” Who knew next time would be on the other side of life?

I drove away and never saw him face to face again. Three weeks later he suffered a major heart attack and died instantly. I had spoken to him on the phone only two hours before. His back was hurting and he was going to take a hot shower. When he got out of the shower, he had the heart attack and it was over.

I don’t morbidly remember this day each year. I remember it with joy and gratitude. Joy at the great, close and wonderful relationship I had with my Dad, and I remember it with gratitude for having such a father.

All men should strive to be the kind of father my father was. Here was a mechanic and machinest working physically hard for a living every day. He came home from a hard day's work, read the newspaper, had dinner at the kitchen table with his wife and kids, and asked us about what we did that day. He had three daughters, and all of them loved and idolized him.

He wasn’t all syrupy and mushy, though. He was a tough guy - a man’s man; but, he was loving and giving to his kids. He would praise us often for doing well in school, or in some other effort. He didn’t spank or yell, but if you dis-obeyed the rules you would be grounded - and you DID NOT ask for early reprieve on a grounding. There were no bicycling privileges when you were grounded. You needed to spend your time only in your yard, and in contemplation of how you would improve yourself and amend your ways. Consequently, we followed Dad’s rules. I was the worst of the three of us, getting a two-week grounding (with the bicycle put up on high hooks in the garage). I had ridden said bike outside of the approved area for riding my bike without an adult (I rode it all the way down to the creek and was riding it through a culvert when Dad came looking for me - I had been gone a long time). This rule was (of course) one for my own safety. I never did it again.

Think about it - this man disciplined his children without threats, spanking or yelling. He was firm and consistent, and he showed love and praise often. I never argued with him, or questioned him - not out of fear, but out of admiration and respect.

After regular work hours, my Dad restored old American vehicles for himself and for others, and he did repair work on their older cars, too. From the time I was a teen, I worked in the garage with Daddy on these cars. I continued doing this after I was grown and moved away to Dallas. I would come home on a weekend, and Daddy and I would be in the garage on a Saturday up to our respective elbows in grease. I had my own creeper for rolling under the jacked up cars. I would roll in from one side and Daddy from the other and we would get to work. In work under the hood, both our heads would be hovering over the engine while we collaborated on the repairs.

Once the work was done, it was time for a cold brew. I would go inside and get two bottles and bring them out to the garage. The two of us would lean back against the workbench with our refreshment and feel the relief which can only come from cold beer after a hard day’s work. Then the family would all get dressed and we’d go out for Mexican food. Daddy and I would frequently go play pool afterward. We were notorious for playing until three in the morning. My pool playing is rusty now, but I’m resolved to practice and get my skills back. I used to run the table, so watch out! :)

You can see why I would have a feeling of gratitude for a fabulous Dad such as this! I’m also grateful I got to speak with him one last time before he died. I’m grateful my Dad never suffered or knew what hit him. He was gone before he even had time to think about it.

I am most overwhelmed and grateful for having a Dad who was also a man of remarkable character and ethics. Streams of people consistently remarked on this at his funeral - and it was standing room only that day. A man such as this compels people to come and pay respect.

There isn’t enough gratitude for being the daughter of such a man.

So I remember December the 26th with joy and gratitude. I am honored to be Louie’s Kid.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

BE THE GARDENER

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 22:52:00 +0000

“Out of damp and gloomy days, out of solitude, out of loveless words directed at us, conclusions grow up in us like fungus: one morning they are there, we know not how, and they gaze upon us, morose and gray. Woe to the thinker who is not the gardener but only the soil of the plants that grow in him.”

-- Friedrich Nietzsche

Attitude is what it is all about.

I have two weeks off of the “day job”. I covet these two weeks. I covet them passionately. I am almost through the first week. I have a bit more than one week left.

I have been working on a project here in my house. I am moving some books around from one room to another and vice versa. It is a re-organization project I have needed to do for a long while. It relates to the office I have in which I do my writing, and it relates to cleaning up another room in the house.

Also, I am going to clean out my bedroom closets when I am done with the book project. Goodwill is going to “inherit” the stuff I get rid of (that is, the stuff which doesn’t go to the trash can).

I was fretting yesterday about knowing these two projects are going to take another three to four days to complete. The projects are eating into the remainder of my two weeks off!

I was getting my knickers into a little twist over it.

Then I took a deep breath. I took a few more deep breaths and said to myself, “Self, you have two brilliant weeks off. They are being used for a good purpose. There will be ample time to play after the projects are done, and you will feel refreshed when they are finished. You will be satisfied to finish them, and it will make the remaining time off all the better. Quit your lame whining and knickers twisting.”

Attitude switch over occurrence. **click**

It is the day after Christmas and yesterday I got quite a lot done, thank you very much. I had my Christmas festivities with the fam yesterday. Then I came home and did some work on the computer, and I worked a bit on my book re-org project. I am very happy I was industrious enough to accomplish a good deal - especially for a holiday.

So, I am going to be the gardener come what may. Out of damp and gloomy days, solitude, and any loveless words directed my way, I will not allow anything to grow like fungus. I will not be the soil of the plants that grow in me. I will instead be the gardener and cultivate something more - more than fungus, more than whatever plants grow of their own accord. I will be the gardener who tends the plot and brings it to beauty.

So, my friends, let us all Be The Gardener.

Polla Filia,
J.F.

Merry Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 17:58:00 +0000

Today has been a great Christmas so far. My niece and nephew loved what they got from their Theia (that's "aunt" in Greek, and that would be me).

I made out like a bandit with bubble bath, Starbuck's card and chocolate. :9 Yahoooo!!

The best part, though, was the time with my family and for all of us to be together.

Kitty is happy, too - he had some yummy catnip.

Hope all of you are having a wonderful Christmas and have a Fabulous 2010!

Polla Filia,
J.F.

BLOG NEW YEAR

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 21:30:00 +0000

“For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.
-- T.S. Eliot ”

I have seriously neglected this blog for a while. I could make all sorts of excuses, but I won’t. There may be reasons, but the truth is, I have not done as I should.

My New Year’s Resolutions for this blog are as follows:

1. I will blog regularly, although some blog entries may be just short thoughts, or things that cracked me up, or flabbergasted me.

2. I will blog on a variety of subjects per the sidebar to the right (see “About Me”). I am a writer and sometimes I will blog about writing, but I will also post about art, wine, racing, fitness and nutrition, travel, and anything else that floats my boat, including a lot of nonsense just for fun.

3. I will sometimes post only in photos - with or without captions.

4. I will post on the mundane and the magnificent and all sorts of things in between.

5. The posts may not always be interesting to you, but the posts will be true to me - a sincere offering on whatever the subject of the post, even if it is just nonsense and fun. Sometimes - okay, more than sometimes - I am just goofy. :)

So, today I wish you the Merriest of Christmases, the Happiest of Holidays (if Christmas isn’t your thing) and a very, very Happy, Prosperous and Safe New Year!

[Translated Version]
Merry Christmas!

Polla Filia,
J.F.

REVERIE

noreply@blogger.com (J. F. Constantine) — Fri, 20 Nov 2009 21:11:00 +0000

“Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.”

-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

I’ve used the above quote before, but for this nothing else seemed so a propos.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I am contemplating the fact that this will be the first one without my mother. She died last December right before Christmas after a lengthy illness. My father died many years ago from a heart attack.

It is odd to approach a holiday as an orphan. Last year at Christmas I was not in any kind of mind to even think about holidays and orphanhood, so fresh was our loss.

This year it weighs heavy; but, I must feel it, and then cast it off. I move on to much, much brighter days, with a renewed energy, and a much better grasp of life. There is more in what I just told you than I could ever write in this one post.

Just remember that life is all in the attitude, and no matter what comes, as dark as it may be, you can always seek the light, and walk toward it, and embrace that way of being. The darkness can only encompass you if you lie down and let it.

I am not lying down. I have walked in a new direction, and I will dance along the way.

So, as Thanksgiving approaches I am focused on all I have, which is far too much to recount - and I am focused on all I know I will have, and achieve. The next chapter is going to be absolutely *Fantastic*!!

Remember:

“Sometimes our fate resembles a fruit tree in winter. Who would think that those branches would turn green again and blossom, but we hope it, we know it.”

-- Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Indeed, I know it.

Polla Filia,
J.F.