Happy New Year! 2006 is upon us. Doesn't it just seem like yesterday when we were all in a tizzy over Y2K? And here we are, six years later, keeping on keeping on.
And what a year it has been. Cracker Lilo was sitting on her porch again and left a comment for me that really resonated. In a post, I had mentioned how I was concerned I was becoming Hard. Among her many reassuring comments was this one: "Also, it could just be that you're adjusting to not having to go from BIG CRISIS to BIG CRISIS. " While the other ones were making me breathe easier, that's the one that drew me up sharp. First was the no, that's not the case. It's been a great year. I got my book contracts; I chose and was chosen by great family; I've made and kept amazing friends, including several people currently reading this blog; I was able to stay in the Boston area...
Then I thought about it. Wow. The last three years have been just that ~ Big Crisis to Big Crisis. A divorce and all that entails; major issues with my bio-family; a health crisis (long resolved, no worries); employment crises; broken relationships; deaths and far too many castings in celebration of a life (I could only attend one of the official funerals.) You get the idea.
Now, she's right. Life has settled down. Oh, I still have money worries and will until Pauline starts selling her books. And the issues with my bio-family will continue, to a lesser degree, throughout our lives. Yet, it's different now. My life has relaxed ~ I just haven't quite caught up with it yet. It's a transition I'm really looking forward to making.
In light of that, I have made some unusual New Year's Resolutions. Yes, I'm jumping on Rose's bandwagon. I want to lose the weight I need to make my body feel better; eat more veggies; quit smoking (Feb. 1 is my quit date if anyone is interested); keep my apartment cleaner; and get on the treadmill more. (Not all of these are Rose's but then, I don't think she's a smoker and I doubt she's a cluttered as I!) I'm also making some others:
* I want to use my tea sets. I have gorgeous china and silver tea sets that I have inherited/been given/collected over the years. It's about time they were used for more than decoration.
* I'm going to settle down in the evenings. Take time for me to sit and read or watch a movie or just be. Light a candle, make tea or cocoa, and...Be.
* I also want to keep candles lit more often. They are a worthy expense for me. The belt is tight enough, I've given up enough other "luxuries." Candles shouldn't be one of them.
* Once a week, I'm going to give myself a manicure and pedicure. Do it right with my paraffin wax and everything. Just because I can't afford to have someone else do it for me, doesn't me I can't have it done.
*I'm going to write my nephew ~ my heart ~ more often. We are too far apart and it would be too easy to lose touch.
* Finally, I want to make sure I have people over more often. Have gatherings of friends at least every other month. Not full parties but not just quick-hey-what-are-you-doing-Friday-night-wannagettogether-nights either. Gatherings. Sometimes pot luck dinners. Sometimes game nights. Sometimes a beauty night with my Girlfriends so we can all have manicures and pedicures.
I think these are things that will help me realize that my life has settled down. That I don't have to rush from crisis to crisis any longer. And I know they are things that will help me embrace this new way of being. And isn't that what resolutions are all about anyway?
What about you? Aside from the standards, what do you want to do to help embrace a new year and a fresh start?
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Saturday, December 31, 2005
CHEERS to DonDon...
...who hooked me up with the new look. I'm still surprised we made it happen considering how bad I am with computers. :) The lack of picture is my fault, not his.
Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ and a new Pobble Look, thanks to a friend. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee, but not a drink at the Ritz.
Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ and a new Pobble Look, thanks to a friend. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee, but not a drink at the Ritz.
Friday, December 30, 2005
Hello and Goodbye
One of my favorite bloggers, Groove, announced her retirement. :( I don't want to let her go but the time has come. God bless and go reclaim your world in 2006!
However, if you look over there, you will notice three new sites: The Bitter Truth (which may be bitter but is also hysterical); Confessions of a Female Misogynist (which is one of my Favorite words to say ~ it just rolls off the tongue so fabulously but that's not why she's linked; click and you'll see why she's linked); and Daisy Land (which truly IS more entertaining than Disney Land, especially if you've ever worked retail.)
They do not take Groove's place; they create their own.
Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ along with some new faces. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
However, if you look over there, you will notice three new sites: The Bitter Truth (which may be bitter but is also hysterical); Confessions of a Female Misogynist (which is one of my Favorite words to say ~ it just rolls off the tongue so fabulously but that's not why she's linked; click and you'll see why she's linked); and Daisy Land (which truly IS more entertaining than Disney Land, especially if you've ever worked retail.)
They do not take Groove's place; they create their own.
Those are Pobble Thoughts ~ along with some new faces. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Christmas Concern
Greetings from the Pobble! Hopefully everyone's holiday was as merry ~ or at least bearable, as I know I'm not the only one here in cyber space with family issues. Christmas in Connecticut with the Lovely Cats (ah ~ alliteration!) was delightful. There's something especially nice about Christmas with children.
However, all that being said, a concern did develop for me over the holiday. I'm concerned I'm becoming hard and/or cold. See, there were a couple times when I wanted to look at the Tom Cat and the Lovely Cat's mother and say "Seriously, relax. The situation is what it is. You don't have to bring this kind of drama into it." But I was the only one who seemed to be thinking that. And that's my concern.
Now, I thoroughly enjoy not having drama in my life. I mean, let's face it; life has drama enough without us creating more. When the Silent Prince got lead poisoning and had to go to and stay in the hospital until they could release him to a lead-free environment, that was drama. Having now been through a divorce, I understand: Divorce equals drama. When another friend's mother went into the hospital for knee surgery and ended up dying from complications? DRAMA. Unexpectedly losing your job; catching the cooking oil on fire; car accidents...Drama comes at us in all shapes and sizes all the time. So why should we make a dramatic situation more dramatic?
And yet...I don't want to be hard, either. I don't want to be one of those people who has no sympathy for others. Who cannot step back and say "This is important to this person in this moment." Who flits around indifferently to the pain around her ~ or perhaps even caused by her. And when she does notice it, holds it in scorn.
Before I went down to Connecticut, interestingly enough, the Lovely Cats and I had a conversation about pity. What I realized was I really have no use for it. I have use for sympathy. I have use for empathy. Both are vital in healthy, strong, important relationships. But pity? There are very, very few people I pity. Does that make me hard?
Am I a product of my environment ~ a dead father; an ugly divorce; an indifferent mother; and a sister who doesn't understand me any more than I understand her? Can I help but be hard? God, I hope so.
I know I've gotten harder these past two years. My insecurities are fewer and better protected ~ which makes it interesting when they come out, of course. At that point, I'm sure friends would tell you there's unneccessary drama. Hey, I never claimed to be perfect! But I am hoping I am not becoming Hard. Stronger, less dramatic, more confident ~ those I can handle. I just don't want Hard.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
However, all that being said, a concern did develop for me over the holiday. I'm concerned I'm becoming hard and/or cold. See, there were a couple times when I wanted to look at the Tom Cat and the Lovely Cat's mother and say "Seriously, relax. The situation is what it is. You don't have to bring this kind of drama into it." But I was the only one who seemed to be thinking that. And that's my concern.
Now, I thoroughly enjoy not having drama in my life. I mean, let's face it; life has drama enough without us creating more. When the Silent Prince got lead poisoning and had to go to and stay in the hospital until they could release him to a lead-free environment, that was drama. Having now been through a divorce, I understand: Divorce equals drama. When another friend's mother went into the hospital for knee surgery and ended up dying from complications? DRAMA. Unexpectedly losing your job; catching the cooking oil on fire; car accidents...Drama comes at us in all shapes and sizes all the time. So why should we make a dramatic situation more dramatic?
And yet...I don't want to be hard, either. I don't want to be one of those people who has no sympathy for others. Who cannot step back and say "This is important to this person in this moment." Who flits around indifferently to the pain around her ~ or perhaps even caused by her. And when she does notice it, holds it in scorn.
Before I went down to Connecticut, interestingly enough, the Lovely Cats and I had a conversation about pity. What I realized was I really have no use for it. I have use for sympathy. I have use for empathy. Both are vital in healthy, strong, important relationships. But pity? There are very, very few people I pity. Does that make me hard?
Am I a product of my environment ~ a dead father; an ugly divorce; an indifferent mother; and a sister who doesn't understand me any more than I understand her? Can I help but be hard? God, I hope so.
I know I've gotten harder these past two years. My insecurities are fewer and better protected ~ which makes it interesting when they come out, of course. At that point, I'm sure friends would tell you there's unneccessary drama. Hey, I never claimed to be perfect! But I am hoping I am not becoming Hard. Stronger, less dramatic, more confident ~ those I can handle. I just don't want Hard.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Words to Live By
"Our deepest fear is not that we're inadequate ... it's that we're powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most threatens us.
"We ask ourselves: 'Who am I to be this talented, gorgeous and fabulous?' Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that others won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us ~ it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
~ as quoted by Nelson Mandella, 1994
Those aren't Pobble Thoughts. She just lives by them. This will get you a lot more than just a cup of coffee.
"We ask ourselves: 'Who am I to be this talented, gorgeous and fabulous?' Actually, who are you NOT to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that others won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us ~ it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
~ as quoted by Nelson Mandella, 1994
Those aren't Pobble Thoughts. She just lives by them. This will get you a lot more than just a cup of coffee.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Christmas Carols?
If you read yesterday's blog, you know today is Yule, the major winter holiday for Pagans. And if you didn't read yesterday's blog, I highly recommend that you do. There's a great hot tea recipe waiting for you. ;) Anyway, I digress (as I am wont to do....)
I was thinking this morning about how Yule is hardly even on the radar for most people. And you know, that's okay with me. In my "real" life, as opposed to here in my cyber life, I'm actually pretty quiet about it. I don't deny my faith but I don't wear it on my sleeve like I do here. Plus, I like Christmas and the feeling that surrounds it. Everybody is a little nicer to each other. Even under the frantic and the hectic, people tend to be a little happier. People look out for each other; listen to music; eat and celebrate; fill the world with lights and colors and joyful sounds; sing and dance; wonder at the beauty of a snow covered or sunkissed earth. Why, it's practically Pagan! ;) But I'm digressing again...
Even the carols. Some, obviously and well they should, deal directly with the birth of Jesus. Some, though, are practically Yule carols. Bing Crosby and David Bowie's "The Little Drummer Boy"; the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Canon"; the Royal Guardsmen's Snoopy Christmas song (whose name has escaped me, my apologies); Good King Wensceslas...You get the idea. So many.
Yesterday, I listened to Christmas carols. Tomorrow, I'll listen to Christmas carols. Today, I think I'll listen to Yule carols. And be grateful for all the artists who, in singing for their own faith, found mine as well.
Blessed Be, whenever, whatever, however you celebrate.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I was thinking this morning about how Yule is hardly even on the radar for most people. And you know, that's okay with me. In my "real" life, as opposed to here in my cyber life, I'm actually pretty quiet about it. I don't deny my faith but I don't wear it on my sleeve like I do here. Plus, I like Christmas and the feeling that surrounds it. Everybody is a little nicer to each other. Even under the frantic and the hectic, people tend to be a little happier. People look out for each other; listen to music; eat and celebrate; fill the world with lights and colors and joyful sounds; sing and dance; wonder at the beauty of a snow covered or sunkissed earth. Why, it's practically Pagan! ;) But I'm digressing again...
Even the carols. Some, obviously and well they should, deal directly with the birth of Jesus. Some, though, are practically Yule carols. Bing Crosby and David Bowie's "The Little Drummer Boy"; the Trans-Siberian Orchestra's "Christmas Canon"; the Royal Guardsmen's Snoopy Christmas song (whose name has escaped me, my apologies); Good King Wensceslas...You get the idea. So many.
Yesterday, I listened to Christmas carols. Tomorrow, I'll listen to Christmas carols. Today, I think I'll listen to Yule carols. And be grateful for all the artists who, in singing for their own faith, found mine as well.
Blessed Be, whenever, whatever, however you celebrate.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Susan's Spiced Tea
Tomorrow is the major winter holiday I and most other Pagans celebrate ~ Yule or the Winter Solstice. It is the shortest day of the year, the time in which the God, represented by the Sun, is reborn and returns to us. In light of this (no pun intended), here is my Solstice gift to you. May it help drive the cold winter away.
Susan's Spiced Tea
2 cups Tang
2 scoops instant lemonade (if anybody can still find Wyler's, it's especially good) 1 cup instant, unsweetened tea (caffeinated or decaf, optional)
1 teaspoon ground clove
1 heaping teaspoon cinnamon
Combine all ingredients in a large bowl. Add three heaping teaspoons to a mug. Fill mug with boiling water and stir. Enjoy!
Blessed Be, everyone.
Those are Pobble Thoughts (with a little help from her mother.) That and a buck fifty ~ hell, nevermind. The tea's on me.
Susan's Spiced Tea
2 cups Tang
2 scoops instant lemonade (if anybody can still find Wyler's, it's especially good) 1 cup instant, unsweetened tea (caffeinated or decaf, optional)
1 teaspoon ground clove
1 heaping teaspoon cinnamon
Combine all ingredients in a large bowl. Add three heaping teaspoons to a mug. Fill mug with boiling water and stir. Enjoy!
Blessed Be, everyone.
Those are Pobble Thoughts (with a little help from her mother.) That and a buck fifty ~ hell, nevermind. The tea's on me.
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Unpacking, Weight Loss and Other Ramblings
Today's Pobble Thoughts...
* On my 35th birthday, I gave myself comfort with my body. It was a great gift. The best ever, actually. Suddenly, I didn't have to worry about being a size 8 or size 10. Suddenly, I wasn't a failure every time I gained three pounds and only lost two. Don't get me wrong, I look damn good as a size 10. But I have to work too hard to stay there. If I miss a day of working out or have two high calorie meals in a week, I don't stay a 10. Life is simply too damn short for that, especially when I look damn good as a size 12 or 14 or 16 or 18 as well. Here's the rub ~ I quit smoking in January of last year and went from a size 12 to a size 18. Jumped straight over 14 and 16. Didn't beat myself up because, afterall, I'm allowed to be comfortable with my body. But, what I've learned over the last year (aside from the fact that the quitting smoking didn't stick) is that my body isn't comfortable. My knees hurt; my feet hurt; I tire easily. It's harder to walk up hills and stairs and paint my toenails. And if life is too damn short to live it without ice cream, it's also too damn short to live it in pain. So I'm intentionally losing weight. Not because society tells me I have to. Because my body tells me I have to. And I'll stop when my body tells me I can stop. Not when society tells me so. If that means I stop at a size 12, great. If that means I stop at a size 16, great. And I have and will continue to maintain that, no matter what size I am, if someone doesn't think I'm beautiful and sexy, that's their problem. It's So Not Mine.
* I have two attorneys (is that really how you pluralize "attorney????") Anyway! I have two of them. One does my estate planning. One does my copyright/contract/Pauline Trent stuff. I love them. My will is tight and appsrus actually emailed me back while he was in the UK because I panicked over something. Knowing my legal affairs are in order is the greatest feeling.
* I have been claimed as a fag hag. My still-as-of-yet-monikerless landlord has decided I'm his. I'm quite flattered.
* On the 22nd, I'm getting unpacked. I called my moving company and they are actually coming in and UNpacking me. This is decadent. This is sinful. This is the greatest thing EVER. And I don't care that I'm broke and have no money and am going to have to charge it to my credit card. I'm getting unpacked. That being said...
* I am learning to not spend money. I have always had champagne tastes on a fine wine budget. Now, I have champagne tastes on a dollar-draft-and-nurse-it-all-night budget. It's not a lot of fun. But I'm a writer. Whenever I don't buy something, don't get a manicure, don't go out to eat, I always make it better by thinking "Yeah, but I'm a writer." And I smile and walk right on by the pair of shoes, the salon, the nice restaurant. So am I learning not to spend money? Yeah. Slowly (see above) Do I hate not spending money? Yeah. (I love the quote, "Anyone who says money can't buy happiness doesn't know how to spend it." ~ and before anybody tells me that you have to have inner happiness and all that, I know that; this is a joke.) But you know what? I'm a writer. And I can nurse a lot of beer all night to be able to be a writer. :D
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
* On my 35th birthday, I gave myself comfort with my body. It was a great gift. The best ever, actually. Suddenly, I didn't have to worry about being a size 8 or size 10. Suddenly, I wasn't a failure every time I gained three pounds and only lost two. Don't get me wrong, I look damn good as a size 10. But I have to work too hard to stay there. If I miss a day of working out or have two high calorie meals in a week, I don't stay a 10. Life is simply too damn short for that, especially when I look damn good as a size 12 or 14 or 16 or 18 as well. Here's the rub ~ I quit smoking in January of last year and went from a size 12 to a size 18. Jumped straight over 14 and 16. Didn't beat myself up because, afterall, I'm allowed to be comfortable with my body. But, what I've learned over the last year (aside from the fact that the quitting smoking didn't stick) is that my body isn't comfortable. My knees hurt; my feet hurt; I tire easily. It's harder to walk up hills and stairs and paint my toenails. And if life is too damn short to live it without ice cream, it's also too damn short to live it in pain. So I'm intentionally losing weight. Not because society tells me I have to. Because my body tells me I have to. And I'll stop when my body tells me I can stop. Not when society tells me so. If that means I stop at a size 12, great. If that means I stop at a size 16, great. And I have and will continue to maintain that, no matter what size I am, if someone doesn't think I'm beautiful and sexy, that's their problem. It's So Not Mine.
* I have two attorneys (is that really how you pluralize "attorney????") Anyway! I have two of them. One does my estate planning. One does my copyright/contract/Pauline Trent stuff. I love them. My will is tight and appsrus actually emailed me back while he was in the UK because I panicked over something. Knowing my legal affairs are in order is the greatest feeling.
* I have been claimed as a fag hag. My still-as-of-yet-monikerless landlord has decided I'm his. I'm quite flattered.
* On the 22nd, I'm getting unpacked. I called my moving company and they are actually coming in and UNpacking me. This is decadent. This is sinful. This is the greatest thing EVER. And I don't care that I'm broke and have no money and am going to have to charge it to my credit card. I'm getting unpacked. That being said...
* I am learning to not spend money. I have always had champagne tastes on a fine wine budget. Now, I have champagne tastes on a dollar-draft-and-nurse-it-all-night budget. It's not a lot of fun. But I'm a writer. Whenever I don't buy something, don't get a manicure, don't go out to eat, I always make it better by thinking "Yeah, but I'm a writer." And I smile and walk right on by the pair of shoes, the salon, the nice restaurant. So am I learning not to spend money? Yeah. Slowly (see above) Do I hate not spending money? Yeah. (I love the quote, "Anyone who says money can't buy happiness doesn't know how to spend it." ~ and before anybody tells me that you have to have inner happiness and all that, I know that; this is a joke.) But you know what? I'm a writer. And I can nurse a lot of beer all night to be able to be a writer. :D
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Whoo-Hoo!
My size 18 jeans are loose ~ Right Out of the Dryer! They aren't trade-them-in-for-size-16-jeans loose but they are loose.
And that's really all. I just had to share.
Those are (size 16 3/4) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
And that's really all. I just had to share.
Those are (size 16 3/4) Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
A Page from Eloise
Here's what I like: Shopping in the city after dark.
Here's what I don't like: Living out of boxes.
Here's what I like: The smell of coffee in the morning.
Here's what I don't like: Spiders.
Here's what I like: People watching.
Here's what I don't like: Watching television.
Here's what I like: Groove and Ruben's new blog looks (and their blogs, too, but you know that because they are linked to mine and I'm picky)
Here's what I don't like: Licorice
Here's what I like: Snuggling down on my sofa, under a blanket with a crossword puzzle
Here's what I don't like: Running errands in the rain
And you...?
Those are Pobble Thoughts (hopefully to be added to with others' thoughts as well.) That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Here's what I don't like: Living out of boxes.
Here's what I like: The smell of coffee in the morning.
Here's what I don't like: Spiders.
Here's what I like: People watching.
Here's what I don't like: Watching television.
Here's what I like: Groove and Ruben's new blog looks (and their blogs, too, but you know that because they are linked to mine and I'm picky)
Here's what I don't like: Licorice
Here's what I like: Snuggling down on my sofa, under a blanket with a crossword puzzle
Here's what I don't like: Running errands in the rain
And you...?
Those are Pobble Thoughts (hopefully to be added to with others' thoughts as well.) That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Thoughts on Redemption
Tookie Williams is dead.
I don't know how I feel about this and I know just enough about the case to be dangerous. You've been warned.
But I know Tookie Williams is dead.
On the one hand, this man created one of the most violent, murderous, and heinous organizations to ever plague the country. And, at least in theory, this is not why he was on death row in the first place.
On the other hand, he renounced that same organization and the lifestyle it preaches and reached out to children and teens, hoping to undo the damage he had caused. Eventhough, in theory, this is not why he was on death row in the first place so does it "count towards" redemption.
Four people are dead, allegedly by his hand, and countless more by the creation of his gang. There is no way to know how far these ripples will spread.
Countless children and teens have been touched by his words of peace and strength. There is no way to know how far these ripples will spread.
I don't know...
I don't know how I feel about the death penalty. I know I am not automatically against it. I know I am not automatically in favor of it.
Actor, Mike Farrell, said something along the lines of Williams was a product of the environment in which he had grown up (very loosely paraphrased but the gist is the same.) I have never bought that argument completely because it does a disservice to all the young men and women who grow up in that same environment and do not turn to drugs, violence, prostitution. And yet we know the odds are indeed stacked against these kids.
What about the environment in which Tookie Williams spent the last half of his life? It is generally recognized that the fastest way to turn a petty thief into a hardened criminal is to put him (or her) into gen pop for five years. Prison is as hard if not harder than the streets the criminals come from. Yet is was here that Williams turned himself around. Here where he rejected his past ways, actions and teachings.
Much has been made about the fact that he never asked for forgiveness for the killings of those four people. Much has been made about the fact that he consistently denied committing the murders. If he didn't commit the crimes, should he have asked forgiveness anyway in order to save his own life? I don't know. Did he kill those people or was he truly innocent, as he claimed? I don't know. Did the state of California kill him for committing those crimes or because he created such a bloody gang? I don't know.
Did the state of California execute an innocent man, as his supporters claim? No. Tookie Williams was not an innocent man. Was he a man who had to die? I don't know. Somehow, I just don't think so. I think we got this one wrong. I think we got this one really, really wrong. But I don't know.
Tookie Williams is dead. That much I do know.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I don't know how I feel about this and I know just enough about the case to be dangerous. You've been warned.
But I know Tookie Williams is dead.
On the one hand, this man created one of the most violent, murderous, and heinous organizations to ever plague the country. And, at least in theory, this is not why he was on death row in the first place.
On the other hand, he renounced that same organization and the lifestyle it preaches and reached out to children and teens, hoping to undo the damage he had caused. Eventhough, in theory, this is not why he was on death row in the first place so does it "count towards" redemption.
Four people are dead, allegedly by his hand, and countless more by the creation of his gang. There is no way to know how far these ripples will spread.
Countless children and teens have been touched by his words of peace and strength. There is no way to know how far these ripples will spread.
I don't know...
I don't know how I feel about the death penalty. I know I am not automatically against it. I know I am not automatically in favor of it.
Actor, Mike Farrell, said something along the lines of Williams was a product of the environment in which he had grown up (very loosely paraphrased but the gist is the same.) I have never bought that argument completely because it does a disservice to all the young men and women who grow up in that same environment and do not turn to drugs, violence, prostitution. And yet we know the odds are indeed stacked against these kids.
What about the environment in which Tookie Williams spent the last half of his life? It is generally recognized that the fastest way to turn a petty thief into a hardened criminal is to put him (or her) into gen pop for five years. Prison is as hard if not harder than the streets the criminals come from. Yet is was here that Williams turned himself around. Here where he rejected his past ways, actions and teachings.
Much has been made about the fact that he never asked for forgiveness for the killings of those four people. Much has been made about the fact that he consistently denied committing the murders. If he didn't commit the crimes, should he have asked forgiveness anyway in order to save his own life? I don't know. Did he kill those people or was he truly innocent, as he claimed? I don't know. Did the state of California kill him for committing those crimes or because he created such a bloody gang? I don't know.
Did the state of California execute an innocent man, as his supporters claim? No. Tookie Williams was not an innocent man. Was he a man who had to die? I don't know. Somehow, I just don't think so. I think we got this one wrong. I think we got this one really, really wrong. But I don't know.
Tookie Williams is dead. That much I do know.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Goober Alert!
For the past three years, I have lived in the Back Bay of Boston. Beacon Street between Dartmouth and Exeter. If you don't know, the Back Bay is one of Boston's most chichi neighborhoods (I snuck in under cover of darkness) and Beacon Street is one of the Back Bay's most chichi addresses (it was really, really dark and I wore sunglasses.) What this means to you in this moment is that there are no laudromats in the Back Bay.
I suppose they (whoever "they" are) figure by the time you can live in the Back Bay, you either a) have your own washer/dryer or b) can afford to send your laundry out. Either that or you are willing to schlep your laundry to the Fenway ~ which isn't nearly as chichi and is where I was living before sneaking into the Back Bay while wearing my sunglasses. Truth is, I didn't have my own washer/dryer, I couldn't really afford to send my laundry out but there was no way in hell I was dragging my dirty underwear three miles each way. So I sent it out.
Now, I'm in Worcester. Not terribly chichi. I live on the third floor. No elevator (not chichi, remember.) You get to my place, come around the back, go up two flights of stairs and TAA-DAH! You're at my apartment.
Today, I am doing my laundry. For the first time in three years. My Fabulous New Landlord (who will eventually end up with his own moniker, I'm sure) has supplied each apartment with their own washer/dryer in the basement. Very, very nice, if a bit chilly because it isn't insulated or anything. It's barely finished. But it's here, not three miles away. And it's free. I'm liking this more and more.
So, I go down, put my laundry in, remember how to turn all the nobs and push all the buttons and am all proud of myself. Walk up two flights ~ and open my second floor neighbor's door. Luckily, I realize what I have done and back away slowly. I don't think she noticed.
I walk up another flight of stairs and get to my actual apartment and go back to work. And work. And have dinner. And noodle around. And work some more. And oh shit I've got laundry in!!!!!!!!!!
Can you say frozen underwear?
Sigh.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
I suppose they (whoever "they" are) figure by the time you can live in the Back Bay, you either a) have your own washer/dryer or b) can afford to send your laundry out. Either that or you are willing to schlep your laundry to the Fenway ~ which isn't nearly as chichi and is where I was living before sneaking into the Back Bay while wearing my sunglasses. Truth is, I didn't have my own washer/dryer, I couldn't really afford to send my laundry out but there was no way in hell I was dragging my dirty underwear three miles each way. So I sent it out.
Now, I'm in Worcester. Not terribly chichi. I live on the third floor. No elevator (not chichi, remember.) You get to my place, come around the back, go up two flights of stairs and TAA-DAH! You're at my apartment.
Today, I am doing my laundry. For the first time in three years. My Fabulous New Landlord (who will eventually end up with his own moniker, I'm sure) has supplied each apartment with their own washer/dryer in the basement. Very, very nice, if a bit chilly because it isn't insulated or anything. It's barely finished. But it's here, not three miles away. And it's free. I'm liking this more and more.
So, I go down, put my laundry in, remember how to turn all the nobs and push all the buttons and am all proud of myself. Walk up two flights ~ and open my second floor neighbor's door. Luckily, I realize what I have done and back away slowly. I don't think she noticed.
I walk up another flight of stairs and get to my actual apartment and go back to work. And work. And have dinner. And noodle around. And work some more. And oh shit I've got laundry in!!!!!!!!!!
Can you say frozen underwear?
Sigh.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Now That's Just WRONG
I love Christmas music. Love it. Listen to it from the Friday after Thanksgiving until sometime early January.
And I have a Christmas song stuck in my head. Going over and over and over and over and over again.
Bing's White Christmas? Nope. Nat's The Christmas Song? Not that either. Good King Wensceslas, Joy to the World or Silent Night? Still no. Not even anything by the Canadian Brass Ensemble, Manheim Steamroller or the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
Not me. Not tonight. Tonight, I have I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas stuck in my head.
And that, my fellow bloggers, is just wrong.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
And I have a Christmas song stuck in my head. Going over and over and over and over and over again.
Bing's White Christmas? Nope. Nat's The Christmas Song? Not that either. Good King Wensceslas, Joy to the World or Silent Night? Still no. Not even anything by the Canadian Brass Ensemble, Manheim Steamroller or the Trans-Siberian Orchestra.
Not me. Not tonight. Tonight, I have I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas stuck in my head.
And that, my fellow bloggers, is just wrong.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Pleasant Surprises
Over the last several days, I have been taken happily by surprise by...
* The Christmas lights of Freeport, Maine. Really, really beautiful.
* An unexpected snow. Enough to make everything glow and feel wonderfully wintry but not enough to keep me from getting home. Perfect hot cocoa weather.
* The melted butter sounds of Nat King Cole. I'm a huge (HUGE) Nat King Cole fan anyway and you can find him on my cd player regularly. But to stumble across him on the radio is delightful
* A phone call from my oldest nephew ~ my heart ~ for no reason but to say hi and that he missed me.
* A bedroom lit by nothing by candles. The power went out the other night and, after the initial cursing, my bedroom was so pretty and welcoming.
* Learning that my friends still come to Worcester, eventhough it's not as easy as jumping on the T.
* Learning that I still go into Boston to visit my friends, eventhough it's not as easy as jumping on the T.
* Having a long conversation about writing with another author. He has been at it a lot longer than I have and is known and respected in the field ~ and talked to me as an equal and fellow writer.
* Godiva liqueur. I've heard of it. I've known I should try it. I finally got a chance to. Highly recommended. Even more so than I had expected.
* Having glasses that serve eggnog in such a perfect size. They are glasses I inherited and would never have bought on my own. They are pretty, add just a little something to serving the drink, and are perfect for eggnog ~ or Godiva liqueur, I'm sure. ;)
* Discovering I know my way around my new town, even if I don't know the most direct routes.
* Starbucks' eggnog lattes are back. Had I given it any thought, I would have realized that, of course they are back. But I hadn't. Until I saw them advertised. I didn't even stop for one. Just knowing I can is nice enough.
As always, I try to be open to the little things. The small surprises that make life so wonderful and so worth living everyday instead of just on "important" days. Do I always succeed? Lord, of course not. But usually, I recognize them, I get them, and I am so grateful for them. And these certainly counted. Here's hoping your days are filled with the little, pleasant surprises that make a day a little nicer, too.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
* The Christmas lights of Freeport, Maine. Really, really beautiful.
* An unexpected snow. Enough to make everything glow and feel wonderfully wintry but not enough to keep me from getting home. Perfect hot cocoa weather.
* The melted butter sounds of Nat King Cole. I'm a huge (HUGE) Nat King Cole fan anyway and you can find him on my cd player regularly. But to stumble across him on the radio is delightful
* A phone call from my oldest nephew ~ my heart ~ for no reason but to say hi and that he missed me.
* A bedroom lit by nothing by candles. The power went out the other night and, after the initial cursing, my bedroom was so pretty and welcoming.
* Learning that my friends still come to Worcester, eventhough it's not as easy as jumping on the T.
* Learning that I still go into Boston to visit my friends, eventhough it's not as easy as jumping on the T.
* Having a long conversation about writing with another author. He has been at it a lot longer than I have and is known and respected in the field ~ and talked to me as an equal and fellow writer.
* Godiva liqueur. I've heard of it. I've known I should try it. I finally got a chance to. Highly recommended. Even more so than I had expected.
* Having glasses that serve eggnog in such a perfect size. They are glasses I inherited and would never have bought on my own. They are pretty, add just a little something to serving the drink, and are perfect for eggnog ~ or Godiva liqueur, I'm sure. ;)
* Discovering I know my way around my new town, even if I don't know the most direct routes.
* Starbucks' eggnog lattes are back. Had I given it any thought, I would have realized that, of course they are back. But I hadn't. Until I saw them advertised. I didn't even stop for one. Just knowing I can is nice enough.
As always, I try to be open to the little things. The small surprises that make life so wonderful and so worth living everyday instead of just on "important" days. Do I always succeed? Lord, of course not. But usually, I recognize them, I get them, and I am so grateful for them. And these certainly counted. Here's hoping your days are filled with the little, pleasant surprises that make a day a little nicer, too.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
PSA
'Tis the season of giving. The holiday season brings out the best, the most generous aspects of most of us. And let's be honest, it makes us feel good to know we are giving a child a Christmas morning they might not have had otherwise.
However, we have, relatively recently, given to others in the wake of Katrina and Rita. So, perhaps you cannot "adopt a family" the way you have in the past. Or don't know what to give. Or don't want to be bothered with a toy store or figuring out what's "hot" this year.
Consider this:
* hairbrushes
* full-sized tolietries (toothpaste, deoderant, shampoos, tampons, shaving cream, razors, lotion, aftershave...)
* gift certificates to stores for teenagers (most people forget that the cute 8 year old has a 14 year old sibling)
* underwear
* movie passes
* grocery store/drug store certificates
* wrapping paper, ribbon and tape (sometimes parents like to wrap their children's gifts ~ but don't always get the option)
These are the things that human service agencies need year-round, not just now. Plus, any shelter or human services organization that handles residents or donations will LOVE you so you'll still get that warm fuzzy feeling. I'm not saying Don't give toys or food. Those are wonderful gifts. I'm not meaning to guilt anyone into anything. But, if you are wanting to give something and don't know what that might be or don't have a lot cash to spare this season ~ those are some suggestions from someone who spent 13 years in the field.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
However, we have, relatively recently, given to others in the wake of Katrina and Rita. So, perhaps you cannot "adopt a family" the way you have in the past. Or don't know what to give. Or don't want to be bothered with a toy store or figuring out what's "hot" this year.
Consider this:
* hairbrushes
* full-sized tolietries (toothpaste, deoderant, shampoos, tampons, shaving cream, razors, lotion, aftershave...)
* gift certificates to stores for teenagers (most people forget that the cute 8 year old has a 14 year old sibling)
* underwear
* movie passes
* grocery store/drug store certificates
* wrapping paper, ribbon and tape (sometimes parents like to wrap their children's gifts ~ but don't always get the option)
These are the things that human service agencies need year-round, not just now. Plus, any shelter or human services organization that handles residents or donations will LOVE you so you'll still get that warm fuzzy feeling. I'm not saying Don't give toys or food. Those are wonderful gifts. I'm not meaning to guilt anyone into anything. But, if you are wanting to give something and don't know what that might be or don't have a lot cash to spare this season ~ those are some suggestions from someone who spent 13 years in the field.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Unpacking
I promise I won't detail every single I unpack that I love or that takes me by surprise or that makes me smile or whatever. These things though...these deserve mention.
See, not only am I unpacking the things that were in the Boston apartment, I'm also unpacking things that came from the house dick-boy (my new, well-earned name for my ex-husband) and I shared and, most importantly, things that were sent to me when my mom and bio-sister packed up the house in Virginia after my dad died and mom moved West. And, oh, the things I am finding...
My mom has given me most of my grandmother's china, crystal and silver. The woman had impeccable taste. Impeccable (if an odd penchant for collecting crystal salt and pepper shakers.) Glass bottles, gorgeous silver that shines through the tarnish of being in boxes for too many years, etched glasses, bone china... Each piece is amazing and makes me wish more and more I had known her. I am determined to clean it all up and USE IT! I don't believe in "saving the good stuff." And it displays beautifully in her mother's china hutch!
Several other boxes include things from my dad's desk. When he died, he had an extensive fiction library and was a big enough science fiction fan that he actually left books by different authors to each of his children. I got the Asmiovs and the Heinleins. So I was expecting those. What I wasn't expecting was to be able to smell him when I opened the boxes. Just a drift that was gone almost as soon as I smelled it. But there he was. Right there with me, laughing and happy the books were home.
The other thing I wasn't expecting was how much of my childhood he had kept. In a box with other stuff from his desk were just about every card I had ever given him ~ including one with my mother's handwriting reading "Love, Pobble" under my scribble from when I was too young to even write. A project on the 50 states from 5th grade. Papers I had done particularly well on my freshman year in college. You get the idea.
I also found prom pictures from 1987. There are Nemeria and myself, dressed in our best 80's small town rebel garb (think Flock of Seagulls for her and Laura Branigan for me) and the young men we fancied ourselves in love with. Nemeria and I are still together. Couldn't tell you what happened to the guys. But there we are.
So, as I unpack, I'm laughing and crying and talking into my empty apartment to all sorts of people ~ some of whom are actually here and some of whom are long gone. It's like Christmas morning with a dash of old-blue-jeans-comfort thrown in. And while there is definitely some melancholia in there, mostly it's just ... good.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
See, not only am I unpacking the things that were in the Boston apartment, I'm also unpacking things that came from the house dick-boy (my new, well-earned name for my ex-husband) and I shared and, most importantly, things that were sent to me when my mom and bio-sister packed up the house in Virginia after my dad died and mom moved West. And, oh, the things I am finding...
My mom has given me most of my grandmother's china, crystal and silver. The woman had impeccable taste. Impeccable (if an odd penchant for collecting crystal salt and pepper shakers.) Glass bottles, gorgeous silver that shines through the tarnish of being in boxes for too many years, etched glasses, bone china... Each piece is amazing and makes me wish more and more I had known her. I am determined to clean it all up and USE IT! I don't believe in "saving the good stuff." And it displays beautifully in her mother's china hutch!
Several other boxes include things from my dad's desk. When he died, he had an extensive fiction library and was a big enough science fiction fan that he actually left books by different authors to each of his children. I got the Asmiovs and the Heinleins. So I was expecting those. What I wasn't expecting was to be able to smell him when I opened the boxes. Just a drift that was gone almost as soon as I smelled it. But there he was. Right there with me, laughing and happy the books were home.
The other thing I wasn't expecting was how much of my childhood he had kept. In a box with other stuff from his desk were just about every card I had ever given him ~ including one with my mother's handwriting reading "Love, Pobble" under my scribble from when I was too young to even write. A project on the 50 states from 5th grade. Papers I had done particularly well on my freshman year in college. You get the idea.
I also found prom pictures from 1987. There are Nemeria and myself, dressed in our best 80's small town rebel garb (think Flock of Seagulls for her and Laura Branigan for me) and the young men we fancied ourselves in love with. Nemeria and I are still together. Couldn't tell you what happened to the guys. But there we are.
So, as I unpack, I'm laughing and crying and talking into my empty apartment to all sorts of people ~ some of whom are actually here and some of whom are long gone. It's like Christmas morning with a dash of old-blue-jeans-comfort thrown in. And while there is definitely some melancholia in there, mostly it's just ... good.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Perspective
Friends of mine were in from Maine last night. It was the first time I got to meet their 8-year old daughter, the Mini-Mainer. They were flying into Logan from Florida where they had spent Thanksgiving and heading back up to Maine this morning. So, I went into town, the not-ex-friend and I met them at the airport and we all hung out. After dinner, it was late and we were all tired. I just crashed on the futon.
This morning, the Mini-Mainer and I go out so I can have a smoke. The door of the Pobble Mobile is open. Someone had gone in a stolen my coat. I loved this coat. So, I'm crawling around, looking to see what is gone and what is still there (smokes? check. Snorlax? check. cd's? check.) and trying not to teach the 8-year old brand new and interesting words to take back to school with her when she speaks up.
"Wow. Someone must have been really, really cold to take something that didn't belong to them."
...
...
...
Perspective is an interesting thing. Now, I still said all those wonderfully, descriptive and insulting words once the Mini-Mainer was out of earshot and I'm really not happy about someone stealing my coat (come on, people...!!!!!) and yet...
Maybe someone was really, really cold. There were a lot of things that weren't taken. So, I'm grateful for the perspective. It was a coat. And I have others. And I can afford another one if needbe. Basically, if they didn't need it, shame on them. And if they did ~ well, it was just a coat.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ if you've got it.
This morning, the Mini-Mainer and I go out so I can have a smoke. The door of the Pobble Mobile is open. Someone had gone in a stolen my coat. I loved this coat. So, I'm crawling around, looking to see what is gone and what is still there (smokes? check. Snorlax? check. cd's? check.) and trying not to teach the 8-year old brand new and interesting words to take back to school with her when she speaks up.
"Wow. Someone must have been really, really cold to take something that didn't belong to them."
...
...
...
Perspective is an interesting thing. Now, I still said all those wonderfully, descriptive and insulting words once the Mini-Mainer was out of earshot and I'm really not happy about someone stealing my coat (come on, people...!!!!!) and yet...
Maybe someone was really, really cold. There were a lot of things that weren't taken. So, I'm grateful for the perspective. It was a coat. And I have others. And I can afford another one if needbe. Basically, if they didn't need it, shame on them. And if they did ~ well, it was just a coat.
Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ if you've got it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)