She said this and that...

2015-09-20T23:15:00.001-05:00

A preview......

Writer's Block or what have I been doing for almost a year

2014-03-09T15:09:00.003-05:00

Yeah, I know... MIA for way too long. Can't quite understand how I haven't been able to write, me... one who is never at a lose for words. The good thing is that I have discovered why I like to write. It's a process, just like doing laundry or any other repetitive task. It is not the actual result, the proverbial clean and folded laundry, that I need but the process. The contemplation, the release of words to the keyboard or notebook. Then the editing. Hitting the delete button, inserting, rewording... the process.

This means that I have fell in love with new processes that help me meditate on life. I've discovered water bath canning. Seriously, I love it and I can do it in my tiny kitchen! I've made the best garlic pickle ever, fell in love with homemade strawberry jam,

created "Mmmm mango Mandarin jam," and

<"There can only be one.. The Gherkin."

The Gherkin (just before putting in jars)>

I bought a juicer and love the mixing of fruit and veg that result in these amazing colors and flavors!

And for the first time in my life, I have been able to grow my nails and I'm obsessed with polish and nail art!

How silly, how fun!

Stay tuned for canning recipes, my fav veg/fruit juice combos, more rants and giggles, and yes, watch my nail art progress.

2013-08-06T18:24:00.001-05:00

Endings, Beginnings, Endings, Beginnings

I am a Work in Progress

I've been virtually silent, literally. I have kept my virtual voice to a whisper for several months. My journal still sits on my night table gathering dust.

I was/am in the process of ending “our marriage,” or do you say, “my marriage?” The papers were signed and filed so it is Final, Legal, done. We/I am divorced. I am learning the semantics of divorce are tricky. I am still stuck in the “we” and it is not the royal “we.” How do you change from saying “our son” to “my son” when we (see?) are still parents? How do you refer to the person you were once married to? Ex sounds so, well, crass. I think that “Former” might work, maybe that makes him like Prince, the man who was formerly known as husband. And I am no longer known as a Daley, “one of my former’s conditions.” Now I can go back to saying, “Leslie Miller… like the King of Beers.”

It has been a long year. The man I was married to actually follows my blog but I am not sure he actually reads it anymore. I haven’t been able to write about this ending/beginning in my life. I, one who is never at a loss for words, still have so much difficulty verbalizing the emotions that are associated with ending a marriage. The other reason is that my attorney told me to go on social media silence. I will agree that this process is like mourning a death. I stumble back and forth through all the phases of grief and while I believe I invented a few new phases, I am sure that many have gone before me and more will come after me.

The emotional me still grapples with the feeling at some level that somehow I failed. The realist in me knows that this is not true. That’s new for me… I still have optimism but I learned to be a realist. The fact remains that I cannot pin point an event, an incident, a moment in time when the ending began. I once told a friend that marriage is like the ocean, it ebbs and flows with the tide. I mused about this in another blog entry titled "Twitter: A Writing Exercise" so I suppose I have survived a shipwreck. It is not all smooth sailing. I suffer the memories both good and bad. My heart aches still and always will on some level. The friendship that I always cherished is battered, bruised and may not be able to be saved. This man is the father of our/my son. My/our child, is truly the best thing I have ever done in my life and would not be without his father. I just couldn’t be his wife anymore.

I have learned that nice divorces only happen in the movies. Ask anyone who has been through one and they will tell you that there is no such thing… unless your marriage was for legal documentation, you don’t have kids or pets or community property. My attorney told me he has actually written visitation orders for dogs. I never imagined just how ugly things would get. I will not recount the insanity as it would make a public record of the events that I have no need to record. These things are burned into my soul. I am a veteran of the divorce war. Those who have been there know what I mean.

The good news? Each day is truly a new beginning and I am “enjoying the process” as my dear friend Cat would say. I realize I am closer to me than I have been in a long time and I am proud of my journey.

“I am proud of the scars in my soul. They remind me that I have an intense life.”
Paulo Coelho

From Red to Black

2013-02-09T20:42:00.000-06:00

This is not an accounting lesson, repeat, this is not an accounting lesson. I was born a brunette and while we keep our hair, we go grey young. I've been coloring my hair since my twenties. When I worked in a record store (yes, real vinyl records and cassettes were the thing) I experimented with shades of purple and orange. When I "grew up" and got a real job, I had a great colorist... a rich brownish red. I could afford a visit to THE SALON without thinking twice. Oh the good old days!

Flash forward to the last 12 years (which does in fact coincide with the age of my son) I have been basically brown or kinda reddish. The reddish has been great but goes so brassy so easily. And many of my friends will testify that I will put off buying the box for waaay too long. I've come to work to find "gifts" of unused hair color boxes on my desk. So my reds have varied.

As I have noted in my previous entry, time to color and cut my hair. I decided to rid myself of brassy forever and listened to my friends... I found an ash color to cut out the brass. So there I was in the hair color aisle at the HEB staring at the wall of potential colors. I have never been loyal to brand, always going for the low to mid-priced box o'color but today, I felt I was worth it... and tossed the box of 4A Dark Ash Brown in the cart and forgot about it for a few days.

Home hair dying isn't very difficult. If you can read, you can dye your hair from a box. Even though the directions provide extra minutes for stubborn gray, I usually add an additional five to that because my gray is obstinate. I have a special shirt that I wear and recently added a hand towel to that as well. I saved a root touch up brush that helps with the hairline and temples but I always miss a few. On goes the dye and then I sit around for the prescribed time. I can't do anything really because I wear glasses and without them the world is a blurr but of course, I can do laundry blind if there is any left to do.

Finally its time to hit the shower. Rinse until clear is actually pretty interesting. Within the first few minutes excess dye splattering everywhere creates a shower murder scene. Some products make your hair feel like straw, but I have to say that I love the conditioner that comes in a box o'color. I have friends who used to buy the box just for the conditioner. Once completely rinsed and conditioned the waiting game begins for me to see what color 4A Dark Ash Brown really is because the box pictures are always off. I rarely dry my hair with an actual hair dryer. I just can't be bothered but I just can't stand it... I grab the blower and go for straight hair versus the air dried mostly curly look.

And now I am Dark Ash Brown, which is really Daring Almost Black. I embrace the change and everyone says it suits me. Next, the new hair cut.

Cleaning House

2013-01-13T22:12:00.000-06:00

My blog is clogged. My journal sits waiting to be paid attention to, pen at the ready. My knitting needles lost their click and I haven’t been lost in a good book for months. These things are the way I work out the stuff that churns inside my brain, my heart, my soul. It has happened before on rare occasion. I have reached a place in my life when I am at a loss for words, my creativity has come to a screeching halt because of the internal work consumes all. At times like this I have to clean house. I watched my mother do the same thing… I knew she had something on her mind and she would commence to clean. To seek out every nook and cranny and make it right.

I am my mother’s daughter. I am transitioning, changing my life in ways unimaginable. It has taken every inch of my fiber, my being to grow… to take these steps. And since I am not using my traditional “tools” to cope, I am my mother. Not a bad thing. I am cleaning house. I open a drawer or cabinet and go through it. I find all the lids to the plastic ware and if there is a missing piece it goes in the trash. I spent part of New Year’s Eve matching socks. Yes, I actually threw the singles away knowing its mate would never surface. I have tried on everything in my closet and sectioned off a part that fits, will fit and must consign.

And on those particularly turbulent days I make laundry. It’s not like I don’t have enough laundry to do and I actually don’t like doing laundry. But there is something about doing laundry, the methodical rhythm of finding the bits for the wash. The kitchen towel, the hand towels, the blankets on the couch. Then turning the knob, adding soap and loading. , Next the turn over to the dryer, cleaning the vent, turning the knob. Warm clothes enter the basket… the smell of clean laundry. Then, the folding, matching of socks, and making neat stacks. I do this all without really thinking, I enter a Zen state of laundry. My mind is captured by the method and I find peace. This is the one task that I do mindfully without actually having to focus on being mindful. I acknowledge the other “thought bombs” and let them go, I’m doing laundry.

So my house is almost clean and the laundry is nearly done yet the writing still comes in mad rushes. It is obvious that radical steps remain. Time to change the color and cut my hair.

2012-11-27T19:02:00.002-06:00

Frogging...

Not to be confused with gigging frogs. For all my non-knitting friends, this means that point where you have been happily clicking away on that knitting project, perhaps for hours and then you look down and realize something is just not right. After counting rows and stitches, recounting rows and stitches, you realize this is not a simple fix, you cannot simply unknit a few rows and this is something that crochet hook will never repair. You bemoan the fact that you have not utilized the life line. There it is, the issue at hand, perhaps a gaping hole, or twisted stitches. The decision is yours.

Do you continue on as if nothing has gone wrong? Or... do you decide to (gulp) frog? You hear the every increasing loudness of the "rip it, rip it, rip it, rip it" froggy chorus and you have the decision of your life ahead of you... Are you prepared to tear out rows and rows of your meditative knitting?

Knitting has helped me to put my life together when it was unraveling and now that I have worked on this UFO (unfinished object) for years, I see the dropped stitches, the miscalculated rows. part of me kept knitting along unaware. I have measured and contemplated long and hard. Finally, I have mustered the courage and I am frogging with determination knowing that I each time I start over, I understand the pattern better.

2012-06-05T20:01:00.000-05:00

Speak-Out

At a recent NOW meeting, a new member was unclear about what the actual medical procedure for an abortion was like. Another member offered part of her personal experience and then stated that this was the first time she had actually spoken about her own experience publicly. Even though we are empowered feminists, we still have difficulty discussing our personal stories. Society continues to or revisits that those of us who choose or have chosen abortion are somehow less than. I think now more than ever it is time for us to speak-out.

The first abortion speak-out took place during the pre-Roe v. Wade era, when abortion was illegal in the United States. Each state had its own laws about reproductive matters (sounds eerily familiar?). It was rare if not unheard of to hear any woman speak publicly about her experience with illegal abortion. In February of 1969, Redstockings, the radical feminist group founding in New York “disrupted” a New York legislative hearing about abortion. Four years after the 1969 abortion speak-out, the Roe v. Wade decision altered the landscape by repealing most abortion laws then in effect and striking down restrictions on abortion during the first trimester of pregnancy.

And today, it is becoming rare for women to speak-out about their legal abortions. As more and more states enact laws that make access to legal abortions increasingly more difficult and more disinformation is spread as fact, it is important that we hear the real stories of real women who have chosen to seek an abortion, whether it was after or pre-Roe v Wade. I encourage you to contact me with our story, which I will share on my blog and Austin NOW’s website, I know there are other sites out there dedicated to women’s stories and this will be another avenue for our voices but encourage each and everyone to put their story out there so we are heard.

Email your story to me (stargaia64@gmail.com), indicate if you want your story to appear with your name, a nom de plume or posted anonymously. Or if you blog, I (and the Austin NOW site), will be sure to indicate your story is a cross-post. To get the speak-out started, I will post my story in a day or two.

Tinfoil

2012-01-22T23:00:00.001-06:00

By now everyone has read that depression can physically hurt, it can be exhausting, it can cause insomnia, and a multitude of other uncomfortable verbs. Depression is… we don’t ask for it. I know that I am no alone in this. We, the depressives, are actually a rather big club, but we don’t advertise very often. Membership comes at a great cost to us and to our loved ones. Our loved ones feel helpless even when we explain there is literally nothing they can do to make it better. The most they can do is acknowledge that depression exists, and let us know they are there for us if we need them. We can be reminded to eat, sleep or get up, or take our meds; but ultimately, we are the ones who have to make it better by doing what works for each of us in the moment.

Over the years I have learned that my depression is mostly triggered by situations and seasons. I don’t know if I am the only one, but I can recognize when I am on the road to a depressive period. There is that defining moment after struggling to stay balanced when I know that I have temporarily lost my battle with biochemistry. My mouth goes dry and I taste silvery, wrinkled, tinfoil. Really, no matter what I eat or drink, I return to the taste of chewing gum wrapper only worse metal. I wonder if I’m the only one.

The situations vary for me but the seasonal depression is well, seasonal, and as a result, more predictable. I actually start brushing up on my coping skills when everyone is pulling out their boxes of holiday decorations. While everyone is getting into that holiday spirit (or pretending to be) I am doing whatever I can to wake up each day. My seasonal depression can be sneaky. It might arrive before Thanksgiving, but always before my birthday in December and sticks around well into January. I get the fun of a summer depression too, around the death date of my best friend, which coincides with one of the hottest months in Texas.

On the more normal side, if there is such a thing as normal symptoms for depression, I become narcoleptic, never able to get enough sleep in an effort to just shut it all out. On the flip side, I might have a bout of disturbed sleep, waking up and unable to really go back to sleep, unable to stop the wheels from spinning. Staring at the alarm clock dreading the moments knowing I should be sleeping since I actually have to function during the day instead of pulling the sheets over my head.

So what works for me when I’m in the darkest depths of depression? I read, I write and I take not too warm baths or showers, and now I try to share what it is like to be a depressive. I think that speaking out about it helps me have power over it. Most people never recognize my depression because I work hard to cope. I leave my depression outside when I enter work and I literally put a smile on my face because it really does bring calm energy. I mindfully walk, type and breathe. I focus on the fact that the best thing I have ever done in my life needs his Mom and the reason I somehow live through those lonely moments of depression in a crowded room. I know each day my son will make me smile, even through the deepest depths of any depressive day. To see that sparkle in his eyes and to hear his laugh is truly magical healing.

P.S. I read a blog entry by one of my fav bloggers, Jenny Lawson aka The bloggess, about depression: http://thebloggess.com/2012/01/the-fight-goes-on/). She has a Silver Ribbon and is raising funds for charity by offering pendants and buttons with the message, “Never Give Up”.

Twitter: A Writing Exercise

2011-12-01T11:20:00.000-06:00

I decided to enter yet another social media realm, Twitter. At first, it was just to see what it was all about andthen I decided it would be a really amazing way to learn how to edit myself down to a mere 140 characters, including spacing and punctuation. Below are a string of tweets sent out to the world before I actually had people “following” me other than one friend who told me that Twitter was a great way to just send your thoughts out into the universe. The exercise was more cathartic that I would have ever imagined. Most of my tweets have become less poetic, but I would recommend what I now call the Twitter Poetry exercise.

Love is like the ocean. Vast, seemingly never ending, gentle rocking like a cradle. Like the ocean it can rage like a northeaster.

Love is like an ocean. Crystal clear Bimini blue with 100% visibility. Like the ocean depths, where no light has ever visited.

Love is like an ocean. It can offer a safe harbor or dash you against a hidden reef. You curse yourself for not seeing the obvious.

Love is like the ocean. You may feel like a seaworthy vessel but the ocean can sink you nevertheless.

Love is like the ocean. Wounds sting but heal quicker.

Love is like an ocean. Sails fill with a nickel of wind but remember you might end up dead in the water again.

Love is like the ocean. Sirens beckon, you are overwhelmed with the mystery of its depths.

Texacanized

2011-10-21T19:59:00.000-05:00

I still don't totally understand how I ended up in Texas, or should I say, ended back in Texas. I did take a 2 1/2 year break, but I've been back for 11 years. Once you get here, it gets harder and harder to get out. Texas is a big ass state! It can take a good hard day of driving to reach the closest state border, so I guess you just say awhile.

When I first arrived in Austin, I pronounced the Spanish named streets like my 8th grade Spanish teacher (Mrs. Morales) taught me. Now I've learned to talk like a Texacan. Manchaca is pronounced Man-Chak. Guadalupe sounds like Gwad-a-loop and San Jacinto? San Jay Sinto... so much for that rule about J in Spanish.

Another amazing first moment made me think that there were no other Jews in the state or someone Jewish had a great sense of humor. I saw a huge red neon sign that said:

I later learned it was a grocery store chain. H is for Henry E. and B is for Butts (I don't think this is a Jewish guy). We still say, "We're going to the HEB, need anything?" BTW. there are a few shelves in each HEB of Kosher food, right close to the other "ethnic food."

Right close? A Texacan thing to say. After so many years, it is a bit alarming that I barely notice the Texacan in my daily speech. I have been known to say, "I'm fixin to..." or the dreaded, "might should.." without blinkin. Oh my goddess, see.. a "g" just slipped away! This, from a woman who uses Yiddish expression nearly every day and still says "Aw-range" and Straawberry like I left New York a few weeks ago.

Another Texacan thing is to brag about how I've managed to survive the worst recorded summer heat in Austin history. As I have previously blogged, weather is easily a 30-minute conversation...with a stranger...while in the HEB check out line... after everyone seems to have gotten out of church gets out on Sunday (everyone is in their Sunday best jeans), after the Friday pay day. It seems like everyone gets paid every other Friday in Austin. The next top ten topic of conversation after weather is High School or College Football, but that is another blog.

I realized a few weeks ago just how Texacanized I have really become. We've been thinking about putting aside some cash for a second vehicle. All of a sudden, I want a wait for it... (Hold on to your hats! Oh right, only Texans wear hats all the time) A TRUCK!!!!

Not an SUV or crossover. A truck. Not to freak out anyone too much, I want a little truck. No big tires for me. I do not want a truck that requires a step extension. No F anything, more like a truck so I can put stuff in the back, like firewood. Small enough so a couch or bed WILL NOT fit. I don't mind helping a friend move boxes but I am not opening a moving business. Big Truck? Kiss your weekends goodbye!

I can hear my friends getting a giggle about this. I am sure a serious intervention will take place. "Really, Why on earth do you want a truck?" I really have no logical explanation. I used to say, "I want a pony" every time my son started his list of "I wants" and he laughs. Now he catches himself mid list and says, "I know Mom (eyes rolling). You want a truck." Maybe I want a truck because every month is Truck Month at just about any dealership here in the Big State. Or maybe it is the "Texas Edition" that just wins me over.

I'm supposin as a Texacan that I'm fixin to get a small truck right soon enough ya'll!

2011-09-10T19:50:00.000-05:00

Reconnected

It has been one year and four days since I had an internet connection in my home and now... I'm back. I no longer have to type with my thumbs. Imagine trying to type a blog entry of value with your thumbs. At first, we cut the net as a way to be more frugal in our spending (read: so broke I couldn't pay attention) but then we just kinda decided it did not have enough value. Without internet my son, husband, and I read more than our normal "I love to read" amounts. We played board and computer games. I spent more time trying to complete my knitting projects. I say tried because I am making two blankets made up of squares using whatever yarn I have and neither is finished.

We also cut off cable/TV. We watched every DVD and VHS movie in our collection and those of our friends. I still love "American in Paris" even though I've watched it more times than I can count before we disconnected and now my son can sing along with Gene Kelly. How can that be bad??? The downside was not having real-time access to the news. But I soon realized that I wasn't watching the real news, just talking heads. I ending up getting my news from NPR and online via my smart phone.

Now I can sit down when the mood strikes me and actually create a blog post and immediately publish it. Now I can read a whole web page of news without shrinking and enlarging a bazillion times. Now we can watch movies on Netflix without waiting for our one movie to arrive in the mail. Now we can access the PlayStation Network and my son can be sucked in for hours (not really, we allot 40 minute time slots).

So what drove us to reconnect? Well, the school year started and my guy should have access to research for projects. My husband has a new job and he can work from home. I've been active in reforming Austin's chapter of the National Organization for Women. So it was time for us to rejoin the modern world. However, I plan to have a minimum of three disconnected days a week, once the thrill has subsided.

The Hive

2011-07-02T21:42:00.000-05:00

Perhaps its been awhile since you have been part of cubeworld. Corporate culture is faced with radical change. Every desk holds a portal to the web... tempting even the most dedicated worker to be sucked in without adult supervision. Personal email, instant access to your bank balance and perhaps Ebay?

Image via Wikipedia

Mr. C, also know as The Man, the queen bee, has combated the web with a series of abstract policies to keep their worker bees in check. They have creative names like "Social Media Contract." All worker bees pledge they will mind the hive, each year you you digitally acknowledge your pledge. "I (enter bee name here" promise to use the web to support and product the honey."

However, this may not do the trick. Unit leaders are compelled to remind their recruits that Facebook has a time stamp for every bee update. I'm sure that Mark Zuckerberg envisioned Facebook to be a wide open field of clover where a bee can be happy and carefree.

Beeware: The Queen has a dragnet, phising software to rack the net and catch their bees being crazy bees of the clock. Is it just me or is Corporate America becoming our nosey neighbor peeping through the curtains every time you leave for the day? Has the bee voiced their First Amendment right? is it within corporate policy?

Doucing is an old/new name for a new kind of discrimination. I'm a good worker bee, I have high worker bee ethics and I'm grateful for the benefits offered by the hive, a predictable pay check, and benefits.

But! I'm a radical bee after hours. I use the skills that make me a good bee outside of work. I write. My name is Star and I'm a blogger (Hi Star). It has come to my attention through the buzz of the hive that what I have said in my blog may violate the hive policy. Buzzzzzz, I have never, ever identified my hive. There are a few hives right close (yep, Texas, an at will state) to my hive.

So my fellow busy bees, I have defriended my hive workers in the field of clover and would like to remind all bees that your stinger really is in your own ass. So watch where ya sit and stop buzzing around my field of clover.

On Friendship

2011-05-15T13:52:00.000-05:00

Friendship is like your favorites book. When you are little you had that favorite book that you made anyone read to you until one day you could read it to your Mom or Dad. My son’s favorites were “Goodnight Moon” and “Guess How Much I Love You.” Mine was “Bedtime for Frances.”

Friends are like those childhood favorites. You may not see that friend for months or even years, but down off the shelf they fall, or call out to you. You know each other beginning, middle, and where you left off, not quite the end.

Their words, your shared memories shave off years and you hear the laughter of your carefree youth tinkling again. You clearly remember the people, and places after probing each other’s memories. You suddenly sound like that other person you used to be and you catch yourself looking in the mirror to see if you still look like her… that woman you once were before she became the you that you are today.

The beauty of that friendship is that you don’t have to read the story out loud; your friend already knows it. You being the chapter and they finish it without having to think twice.

There is love, pain, joy, surprise, wounding, healing, frustration, laughter and tears. All shared and they know where you have been because they where there with you. While later chapters were lost or still not written, your friend can catch with fast because the beginning of the book captivated us. A book or two or more may have ended but like my son says, “Maybe it will be a series…” after reading a good one.

The Day Book

2011-05-08T13:55:00.002-05:00

I haven’t been connected to the internet on my home computer since October of 2010 but this doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. While surfing one of my favorite websites, www.edutopia.com, I found this great blog on how to encourage kids to write. The idea is to keep a Day Book, a place to write ideas that will not be graded in any way. So I adopted the idea. First you have to find a journal that is bound and hopefully the kind that you can find again later so you eventually can put the date range on the cover and you’ll have a nifty “series” of Day Books on your shelf. I found a composition book that has this great black and white floral pattern on it at the grocery store. Super cheap since I bought it during tax-free weekend for school supplies. And keeping with the concept, I made a few rules...

1. No tearing out pages. I have done this with other journals that I’ve kept over the years because I did not want to revisit an experience or thought the writing was lousy.

2. Write with what you want. This satisfies the office supply junkie in me. I love pens, markers, highlighters and pencils.

3. Let it flow. No need for complete sentences. Include lists or a word that just tickles my fancy.

4. Editing is allowed, but no erasers. This way I can still see the original work.

5. Use of sticky notes allowed. Another way to get at those beloved office supplies!

6. Glued in elements are encouraged as well as drawings, doodles, etc. I like the scrapbook idea for writing. Found objects are great and I always used to doodle in my school notebooks.

7. Use both sides of each page. This encourages my eco-friendly side and days flow.

8. Date each entry so you can remember. Seasonal elements add depth to writing.

9. There are no bad ideas. If you end up crossing something out, you may just go back and use that idea later on.

I now have a place to blog without typing, which is not always great since I can type way faster than I can handwrite. I now have a place to store all my ideas that end up on my blog. Hope this helps any inspiring writer of any kind. I’m sure it is not a new idea, but it just struck me as so wonderful that I had to share it.

Speaking of online writing, if you are interested in publishing unique pieces online, please visit www.revolutionhousemag.com, an online magazine that is accepting written works for its inaugural online edition.

Unplugged 11/12/2010

2011-01-23T15:21:00.000-06:00

It may have not been by choice but I’ve been unplugged for just over a month. No cable, no Internet; therefore, the absence from blogging. At first I bummed… missing my shows, Food and Cooking network and football games. I can still access email and FB on my phone.

We watch DVDs that my brother-in-law left behind, the kid flicks, every VHS tape and DVD we have ever collected and I ended up reading more than just before bed.

Book Count:

· 4 Sookie Stackhouse books

· Finished Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest

· Shanghai Girls

· The Piano Teacher

FB games are like crack! Now that I’ve been clean for a month I go to bed earlier, spend more time reading, writing and being with my family. I even have more of the elusive “me” time. I can almost keep up with the New Yorker magazine. I read our Smithsonian mag from cover to cover. I am a reading fan of NPR and Edutopia.

Now the dilemma- if we re-connect. I would like to have access to PDF files and java-scripted content. I’d like to catch up on Weeds, Greys and Private Practice…

I hereby swear to ignore all Zynega applications. Perhaps only the internet will be necessary because I can watch TV on the internet, maybe two nights a week?

Send books and movies !

Missing in Action

2010-12-25T18:48:00.003-06:00

I have been missing in action.... will be posting "Unplugged" in a short time to update my fans about life without internet or TV.

The People Upstairs

2010-09-15T21:37:00.001-05:00

Disclaimer: I recently moved to an apartment after living in a house for nearly five-years. We have met wonderful people and strangely, there is more of a sense of community here in Building Six compared to our old street where we never even spoke to one set of neighbors. Well, they never spoke to us. I think it had something to do with our "Eve was Framed" bumper sticker and they run a summer bible camp.

There are a few characters that I will share about in the future. But know this... I love my neighbors. The people who moved in upstairs are really very nice, and I'm sure perfectly normal everyday folks, but you be the judge. Feel free to weigh in with your findings.

Our new neighbors moved in about two months ago. A husband and wife with two kids arrived from Corpus. Our first impression was watching the husband lift a television, not a little one, more like a 48" TV by himself out of a pick-up truck like he was lifting a laundry basket. He has a set of dumb bells on the patio and looks like the kind of guy you want on your side.

Exhibit A:

Being our normal "sitting on the patio" selves, we introduced ourselves. Our neighbors are named Bonnie and Clyde. No, not really just Bonnie and Pete. Okay, many of us have "Normal Names" in Texas. For instance, my friend Eligia goes by Cindy or another guy I know is named Alejandro but goes by Alex. No big deal.

We learned that Pete and his dad own a BBQ place. I seem to have neighbors who are related to BBQ joints. Our last neighbor, a truck driving, ex-rodeo guy grew up on the BBQ circuit and would be out at his grill in all kinds of weather and all hours of the night. We didn't mind, there was always the scent of charcoal and wood chips wafting in the air and he would tap on the door and say, "Hey, try a little of this." My husband learned to master ribs and brisket just from mowing the lawn or chatting.

Evidence B:

Bonnie and Pete do not seem to work. Sure, he is supposed to be scoping out potential locations for a new restaurant. Like Austin needs another BBQ joint. We don't see them during the day, but we do visit over the patio rail in the early evenings, or see them up at the pool during our late afternoon swims. We assume that the BBQ joint supports the people upstairs.

Evidence C:

So now we have upstairs neighbors after a few months of vacancy. No real complaints about noise really. Sure the AC system has a line issue that used to wake us up in the middle of the night every time the neighbors' AC kicked on but now it is white noise that helps us stay asleep. We all drop stuff by accident or washers go off balance now and again, but no loud music or screaming.

But all of a sudden on the weekend nights, I would shut off my reading lamp at say 10:30 or 11:00 pm and as if by cue, I would hear thumping, running, and well sliding of objects over my head. One weekend of disturbed sleep went by. You know, the kind of sleep that just when you drift back to sleep you are awakened. It used to be by a hungry infant, but my kid is almost ten and has thankfully been sleeping through the night for some time now. I just don't do interrupted sleep very well now. Okay, I never did interrupted sleep well, who am I joking?

It was Labor Day weekend so I wrote it off. Friends had come to town to visit, no one had to go to school or work.

The next weekend rolled around and again, the same thing. I would wake up literally saying, "WHAT THE F*@%?" My husband Paul eventually got up and said "I'll take care of this" and returned with the broom and pounded on the ceiling. Quiet for 15 mins, another doze and then again, Thump! Ththump! Bump, Slumph! Now he got up, let the dog out and noticed that all the lights were on upstairs.. it was 2 AM. He walked up the stairs and knocked. After a few minutes the door was answered after he spent several minutes listening to the familiar sounds of... XBOX Live. It turns out the 13 year old was playing a live action game but it was 2 AM.

But wait..... the TV is in the living room, not in the Master bedroom. So just what is up with the people upstairs?

Conclusion A: My upstairs neighbors are laying low. They moved from Corpus because the heat was on and Austin is a place where everyone can kinda just blend in. Each night they are up to various illegal acts like packaging hot electronics or running a sweat shop and those are the footsteps of children working through the night manufacturing knock-off Dooney & Burke purses.

Conclusion B:

"Bonnie" and "Pete" are in witness protection. They cannot work since it may put them at risk. The kids are just a cover. The "friends" that came to visit are actually their handlers, making sure that their cover hasn't been blown. During the day, Mr. and Mrs. are testifying in a sealed hearing in Washington DC during the day and are flown home every evening. They can only be themselves after dark and they are a family of acrobats from Ringling Brothers Circus and they know who killed the bearded lady.

Image via Wikipedia

Conclusion C:

My neighbors are just normal people who let their kids stay up way late on the weekends.

Guaranteeing personal religous freedom

2010-09-08T18:37:00.000-05:00

As I've mentioned, I live in the buckle of the Bible Belt and I am increasingly alarmed in the direction my country is moving. Our foremothers and forefathers came to this place so that they would not be persecuted for practicing their religions the way they believed. I've been visiting a great site that I found while looking for famous quotes about religious tolerance. Please visit: http://www.religioustolerance.org/firstfreedom.htm.

I hope the following excerpt will remind people about who we are, or at least who we should strive to be during these frightening times.

"Religious freedom is theoretically guaranteed by the first sentence in the Bill of Rights -- the First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution:

"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof."

However, like all rights, they have to be rigorously enforced. In this case, they must be defended against two main groups:

Those who wish to convert the U.S. and Canada into theocracies in which only one religion is supreme, and most activities become either compulsory or illegal. These groups attempt to restrict or eliminate all religious expression and action other than their own. To see what this is like in the real world, consider the lack of freedom in Saudi Arabia and Iran.

Those who wish to eliminate the right of individuals to express any religious belief in public.

The first phrase of the First Amendment is referred to as the establishment clause. It has been interpreted by the U.S. Supreme Court as erecting a wall of separation between church and state -- a phrase lifted from a letter by Thomas Jefferson to a Baptist group. Jefferson was a firm believer in "the wall." He regularly refused to authorize presidential proclamations of prayer, thanksgiving and related religious matters. He felt that such proclamations were the responsibility of religious institutions, not of the government."

Please visit: http://www.religioustolerance.org/firstfreedom.htm

Who is reading my blog???

2010-09-07T21:17:00.000-05:00

I'm loving the nifty new Stats tab on my Blogger Dashboard! Kinda wild that I've got a growing audience in South Korea and Brazil. If you are reading this post or have read any of my posts, please enter a comment (you can even enter it anonymously) and shout out your country.

United States 498
South Korea 17
Brazil 11
Canada 8
Germany 2
Israel 1
Mexico 1
Taiwan 1

Labor Day

2010-09-06T17:17:00.000-05:00

Labor day was planned. If I did not go into labor naturally, I was to be induced on January 9, 2001 so my doctor would be available, he was going on vacation. I had my birth plan, we went to Lamaze and I was ready. Or so I thought. That day, getting ready to check in, I was having second thoughts, like some how I could delay being a mother. I was happy being pregnant.

Motherhood. This is the place where I learned what unconditional love is all about. I was scared I wasn't going to be able to get pregnant. I was an "older" woman (read mid thirties) who was finally ready for the next phase of my live, motherhood. My doctor told me all was in order and to come back in six months if we didn't get pregnant. And viola, we got pregnant in four months. Once I got past the agonizing fatigue, I actually enjoyed pregnancy. My body was doing all this amazing stuff. I don't remember the actual date or how far along I was, but that moment when I first felt that movement, I was awestruck. I was the bowl and someone was squishing the pasta around on the inside! Yes, I loved this new life growing inside of me, but this unknown life was still a stranger.

The pregnancy was all normal until that blood sugar test. I had to go back for what seemed to be a never ending series of icky sugary stuff and vials of blood. It was confirmed. I had gestational diabetes. I changed my diet, no sweets for me... no ice cream and pickles. At this point I wasn't allowed to indulge in the pregnancy craving myths. Small portions multiple times a day but that wasn't enough to change the blood sugar levels. I was prescribed insulin. Thank the goddess that my husband had been an LVN in the army. He gave me shots multiple times a day for close to three months. But it was all good. I was not a happy camper testing my blood several times a day. But I did it out of love.

Ouch!

We checked in to the hospital around 4 pm to be induced. We, how silly, it was just me who was going to be induced. I wanted to have that text book natural childbirth but I was hooked up to a monitor since my pregnancy was considered high risk. Cervidil applied and told to just wait. Around 10-11 pm contractions began and around 4 am my water broke.

Women are amazing creatures. I don't remember so many parts of my labor. All I know is that I went to that primitive place that all mothers go. Having a doctor is nice, but labor is natural and our bodies truly know what to do if we allow it.

I'm told that I began the pushing phase at 3 am. I'm told we used a crouching bar. I faintly remember the ten minute contraction that brought the whole maternity ward into my room. One minute I'm huffing oxygen and the next I'm asking who are all these people and is the baby okay? I don't remember the "crouching bar" or the name of the woman who said, "Push right here."

Around 10 hours later Dr. Chuckles (the subject of another blog, but really the most amazing Dr.) told me I could have an epidural to get some rest or we could move to a C-section. Doc told me think about it for a while. Doc and my husband left the room. And again, I'm told that ten minutes later I proclaimed, "Get it out of me now!" Still not unconditional love.

I was told I could stop pushing now. Really? Just how do you stop the most natural, conclusive action to a contraction? I cursed like a sailor and my Dr. held me down for the spinal. I apologized profusely. My husband told me he could see all my insides and Dr. Chuckles said something like, "Oh, the baby is looking up at the stars. No wonder!" Then it happened, unconditional love made that first noise, kitten-like cry. "You have a son!" proclaimed Dr. Chuckles. Poof! I was staring into the eyes of our Padric and unconditional love was born.

Do you know how hot it is? No, how hot is it?

2010-08-20T20:43:00.002-05:00

Sounds like an Abbott and Costello routine but there have been too many days of 100+ degree temperatures and counting here in Austin TX.

I posted this on my old blog last summer when we had 56+ days of heat over 100, and that is not even mentioning the heat index. Since we are now over 10 days, I thought it would be appropriate to share again.

I listen to our local NPR station each morning on the way to work and now I say in unison with Burton Fitzsimmons, "A 20% chance of rain today and temperature likely to reach near to 102 degrees." Now the 20% chance of rain means that it may rain somewhere in the state of Texas for 5 seconds and the 102 does not include the real temperature with the heat index. Next, I wonder aloud, "Remind me why I live in Texas?" and I never seem to find a solid reason.

Don't get me wrong, Texas is "interesting." I don't want to offend the people I've met, so let this serve as an apology in advance. One thing about Texas is that the people are friendly here. You can usually spend 30 minutes talking to a complete stranger about... you guessed it, the weather. (Don't even think of mentioning politics here, you'll likely to be hit with a rectangular object with a five-letter word embossed on the cover, but that's another blog note...) Most of these conversations start in a line for something and begin with "I remember one (insert season) when it was so (insert cold, hot, wet, dry, strange).

Now Texas is big about everything and Texans are happy to tell you that things are always bigger here. So this means that if its summer, temperatures can be triple digits. There is only one place in Austin one can stop the boiling of your blood: Barton Springs. The water is below 68 degrees year round.

http://s193.photobucket.com/albums/z162/Curt_057/2006-07-05/

I told someone in NY it was 104 degrees the other day and she said I could bake bread. I haven't tried that yet, but you can melt butter and fry an egg. If it really rains, there are flash floods, I never heard of a place with more low water crossings and the fools who attempt to actually drive their car through it to get home. If its dry, the ground gets so hard it cracks and the red ants go insane searching for water. Did I mention the hail storms? Out of nowhere a hail storm will kick up and the hail is anywhere from the size of quarters to the size of baseballs, yes my car was pounded by baseballs and I was nowhere near a baseball stadium. Sure, we get tornadoes too. I've only had to sit in my closet once this year and yes, the sky turned an eerie shade of green.

Oh, and I here tell (don't you love my Texas speak?) that since it is so dang hot, "they" are predicting a wet fall, as if this brings any relief? We'll have several days of car accidents as the oil in the roads seeps to the surface, followed by more days of accidents since Texans do not know how to drive, much less drive in the rain. And if we're lucky a wet fall will be followed by a wet winter which means icy roads. Did you know that Austin has like only a dozen trucks that can actually sand the roads?

See, you really can spend 30 minutes talking about the weather in Texas.

And the Winner is.....

2010-08-17T18:07:00.001-05:00

Thank you to those who participated in my fun and games! We have taken a poll here at the Daley household and the competition and debate was fierce. I know the anticipation is driving you mad but please be sure the winning results were protected by our guard cats, Poly, Ester and Snips, under the bed with all the other prized possessions.

My desktop rat friend now has a name,Fräulein Frederica Fancy Rat. Congratulations go to Kimberly, (visit her blog http://somethingiwantedtotellyou.blogspot.com/) and the Lady of our ring, Babes in Blogland.

Kimberly, contact me with your address so I can send the "Pink" prize!

From time to time I will do this again, everyone needs an excuse to get crafty!

All is Quiet on the Blogger Front or Work is Hell!

2010-08-11T22:17:00.003-05:00

I know I've been missing from action for bit, but work has been all consuming. Sherman said, "War is hell" so I will take creative license here and say, "Work is hell!" Thanks history buff husband for the quote and encouraging to write my rant. Its cheap therapy after all.

I come home brain drained and play those silly games on Facebook. Something always has to be harvested, built or iced and the best part is that I don't have to "tally" "feedback" or "submit" a damn thing. Now if only those millions of Mafia Wars rubles were real.

Seriously, I'm in the weeds at work. Ever have one of those days, weeks (or dare I say a month?) when for every case you close you seem to get two more? If I was waiting tables, I'd be rolling in the tips.

I feel like I'm a treadmill going no where fast. If I was on an actual treadmill, I would have burned millions of calories, but nope, my butt continues to enjoy that "I sit in a chair all day" spread. I've been at this job for close to seven years and let me calculate it, that would come out to be gaining about 7 pounds a year!

Have I mentioned that I really thought that I'd only be at this job long enough to go through paid training? Now I'm "an old timer" and people know who I am and ask me how to get into my department. Simple, someone has to move away to work on a mission, get fired, or die. For my company, I'm well paid but when you compare it to the real world it can be insulting.

I don't have a clue who works in the other departments anymore, those chairs are twirly chairs and before you know it know it the chairs spin and new faces appear. The good thing is that I can nod at the other "old timers" with that "same shit different day" attitude and laugh quietly at the fresh happy people who will be beaten down by the man in no time at all.hhhhh, I feel better now.

For Thea

2010-08-02T20:45:00.018-05:00

My best friend passed over four years ago and I wrote this several months later. My sister is still with me and I hear her laughter on the wind and feel her supportive presence in my darkest hours. A day does not pass when she is not in my thoughts. She is free and she still calls me, like good friends do.

Star, Anthea (Breeze) Padric Summer 2001

Grief, it engulfs you... at first...a blow to the soul
So long it has taken me to put the feelings in order just to
Begin
How do you catch up on nearly five years in twenty minutes?
How do you say goodbye, when you've just said hello?

"Star, you came. You are here!"
How could I not?
It was for the both of us.

For me... to see your smile and hear your voice again, old friend.
I did not, could not let you go without telling you that
I love you...

Love between women is unique.
We bare our souls,
Share our dreams and
Fight the good fight.
So many memories crash through my mind.

I told you to leave, to do what your heart told you, you said I gave you strength
Again, I told you to go, even though I knew a wedge would be driven.

You helped me heal and trust again... so many times
I want to crush herbs in the little room, to play the same song over and over gain, to dance under the moon, to go for wild rides nowhere, to sit under the tree at market

To make that promise
Never let a man come between us... and keep it this time.
Five lost years...I feel robbed.
I grieved then and I grieve again.

"Kisses like butterflies" you said then and
"More now" before you crossed over.

A light has gone out in the world.

Yet, I hear you, like always.

Connectivity, Sisterhood.

Fancy Rat... Revisited

2010-07-31T22:57:00.001-05:00

I feel like Julie in Julie & Julia! One of my followers sent me a gift. Granted, the follower happens to be my mom but she is my biggest fan!. I opened the box my mom sent with glee. No, I'm not at sleep away camp but boxes from mom bring good books, little surprises or even clothes!

Mom sent three books: The Girl Who Played With Fire, Shanghai Girls, and Engaged Buddhist Reader. Yep, my mom is way cool: eclectic, inspirational and funny. She also sent three shirts because she knows I never go shopping for myself. I used to shop but that was in the before times and the subject of another blog entry. Gently tucked away in tissue paper was the piece de resistance! I did take French in High School but I also took Spanish so I don't speak either one but can understand just enough to go out to eat.

Behold, my very own fancy rat, dressed for her very special day!

Lovely purse and a nice diamond ring!

Laughter to near tears engulfed the household. My son said, with a smile from ear, "Mom... its a fancy rat, just like that crazy lady from work!" Ahhh, so true but this is only one fancy rate, it truely is cute and doesn't require a cage or food!

Note the lovely tiara!

This fancy rat will be sitting on my desk on Monday morning! And now dear readers, here is an opportunity for you to participate! Name the fancy rat and you will win a real prize.*

Silly rules: Participation is required. You may enter as often as you like. No more than one entry per day. All name suggestions become the property of She said This and That. The winner will be selected by the Daley family and announced by August 15th, in honor of my mom's birthday.

*If you wish to win "the prize" you must include your favorite color and if you are allergic to any fiber.