A Banner Day!

...Not only do we have reason to believe dondon009's people are well down around the Gulf Coast
...Not only have I received my first "anonymous" negative comment

BUT PEOPLE!

I got my first spam too!

I'm just too excited.

So, forgive the word verification that I am turning on (if I can figure out how). Yes, it's annoying ... but so is spam. First we had telemarketers...now Spam? Somehow I don't think this was the point of the No-Call List.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Whoo-Hoo!

I have received my first negative comment! Check it out!!! It's in the comments section of "One More Goodbye." I'm an official Blogger!!!

Now, here's what I find interesting...I know who left this comment. It's got his fingerprints all over it. And he still left it anonymous.

Now, here's where I'm torn...there is a part of me that wants to issue a challenge to this person to call me. There is another part of me that doesn't want to even dignify it. And then there's the part of me that feels like I've extended the challenge and given this guy too much publicity by writing about the comment.

However, it's my blog and I won't let this person take my ramblings and thoughts away.

Those are Pobble Thoughts, dammit. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

New Orleans

Wow. Friends, bad things are happening down south. Louisiana and Mississippi are flooded. People are looting. People are dying. People are losing everything they have. And Martial Law has been declared. Here are my sources so you know the Writer in the Basement isn't just exaggerating (as is my wont to do, I know ~ but not with something like this)

"10:30 a.m.: Martial Law Declared: New Orleans is under martial law, according to state officials. The declaration is imposed to restore order in times of war and emergency. It could be weeks before displaced residents are allowed to return. -- WDSU chief meteorologist Dan Milham"

"11:04 a.m.: Looting Out Of Control: New Orleans police say looting is out of control in many parts of the city. Officials are focusing on the rescue effort, but a crackdown on looting is expected after the martial law declaration. -- WDSU anchor Kriss Fairbairn"

Now, in case you don't know what Martial Law is, here we go: "Martial law is the system of rules that takes effect (usually after a formal declaration) when a military authority takes control of the normal administration of justice ... Martial law is instituted most often when it becomes necessary to favour the activity of military authorities and organizations, usually for urgent unforeseen needs, and when the normal institutions of justice either cannot function or could be deemed too slow or too weak for the new situation, ... The need to preserve the public order during an emergency is the essential goal of martial law. ... Usually martial law reduces some of the personal rights ordinarily granted to the citizen..."
~ Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Which, translated loosely, means all kinds of shit is happening in New Orleans.

So I am now going to do something I don't often do. I am going to get off my Constitutional high horse ~ because now is not the time to debate Martial Law and the rights of citizens ~ and I am going to publicly ask for prayers. We can discuss Martial Law and the implications therein later. For now, please, however you pray, whatever name you call The Higher Power, whatever your personal feelings may be regarding sin or justice, whatever your personal soapbox is ~ please, today, just pray...
...for the people of the affected areas;
...for the animals who had even less understanding of what was happening than the humans did;
...for the rescue workers, the national guard, the medical personnel;
...for the Earth herself, who is in turmoil;
and because specifics are often important:
...for Brandon's grandparents;
...for Mark's parents;
...for dondon009's crew;
...for Robert and Sharon.
If you have someone you know personally in the area ~ New Orleans, elsewhere in Louisiana, Mississippi, anywhere affected by this devastation, please leave their name in the comments section of this post.

Blessed Be, everyone.

Closed Doors, Open Windows

It is easy, when life is shitty, to lose sight of the good things. And, as most of you know, life has been pretty shitty. Lots of people have reminded that "God has a plan" and, while I appreciate the sentiment, I have also had ample opportunity to use my favorite, homemade saying: So long as God reserves the right to keep this plan hidden from me, I reserve the right to be pissed off at him about it. Pretty simple 'cause I'm a pretty simple type o'gal.

That being said, I will not do myself, my friends, or my life the injustice of ignoring what has come from the last several, shitty years. Want to know?

* A larger and, quite honestly, more significant group of friends than I have ever had in my life. From friends to family to Girlfriends to "my" kids in Santa Fe to the coffee guy in Copley Square. I am so incredibly blessed.
* A family that IS my family, regardless of what blood runs through our veins.
* Along that line, people who not only welcome me and want me at holidays and events but EXPECT me. Why? 'Cause I'm family.
* A new job that I love that makes me wake up every morning wanting to get to work. And makes me think (in a good way!) "Holy shit ~ this is actually MY LIFE!"
* Agent Extraordinaire (sp? she's also Editor Extraordinaire). And she's an even better friend. And we have The Plan! :)
* A sense of myself and my own possibility.
* A stronger connection to God/the Goddess/the Higher Power ~ whatever you want to call that great, amazing, incredible being (who still hasn't decided to fill me in on the plan).
* Three nieces and three nephews. Two of the boys and one of the girls share genetic coding with me. The others don't. It doesn't matter. If anyone tried to tell The Poo or Princess Kitten that she was less my niece than Trinity...ooo! That would be ugly. Worth the price of admission but ugly.

And so...Life goes on. It gets better. We manage to swim through the gunk and the shit and the pain and come out the other end. And the other end isn't filled with ribbons and rainbows and calorie free chocolate for breakfast. Some days the other end is shitty, too. And some days it's just...what it is. But bottom line is, we get there. And there is a pretty cool place to be.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ pretty much wherever you are on the journey.

Vaya Con Dios

This has a companion piece, "Closed Doors, Open Windows" so please be sure to take the time to read that one as well once you're done here. Thanks.

A couple times in my blog, I have alluded to the nastiness that the past few years have been. This is a time to release those things, as much as I can.

* My husband and trusted confidant. Be smart. Be safe. Be well. Hopefully one day we can forgive each other.
* Two of my Girlfriends. One, because the move to Nashville has taken and you're really not coming home. The other, because we were foolish and moved in together. You were more important than saving money. I miss you still.
* My mostly companion, CD. For two years you made life bearable from 9-5. Thank you.
* Hobbes. I hope you fill those holes in your soul.
* Mama Bear. My last living grandparent. Please God, I will carry your wisdom and love with me for the rest of my life.
* My ideas of what makes biological family special. This was the hardest to let go. It still hurts sometimes; I won't pretend it doesn't. And we all have to do what we have to do. I can live with sad. At least it doesn't make me feel unworthy any longer.
* Linda. Four years and I'm healthier and happier than I've ever been. And, finally able to deal with all those things.
* My biological sister and biological mother. I am able to release my understanding/expectations/hopes of what it means to be part of your family unit. The rules are different for me. That makes me sadder for you than it does for me, now. And, as I said above, I can live with sad.
* My fella. It was a good year ~ even when it wasn't. I'm glad I know you.
* The job I really, really loved. I'm not angry anymore at being used up.
* Quinn. I'm sorry we had to put you down. I'm sorry you never saw Daddy again. It wasn't supposed to be that way.
* Lynchburg. For a town I hated the entire time I had to be there, to have almost no connection any longer (almost, Cin, almost) is more painful than I had expected. 1977-2005 is a long time to go and not get to say goodbye.

There it all is. It seems so...ordinary...in black and white. But God, it hurt like hell going through it. And grief and loss can't be boiled down to a list. It is what it is for each of us. So I release the pain and hold the love. I am the love, the love is me. As I will, so mote it be.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. (Now read the companion piece. ;))

A MadGay Tag

The Mad Gay Housewife asks the following question: What 5 Things Do You Miss from Your Childhood? He was tagged by Crackers. I don't know if Crackers was tagged or if it's Crackers's brilliance that brought us here (and she told two friends, and she told two friends, and so on and so on...) However! Here we are. Drumroll please...

1. This is a no-brainer. The first thing I miss from my childhood is my father. The man was no saint. In fact he was a weenie. And he was my best friend, my primary parent, and protector. He always smelled good. And made us hot cocoa from scratch when we couldn't sleep. Here's to you old man.

2. Visits with my grandparents. My Mamoo and Papa, as we called them, were great to go visit. I can't tell you why. They didn't really have kids' stuff; they lived in a small, two-bedroom apartment and yet...I don't ever remember being bored. No matter how early we got up, they were already up. Mamoo cooking and Papa sitting in his chair, drinking his coffee and smoking his pipe. They had unlimited amounts of energy. Papa had this superball that would bounce forever and we would take it outside and bounce it and listen to the echos it made in the stairwell. And I collected a lot of bugs that Mamoo always seemed to have a jar we could keep them in. As I write this, I realize what a sacrifice that would have been for her. Wow.

3. Sleeping in the backseat. We would have gone out or even on a road trip and it would be late and my sister and I would fall asleep in the back. I would, inevitably, wake up at some point. The window on my father's side (which meant my side, too because I always sat behind him) would be cracked for his cigarette, classical music would be on the radio, and my parents would be talking in low whispers. It was dark and quiet and safe and wonderful. I'm not sure we ever get to feel quite that way as adults.

4. Singing at the piano with my mother (see, they're not all bad memories). We would sit and she would play and we would sing. Out of one particular songbook, especially. To this day, I still expect all the songs we sang to come from that one songbook, eventhough I know they didn't. "What Do We Do With the Drunken Sailor" was my favorite. (No comments from the peanut gallery, please. Thank you. :))

5. Christmastide. My family had a strict rule that said nothing Christmas before Thanksgivng. The Friday after Thanksgiving was fair game but nothing before then. I would sit in the big red chair with the Kingston Trio Christmas album and ache to be able to play it. Then sometime on the Friday after Thanksgiving, my mother would say "Oh, we should put Christmas music on" and it would officially begin.

There are other things I miss from my childhood. There's not much I wouldn't give to be seven again. But 35 doesn't suck, either. And you couldn't pay me enough to be 20 another time so maybe it's a good thing to remember ~ and stay where I am.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. (but when I was a kid, I remember it was only fifty cents...)

Now That's Just Wrong...

1. After getting to sleep at 2 a.m., there was a noise on the street that woke me this morning ~ AT FIVE O'CLOCK. It's Sunday, people...

2. Just got an email from a friend of mine who had to move to Rhode Island so she and her girlfriend could get domestic partner insurance without getting married. While my straight friends from upstairs are excited because his insurance just approved their domestic partner status. What the fuck, Massachusetts???

3. The house I grew up in has been sold and I can never go back again to say goodbye. I didn't even know my mother had put it on the market.

4. A rather...ahem...stocky (being nice here) man I know from the neighborhood just informed me that I would have a hard time finding a boyfriend because I had put so much weight on in the last year. This from a man with hairy arms in a wife beater with his belly hanging out.

5. My fridge is full of food ~ and I have nothing to eat in the house.

6. One of my favorite author's book was just reissued. The hero is a cop living in Denver. I have NEVER READ THIS BOOK BEFORE. My book currently under consideration has a Denver cop as the hero.

7. When I finished this, I was going to take a nap. Except the new neighbors who just moved in immediately below my bedroom are hammering.

I gotta be due for my period...

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee (so you leave me alone while I'm grumpy!).

One More Goodbye

I am officially single. Didn't get to tell him until today but it happened last night at midnight or so. Let's get one thing straight, first: I'm a demanding bitch. However, I am also a very fair demanding bitch. I do not expect people to read my mind. I spell out what my expectations are very clearly. There are two things that send me into very dark places ~ being ignored and being left hanging. I make no bones about these two things and, even so, give a guy a couple chances to get it.

Last night, my fella and I hadn't seen each other in a couple days 'cause The Lovely Cats and Princess Kitten were in town. He called and we agreed he would be over about 9-ish. At 9, he called and said he wanted to go out with the guys. NO PROBLEM. I asked if I would see him at all that evening and he said yes. 10:15-ish. No later than 10:30 because his buddy had a 10 o'clock train back to the 'burbs. So, I took a bath in our favorite scent and settled in with a good book to wait for him.

At 11:30, refusing to go into my dark place, I went to bed. At midnight, he called. Still out with the guys. ~ sigh ~ I told him to go home when he was done.

At two in the morning, my phone rang. His buddy, drunk. And it rang again at 2:03. His buddy, drunk. And again at 2:05. I finally took the phone into the living room which is a good thing because my caller i.d. shows that my phone rang again at 3:10 and 3:13.

When we talked today, he thought I was breaking up with him because of the drunk dial. Now, admittedly, Alan did him no favors. But that's not why I ended it. I'm not THAT much of a bitch. Partly, I ended it because of the hour and a half lag time between the time he said he would be here "at the latest" and the time he called. At some point, Alan decided not to take a 10 o'clock train. A phone call then would have made this whole thing a non-issue.

But, partly, I broke up with him because, after a year, and knowing what silence does to me, he still thought I was breaking up with him because of the drunk dial. He truly didn't get the other aspect of it. Which means, after a year, he truly didn't get me ~ and wasn't going to. And that's MOSTLY why I broke up with him.

And I will miss him. Not just because he did my dishes or because he helped with the trash (although those were always nice) but because he's a nice guy. Nice guys are...well...nice. There are still peaches on my counter that he brought over so I could make a cobbler. He was a good friend. And, at the same time, I need a partner who gets me.

So, I am single again. This time I think I'll stay this way for a little while. Maybe get a dog, maybe not. Whichever way, I'm just going to enjoy being me and with me for a little while. There have been an awful lot of good byes recently. I think I'll spend some time with somebody I won't ever be saying goodbye to. She's really good company.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Backlogged Blog

It's been long enough since I've written that I have several posts in my head just waiting to work their way through the bottle neck and become actual reading material. SO! Instead of me trying to write every single one of them and making several long posts in one day, we're doing a shortened version of each here. (Yay! It's kinda like a list!)

The Female Enigma
Here's what I don't get. You hear women say there is a Sisterhood among us. That powerful things occur when women gather without men. And yet, you also hear women ~ myself included ~ say things along the lines of how we get along better with men than with other women. And I have watched women be harder on other women in professional situations. The Cat Fight is practically cliche. You can't turn on a daytime talk show without watching two women calling each other names while the man sits between them looking all proud of himself when, in reality, he's the one who's cheating on both of THEM. So which is it? The Cat Fight or the Sisterhood? I pray to everything holy we can manage the Sisterhood. Men are Fabulous! I love men. Any man between 18 and death works for me. And yet...it's my girlfriends. It's the Sisterhood. I just hope we can find a way to embrace the Sisterhood as strongly as we have embraced the Cat Fight. Which seques nicely into...

Girlfriends
What's the difference between a female friend and a Girlfriend? (this is assuming one is heterosexual and female) And there is a difference. It's like art or porn, I suppose. I'm not sure what it is but I know what it isn't. When a male friend recently stepped on an old, silly trigger of mine who did I run it by for a reality check? A Girlfriend. When I had two days completely off, who did I go see? A Girlfriend. Who did I invite to come with me? A Girlfriend. A female friend of mine is getting married and I am SO EXCITED for her. Yet once I saw the ring, we were both ready to move on. Didn't need to spend the next three days talking about it. I've been playing email/phone tag with a female friend. I hope we catch up. And, if we don't... Ah well. And then there are those in between people. There are three of them in my life right now. Women who are female friends but I want them as Girlfriends. But what's the difference? And how does one make that transition? And is it even something that can be decided upon? Or do you just wake up one day and realize she's a Girlfriend? Again, I don't know. I know I am grateful for my female friends. I am grateful for my Girlfriends. Let's face it; this isn't a bad dilemma to have.

Impotence is Bliss
(WARNING: If you consider me daughterly in any way shape or form, you might want to skip this paragraph) Okay, I'm not really impotent but it makes a great title, doesn't it? What IS going on is that I have no sex drive at all. None. Zip. Zero. Nada. Not interested. Really could care less. In some ways, this is distressing to me. I'm in a relationship that, while it is winding down, has always been ~ahem~ just fine in that area. Also, what if it's gone forever? I mean...Wow. Really would rather that not be the case. On the other hand, however, it's not as bad as you might think. Let's be honest ~ hormones can get you in more trouble than a shoe sale and a box of chocolate combined. I write, hang out with my friends, snuggle with my fella, and life goes on quite nicely. Now, that being said...

20 Year Old Guilt
Wow am I horrible. I have a crush. I have a crush on someone I really ~ I mean REALLY ~ shouldn't have a crush on. But he's adorable. And he's legal. And I don't want a relationship with him, for heaven's sake. I just want to borrow him for a month or so. Borrow him from his small town and his Southern girlfriend and bring him up here to Boston for a little while. They can have him back. It's not like I want to keep him forever. Now, before anybody panics, I am NOT going to do a damn thing about this. I am ~ believe it or not ~ an adult. I can be trusted in a room alone with him and everything. But good heavens. I don't remember them looking like that. Maybe Mrs. Robinson wasn't so crazy afterall.

It's Not All About Me
This is my new motto. I know, this sounds pretty shocking coming from The Boston Pobble considering we all know it actually IS all about me so let me explain. I have decided that if someone else responds in a way I don't understand, that is unexpected, that is...whatever...It's Not All About Me. Basically, what I'm doing here is giving up rejection issues. They were fun while they lasted but I really think the relationship has run its course and I'm moving on. So, if someone doesn't call or doesn't want to hang or isn't into something I am or seems distant I will no longer get bent about it. Why? (Say it with me...) It's Not All About Me. Now, that being said, if someone comes to me and says "This IS about you" then I will listen. Otherwise, I'm going to assume that the people who tell me they love me actually do AND that they love me enough to call me out on my shit and not pussy foot around me about it. We'll see where this takes me. It's a little scary but exciting too. I'll keep you posted.

Fred and Snack
Fred and Snack are my dachshunds. Now, I don't have dachshunds ~ and may never have dachshunds. But if I ever do, by God, their names are going to be Fred and Snack!

Shipping
So, earlier I sat down at Bob, My Hoo-Hah Computer (yes, that's his name) and did some online shopping for things I needed. Now, these were things I actually, really did need unlike that sexy pair of black sandals or that great bag that is on sale for $50. No, these are things I actually NEED. And I found a site that gave me pretty good prices so I had a basket with nearly 15 things in it for less than 200 bucks. As I said, not bad. And then I hit the checkout button. My bill was over 300 dollars! You read that correctly. Over THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS! Over one hundred dollars in shipping charges. You know, I can grab some friends and a shopping cart and hit Target a couple of different times for a hundred bucks. Three hundred dollars! Please...

So, there you have it. The backlog of Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Shhhhh...

...don't tell anyone but I'm having an affair. I know, I know. It's a whirlwind romance, no way it could last and, honestly, ends tonight. I will return to my love as loyal and faithful as ever ~ but the smile on my face when no one is looking will be me remembering my weekend fling.

Boston is home. Boston is comfort and history and the knowledge that life goes on in spite of whatever craziness comes along. Boston is dependable, comfortable sex every Tuesday night and Saturday morning. There are parts of Boston that look exactly as they did 100 years ago and will look exactly the same 100 years from now. And I am so indescribably grateful for that.

But Chicago...Chicago is the craziness that comes along. Chicago is bright lights and smoky jazz clubs that stay open until 3. Chicago is moving and changing and try to keep up 'cause you're swept off your feet. Chicago is a fast and frantic fuck, up against the wall, trying to stay quiet so your party guests don't hear.

So, I will go home. Go home to my wonderful Back Bay apartment, a T system that stops running at 12:30 p.m., my old men and college students, and be ever so grateful I am home. That's Boston.

But every so often...I will smile when no one is looking.

That's Chicago.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Travels with Pobble

I am in Chicago. I LOVE Chicago. It's big, bright and busy. The people are friendly. Things are open LATE into the evening or even ~gasp~ 24-hours. I know. It's radical.

Now, you know I love Boston. And this trip has pointed out some ... deficiencies ... about Boston that, while I had been aware of, I hadn't realized JUST how much I had been affected by them. Yes, things are open late and that's wonderful.

However, there are actually things to do here in Chicago that don't involve drinking games and fake i.d.s. Places to go where the median age ISN'T 21 or 60. Being 35 and out on the town doesn't mean you have to pretend to still be 25 or that you really did want to catch that lecture at the BPL. Last night, having no tickets to see anything, no real plans, and no idea what the hell we were doing, we stumbled onto a jazz restaurant. We were seated immediately, next to the stage. The jazz was live and hot. The drinks were cold and delicious. The food was spicy and sinful (that could have been the description of the jazz for that matter!). The plans for tonight involve a piano bar that's open until 3 o'clock in the morning. I'm hoping we close the place.

And there is something else here ~ there is culture beyond rich, white, and Puritan. Yes, Boston has history. Boston has the BSO, the theatre district, and sports, sports, sports. But if you are looking for something to do that involves or embraces another culture, good luck in finding it on an average night. Here, we are choosing between jazz, blues, swing, reggae, and piano bars. The faces in front of the counters are as diverse and the faces behind the counters.

I have no doubt that if I lived here, I would grow bored of the same old places in the way that it always happens. And I would see the sides of Chicago that make it someone's boring hometown. But tonight, right now...Wow! If you are between 27 and death, come to Chicago. Trust me. ;)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The Writer in the Basement

I'm due for a trip to see my family in New Jersey. I haven't seen them since June. What's funny about that is until last summer, I hadn't seen them in years. Then, last summer, I went down for a weekend and have been going every 6 to 8 weeks since then. What's even funnier is I just counted the weeks and it's only been 8 weeks since I've been there. But it feels longer. Perhaps it's because I don't yet have my reservations for next time. Perhaps it's because so much has happened between then and now. Perhaps it's just because they are that much a part of my life that I miss them when we are apart. I don't know and I don't care.

What I do know is I miss the feel of the Poo's head on my shoulder when it's time for her to go to sleep and the feel of her hand on my cheek when she decides it's time for me to wake up. And the quiet times with The Grill Master, where we can speak volumes in the silence between us. And, always, always, always, the times with the Divine M. (keeping people anonymous is tough!)

Last summer, when I first started going down there, it was because I needed to jumpstart my book. So, I went down there, took over their basement and wrote. By the third or fourth time of this, we were all so comfortable with the routine that we didn't even notice if I was rude or indifferent to other people who would come by. Hell, we hardly realized when I was rude or indifferent to them. My job was to go down to the basement and write. I'll pop up to pee or grab more coffee or to ask The Grill Master a "guy" question (as in "Would a guy say it this way or is that too girly?") and descend back into the basement.

One of our favorite stories is the time I was down in the basement and they simply forgot I was down there. Apparently, they left, ran some errands and then remembered me. The actual length of time changes with the telling of the story but it was at least long enough for them to hit one store. Possibly as long as a couple hours. But, however long they were gone, they came racing home and the Divine M. came to check on me, to apologize. You see this coming, right? I didn't even know they had gone. It wasn't until the next trip she could even bring herself to tell me it had happened. They are so good at leaving me be and I had fallen far enough into my pages that... If I had written it, no one would believe it.

So I miss them, my Jersey family. The Writer in the Basement needs to take up residence again. Regardless of what the calendar says, it's been too long. That's just the way it works sometimes. Calendars and clocks may tell us days and times but only our hearts can tell us when it's passing too fast.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee (if you aren't lucky enough to have the Grill Master keep a pot going for you).

My Muppet

My Muppet, also known previously in this blog as Cynthea's son, is an enigma. He is one of the most gentle souls I have ever had the honor of knowing. And that's him, there on the right of this post. He's my 24-year-old-rocker-porn-store-manager-best-guy-friend. If you've clicked on the link to The Glamourous StuntCocks, that's his band, eventhough he's not on there yet.

So, why am I writing about him? Because he has been strong enough and brave enough to do what is right, even when that is hard. Make that HARD. Make that scary. Make that HARDSCARYHARD. Don't misunderstand, the relief outweighs the pain. I've heard it in his voice and I've seen it in his eyes and the change in his shoulders. He's not stooped any more. And yet...

We've all been there. You stand at a crossroad, knowing what you want and knowing how to get it and knowing what you must release to get there. And you stand... And you rethink and double-guess and hem and haw and wonder. Because letting go is scary. Moving on is frightening. Leaving our comfort zones and jumping into the void takes so much courage and faith. And this 24-year-old-rocker-porn-store-manager has spent the last year jumping...and jumping...and jumping. Oh yeah, and jumping.

I was once given a wonderful quote. I have no idea where it comes from orginally: When you come to the edge of all the light you know, And are about to step off into the darkness of the unknown, Faith is knowing one of two things will happen ~ There will be something solid to stand on Or you will be taught how to fly.

When it comes time for it, I hope that I have the Faith and trust he has shown over the course of this last year. When you are your crossroad, may you have the faith and trust of the Muppet. We could all do a hell of a lot worse.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee (until the Muppet is a bazillionaire and then he'll buy it for all of us!).

City Oases

So, it's confession time. I'm supposed to be cleaning my apartment. First, it needs it. Seoncd, I've got my Frank Sinatra (my cleaning music of choice) going in the background. Third, it's Sunday and that makes a good cleaning day. Fourth, my apartment needs cleaning. Guess what? I'm sitting here writing Pobble Thoughts.

What brought me here was thinking about how much my apartment ~ when clean, anyway ~ is a real oasis for me. My name is on a lease, not a mortgage, and yet it is my home, not just where I live. The Library (my name for the place: when the building was a single family back in the 1800s, the space that is now my apartment was the library. I figure I've got the best ghosts in the place but that's a Thought for another day.) is gorgeous, beautiful, and peaceful. I'm lucky. I enjoy being here.

Which then led to thinking about other places that give me this same relaxing away-from-it-all feeling. My salon, Salon Red. Even before they knew me there, when I walked in, I was comfortable, relaxed. And the people are the best. The Ritz. Not the new one. I'm sure it's nice but it's not The Ritz. The old one, the Grand Dame, that's The Ritz. Go there for tea and the world disappears. A friend of mine used to say that the staff there keeps "it" out ~ whatever "it" happens to be. And they do. They really do. Copley Square. Yes, it can get crowded. Yes, it can be too hot or too cold depending on the season. But there is still something about Copley Square. For sitting, for being, for people watching, for reading, for whatever.

Sometimes we find peaceful places where we expect them. Sometimes we find them where we least expect them. What's important is that we keep our eyes, our minds, and our hearts open so that when a place brings us peace, we welcome it into our hectic, crazy lives and let it sit with us, even just for a little while.

My apartment still needs cleaning so I need to get on that. However, now I have the peace of a welcoming salon, the staff at the Ritz and the beauty of Copley Square ~ along with a good dose of Ol' Blue Eyes ~ to help me get through the crap, to the oasis that can be my home.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Too Much on my Mind

I discovered last night that I've got too much on my mind. While I sort of knew this, it became clear at 3 o'clock this morning when I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Normally, I can listen to my book on tape or tell myself The Three Bears and next thing I know, I don't know anything because I'm asleep. Not so last night. Which is a sure sign my brain is in overload.

Now, understand, I don't think I have more on my mind than anyone else. We've all got crap going on. But my crap is the crap that's keeping me awake so it's the most important crap to me.

There are bills to pay; a book to write; a name to change; an apartment to clean; friends to catch up with; weight to lose; meals to prepare; appointments to make; errands to run... You get the idea.

When I make out a list (and you know I love lists) like the one above, it doesn't seem so overwhelming. And somehow, when it comes time to Do It, it feels more overwhelming than ever, even than it did at 3 o'clock in the dark of the day. It just seems easier to sit and read my book ~ mine as in I own it, not mine as in I've written it ~ or noodle on the computer or write Pobble Thoughts or sit in Copley Square and people watch. There's always a nap to take.

What I know is that eventually, the bills will get paid; the book will get written...you understand. It will all happen in time. Just probably not today. And I guess that's okay, too.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

The Cat in the Hat

The Lovely Cats was in (rather dire) need of a play date so Bear and I jumped in the Pobble Mobile and drove down for two nights. Honestly, I had no idea what I was going to go for. I might have been walking into a situation where she said "Great! Wash the dishes, clean the bathtub and I'll be home in four hours. Oh, and here's the kid." Or, I might have been walking into a shoot the moon 36 hours. Or somewhere in between. Turned out to be somewhere in between.

I spent time playing with Princess Kitten and watching t.v. with The Silent Prince. Tom Cat and I sat at the table and caught up. But I was there for The Lovely Cats so we did what girlfriends do; we found the Target and went shopping.

She is relatively new to her town and had a general idea of where it was but hadn't made the trek yet. So we made it together. Once there, she mentioned how she wished she could wear hats and threw one on her head to prove how horrendous they looked on her.

She looked great. Serious ass backfire.

After trying on several, she settled on the first one. A teal newsboy cap. Except she would only get it if I got one. I agreed to get the one she chose for me. We walked out in a teal newsboy and a brown, courderoy cowboy hat.

But let me tell you what happened. We went from being two, stressed women in a small town to being totally tough and bad ass. I mean, we were Cool. Cool with a capital "c". Men flirted. Women sneered. Even our walks changed. We could have ordered whiskey in a dirty glass and not made fools of ourselves.

This morning, reality was back. It was time for me to get back to Boston and her to put on her clerics and go back to work. We decided the teal newsboy wouldn't exactly work with her collar but that it would go back on as soon as she changed shirts. And the cowboy hat worked fabulously with me ~ even if it only worked so well with my clothes. In fact, I have just now taken it off in order to settle down and go to sleep. Hopefully, the newsboy stayed on her head as long.

God willing, we learn something new everyday. What I learned is buy a hat. Next time you need to go from stressed to bad ass, buy a hat. You'll look great. And feel even better.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.