Interest is not sexy unless you are earning it

I am about to change my life. Want to come along? I refuse to engage in adding additional interest that I will have to service in the future. That's right. No more buying with credit. I have a completely new perspective on life. Let me share:

Men that "keep that old truck" running instead of buying a new car with 60 payments attached are SEXY.

Women that love TIME with their husbands enough to keep him HOME more instead of EARNING more are total KEEPERS.

Join me. Let's do it together. Let's create a new culture, together. Let's reclaim or grow or financial stability. Now, that is sexy.

"ship" words

There are many words that end in "ship". Words like leadership, sportsmanship, and penmanship are examples of "ship" words.

There are some new words I would like to make up and start using. For instance, when I am trying to get off the freeway and nobody has that extra 5 seconds to let me over.... how about we see some "drivership" or when I am getting severely annoyed with waiting in line at the grocery store. I need some more "shoppership".

This is fun. I am going to think about ship words. The ones my character will need in the future and the ones I am going to make up, just for the "funmanship!"

I have Joy and I have Peace and I have Opportunity

I have been thinking about what happiness really is for me. I have come to the conclusion that it is absolute awareness and contentment with where I am, who I am, and what I am doing.

Where I am is in a state of peace. I feel peaceful and content. I can't make my personal balance sheet look any prettier overnight. I don't even care anymore. I can't keep my children or freinds from experiencing the pain and hard lessons of life, but I am content with knowing I will do and have done all I can to help them through those moments. Don't get me wrong. I am beyond busy and have no "social life: as they say. It's just that it has been replaced with "meaningful life". I like it.

I get a daily supply of joy from the most unexpected places. Sometimes, it a late night text from a very sweet friend or a message in my inbox that is uplifting and sent by someone who was "just thinking of me." Sometimes, it is witnessing that lessons taught are lessons learned. Sometimes, it's from a moment during a outdoor run when a rush of warm air crosses my face just when the sun starts to fade. I see the lake. I see the other runners. I see life. I feel joy.

I have opportunity every single day to make a difference in the world. I will take each one.

I am thankful for what I have. I am at peace with what I don't have. I feel joy.

I wish this for all of you, too.

We bombed the moon.

A great friend and co-worker, Brad Hintze, posted a very funny tweet today. It just made me think. We BOMBED the moon. On purpose. We CAN bomb the moon on purpose. We are an amazing little species, us humans.

One thing we still cannot do though. We cannot figure out how to stop people from releasing Co2 while driving in my car and while the windows are rolled up shut. Can we get JPL on the phone?

The Confession Booth

If you are, or ever were ever a practicing catholic, you know what the confession booth is all about.

I grew up catholic. Yep, the knee highs, white button down shirts, and that itchy, hard-to-iron, plaid skirt.

8th grade was my favorite year. I had a best freind that I will call "Mary." The two of us most likely have more scars on our hands than anyone else that ever went to parochial school. That is because the nuns would hit us on our hands with rulers if we disobeyed the rules. The rules were a growing list of absolutely everything it seemed. A sample of the rules Mary and I broke:

*No gum (this was a repeat offense of mine and my left middle finger has two scars from this alone)
*Knee highs had to be white (Mary seemed to wear gray but I think it was her washing machine)
*No ear rings (How do you flirt without twisiting ear rings? They were a "have-to-have")
* No cussing. No comment.

Then there were the rules that nobody knew were rules until you "broke" them. For expample:

*No sunbathing (well, we stayed dressed for crying out loud. We just sort of hiked up the skirt a little)
* No writing notes in class (Ok. Everyone should know this is a rule but they never actually said it was a rule)
* No carving into the trees on the playground (I think "I love Perry" is still on the tree next to the rectory and he was worth the ruler treatment)

All of these offenses were on a longer list that got both myself and Mary sent to confession. Confession! This is such an intersting thing. It feels a little like meeting GOD, except through blinds. (Not that I have ever met him before. (although I have met a few people that think they are God) I just think it may be that scary.

You kneel in the dark. and you say "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned" (even if you think you didn't. Now this is very very important. You say it anyway or "confession" never starts and you are in the dark forever.

Then, the priest opens the blinds and light comes into the booth. And then he says stuff, you say stuff, he says stuff, you say stuff..... then he says "say 5 Hail Marys and 10 Father's Prayers."

You dutifully go to the pew and start ticking away on your rosary beads. Now, you think this is personal and nobody but you and that preist knows how bad you are. HA HA HA!

Mary and I knew exactly who the very bad people were. You see, it's a time-based approach. We figured the longer you stayed on those beads, the worse you were. Which is why we came up with short hand prayers. We were up and out faster than you can say "Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

Ah yes. Groupies!

Groupies, A.K.A. Chicks (usually) that follow bands around.

Ok people. I will probably make a few of you mad, but from my perspective here's what these people actually look like. (At least from what I can recall and what I overheard as a little pollywog)

Groupies think that there is real transference of coolness from the band to themselves. Their self-image is somehow upgraded because they are attached to or otherwise identified with the band.

My mom saw these women as "trouble." My dad most likely saw them as "easy."

I saw them as rather sorry little people with no real job or responsibility. (yep, this is where I tick a few of you off) Now, they have a place in this world. I mean after all, they do make the BAND seem cool!

Jam sessions

For those of you that do not know what a "jam session" is, it's when musicians get together and just play music. Now for the musicians and their tag alongs... this is kind of cool and "creative."

For me and my sibs, the garage was never far away enough and even if my freinds all thought my house was the coolest because my dad had happening"visitors"... I really just wanted mom to wear curlers and make cookies and dad to wear a tie and come home at 5:00. By the way, did I mention these sessions usually started around 2 in the morning?

The music was very cool. The timing was not.

One time my dad converted a poolside changing room in our backyard into a studio. He "soundproofed" it with bags of sand. That summer was totally rockin, until my parents separated and divorced.

That was the summer I went touring with dad for the last time. I spent most of my vacation sharing space with a couple PA systems and an amplifier. I recall the 2am breakfasts (I wonder why I am such a night owl?) and waitresses and a bunch of inuendo flying around.

I also remember lots of science related talk. My dad is very very intelligent. If he hadn't been a musician, he could have been anything else. He can fix a car with duck tape, rewire your house with paper clips, and can explain how almost every civilizaition came into being, what their primary religious beliefs are, and if you really want a deep conversation, relate all of it to metaphysics and/or particle physics. What impressed me the most was that he could listen and respond to the conversations and still keep one eye peeled (and winking) at the watiress. That guy could run for president.

Let's start at the beginning as they say....

I was born to two hippies. Two really cool hippies. My dad is a musician. My mom was a total flower child that thought if I was "happy" she was doing her job. Can't complain about that since happy meant she'd let me stay home from school (yep!) and she painted my room my favorite color (lilac) even though all my favorite pictures were of the moon astronauts. ( I'm telling you it just gets better from here...)

My dad was almost famous. He toured with Ricky Nelson and the Mixtures. He was really handsome and could play about 9,000,000 instruments.

I have a younger brother, Rick. He's major league fun. I have a lyounger sister, Kimberly. She is insane. She really is, but I love her and I really miss her. (ok, the fun insane....calm down)

My mom was 15 when I was born. Luckily she married an older man. My dad was 16. Whew.

Ok now the basics are complete. I grew up doing the most interesting things. I grew up on movie sets, touring with bands, (Can't wait to write about "groupie mentality") and eventually deciding that I never EVER wanted to be; a) musician, b)a model, c) an actor, or d) a groupie.

Sooo. I did what any anti- cool person would do. I got into accounting and finance.

I married a school teacher.

I had my children.

My children grew up.

I divorced the "no longer a school teacher guy."

I still have my offspring.

Now that we are old freinds, I'll get into some interesting thoughts.