Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz

The song "Mercedes Benz" was recorded by Janice Joplin three days before she died, October 4, 1970, at the age of 27.  It's one of the last songs she ever recorded.  When Janice died, she owned a Porsche 356.

My dearest friend Mary loved Janice Joplin, as did I.  A few years ago a group of us decided to go out for pizza during lunch.  Kirk, our coworker, drove us in his minivan, Mary and I were sitting in the back seat, and Bob was in the front.  "Mercedes Benz" came on the radio and Mary started singing along.  She had a nice singing voice.  I joined in, then Bob, then Kirk.  There we were, driving down the road in a minivan, four forty-somethings singing as loud as we could to the A Capella rendition of Janice's last song.  Mary passed away a few months after our pizza field trip on November 1, 2008, at the age of 46.  I miss her every day.

Mary's passing was a huge conk on the head for me.  Aside from the sadness I felt, and still feel, her passing made me realize that we are all limited.  We are all finite.  I've already outlived Janice but will I pass Mary's not-so-old age of 46?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  Both are equally possible.

I bought myself a Porsche 987 on October 4th, 2009, just short of the one year anniversary of Mary's death.  I was 43.  I've always wanted one, a fast car, that is.  Ever since I knew what a car was, I couldn't wait to drive.  My first car was a Mustang (and what a POS that thing was!).  I've had more cars now than most people have in a lifetime.  I love cars.  So, I bought a Porsche.  For car fanatics like me, it's the quintessential cruising experience.  Driving with the top down, at speeds I dare not admit, this is living life! 

I lovingly refer to my Porsche as my mid-life crisis car.  It wasn't exactly my mid-life since, technically, the average life span for a woman is 83.  By that, I'm past my mid-life, so I better get a move-on!  Mary, I wish you were here.  You'd be proud.  You inspired me to live my life, to put the top down, drive like a mad woman, and sing as loud as I can.  I may not be here tomorrow.  But today, damn am I having fun!

I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again

OK, so the title is a bit cliche.  It wasn't my first choice of titles, but it'll do.  My first choice was "And miles to go before I sleep", but those aren't song lyrics.  So, in keeping with my theme.....

I watched the sunset from the window of the plane last night.  Sunsets are pretty amazing, in and of themselves, but from a plane...  there's nothing like 'em.  The way the sun makes the clouds glow like fire, the accentuated roundness of the Earth makes the sun look miniscule.  For me, they're a reminder of my limited time on this Earth.  A reminder to slow down.  Cheers to sunsets.

Years ago, I took a trip to L.A.  It was my first trip as an adult, I was 18 or 19, and I was on my own.  Well, I was with my boyfriend at the time but he was there for work, so I was on my own during the day.  I rented a car, I bought a map and I drove.  Each day I picked a different direction and I ended up where I ended up.  One day I inevitably ended up in Mexico.  Tijuana.  Not something I'd do again, but, well, lets just say it was memorable.

I stayed in Tijuana only a little while, maybe an hour, and decided it's not for me.  So I came back to the U.S. and hung out in San Diego the rest of the day.  I stayed in S.D. as long as I could, it was gorgeous there! Regrettably, I did have to leave so I dragged myself away from the S.D. Zoo and I walked back to my rental car.  (Am I sensing another blog topic??)

I left San Diego and drove north on the Pacific Coast Highway.  I was a little rushed, I didn't really know where I was and I didn't like the idea of being in a mystery town after dark.  I was driving my usual style (speeding) until I reached a little town called Laguna Beach, which now holds a very special place in my heart. 

Along that stretch of the PCH, the road parallels the ocean.  I couldn't help myself, I had to slow down.  It was the most amazing little town!  I was sightseeing as I drove, no doubt pissing everyone off behind me.  I was so caught up in the amazing houses and shops to my right that I didn't think to look left towards the ocean, but when I did... WOW!!  It was the beginning of the most amazing sunset I'd ever seen.  I pulled off the road onto a little beach access parking lot, stopped, got out of the car, and stood there.  On the beach were dozens of people, all just standing there, watching the sunset.  It was breathtaking.  Literally.  The blues, pinks, oranges, reds, purples of the sunset were all reflected in the Pacific Ocean.  I was surrounded by these colors.  The crashing waves sparkled like Christmas lights in every color of the sunset.  It was magical.

I stood there for a while.  I watched the sunset, then I watched the people who had been watching the sunset.  When the sun was gone, they all slowly crossed the PCH to go back to their houses, their shops....their lives.  Traffic picked up again.  Life began again.  For that small amount of time, though, Laguna Beach had stopped.

It was then that I realized THIS is what is important.  THIS is what life is about.  Not necessarily watching a sunset (although they are pretty amazing!), life is about paying attention to the small gifts we're given. These little, seemingly insignificant details of our days, these are what make up our lives. 

It really, truly is the little things....

I guess they can't revoke your soul for trying. Get out of the door, light out and look all around.

I spent the day today with some amazing people, I'm thankful for today.  It is thanksgiving, after all.....

At dinner today we placed a bowl in the center of the table.  We all wrote on pieces of paper and placed into the bowl the things we're thankful for.  When we read them aloud there were the usual thanks for football teams, thanks for the food, thanks for family, love, happiness...  

I'm not at all discounting these things, they're so so important and, admittedly, a few were written by me (go Ravens! :-P) I'm very thankful to be here with amazing people, sharing a huge meal of fantastic food...making memories.

What I'm grateful for though, at least at this point in my life, is my spiritual journey. What a long, stange trip it's been and I'm loving every second of it. This universe is amazing. Every animal, every grain of sand, every breath of air can be so overwhelming when I stop to think about it. The every essence of our Earth feeds my soul, it makes me whole.

After dinner we took a walk on the beach, the clouds were hiding the moon but I knew she was still there.  I could feel her warmth.  Sometimes all it takes is an open heart. 

I know my place is home where the ocean meets the sky, I'll be sailing.

It's Thanksgiving Eve.  I have so many blessings in my life, but what I'm most thankful for is being right here, right now....

We walked out to the beach tonight.  The sky was dark, full of stars, and the waning half moon was inches above the horizon.  The ocean waves were loud and made conversation impossible, so the three of us, John, Joe and I, stood in silense and drank in the pitch blackness, waiting for our eyes to adjust to the night.

John left to "crab" with the boys, so Joe and I hung out on the wooden walkway.  Joe had his camera and took shot after blurry shot of this absolutley incredible moon.  No amout of pixels, no shutter speed, no special lense, could caputre this moment.  I was standing,  had my arms leaning on the wooden railing and I had my head tilted back as far as my neck would allow.  Every star was visible, I wanted to memorize this moment...the stars, the waves, the salty smell...  I love this Earth, this Universe.

Something moved and it took me a second to register what was seeing.  I finally just pointed and managed to grunt "look" to Joe.  It was a meteorite, shooting across the sky.  The brightest "shooting star" I've ever seen, it had a long tail trailing behind it.  It lasted maybe 10 seconds, and then was gone.  We both stood there in silence, neither of us knew what to say.  We were awe struck.  We had just witnessed the death of an ancient mass of rocks, dust, water...a mass that could have been the size of our Earth at one time in it's existance.  Maybe a million years ago, another being stood on this once life supporting planet that I had just seen die, and witnessed the death of another planet. 

I made a wish on my "shooting star".  I can't tell you what it is.  I will say, though, that's pretty amazing.

In my life, I'll love you more

Since we're on vacation in a city where we've never been, we decided to test out the ol' GPS and do a little bit of exploring. We picked the "nearest restaurants" button and settled on Panera for our breakfast.

John ordered a bagel. I, a four cheese soufflé (yum!) and an orange scone. Of all the ooie gooie sweet treats they have there, I always order the orange scone. There's something comforting about that not-so-sweet biscuit drizzled with orange icing, it takes me back to my Granny's house. When I was a child, she always gave us home made biscuits. I remember eating them with every meal. In the mornings she would serve them hot out of the oven with butter and orange marmalade. The hot biscuit would warm the marmalade, the combined fragrance of the two was wonderful! My Pop-Pop always told me that he married my Granny because of those biscuits.

My grandparents met in the 1930s in Cumberland, Maryland. Isabelle, my grandmother, had just finished college and was working a new job at an insurance company. She was fiercely independent, she put herself through college during a time when most women didn't even go to college. She was living in a boarding house, the single women lived on one floor, the single men on a separate floor. Men were never ever allowed on the women's floor, those were the rules.

Isabelle came home from work one night. It was a cold, wet evening. It had been raining and everything was a muddy mess. A gentleman held open the door for her as she made her way into the boarding house.  She nodded her thanks, took the stairs to here room on the women's floor, took off her shoes, and left them outside her door so she wouldn't track mud into her room. That was another rule of the boarding house, no muddy shoes in the rooms.  Isabelle was cold and wet so she made herself dinner, went to bed, and forgot she had left her shoes outside her door in the hallway. The next morning, Isabelle opened her door and her shoes were neatly laying on the floor, perfectly cleaned and shined. Someone had cleaned the mud and had polished them during the night. She had no idea who it was. She asked around but no one took credit for the good deed.

The next evening was more of the same cold, wet, rainy, muddy weather. Isabelle came home from work, left her muddy shoes by her door, and, once again, they were cleaned and polished the next morning!  This went on for a week.  Every night, she left muddy shoes by her door.  The next morning they had been cleaned and polished.

She was very curious by this point, she had no idea who was cleaning and shining her shoes!  She had asked the other women on her floor but they didn't know either. It took her a while, but she finally talked to the right person and she found out who it was. A young gentleman by the name of Leonard had a friend who lived in the boarding house on the men's floor. Leonard had been visiting his friend one wet, cold, rainy evening and had held the front door open for a woman.  Leonard noticed as she walked past him that she was soaking wet and her shoes were covered with mud.  She had completely caught his eye, as they used to say back then, but Leonard was shy.  He didn't know how to approach Isabelle.  He was very resourceful, so he came up with his plan.  He would sneak onto the Women's floor and clean her shoes.  So he did.  Every night.

Long story short, they finally met, fell in love and were married.  Isabelle married Leonard for his chivalry, Leonard married Isabelle for her biscuits.  They were married until Leonard passed away at the age of 73.

And damn did my Granny make some good biscuits. 

Her Magesty's a pretty nice girl but she doesn't have a lot to say

Sometimes actions speak louder than words. Sometimes things are better left unsaid. Sometimes it's better to be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt. Most of the time, I forget this.

So here I am, somewhere in the sky, between Atlanta and Houston...blogging. I promise I won't make anyone cry.

I'm on my way to spend Thanksgiving with my family. They're not really my family, I inherited them when I married. But they're my family of the heart. Thank you my friend (and also part of my family) Bunni for teaching me that you don't have to be related to someone to call them family.

I grew up in a weird situation. My family hated each other. Literally. My father resented having kids and my mother...let's just say she never should have had a daughter. By the time I was 11 I had moved myself into the basement of our house, i used to pretend that I had my own apartment and "those other people" were my neighbors. I guess we all do what we have to, to survive.

So, I never had a family I was close to, and I never understood the importance of family. I only had myself to rely on, and that's all I needed. I was perfectly happy with it that way, too...

Until I fell in love with my family. I don't mean "those other people", I don't talk to them anymore. I met and fell in love with the people who are in my life now and who mean the absolute world to me. THEY are my family.

I've been completely overwhelmed by the love and compassion and the welcome I have been given. I have a family, and it's the best thing in the world! I have brothers and sisters and cousins and even a few moms now, and I love every one of them dearly.

Let's face facts, the world can be a big, bad, scary place...everyone ne a family.

To everything, there is a season...

So, I begin my blog today with no specific direction, not unlike my life right now.  I tend to exist on a plane of habits and routines, which really aren't that bad, as habits and routines go.  When life starts to kick my ass, it's these little things that mean the most to me.  My touchstones. 

Yesterday was what I lovingly refer to as my "pony day".  I drive about 35 miles to visit my horses.  I have a 10 year old show horse, Nosey Rosie, whom I ride, and a 27 year old retired show horse, Hallie, who is just the apple of my eye.  She's been to hell and back so many times now, and yet she still trots over to me every Friday as I approach the fence to her paddock with a handful of peppermints, or, her favorite, orange jelly fruit.  She lives on an incredible farm in the Hunt Valley area of Maryland, prime horse country. 

Every Friday, I drive up the long driveway of the private estate where my retired Quarter Horse lives.  The house to the estate sits high on a hill, overlooking the horse fields and barn, which is actually bigger than my house!  My little girl is living in style!  There are four smaller paddocks closer to the house, and two larger fields closer to the road.  Hallie and her BFF, Jane, are turned out together in one of the larger fields.  There are usually three "ladies" as I called them, but yesterday there were just the two.  Suzie, Hallie's other BFF, was MIA.

It took me a minute to find Suzie.  I thought maybe she was in the run-in shed in the "ladies" field, but nope, it was empty.  I looked everywhere.  Finally I saw her, laying in field, perfectly still.  Not good.  She was on her belly with her legs tucked under her, her nose was resting on the grass in front of her.  She moved her head only inches when I walked to the gate and called to her.  Suzie is a 7 year old "off the track" thoroughbred racehorse, my friend owns her now.  She raced in her younger days until a hoof injury ended her career.  The original owner was going to put her down until Dawn offered to take her.  She's usually full of life, despite her now deformed hoof, but today....  this was not Suzie.

I opened the gate and walked to her while I called her and rustled the rappers of the candy I had for her.  Nothing.  She then let out a quiet "ooof" and rolled completely over.  She was exhausted.  I unwrapped the candy, peppermints, and fed them to her one at a time as she lay there.  Her eyes said it all.  She was done. 

I called my friend Dawn to give her the news.  Her gorgeous light bay mare, with the beautiful white blaze and the coal black socks, mane and tale, was sprawled out in the field and I couldn't get her up.  She lifted her head for me, she wanted to do what I was asking of her, she just couldn't.  Dawn's phone rang to voice mail, so I hung up.  I just couldn't say it, especially in a voice mail.  She manages a horse farm down the street, so I called the farm number.  Bruce, her boss answered.  Good, I thought, Bruce can tell her.  I just can't.

Through my tears, I told Bruce that Suzie was down.  He said that Suzie had been this way since Thursday morning, Dawn wanted to put Suzie down but the owner of this estate, David, wouldn't let her.  David is 83 and has Parkenson's.  He's a Holocost survivor, a quadruple bypass survivor, and as of a month ago, a stroke survivor.  He just bought himself a new horse, he still rides.  These horses are his life.  He treats my blind, arthritic backyard pony like she's worth a million dollars.  Again, these horses are his life.

I stood there in the field, feeding Suzie peppermints, sobbing.  I knew Suzie was not long for this world.  She probably had hours left.  Dawn would be there soon with the vet, and it would be done. 

I love these horses, they are my Prozac.  They are my breaths of fresh air, my rainbows after the storm.  They are my touchstones.  Even though I knew that Suzie's time had come, she was ready to go, I was hoping David would wobble out of his house and down to the field, and put a stop to it.  I understand how he feels.  These horses, regardless of who "owns" them, are his touchstones too.  They are his reasons to get up in the morning.  Literally.   At 83 years old, David also is not long for this world.  Putting Suzie down is a not so subtle reminder of that.  Everything has a life span.  Everything has a time on this Earth.

As I fed Suzie peppermints and scratched the mud from her face, I said my goodbyes.  I'm going to miss her, and I know my Hallie is going to miss her too. 

The days, they pass so quickly now. The nights are seldom long.

Well, I've blogged two days in a row now, it's my new personal best!

Last night I was thinking about what the hell I'm actually going to blog about.  It's not like my life is interesting.  On a good day I could maybe describe it as being a notch above boring.  It just is what it is.  I get up, go to work, come home, go to sleep, get up... you get the picture. 

I don't really know what I did to end up here.  I graduated high school with average grades, went to college, went to grad school...  I did everything I thought I was supposed to do.  And I'm still doing that.  I guess I need to stop here and say that I'm not disappointed in my life.  I don't have regrets.  I don't wish I had majored in something else, I don't wish I had married someone else.  I'm just living a very standard, white bread life.  For the most part, I like it like that.

I do miss, though, the carefree childhood days of no responsibilities.  I know everyone, at some point in their lives, gets to this place.  They start to look back and think about how their lives used to be.  I'm not exempt from nostalgia.  I do miss the feeling of freedom when I would ride my bike as fast as I could make it go, no helmet, no elbow or knee pads, the wind whipping my long hair in front of my face, blinding me for split seconds.  I didn't care.  I didn't think to care.  I wasn't worried about falling, or crashing, or hurting myself, and I certainly wasn't worried about looking stupid, or making a fool out of myself.  I was on my bike, going fast, and that's what mattered at that moment.  It was the best feeling in the world!

So, I guess I'm not nostalgic for the things I did, or for the people I knew, it's more about missing the "me" that I was then.  I was carefree.  I didn't know that pain hurts.  I didn't know that hospital bills can cause you to lose your house.  I wasn't concerned about the critical, judgmental, and oftentimes malicious opinions of others.  I was just being me.  I miss that.

I wrote a poem years ago.  It was written when I was young and confident, and just down right cocky at times.  I miss being cocky most of all!  I made a promise to myself when I was a kid, I would write everything down.  Even if it sucked.  I would write it as-is, and I would not go back again and rewrite it.  My words were me, at that moment in time.  I'm grateful for them now.  There I go being nostalgic again.

Written December 25, 1987.  I was 21 years old.

I think I'm getting better at being me.
I've always been me
at least as far as I can remember me.
Even when I wasn't me, I was me,
And I've always been good at being me
Even when I was the bad me.
I've always been me.
Even if I didn't know who me was.
I've always tried to be me
Even when people didn't like me.
I've always understood me
Even when I couldn't understand why I'm me.
I've always wanted to be me
Even when I didn't know me.
I've always cared for me
Especially when the caring wasn't for me.
I've always trusted me
Even when people didn't trust in me.
I've tried to be the me I thought I should be.
I think I'm getting better at being me.

Inspiration is the greatest form of flattery, or so I hope.

Well, I've been inspired to give this blog thing a go.  I don't plan to tell anyone about it, so if you're reading this you probably came here uninvited.  So be it.  It is a blog, after all, they're not exactly private.  

I've been trying very hard lately to let it all hang out.  To dance as if no one is watching, so to speak.  To be me, to do me, and most importantly, to understand me.  I've been on a 44 year long journey to somewhere, my destination is still unknown.  Oddly enough, the older I get, the more OK I am with not knowing my destination.  I'm getting pretty good at this wandering aimlessly gig. 

So, here I sit, in front of a computer, blogging.  We'll see how it goes.  Or not.