Faces in the Sand ....excerpt

 When I was ten, I discovered we were poor. Mama came home with tickets to the Nutcracker Ballet. She was so delighted, dancing around our small living room. I think she always wanted to be a dancer. She was in one of her good moods where she opened up all the blinds and played the record player loud. She’d been saving all year to take me.

     We got all dressed up and took a cab to the show. There was a long line outside to get in. The lights on Broadway were so bright. A long black car pulled up to the curb in front of us. A man, wearing a funny hat, stepped out and opened the car door for the people inside. My eyes made contact with a pretty blond girl about my age. She was wearing a beautiful green dress, with shiny sequins all over it, and a red shawl. We looked at each other closely. I ducked behind Mama not wanting the little girl to see my old black coat. I wasn’t sure why I did that. It was the look in her eyes. She was looking down at me. Her family didn’t have to wait in the line. They went right to the front and the doorman let them in.

     Our seats were so high I could barely see the performance. I spotted the girl sitting in a balcony very close to the stage. Mama said they were rich. After that day, I was on a constant look out for these strange people with long cars.

From my new book . . .

        There is an old fable about a body of water which has miraculous powers. The legend states that anyone who bathed in it would regain their youth. Men sought its discovery from all corners of the globe. Spanish explorer, Juan Ponce de Leon, searched for the Fountain the Youth in a place he named La Florida. He never found it. He was looking in the wrong place. It's not a fountain or a body of water, but a town where no maps lead. You could call it Eden, Avalon, Shagri-la or El Dorado. The people who live there call it The Village.

Libya, Kim Kardashian, and Snookies Cookies

This morning, while stuck in traffic with the rest of the sheep, I was thinking about Libya and history. Can you imagine: It's June 6, 1944 and our troops have hit the beaches in Normandy. They have no objective. They don't want to kill Hitler. They only want to make sure the Germans are fighting fair against the French resistance. No fly zones are created so the Luftwaffe can't bomb people. We don't know exactly who we are siding with, but it feels like the right thing to do. It's a simple argument. Maybe too simple.

Then, I came home and opened a few online news pages I read each day only to find photos of Kim Kardashian's boobs, only partially exposed (darn), playing with a tiger (not Tiger Woods). She's made a sex tape and been in Playboy. No one is more exposed than her. Haven't we already seen everything? She made $65 million last year. What is it that she does again? Oops. .  Sorry for the tangent. Got off track for a moment. Forgive me. Her photo was in the headline right between NATO taking control of the Libyan thing and "Snookies Cookies in a Skimpy Suit." And let me tell you, her cookies. . .doughy!

Which article do I look at first?  

The world of the idiot.

I was clicking through programs on television and realized we live in the world of the idiot, the half-wit, the cretin, the boob. Young men and women have hoops in their noses, spacers in the ear lobes, piercing in the lips, noses, cheeks, arms, eyebrows, and God knows where else. Tattooed beasts that couldn't stop themselves from covering their bodies. People who split their tongue in half and surgically implant horns in their heads. Musicians who go on rampages. Paparazzi that makes their living off stalking. TV shows dedicated to crime, prison life, drug abuse, and the utterly stupid fill the cable networks. Stars who are famous for getting drunk, getting stoned, cussing, stripping, and making sex tapes. The more extreme the better. How has this become the norm?

We live in the world of the idiot....

The case against Barry Bonds... I don't get it.

The Barry Bonds trial began today. I was thinking back to when he was chasing home run records. Pitchers were afraid of him. He stepped up to the plate and dared them to throw a strike. Fans packed the stadiums and roared when he came to the plate. Kayakers jammed the bay hoping for a ball hit by him. The baseball world was in awe. Now . . . his number is gone from the left field wall. He doesn't exist in the minds of the fans. Why? Maybe he's a jerk. I wouldn't know. Never met the man. Did he take steroids? Probably. Why all the hate? What did he ever do but hit home runs, doubles, triples off the wall, steal bases, drive in runs, and win games? That's why we watched. That's why we paid. The gladiator entered the coliseum with sword in hand ready to slay the opponent. 

Now . . . the government wants their pound of flesh. The prosecutors probably couldn't hit a 100 mph fastball. But, the State of California is broke. They are letting non-violent criminals (real criminals) out of jail. Teachers are losing their jobs and kids can't play sports at their schools anymore. People have no jobs, homes are in foreclosure, cars repossessed. We are broke! This show is costing the taxpayers more than $5 million dollars. What purpose does all this serve?  

I don't get it.

Sunday's gym rant

Sunday afternoon's I make time to get my skinny, aging, body into the gym for some much needed exercise. I try and go three or four times a week, usually early in the morning, before work when it's quiet and peaceful and feels more like meditation than working out. Today the gym was rather crowded and as I worked the machines I made some observations.

A rather soft Asian man stacked six 45lb weights on each side of one of the machines. That's 500 lbs. Then he stood in front of the machine stretching with funny motions like he was a dancing chicken. I was curious to how he intended to lift that much weight without snapping his arms in half like matchsticks. He sat down at the ready, took a few deep breaths, and pushed with all his might. The bar moved about two inches and then he came back and did the same motion over again three times. He only lifted it two inches! What the hell was the point of that? There wasn't any girls watching him. Did I also say he wore dark aviator glasses too? Need I say more.

One man looked like a tank with a tight long sleeve shirt on. His neck bulged veins, and I think I saw extra muscles that normal humans don't have. He obviously really, really, really likes the gym. Get a life!

In the corner were a few high school girls who sat and talked the whole time. Daddy was paying their membership and they used it as a house of gossip.

At another machine was "the grunter". With every motion he let out a huge grunt, which could have been interpreted as the passing of wind (fart). His whole body dripped with sweat and he smelled so bad you wondered when was the last time he took a shower. Yuck!

I only make these observations because these people know who they are. They know that they are disturbing to the rest of us who go to try and stay in shape. If you are one of them. Get a clue. Take a shower, wear a muzzle, and lift weights that are suitable for your muscle mass before you snap all your tendons and muscles. The rest of us would appreciate it.

I know. I got off on another tangent.

Moon shadow!

The super moon is out, although I can't see it because we are covered in clouds and rain. They say it makes us do crazy things. I was wondering why my little dog was howling at the sky.

The world seems to have gone insane with missiles in the air and destruction everywhere. When does it end? When does it stop? Have we become one of them? Maybe it's all part if the plan.

Moon shadow, moon shadow.