**Each year I write a twelve month recap. It is much more for my benefit than my readers. Feel free to help me put last year in perspective though. I hope you'll do this on your own blogs. It's a great exercise in self-evaluation.**
About airport body scanners: Now we have to show our naked innards to the TSA because the world has gone slap crazy.Even royalty!! I am now going to have to buy pencil skirts without the Crown emblem sewn in for identification. I'll just start monogramming my tush to save time.
And while I'm at it and past my 60 seconds anyway....HOW LONG will it be before our naked selves "accidentally" get uploaded to the internet in some colossal "accidental" breach of online security? We have more accidental leaks in this country than newborn babies.
I Voted For This??! What is happening to my country? What did my vote stand for?
Why is the dream shifting into something I don't recognize as hope?
Politics as usual in Washington has become politics as usual in Washington. Again.
We are STILL in Iraq.
We are sending another nightmare to Afghanistan.
Nobody can find a job.
We have spent enough money on this useless war to feed and clothe half the children in
Trillion dollar debt? Trillion?
Did I mention we are still in Iraq?
It was time for Zen and not a moment too soon.
Some rooms are already in the desired state. I just had to change my mind about how to use them and rearrange a few things. I've finished the kitchen and living room thus far. I am taking my lovely time too.
(another part of my new Zen personality. No rush. No panic. No blood pressure. No heart attack.)
I hope I have enough garbage bags.
I change shoes.
I just thought my gas pedal was sticking because I got the leopard print 3-inch stuck behind the floor mat. My vehicle did not come with instructions on how to safely disrobe on the exit ramp. And NOW you tell me I've got a real problem here.
And then the Baptist men showed up, who most certainly would not have approved of my footwear.
Twelve deacons, a pastor, and me... in the bowels of the big old Baptist church of the south. I sat waiting for further instructions. Good little girl that I was.
As the thirteen loud and boisterous back-slapping men opened the door for me to enter the hallway outside, after head-nodding prayers and amens to the amens to the amens, one of the deacons asked the preacher where he got his coat.
He said and I quote, “I got it off a n**ger.”
They all roared.
I’d just held hand-holding heavenly court with all of them.
I suddenly wanted to wash my hands.
So with hate on his lips and Jesus in his heart, he introduced me. For at least twenty minutes I would have a captive audience - a waiting crew of congregation sitting in bondaged pews of unsuspecting bigotry, putting their trust in thirteen leaders who discriminated loudly in the hidden places of prayer and staunchly scorned in silent rebuke any ounce of free thought or progress so much so that a woman couldn't utter a proper amen. Oh, but I could sing.
This is where Mimi goes awry.
Men need to understand this. Women want flowers. Flowers that smell. Flowers you can water. Flowers that come from a florist. Flowers that can be delivered to our door or workplace with much ado and fanfare. Flowers you can show off to your ex-boyfriends. Flowers to make your girlfriends jealous. Flowers that say "I care enough to spend take out a 2nd mortgage for this bundle of love, my love."
We do not want to eat tin foil.
His mission that day was to teach me to drive a straight gear with a clutch before I got my learner's permit. These are my verdant memories of that fateful day.
Lots of pine trees, lots of cussing, pigtails, a thick Sears Roebuck Catalog to sit on, and Daddy's big shoes.
"You mean you couldn't see that pine tree?"
"I saw the pine tree, Daddy. No..I...well....I didn't see it in time."
"Why didn't you put on the brakes? I told you to hit the brakes!"
"I forgot where they were."You hurt my foot!!" I said with tears rolling down my face which only made him feel worse.... and thinking to myself that I would never learn to drive this stupid car. I needed a manual for the manual transmission class. And I'm sitting on a department store. Typical.
I wouldn't have cried.
And then I looked down.
Lying face up in a box beside the Monopoly Game.
A long ago present from my mother
a bride doll with green eyes like her own
Flowers on the ceiling. flowers outside in the woods of Bloggingham's cold wintry earth, Flowers on canvas and buds everywhere!
Then Facebook got a little crazy. So I wrote a meme about it to get it out of my system. The FaceTwit meme (that's Facebook + Twitter for all you non-blog speakers) was anything but simple. I mentioned some clown named Mr. Anonymous whose mission was to push my online buttons in a mean but strangely familiar way. Games and very weird vibes. Doesn't he know I have site trackers? Hmmm? Seriously! Get.a.life. People need to mind their own business and stay out of mine. I said that, didn't I... Just because I put myself out there for millions of people to read doesn't mean they have to read it. Does it??!!
What is Farmville? I do not understand why people are asking me for margarine.
I’ve written to FACEBOOK management about this. It’s WHO-VILLE, people, WHOville. Not FarmTown. Not Cracker Barrel Round. Not Peanut Butter Frowns. . WHOville. (why am I rhyming?) As in WHO the heck are these people? See. They should have asked me first. That makes sooo much more sense.
BTW: I need to borrow a can of lard and a tinfoil skillet.
I became friends with friends of friends of friends and their friends I didn’t know were their friends who might be friends with ex-friends who used to be friends with me or my friend's friends and then his friend said why is her friend on his friends friends list....which can get a girl in trouble unawares. I don’t worry about it anymore. I can’t avoid everyone with an axe to grind, a Mafia war to win, or a cow to milk. It’s the nature of the Facebook beast. Social networking connects things you don't want connected. I've had to learn to deal. You can't untie all the tethers.
Needing to climb back into the Zen cocoon, I clipped and snipped in Bloggingham's flowering trees,and pretty soon, in the year that was budding with creativity, Mimi Picasso arrived on the scene.
falling into shades of the deepest deepest
oh what a wild mess she was
she liked the way the words brushed
and dips that go nowhere
Remove them. Arrest them. Convict them. Period.
God help the children of this world when adults can't tell simple right from wrong.
Some things just need killin'...
The phone rings. It is my ex-husband.
"How could you raise a boy who can't chop off a snake's head?! Who are these friends of his? "
"What is the matter? Why are you blubbering?" asked the boy's father.
"Because the snake in the grass got a reprieve while I wasn't looking and I had to kill a spider in my own shirt. It's been a horrible day and I need to shower with Clorox!"
He could not stop laughing long enough to even continue the conversation at which point I hung up on him for the fifth time in two weeks and vowed to never ever ever speak to another man for the rest of my life. He will be thrilled.
Read Spakes and Sniders to see who died.
Not to find her or flaunt her
But just to be
I like it.
Soon it was time for peace globes. My grandfather's clock emerged unscathed from the purging of Bloggingham's walls and rooms.
All across the world at different times and days and hours and in villages with no clocks at time - it is time. From 50 countries and the others we will add this year, it is time.
I found this to be true as hell-April morphed mercifully into May.
I don't intentionally cause trouble everywhere I go.
So I sat under the branches of his childhood and listened to what the wind said.
Pondering where or not to chase that rabbit down the hole. Hmmmm...maybe I'd better not. Not a good idea when alone in the middle of the middle of the middle ....oh, you know.
I am not 12. I do not need a nite light. I do stump my toe a lot. Maybe I should reconsider.
24. Bedtime ritual?
Brush hair 100x as taught by my great-grandmother, who never in her entire life cut her long dark hair. It was so long she could sit on it. She was 90 when she passed and still had the most elegant hair put up in a French twist.
rolled your eyes
at my mother this afternoon. She sent me to my room. The problem occurred when she realized she'd actually sent me to HER room....which used to be MY room once upon a teenage time.
She was not amused when I jumped on her bed.
10:21 I leave AGAIN.
SIDEBAR: **I forgot to tell you about the floor** I'm stripping the hardwood and re-polishing the floor. Board by board by board. Just call me Cinderella. It is a huge area including 2 hallways. It will take longer to get this done than it will take them to collect all the oil in the Gulf. Why is this important? Because...
10:22 In the car. I break out in hives. Apparently from the floor cleaner on my skin.
10:22 In the car. I text 2 Johnny-on-the-spot friends.
"Hives. Tell me I won't die."
"Take Benadryl and shower, now" said the voice of calm.
You don't think all that opera drama is just onstage, do you?
Come ON, Mimi. It's just a turkey with duck feet. How does it swim?
(I am so not there.)
pier fishing, walks, storms on the sea
what a great month
I do not
I fell asleep in my chair (until someone stole my chair which is another story altogether), I had not one troubling thought in my brunette head and not one care in the world. In fact, a time or two I thought to look for my thoughts but thought better of it. Follow?
brings a much anticipated soul vacation to Atlanta, Georgia. The plan? Meet up with bloggers and epic friends, Starr, Kidlet & company plus a disappearing entourage of people changing plans. Nonetheless, we had a great time. I found another beach in parts north. What a great summer!
Do you know how hard it is to maintain royal dignity with a vinyl umbrella attached to your body? Flying Umbrellas and Floating Chairs
And then I found it.
A girl could go through her whole life with a million pencil skirts and
I tried to wash my freckles away in the morning dew when I was 8 years old because she said they would disappear.
Forty-five years later I'm still trying to get them to do the same thing.
Stop the presses. My sweet Baby Boy has entered the world of formal education.
I write. And weep.
You are embedded and brimming over with all that is good in this world and I am proud of you, but I would like a word with you before you go out to conquer the world at recess.
There are a few things you need to know
An Open Letter To Baby Boy on The First Day of School
With Baby Boy off to school and so much to look forward to...
We sent our peace globes into space with NASA's Face in Space program.
September was quiet. Very quiet. And full of daddy memories.
brought the 10/10/10 phenomenon. We all blogged it and lived to tell about 11/11/11 even.
Time for peace globes to crank up. I finally made peace with Facebook even if they are NOT very user-friendly. Nonetheless it was time to write
"How to Put Your Peace Globe on Facebook"
The 20 Day Countdown Begins. I asked, "You have a voice. What will you say?"
What she said was so simple really. And yet so complex. What she said stirred me to action again and again and again you see....What she said, what she said, what she said. OH. What she said.It is the reason I keep this movement going. It is the reason our words matter. It is the reason we blog the peace on a global level from hovels and homes turned stump posts for peace and platforms of passion. Oh. What she said, what she said......Whenever I feel that no one is listening, that none of this matters, that our efforts are not being felt, I read this again.And always. Always. Always...my heart flutters, I get tears in my eyes and I remember why.
I cannot bring our soldiers home.
I cannot quell the suffering of the millions.
I cannot overthrow a corrupt
government and establish true democracy.
I feel that I cannot be heard.
was eventful. Artists from all over the world sent in one-of-a-kind works for Peace Globe Day. It was some of the most beautiful artwork we've seen. Gifts from the sea and Canadian shores graced my home. Peace globes became tangible. Weren't they always?
It started like this. Reeeeeaaaaally? Wow. We're honored. Thank you!
They bring me great comfort and joy.
Along with amazing photographer Aamir Mohammed at the website Dreaming In Pixels they collaborated on this year's peace globe creation. She writes:
I sent him the photos and explained what I was looking for... not "quite possible" but, his knowledge and ingenuity managed to bring to life my concept! Of course, I (also) wept when I first saw it...
And just when I thought it couldn't get any better, the divine Jamie White, retired editor from Washington, author of Durward Discussion (and my friend) commissions the wonderful Colorado Bob to make a peace globe video. The bears start to sing. It's fantastic!! A huge gracias to both and may many more such collaborations take place in the name of peace. What could be better than a combination of John Lennon, polar bears and Give Peace A Chance?
Not much, I'll tell ya.
Another Dona Dona Pacem begins. Another BlogBlast For Peace is created. Another day of inspiring surprises from people who stop on this day and speak words that matter.
I took my cue from a love story.
Write on My Heart Every Word ~ Dona Nobis Pacem
For all her many quirks and eccentricities and no matter how many times the wigs flew off or the cigarette dipped in the morning coffee cup, he gifted her with unwavering love and devotion. Sometimes it was eye-rolling twinkled-eyed devotion - but devotion nonetheless.
She was and would always be the love of his life.
The most eternally rich experiences in life make no sense at all.
Smelled through the torn shell
And wondered what manner of woman
I had a lot on my mind.
"But that's the one we've been WATCHING. I KNEW I should have been watching. SOMEbody should have been watching and it certainly has not been me. I'm doomed!! All this time I've been watching the wrong thing, Doctor Death #1 has been watching the wrong thing and besides, I can't even see it unless I contort myself at an excruciating angle in the bathroom mirror. How am I supposed to watch something I can't see? What kind of convoluted medical advice is that??" You KNOW I'm a hypochondriac. I shouldn't be told to watch things I have no peripheral power over."
What happens to the missing socks?
Until they appear on a milk carton they won't get the respect they deserve. I feel sorry for all the lonely little single socks out there. Don't you?
Single Socks and Prison Blues. Might behoove me to listen to pay attention to the sock monster.
Could my love life get any better in 2010?
Bohemian Books and Beds of Gypsies
All I had on was a blue bathing suit and a pair of flip-flops. And I didn’t care. Where are your shorts?? did not even begin to describe the diatribe going on in my head from the mother-voice I hear periodically when faced with near auto collisions - you know the one - the always-wear-clean-underthings in case you’re in a car wreck warning. I ignored her question in the land of the sand and closed the door of the secret convoy vehicle with a giggle. Half-naked was no problem during the summer that was closely akin to the most freeing time in my life. Ever.
It's time to bring this year to a close even if I am recapping it two years later. at the beginning of 2012. As I said earlier. I've been busy! I learned a lot writing this post. If there's one thing I know for sure...there's no place like being under the watchful eye of Bloggingham's Moon. A lunar eclipse to end this sometimes loony year. How appropriate.