I have never lived with or had any experience with horses.  I have had friends who owned horses all their lives and I have a sister who always dreamed of owning horses.  But not me.  I was content to admire them from the car as we drove by, or look at their pictures in the magazines or newspapers.  But I was not drawn to them.

Tonight I was making my way through the photos my friends and I took whilst I was out in CA and came to those taken on April 16th.  We were just driving through the countryside, seeing what we saw, stopping when we chose -- smelling the flowers, if you will.  We happened down a dusty dirt road with some stunning trees, fences and other rustic appeal.  We stopped and shot dozens of photos. 

At one point, I was so engrossed in my own picture taking I accidentally crossed in front of my friend trying to take a picture.  Realizing this and trying to back out of the way quickly, I lost my footing and ended up on my butt in the dirt road...laughing at my own clumsiness.  My friend, always a "sharp shooter" snapped a photo before helping me to my feet. 


And we laughed awhile.  My jeans were covered in dirt, but no mind, we were on an adventure.

The next photo op we spied were the horses.  There were two of them. We stopped and started our now familiar routine of capturing everything, not wanting to miss a thing.  Thank goodness for digital cameras, or I would surely owe Kodak my right arm for film and developing!  The horses were very sweet, and interested in us as much as we were interested in them.  From every angle we photographed them.  And I watched as my friend pet their muzzles and how they stretched their heads out for more, each nuzzling my friend when the attention was focused on the other.  I had to laugh.  I had always been a bit afraid of these big creatures.  But after seeing their gentleness, I too felt compelled to pet them.




I wondered, as I did, how many people stop to spend a little time with these two fenced creatures.  Were they used to passersby stopping and sharing a few minutes, or were we an oddity to them? They were very sweet with us and with each other.  And I could see how very easy it would be to fall in love with these big lugs!




Across the street was a pasture of cows and bulls.  Now, those guys were TOUGH looking, but as we approached them, they all got up and started away from us, not running, but certainly determined to distance themselves from us.  And this too seemed odd to me.  The horses who appeared more timid, were in fact more comfortable with us than those more aggressive looking beasts.




And again, I wondered what a "day in the life" of these cattle, fenced across a narrow country road from a couple of horses, was really like.  I could think only of those Gary Larson cartoons, of the cows, all standing around on their back legs, talking like a group of teenagers, until a car was spied...."Car!" hollers one cow, and they all assume the "cow" position as the car passes by.....

So, for just an hour or so, we "communed" with the livestock on the two sides of that country road, and as we did, I was aware, I was enjoying just a little bit of heaven on earth.  Horsing around...where that expression even came from, I have no idea.  If I had to judge by these two, "horsing around" must mean being gentle and affectionate and standing by your friend lest they be left alone.  I think I like horsing around.

Today was one of those days that really makes me sit back and think.  We started the day as we ended last night, without power. Tornadoes took their toll on Suffolk, VA, south of us and apparently some micro bursts or something graced our neck of the woods at about the same time.  Trees were ripped and shredded and lying on power lines, resulting in the not uncommon for this area, power outage.

Still, some 18 hours after the power went out, it was reestablished and I breathed a sigh of relief.  I certainly do not mind, "roughing it" but I had some important obligations to fulfill today and being unable to shower (we are on well water and without electricity we are .... ummm ... without water), would have made me feel kind of grimy.  So, I hopped to and got the shower, took care of my morning meeting for work, conducted an interview and headed on to the main focus of my morning.

On Friday, April 25, 2008 as many enjoyed a Friday evening of relaxation or excitement at the end of a work week, a young man, just 25 years old, decided for reasons unknown certainly to me, to take his life.  He hung himself and left many wondering what they could have done to have affected a different outcome.  He was, by all accounts, a very caring, funny, nice and hard working young man.  And he was loved by many.  I was asked to play and sing at his funeral.

I get a fair number of requests to provide music at funerals, in fact I had three such requests this week alone.  But this was the only one I felt I HAD to fit into my schedule, and so I did.  I did not know the young man.  But I have children his age and I know the anguish his parents must be feeling.  So I played and sang for the celebration of his life which is the funeral.

I found it unusual, and touching at the same time, that his pall bearers all wore black pants, sneakers and white t-shirts with a corsage on the shoulder, and on the back of which was printed, "Rest in Peace Dave, We Love You."  And they were his friends, cousins, and siblings...his peers.  I guess I knew this would be a bit of a different funeral when I saw a couple of the cars entering the parking lot, whose windows bore painted messages such as "We Love You Dave" and "Rest In Peace Dave H."  More typical of a car bearing newlyweds or soccer teams than one carrying the friends and loved ones of the recently departed, and yet, it was touching, somehow.

After the small choir had practiced the songs we would sing for the funeral, I played and sang, as the friends and family of this young man made their way into the church.  The song I sang was one my father sang to us at night as he coaxed us into relaxation and eventual slumber.

"Sleep my child and peace attend thee
 All through the night
 Guardian angels God will send thee
 All through the night.
 Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
 Hill and dale in slumber steeping,
 I, my loving, bid you keeping,
 All through the night."

And the service was a true celebration of his life, with his uncle telling tales, funny ones, that would leave the mourners laughing, as would, he said, have been Dave's wish.  He loved to make people laugh.  And so we did.

When we sang the final hymn, The Strife Is O'er, I knew that was really the point.  Whatever was in this young man's mind when he made his final decision, he was, at last, beyond his personal strife. 

And as I drove home, I looked at the destruction caused in just a five minute long blast by mother nature, the brick wall at the Courthouse Circle blown out, the trees mangled, the roofs damaged, and I thought, it really does all happen in the blink of an eye. Dave too made his final choice that changed the world of those who loved him....in the blink of an eye.

As I write this, hubby and I are on our way to Maryland to take my mother and step-father out to supper for her 73rd birthday.  My "gift" to her this year is, as always, not one of great monetary value.  She is a person who has more "stuff" than house to hold it all and, while she might well appreciate the value or beauty of some knick-knack, I prefer to avoid further packing the sardine tin.  This year she gets a CD of songs she knows and loves.  Some of the songs are just me singing, and some are with my grown children and me singing.  Some are accompanied by guitars (both of my kids play better than I do now) and some are sung without accompaniment from any instrument. 

But the real gift is just the time we share over the meal together.  I know I will hear those same, not-quite-factual stories I have heard for years at such gatherings.  And there will be some new ones, ones whose credibility will be left for later assessment.  By the end of supper, my ears will be ringing with the vibrant tenor of my mother's voice and I will welcome the relative quiet of the car as we drive home.  Still, the time, the meal, the sharing is important to me, as I know it is to her. 

I will turn 50 this year and am quickly approaching the age at which my own grandmother, my mother's mother passed away from cancer.  That was in 1964 and my mother was just 29 years old.  She has lived nearly 44 years without the opportunity to share a meal with her mother.  And I know she would love to have had an opportunity to do as I am today, take her mother out for a birthday supper.

In a way, I find it funny that I, want these times together.  Certainly, Mom and I have never seen eye to eye on much.  I think I was about 9 years old when I recognized that loving a person did not mean I had to always agree with them. When I think back on the memories of life with Mom, they are more often memories of arguments, disciplining, and "correction of my grammar" ...  LOL.  BUT, I also recall the clothes she sewed for my sister and me, and the "family walks" (like a gaggle of geese) to the grocery store, the library, and very rarely but occasionally, to the movie theater that were all a mile from home. 

And I recall memories of her strange perceptions...such as the time in England when she took us to buy a Christmas tree and selected one, not only too big to possibly fit in the house, but also too heavy for the seven of us to carry home easily.  So, her solution was to have us take it home via the double decker bus.... I'm sure you can imagine the embarrassment we kids felt as she convinced the bus conductor to allow us to stand on the open ledge and hold the tree.........  But the bus conductors, like most people who met my very outgoing mother, loved her, and, of course, accommodated her request.

And the time she thought she was getting a great deal at a local auction in Cheltenham and came home with a piano that cost more to deliver than it cost to purchase and that could never be tuned, due to deterioration of the instrument.  It became the musical accompaniment to our Guy Fawkes celebration that year, as the strings burst from their wooden anchors as those anchors burned.

There were the "Carry On" movies she took us to see in the matinée hour, having first stopped by the local bakery to pick up pasties like steak and kidney pies, to eat during the shows.  I recall laughing my head off at the adult humor in those movies, and today in the U.S., I am certain they would be rated R.  But, to me, "Carry on Camping", "Carry on Nursing", and the others will always be a part of my "fun" memories with Mom.

So tonight, when she starts to get on on my nerves, just a little, I will think of the guys in the "Carry on Camping" movie, cycling naked in the nudist camp that was their vacation spot, and will smile.  It really doesn't matter if I agree with her politically, spiritually, or, in fact, on any level.  She gave me plenty of great memories and taught me a lot.

When I was a teenager, I swore I was going to run away from home.  I didn't want to be under the same roof as my parents and brothers and sister.  I wanted to be free to do as I pleased without anyone else's opinion or rules. Of course, most of the time I was too busy doing chores, going to school, participating in extra-curricular activities and such to have time to run away, but I had it on my "to-do" list.  I brought it out for consideration every now and then and almost ALWAYS when in a fit of anger at my mother, who seemed bent on making my life unbearable.  But time ticked on and I did not run away.

Finally, one day in, I believe 10th grade, the stars aligned and my run-away plan was enacted.  I grabbed my backpack, shoved some clothes and my tooth brush in it, grabbed my guitar and headed off.  I was DOING it!  Now, anyone who has contemplated running away will know that USUALLY a person does a little better if they have a destination to which they are running, as opposed to simply running away from their current location.  Savvy teenagers who really want to get away, have a plan that includes at least an idea of a destination.  I had no such plan.  I realized rather quickly as I started down the road, that I was going to have to come up with a plan of where to go.

I could not go back home to make this plan, because I had already made my start, so, I decided to go up to my favorite "thinking place." The Bowie Mansion "hill" was directly across the street from us.  I cut through the neighbors' yards to get up to the top of the hill and sit, on the mansion property, looking down on the neat little houses that families like mine called "home."

I sat there, looking at the house.  Mom and Dad were both still at work, so I had plenty of time.  I decided to play my guitar a while, and let it help me decide what to do next.  Cat Stevens' song "Father and Son" was the song I chose and as I played, I embraced the unfairness of it all, my situation, the fact that nobody "understood" me, that my parents had a different idea of who I should be from the one I wanted to be, or felt I was.  And I sang.

Something happened as I sat there, within a few hundred yards of the place I had determined I had to escape.  I began to understand, perhaps for the first time really, that I was not prepared to be out on my own.  In fact, I was clearly not well equipped to even plan a simple runaway that at least promised a destination.  And for all of my frustrations with my "existence" in the little house that sat innocently below in my view, completely unaware of the turmoil raging in the second child of six who called her "home," I realized that my options were really quite limited by my own immaturity.  While I could "feel" the words in the song I sang, and know the strain of living in someone else's vision of what I "should be and do," I could also understand that I was not quite ready to take responsibility for my own existence.

And as this reality dawned on me, I packed my backpack and guitar back on my back and headed back down the hill.  There was still time to get back home before anyone even discovered I had left.  Maybe I would plan better next time.  Maybe I would at least wait until I was driving before I made my escape.  Maybe, just maybe, I would wait until I had graduated high school, before I set out on my own.  I had several options.... and as I walked up the driveway to the front door, Dad drove in.  If he wondered where I had been, or why I was sporting a backpack and carrying my guitar, he didn't say anything.

Inside the house, the normal squabbling between my brothers was in full swing and I headed up the stairs to the room I shared with my sister, her side meticulously neat, mine a virtual pig sty.  And I dumped my backpack on the floor, atop the pile of dirty laundry and clean, flopped down on my bed and played and sang some more.  Today, every time I sing that song, I am reminded of that day and how sure I was that leaving was mandatory, and how singing that very song of rebellion opened my eyes to the reality of what I did have, and what I would be sacrificing for an opportunity to "live life on my own terms," when I had yet to even determine what those were.

"How can I try to explain, when I do he turns away again.
Its always been the same, same old story.
From the moment I could talk I was ordered to listen.
Now theres a way and I know that I have to go away.
I know I have to go...."

Last night I attended a local fund raiser for the Relay For Life fight against cancer in our lifetime.  It was a "womanless beauty pageant" and it was a hoot.  This is the second year the local Gloucester radio station has held this event and after last year's ticket sold out in four days, they raised the price of tickets this year.  The tickets sold out in one day!  The event was held at the local high school, which seats at least 900, so at $12 per seat, the fund raiser was a good one.

Apparently, last year the organizers had to coax men to participate in the event, but this year, they assured us, men were EAGER to participate....

My only wish is that I had a better camera for taking indoor shots, from far away without flash.  Still, I thought I'd share some of the local "beauties" ...  if you ever travel this way, be aware, the newly elected Sheriff took 1st Runner Up in the pageant.....and a local pharmacist was crowned "Queen."  All I can say, is these guys were great sports and a great time was had by all!


The Line-up

Five finalists are put through the "final test" by dog show judge from the local animal shelter (newly elected Sheriff is on the far right in this shot, clutching "her" gold purse.)

Some of these guys were REALLY getting into it!

Yes, that's the new Sheriff!

And "she" will be the winner

The new "Queen"


I hope you all have a wonderful day... and do whatever you can to help those trying to help others.

Many of my co-workers know I am an "eBayer".  So, I get my fair share of questions on the whole eBay thing.  This week, when I returned from leave, I found an email from a co-worker presenting the following scenario, and asking advice on how to best handle it.

• Seller puts computer up for bid
• My co-worker bids and wins
• Seller sends e-mail noting that "since the selling price did not reach his goal, he was not going to include all items pictured and described in the listing" (in this case, he was holding back on the printer)
• My co-worker held his ground, challenging that the auction was clear and that all components listed should be sent as contractually obligated
• Seller stated that he had mistakenly included the printer in the listing (even though he had already explained the reason it was not going to be sent was the final selling price for the auction was not high enough)
• My co-worker wanted to know whether to
  
• pay and then file a dispute when the seller failed to send all pieces included in the listing
• not pay, and report the seller for reneging on his contract to sell as listed
• not pay, and chalk it up to "that's life"
• pay and accept the item sans the printer

What would you have advised?

This morning I awoke easily, refreshed, as usual from my few hours of dedicated sleep.  And I thought about a time when I was NOT so refreshed and did NOT awaken so easily.  Certainly, when I was a teenager, I received more creative threats from Mom than I care to repeat, on the subject of getting up in the morning.... (of course, there were also the creative threats about my messy room, or should I say, my messy "side of the room" since my sister was a meticulously neat roommate, but I will save that for another post.) 

My brothers always had their alarms set and they would begin blaring at ungodly hours, because THEY could and did sleep through that din....  not I.  I was awakened by their alarm clocks, and would try to escape the interruption by burrowing deeper under the covers and returning to my sleepy comfort.  I would finally concede to another day when Mom informed me that there was literally no time left....if I did not shower and get out the door in the next ten minutes, I would be tardy.  And tardy was something I NEVER wanted to be.  Why I was more concerned with what the school thought of me than what my own family thought of me, I have no idea, but school WAS my motivator to get out of bed.

All of this changed the year (I think it was my junior year of high school) when I adopted a little toy fox terrier, that someone tossed out of their car one afternoon.  The funny looking dog came running right up to me and acted as if he had been sent to me, for a purpose! I called him Fred McMurray, and Murray for short.  And he slept on my bed at night.  That was such a comforting thing.....right up until the break of dawn.  At HIS wake-up time, Murray decided I too MUST awaken and awaken I did.  For, he would start with the face licking (YUCK) and, if I did not respond quickly to that, he would literally drag the covers off me, transforming my warm and comfy cacoon into a far less comfortable state of  "exposure to the elements!"

So, Murray was responsible for my more timely risings in those final years at home and I never had trouble awakening and getting started on my day after he had me properly trained!  Today I live in a world where I never set an alarm.  Rarely do I need to worry about awakening on time because my sleep clock has me on a steady four-hour sleep schedule.  No matter when I fall asleep, I can be virtually guaranteed I will awaken within four hours. And once awake, well, I have a zillion things to do and cannot waste time lazing in bed.............

So, I guess I can blame or thank Murray for more than thirty years of timely starts to my days....you might not be able to teach old dogs new tricks, but that old dog taught me a few!

Driving home from the office today gave me plenty of time to think.  The typically just over an hour commute stretched into nearly two hours of slow-and-inch progression home.  I observed my surroundings and was taken again by things just beyond my comprehension.  The abandoned houses sitting in overgrown fields, in between commercial properties -- houses, once homes, now standing and sagging from lack of loving care, while in the same town are people without a house to make a home. And they keep building more houses, attracting those who can afford them and those who really cannot.  It seems wrong. And it makes me sad.

A bit farther along the way I spied a trunk of a tree.  There were literally no branches left on this "tree" that had the bad fortune of growing where the utility lines must run.  The tree spoke to me of a power struggle between landowner and utility company.  "The tree must not be cut down," declares the property owner. "The tree must not be allowed to touch the power lines," declares the power company.  And so the tree is "pruned" to the point of absurdity.  It seems wrong.  And it makes me sad.

My head was pounding with a headache that started mid morning, and was not made any better by my observations and pondering on my journey home.  But when I turned the curve in my dirt road and saw the deer standing there, just looking back at me, still for a moment before taking her leave and bounding into the woods, I was refreshed, a little.  Certainly, the deer here can be a nuisance to those whose gardens and shrubs they devour. But I still enjoy seeing them (and their tails as they head BACK to the woods!)

Once inside the house, I made myself some hot tea, to help ease the headache.  I picked up my guitar and started working on a song that had been eluding me whilst on vacation in CA, and one that I wanted to have "ready" should such an opportunity once again present itself.  And as I played and sang, and as the tea worked its magic, I began to relax. As I was wrapping up my relaxation, and happy with my mastery of the song, I received an email from my friend, noting another song we had pledged to "get right" before "next time."  And I smiled, because it was really a rather fitting song. 

"The old house is still standing tho' the paint is cracked and dry,
and there's that old oak tree I used to play on.
.......
Yes, they'll all come to meet me, arms reaching, smiling sweetly.
It's good to touch the green, green grass of home."

Yesterday I drove into the "real" office.  I have made the trip a bazillion times and yet, yesterday was different.  Still "coming down" off of my vacation in CA experience, I thought it might be interesting to take my camera with me and simply snap photos of MY world, to and from the office.  I was surprised with what I saw and captured.  The drive is more than an hour each way, so it should be no surprise to me that I snapped off 135 shots! LOL  Since most of the shots were taken from a moving car, I did not expect great results, but I was not about to try looking through the viewfinder whilst driving.  So the photos were taken with "point and shoot and have faith that your hand is holding the camera at the right angle to capture what you eyes are seeing" method.  I was impressed that 97 of the photos were worth keeping!

This morning, having spent much of last night cropping the captured images, I shared my "slide show" version with hubby.  He was duly impressed, and as I had been, was surprised at things he had never noticed when driving this stretch.  Actually, I find this is true for me in general.  I tend to not "see" things that have become so much a part of my world........that is, until they are gone.  Of course, there were also new things for me to see, which are NOT part of the everyday drive down Rt 17 in Gloucester County, VA.  How often do YOU see signs like this one?





What I find particularly interesting about this sign is that my friend and I had this very discussion whilst we explored graveyards in CA.  Missing stones seems to be more common than I would have ever thought.

It was also an interesting day, weather-wise, as it was rainy most of the day, and the sun peeked out just as I was getting close to home.  It made for some dramatic shots, contrast-wise.




I hope you have a lovely day, and take the time to see what is always there.

I seem to be in the dreaming mode these days.  I went through a rather "dry spell" from dreaming, for several years, but throughout my life have been an avid "dreamer."  When I was in Junior High (wayyyyyy back then)  I had a recurring dream, that I still have once in a blue moon.  My dream was always the same (hence the "recurring" aspect, LOL). 

I was attempting to walk down the crowded hallways of the school.  I was overwhelmed by the seas of people most of whom seemed to be headed in the opposite direction from me, making my passage even more difficult.  I could feel myself starting to panic, wanting to crawl into one of the many lockers that lined the hallway and just hide.  But I had to get to class and hiding out was not a viable option.  About then I recalled something from my swimming classes.  The words the swimming instructor used to teach us the "elementary backstroke."  He assured us that all we needed to do was, "relax, and you will float naturally.  Your body will rise to the top of the water and you will be able to easily, and gently move across the top of the water."

In my dream I would then simply relax, and sure enough, I floated to the top, not of the water, in this case, but the top of the hallway.....hovering, if you will, above those walking on the floor.  I then simply and gently did the elementary backstroke down the hallway, unfettered by the bustling crowds of kids below.  And my calm was restored.  I made it to my class on time and I reminded myself to always use this method to get there in the future.  It was so much easier than fighting the crowds heading in the opposite direction.

This morning I awoke with another dream, but one that seems to be taking on that same aspect of recurrence.  In this dream I am alone, just me, very peaceful, but then I realize I am not alone at all, for there is someone taking my picture, capturing my every move.  And I am not alarmed by this realization.  In fact, I find it sort of interesting that anyone would want to have so many, "views of Judy." And there is nothing rude or stalking about this picture taking.  No, it is more a sense of the reality that I am never really "alone." 

And the mornings seem to also begin with a song that is in my head and on my lips when I awaken. This morning, it was Annie's Song.

"You fill up my senses
Like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in springtime
Like a walk in the rain
Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again"

Interesting.  Peaceful. Comforting.

It feels good to be dreaming again. 

This afternoon, having spent more than nine hours glued to my office chair, having returned to the rigors of everyday life here, I decided I needed to get outside and do something constructive.  The fact that it had been raining here for more than 24 hours, and flash flood warnings peppered the area was no deterrent to me.  I wanted "out" and I offered myself a perfect project outside.  Weeding my front "garden."  OK, I have to be honest.  My front garden is REALLY just a swale cut into the land to direct the flow of water AWAY from the house's foundation, but I plant flowers and ornamental shrubs in this rock covered swale in an attempt to make it appear more of a "planned landscaping" than an "emergency ditch to divert rain flow."

Since the rain had softened the earth, it made sense to me to take advantage of nature's gift and pull the weeds when they were able to put up their least resistance.  So out I went.  I managed to pull four buckets full of weeds before it was, once again, raining too hard to make it a reasonable chore.  And as I stood in the garage, watching the rain and awaiting my next opportunity to "score" a few more weeds, I thought how different this was from the first real "weeding" job I recall.

I was about nine, I guess, when Mom instructed us to go out into the yard and cut out dandelions.  She wanted them all out of the lawn, and she had six little helpers...well, maybe five, I don't really recall Ray, the youngest, being part of the "crew" and since he would only have been about three years, or so, I'm guessing he was NOT on work detail that day.  Mom gave us paring knives and instructed us to cut out the entire plant ... not to simply pluck the offending yellow flower from its stem.  For our efforts, we were to be rewarded handsomely... I cannot recall today whether it was a penny a plant, or a nickel a plant, but regardless, to us it was a fortune.

Jeannie, Tim, Dan, Ted and I set about the task and soon it became obvious why we were being paid for this chore, when we were NEVER paid to do chores ... in fact the "job board" hung as living testament to the scores of chores we were tasked with daily and for which we were to receive no compensation, save, possibly, an attaboy.  But digging dandelions was a chore!  Dan and Ted (the younger of our brood) attempted to take a few shortcuts, presenting Mom with plants properly cut out of the ground, but "cleverly" cut in two or three in hopes that Mom would count them as multiples rather than the single plants they were.  But Mom was wise to them and they had to continue in the prescribed manner along with the rest of us. 

I don't recall how many dandelions we rid the yard of that day.  I really didn't care, by the end of it.  My hands were sore, my knees were sore, and I was sore at my brothers and sister who, I was SURE, had it easier than I! I had the dullest knife.  I had the hardest ground. I had the dandelions with the biggest roots.... you know the story...poor pitiful me! 

I was never too fond of dandelions after that experience.  But, I had a healthy respect for their tenacity.  They are not easily bowled over by a band of knife wielding youngsters.  And they continue to attract youngsters with their bright yellow heads that turn rather quickly to the snowy white wisps that burst so pleasingly onto their airborne journey when kissed by the wind from the child's pursed lips.  And I remain convinced, that the dandelions I pull from my garden today are somehow the great-great-grandbabies of those we were paid to eradicate from our lawn in Bowie, Maryland, forty years ago.

Today I choose to work without the knife and to work with soft soil.  And I am aware that my "weeding" is simply an exercise made to prove to me, once again, that the dandelion will never truly be conquered by my feeble attempts.  But, for a few months, they will oblige me and allow other flowers, the ones more suitable to my adult taste, to flourish in the "front garden."

Nothing was out of scope for my camera on my recent California excursion. Not even the squirrels who inhabit the park were too common to be overlooked.  As I make my way through more than 3000 digital images captured by me and my friends during the past two weeks I find myself laughing at some of the less suspecting subjects of our focus. 

One of the little fellows that caught my interest was a furry little squirrel who seemed completely oblivious to me.  I snapped at least a dozen shots of him as he went about his everyday business, leaving the observation of the inspirational views of Yosemite to me.  And little did he know that his very existence was part of that inspiration for me. The grand and the common. The magnificence and the simplicity in nature. The reminder that without one, the other would be unrecognizable.

Bridges built to join worlds of wonder, to allow those who happen by another path to choose and another vantage point from which to witness the beauty that is -- these too are of interest to me and became the subject through my viewfinder. Dark and light, contrasting images, inviting me to explore, explore, explore some more, and I did, and I will.

Today I return to my regular "work-a-day" world and these more carefree days will be tucked into my memory for refreshing moments when my brain needs a stress break.  And I will be reminded that even as I focus on the troublesome, the mundane, and the difficult tasks presented as part of my regular course of life, I am able to stop and enjoy the beauty of life every now and then. And a reminder that I MUST do so more often.

My trip to California was a business trip.  I am used to such trips.  Typically, I spend very little, if any, time at all seeing the area where work takes me, opting to focus on the "matters at hand" and assuring myself that I will take time to enjoy the "places" later in life, when I am not under pressure of the "corporate world."  I do usually try to have at least one "fun" evening with someone I know from the area, or with one of the other attendees.

This business trip though, I had already decided was going to be the first of my "new" approach to business travel.  I was going to see what there was in the world outside of the confines of my hotel.  And a friend attending the same conference provided the catalyst for this new approach.  Not a San Franciscan, but a Californian, my friend was also exploring during the first week of the trip.  Days and nights we used every waking hour, not spent in seminars, walking and watching the "life" of that city of cement.  How very alive that place is, seemingly despite the rigid lines that define the newer structures, leaving to deteriorate the softer lines of architecture of times gone by.

We decided the city could easily be renamed the "City of Fire Engines" for they seemed to be a constant, so too the motorcades of limousines and motorcycle cops escorting important non-San Franciscans through the city.  And we watched and "invented" the stories of the precious human cargo, whose identity and person had to be protected from the life of the city they were visiting.  And I thought, how sad.  And then I reminded myself that I too spend a great deal of time protecting MYSELF from being "touched" by the realness of the city.  Protesters, homeless men and women, addicts, hookers...these people are not of my world, in little old Gloucester, and I realized I spend a fair amount of effort to ensure they do not enter into my world even when I am in theirs.  But this time we looked and we engaged in conversation the "locals" just a little...baby steps.

One night we took a drive to Berkeley where my friend had friends who I now feel I could call friends.  They welcomed me into their home, gave us a tour of their town and took us out to eat.  And then, with appetites for food fully sated, we returned to their home and enjoyed the first of several "jam" sessions that tied this trip together for me.  Music is the language in which I feel most fluent, and I find that the fact I am a complete hack on the guitar is no deterrent to participating in musical "conversations" with others, no matter how, in any other ways, our walks of life differ.  And that night in Berkeley was no different.  Songs I played and sang, the others knew and joined in, and I with them on songs they played.  And instruments were added to complete the experience...a six string guitar was located and given to me to play whilst another made due with a guitar sporting only five strings.  Harmonicas and even an accordion was part of the "ensemble" that night, and it was, to my knowledge, the first time I had ever played with an accordion player. And, as seems to be the norm, another friend "dropped by" and added his voice to the mix.  We laughed, we played, we harmonized....and we finally took our leave very late, knowing full well we would be dragging in the morning, but not regretting one minute of our time spent there.

Friday afternoon, after the final keynote speaker had delivered his message, we jumped in the car and headed out of the cement city to the land of softer lines though arguably not softer living.  We explored the area around Yosemite and we visited the park itself for a couple of days.  But mostly, we just relaxed and let the spirit move us.  We drove and took pictures (loads of them).  My friends invited other friends and again we spent days "exploring" and nights "jamming." I met family members and friends of theirs and all welcomed me unconditionally.  I found the people very "real" and delightful.  I don't think there was a time when I felt uncomfortable or "in the way."

For me, seeing Yosemite for the first time, there was something there.  Something truly inspirational. True, much of the park was closed for various reasons including rock slides, snow at the higher elevations, construction and such, but we still saw a lot.  I had the added benefit of a "personal" tour guide who knew the area intimately and through whose eyes I was able to experience more than I am certain would have been possible bumbling around on my own.  And the fact that we were in such an inspirational place did not deter us from being children at heart.  We laughed, we played and we lived.

When I flew home on Saturday it was with a bit of sadness.  I will miss that liberated feeling, that "let the spirit move you" pace and the excellent company of friends who share not only of themselves but of their world.  And I will miss, most assuredly, the music....for we could, and did, "jam" for hours each night.

Thank you friends, George, Olga, Bill, Barry, Lida and all the others ... I look forward to another time, another adventure, another laugh, another meal, another song.

It was a perfect trip -- like a dream in many ways and so very real at the same time.  As I resume my "everyday" life, I am left with the memories, the beauty, the vastness of it all and the realization of a little bit more of "me" that I found in her majesty.

I'm off to my normal Sunday activities, but will be back later with more from a time which, I am certain, has had a profound effect on my perception of "my" world.

Photos hardly do it justice, but they do trigger the memories and with the memories, the reliving of those feelings.






Have a great day!

Well, my flights were the smoothest I ever recall.  I had no mad rushing from one terminal to another.  My checked bag came off the baggage belt in fine shape (albeit number 154 of I think 156 bags!). And my shuttle ride to the hotel was perfect.  I even lucked out at the hotel, where I had anticipated having to sweet talk the hotel staff into "holding" my bag while I went to the convention center to pick up my conference materials. Though I arrived at the hotel at shortly after noon San Francisco time and their check-in time is not until 4PM, they were kind enough to offer me a room that was ready.  And I was kind enough to take it!

So, unpacked and comfy, I decided to head over to the convention center to get my "stuff" and get a general lay of the land.  I could have taken the complimentary shuttle, but opted to walk...it was such a pretty day here!  And it took very little time to find it and to get myself set up for the full days ahead.

Now, back in my hotel room, I am just catching up on some work and taking a break to check in on the blogs.

I did not get Peach Melba on the plane.... but then, I knew I would not. Still, if I HAD to fly without comfort of Peach Melba, at least it was such a smooth flight that I fell asleep before take-off and never awoke until 30 minutes before we landed.....

Of course, I am left wondering whether I was SNORING.....  but nobody commented....

I am in the final preparation for my trip to CA.  I will leave the house in couple of hours. And, as always, every time I catch a plane, and particularly one to a place a fair distance away, I am reminded of the first plane ride I REALLY recall with clarity. (I do have some vague memories of our flight to Cyprus when I was three, but they are limited to the airport in Switzerland, I believe, where my mother changed my baby brother Dan's diaper...)....BUT...the first plane ride I recall with clarity occurred when I was ten, when we moved to England.

Our family of eight boarded the plane and I recall it was rather empty....hard to believe this plane was making such a long journey for so few people.  But for us that meant room to spread out, room to lie down across the seats and sleep. And all that was good.

But the thing that I recall the MOST clearly was the food.....well, OK, forget that...I don't recall the food at all...but the dessert that was served was WONDERFUL... I was informed it was Peach Melba.  Vanilla ice cream with peaches and raspberry sauce.... MAN ...that was a delight to my taste buds!  And I honestly cannot recall ever having ice cream served on a plane since...............

Am I crazy?  Was I served Peach Melba on a cross-Atlantic flight in 1968?  Or was it just another dream that I had as I snoozed through the air???  Well, I recall that being my introduction to that tasty dessert, so, even IF my memory is playing tricks on me, I will always associate that dessert with long plane rides...

And I will, once again, be disappointed when the airline attendant wheels her cart of food offerings to my row of seats and asks if I would like to buy the snack box or the breakfast box....and I will say, "no thanks, I brought my own" ........and dream of the days of Peach Melba at high altitudes..................I believe they are forever a thing of the past.

I wish you all a great two weeks....

I'll check in perhaps, as time permits, but otherwise, just know I am having a great time and hope you are doing the same.

Tj, just want you to know, hubby says this is the FIRST time my hand has been photographed NOT in motion! LOL  Now this is a NICE OLD hand!  But it still works fine, dispite its obvious flaws!

I was just taking a look at my DSR's.  Yeah, those cool little yellow stars that eBay presents for all to see...those stars that are designed to give future buyers an idea, at a glance, of how happy previous customers have been.  And I noticed that while I received several more positive feedback in the past couple of days, my DSR numbers have not changed.

Now, I know that feedback is voluntary.  And, even if a member decides to leave feedback, they can choose NOT to leave detailed feedback...so that is sort of a voluntary raised to the second power, or "voluntary squared."  So, why should I even CARE about this?

Well, let's see.  Since May 2007 when the DSR's were introduced, I have received 1050 feedback from customers.  This represents approximately 83% of all my customers for that period.  Of those 1050 that left feedback, 617 have left Detailed Seller Ratings.  So that is about 59% of all customers leaving feedback, left DSR's.  That means that less that 50% of my actual customers are doing the Detailed Seller Ratings.

Looking at other sellers' numbers, I can see that my rates are actually pretty good, and so maybe I should NOT be bringing this up at all.  BUT is seems completely wrong to me that ratings from fewer than half of my customers should be able to:

• display to the world my "overall" seller rating
• affect the placement of my listings in the "best match" search
• affect ANY discounts, or PERKS I might get from eBay

How about the FACT that I have 3169 feedback left for me as a seller since I started selling more than five years ago.  Now eBay is saying that 617 buyers are representative of the service I have given as a SELLER....not as a SELLER since May 1, 2007.  This is even MORE ridiculous in my mind.  And, like I said, some sellers have far less than a 50% rate of customers leaving DSR's.

I am convinced that these DSR's are not working as designed.  And I certainly am unhappy with their being used in ANY way to impact MY bottom line....

Oh, and if eBay believes my listings should sort BEHIND others, based on such subjective, voluntary squared rankings....I suggest they CHARGE me accordingly for my insertion fees, final value fees etc.  I cannot imagine the world where MY cost of listing, the same cost as every other eBay seller, does NOT buy me an equal rank, as far as appearance in the searches.

Someone, anyone who UNDERSTANDS how this makes sense, or is remotely legitimate....PLEASE ....  educate me!

I finished packing for my trip to CA last night.  I will depart from here in the wee hours of the morning tomorrow.  As has been the case recently, this morning I awoke with a song on my mind and tongue, and I had to laugh...No mystery on this one!  The song?  Leaving on a Jet Plane (Peter , Paul and Mary version).

What's funny about this to me is that it WAS one of my favorite songs WAY back in about 1970 while I was in school at Charlton Park Convent in Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, in England.  And I would sing it ALL the time.  And one day, after lunch, and during our obligatory, "chapel" time, my friend and I sat there in the chapel, where I suppose we were meant to be saying Rosaries or something, and we sang "Leaving on a Jet Plane" in harmony, with FEELING! (LOL) We were all alone, so, no problem, right????

WRONG....Sister Mary was "lurking" and she was NOT impressed...no way, no how!  Singing in chapel, well, it MIGHT be OK, if the song were a praise song, or a prayer song...but most DEFINITELY NOT a secular song about human......er........
"love!"

Our "reward" for our performance was a "standing ovation" of sorts.  We were promptly told to stand up and follow Sister.  We did so, rolling our eyes at each other (Sisters, what do THEY know!!!)  And when we reached the destination, Sister's "office," and the door was closed behind us, Sister explained life to us (again) and offered us a penance for our indiscretion....

We actually got off pretty lightly that time...we only had to memorize ONE CHAPTER from our Geography text book...........

Not sure I LEARNED anything from that experience...I am still the most geographically challenged person I know.  BUT...it's all good...when flying over in a "jet plane" the "geography" is pretty to look at!

Good Sunday morning everyone!

Yesterday was the first time I had spent any real amount of time with my ex-husband in ten years.  Similarly, it was the first time in those same ten years that my dad and step mom had spent any time with him.  And, of course, over those many years, certain things are forgotten....the way he says his words...the urgency with which he approaches everything, and the impatience he has with others....  mostly, I like to remember the better qualities.  And yesterday was Jen's day and we happily attended her simple, but lovely wedding.

As we headed out the door to make the journey through the pasture to the rock upon which the wedding ceremony was to be held, James, (my ex) told Jen she should ditch the umbrella, because it wasn't raining.  "No," we all agreed.  That is not an umbrella, it's a parasol!  And it will look great with her wedding "gown." 

"Oh," he said, almost to himself, "a parasol....."  He then turned to his friend Richie who was also there for the wedding and said, "there's a story about a parasol..." 

We all laughed, because we ALL knew that story...it has been a favorite of mine for many years, and is one that need only be referenced by the punchline in my family....and we all get tickled.  I have told it here before, but, thought it might be fun to share it again, in light of the parasol wedding yesterday.

My first husband once went to borrow a circular saw from our landlord.

He left our trailor and a little while later returned with a look of consternation on his face.  -- He was holding a black umbrella.

He said, "I think Frank must be drunk!"

I asked why he thought so and he said," I asked him for a power saw and he hunted around and handed me this umbrella!".

I laughed until I was crying...in my husband's DE accent, his request for a "power saw" sounded like "parasol!"

Well, I have to say, regardless of his less favorable traits, he has always been good natured when subjected to good-hearted teasing and yesterday was no exception.  He laughed right along with everyone.

Jen and Benoit with the Justice of the Peace