The Abyss of Discouragement.

Just after my 51st birthday, a friend posted a picture of me on Facebook. I was SHOCKED!! When did I get so fat? Wasn't I wearing last years winter clothes?

This prompted me to begin a fitness lifestyle. Not some celebrities program, not Jenny Craig or Nutri-system, just walking and watching calories. The more I walked and cut calories the more discouraged I became at how slowly I was losing weight but being a rather hard-headed, stubborn individual I persevered.

Three months into my new lifestyle I am now walking 5 times a week, hula hooping, floor exercises and some very light weight-lifting. I feel much better, sleep through the nights and have lost some inches, not an entire pants size but enough for me to see a difference.

And still everyday I fight the urge to fall into the abyss of discouragement.

I Lie to Myself

I lie to myself.
I can eat this donut, cookie, piece of cake, second helping.
I lie to myself.
I don't have to lose weight just yet.
I lie to myself.
I will start my diet tomorrow.
I lie to myself.
I look good for my age.
I lie to myself.

In Search of..

I was given a book for my birthday titled "Banned for Life" by D.R. Haney. The story is about a former punk rocker, his life, his music and his quest to find a former punk rocker who changed his life.

While reading the book I found myself contemplating how important music has been in my life. Each stage of my life can be described by the genre of music I was listening to at the time.

A distant faded memory began to take shape , my dad had an aunt who was a professional musician, Opaline (Little Judy) Bacon who died while on tour in Canada in 1966. Opaline was a mystery to me, I was so young when she passed away I have no memory of ever meeting her but I have strong memories of her picture proudly displayed in my parents home, of a record of hers being in the "special" cabinet. Instantly I "googled" Opaline Bacon and was thrilled to find four links attached to her name. Of course I clicked each link, discovered a duet she preformed with Wayne Kemp , a recording with her brother in laws band Shorty Bacon and his Rhythm Rascals ,I believe she is playing the piano . In a blog article referencing Opaline playing in several clubs in Southern California. The article claimed her brothers were also in bands, which triggered more memories. My grandmother, Opaline's older sister, telling me that all of her siblings were musically talented, her siblings sang, played the piano and or the guitar, but alas my Grandmother did not. Memories of black and white photos of Great Aunts and Great Uncles playing the guitar, or sitting at a piano. Memories of seeing my older 2nd cousin's name on sheet music as the "arranger" when I was in high school.


In Search of Opaline Bacon I found a connection with an ancestor, one I have no personal memory of but who influenced my childhood with her legacy of music. A connection with my Grandmothers family and their talents. A connection with the past that lives in me and my children.

No Filters

People frequently ask me "Why don't you work?" and my answer is "I don't have any filters"

What does it mean to not have filters? It means saying exactly what I am thinking without editing first, without considering the consequences, it means apologizing, embarrassment and sometimes laughter.

One example of something I said at work, when I did work.
Several co-workers and I were chatting when I said "You know the difference between women and men?" nervous silence "Women know they can have any man they want ....... for 20 minutes."
Male co-worker "What you doing the other 15?" 2nd co-worker "Smoking a cigarette."
Entire room erupts in laughter.

As funny as this was, and believe me we all had tears running down our faces from laughing, it was inappropriate and if I had even the tiniest of filters I would have kept my mouth shut.

So this is why I do not work, I have NO FILTERS.

WRONG NUMBER.. HANG UP OR HELP OUT?

I admit it, I LOVE to talk, I will talk to just about anyone, never met a stranger when it comes to talking.

Many years ago, I estimate 15 years, on Mother's Day, I was busy in the kitchen. I have a love/hate relationship with cooking and food. I tend to be around 20 pounds overweight and yet have also battled anorexia in my life- go figure. While I was toiling away , slicing,dicing and throwing together ingredients , my 7 year old son was playing phone monitor.

There is a rule, somewhere, when you are the busiest your phone will ring and ring and ring, this was one of those days. I had by this time of my role of being a MOM perfected the art of selective hearing and was not paying much attention to my son and the phone, when suddenly it occurred to me my son had answered a wrong number several times in a row.

I finally asked my son "James, who keeps calling?"
"It's some old lady asking for Mary." he says in his most annoyed voice.
"Well let me answer it next time, maybe I can figure out why she keeps calling our number." I barely finished before the phone rang again, I grabbed the phone and answered "Hello" a very frail voice asked "Is Mary there?"
"Mam there is no Mary here. What number did you dial?"
The caller rattled off MY phone number. "Well that is my number, how did you get this number?"
"Information gave me this number, I am trying to call my old friend "Mary". Her son was killed in Vietnam and my son passed away this year, I really wanted to wish her a happy Mothers day. We used to live next door when I live in Oildale on El Tejon and we were such good friends, I really regret that we have lost touch."

"El Tejon!! That's just two streets away from me. Why don't you give me your phone number and I will go over to Mary's house and let her know you are trying to call her?"

"Oh honey would you? That's so sweet!"

My son and I jumped in the car, drove over to Mary's house and knocked on the door. A bewildered older woman answered the door and I handed her a piece of paper with the callers' phone number and told her the "wrong number" story. Tears welled up in Mary's eyes, she thanked me and invited us inside. Unfortunately I had food in the oven and we had to leave.

Wrong number? I think not, that was an opportunity to teach me what Mother's Day is really about.

Juror or Judged?

I am sure it has happened to everyone, you open your mailbox and there it sits. A jury duty summons. And I am sure your reaction is the same as mine.."Oh hell!! I don't want to serve Jury Duty!"

I took the darn thing into the house, opened it up, noted the date and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet.

I called in Sunday night and could not believe they wanted me at 8am Monday morning, so I went to the website and yep, sure enough, I was going to jury duty at 8am Monday, ugggg.

Now I understand that with freedom there is responsibility, that our justice system only works if we each do our part, but I still don't like jury duty and I am going to delve into WHY I do not like it.

Everyone checks in, names are called and panels are taken to court rooms, so far everything is cool, comical even, and an opportunity to observe people. The trouble for me is once we are in a court room.

Remember no one volunteered , no one sent in a resume to be a professional juror, we are in a court room because we received an official summons in the mail, yet we are treated by the system as if we are criminals. If you do not answer when roll is called, the court can swear out a warrant for your arrest, what?? I was in the ladies room (I was here and ready at 1:30pm and by 2pm we weren't in the courtroom and I needed to pee, how was I to know that's when you would decide to call us into the room?)
There is a lot of hurry up and wait, waiting outside the courtroom for minutes and sometimes hours as mysterious activities are happening inside the courtroom.

Then there is the dread, dread of being called to the jury box to be a juror and the dread of NOT being called. Once you are interviewed you are either picked to be a juror or deemed unworthy and excused and go back to the juror room to either wait to be sent home or called to another courtroom. Until you are called to the box and interviewed you must sit in the courtroom, listen to regular folks stories and endure the boredom , irritation and frustration of the process.

Once you are called to the juror box the judge starts asking questions, and the defendant/s are sitting right across from you and sometimes the victims families are also in the courtroom. I am going to tell you I heard some very personal, private and heartbreaking information from prospective jurors, information that most people do not share with their best friends. The prosecuting attorney gets a chance to question you , dig a little deeper, poking and prying and lastly the defense attorney gets his chance.

example questions:
What is your profession?
Your spouse or significant other?
Have you or anyone close to you ever been charged with a crime?
Have you or anyone close to you ever been a victim of a crime?
(the court wants specifics, names of crimes, year, plea or jury trial, etc)


Now I just want to know, WHO IS ON TRIAL??? because to me, I am convinced the citizen doing his/her duty was the one on trial, judged, pried open and violated.

To Padre Hotel or Not?

Hubby and I love eating out, we enjoy being waited on and trying new food. Hubby's love affair with food started with his parents who were wonderful cooks. Eating food prepared by his parents was always an adventure for the palate. Hubby worked at "Freddie's at the Skyway House" as a teen and was a managing partner of a "Carrows" Restaurant" in Santa Fe, New Mexico. I on the other hand grew up on fried potatoes and pinto beans inspiring me to try new foods at every opportunity.

Due to a plethora of activities hubby has to attend this weekend we decided to celebrate Valentine's Day yesterday. Without the usual discussion of "Where do you want to go?" we instantly agreed on trying the newly remodeled "Padre Hotel" http://www.thepadrehotel.com/stay.php.

With great anticipation we dressed, modeled our outfits, "Does this look okay?" grabbed our umbrella and jumped into the pickup truck and off to The Padre Hotel we went. On the drive we discovered that neither of us had ever been to the Padre in the past, strange as it was a landmark. I did remember that a telephone answering service was housed in the Padre and that the answering service had been owned by a silent film star. Alas I could not remember the name of the service nor the film star.

We pulled into the valet parking area and were greeted by friendly and helpful valet staff. One young man opened our doors, held our umbrella and escorted us to the large glass double doors. Entering the lobby, hubby and I were like children on their first trip to Disneyland. We stopped and drank in the beauty of the newly remodeled Padre Hotel. The first thing you see when you walk in is a huge mural of a cowgirl, strange as I had "Old Hollywood" and art deco in mind. To the left is a large bar/grill that was PACKED with nicely dressed patrons all of whom appeared to be enjoying themselves, smiling, talking, drinking, eating and even playing pool.

Finally we made our way to "The Belvedere" , an upscale dining room. We arrived early, before 6P.M. and were quickly seated by the friendly hostess. I took a look around spying the molding near the ceiling reminiscent of old Hollywood and art deco, windows covered in a blue film decorated in oil rigs.

I must admit the service at the Belvedere is possibly the best, friendliest, most attentive service ever, none of the snobby attitude encountered at some of the local eateries.

Drinks were ordered and received promptly, the waitress delivered a sample of their tasty "lamb meatballs" compliments of the Chef. I recommend the pot stickers appetizer they were fresh and tender, the sauce was good without being overpowering. Our dining experience just got better and better, perfectly cooked scallops and shrimp, butter soft fillet mignon, coffee in a French press (better than the fancy coffees and lattes offered at some eateries)and then dessert, bread pudding with lemon custard. The lemon custard is tart, tangy and explodes on your tongue and delights the senses.

On the way home hubby and I plotted our next meal at The Padre Hotel.

picture graciously supplied by: Terry Telford