Pacific Trail

And so it's done.

We miraculously escaped the self-imposed sentence and have landed in land of the port.
It is a weird little city. Not real big. But big enough. Not red. Very blue. I love blue.

About the "weird" thing. There's a bumper sticker that reads, "Keep Portland Weird."
Wonder why this place feels like Kansas.

To the Now and Tomorrow.
L'Achaim!

And Happy Hannukah, to those who celebrate a blight on Israel's history. Spin, dreidel, spin!

The Rain in Spain is mainly in Portland.....

Nah.
It's not that bad.
In fact, yesterday was the first real day and night rain experience. The first few days were crisp and sunny....not hot-Tucson-sunny-that-makes-you-weep-inwardly-in-pain..TMI?)but NICE sunny. Gentle warm beams in an otherwise fall-ish air-edge factor.

And, another thing we realized (duh). We are city people. It's in our DNA. This place has other humans. We can hear them sometimes. And yes, it will take a little getting used to, but as Ben put it more than once, "And WHERE are you NOT living right now?"
and I snap out of it.

But there are communities. With personalities. And history. And uncommon acceptance.

A feeling never ever felt elsewhere.

Good feeling. Happy feeling.

Better life.

Baby steps. We're here. We're all healing. We're for each other.

Made It

Dear Reader,

The long road has finally taken us to mecca, in the form of PORTLAND! The trip was a long, meditative journey of reconstitution and new hope. We are still unpacking and unpacking and...you get the idea.

And as Ben calls our new abode, "a great headquarters for a year." He's right. It's roomy, two floors and called a townhouse or duplex. So, while it's not a separate home, it is not a ticky-tacky type monotonous "institutional-looking" unit. Surrounded not by dust and big-box stores, not to mention horrible unmentionable crawly things.

Having said that, (Curb fans out there?), this is a funky homestead with off-beat homes and buildings of assorted eclecticism .... a tonic to my miasma. No longer dehydrated and bereft, my brain is regenerating as I hear sounds of humanity all around. Children playing, friendly neighbors being neighborly, walkable streets filled with the sweet crisp fall air.

No rain, just sun and cool, cool jacket weather. No cactus, no coyotes eating bunnies, all is unfolding as it should. L'chaim everyone!!!!!!

'Twas the Night Before the Last Day....

And so it goes.

One last night sleeping with the critters sparkling and howling, toothsome beyond our bedroom windows. Or fluorescent on the walls. If you dare to take a flashlight to it, prepare for the willies.

Sparkling since these parts are known for all sorts of nocturnal nasties that prey on the weak and scare the crap out of the meek among us. Don't even mention the 8-legged, furry things. Please. (Meek, meaning me.)


The howling of coyote packs braying within arm-reach has never lulled me into wonderland. Rather, it has two years woven into the fabric of dreams-turned-into-nightmares. Blood-thirsty and celebratory predators. Too close. Too close.

You want vampire thrills? Sleep with the windows open (or closed) smack against the Catalina State Park one night. And prepare to hear the unworldly screaming of the night throbbers and bounders. The barbershop quartet of nature's wild dogs, set upon an innocent stray bunny or maybe even a neighbor's dog. Not a pretty sound. Vincent Price soundtracks thrive out here in the dust and cactus pricks.

The unholy celebration of the prey snatched and devoured, shared with the pack. Covering ears does no good, the sound seeps into the bloodstream, pulsing with each heartbeat. Screams of the innocent drown out by the feasters, grow faint with the transcendent night skies, stars applauding with their wordless blinks.

Will I miss this desolate place? I am grateful for the time spent, the lessons learned, the humility gained. I am forever grateful for the ego's deflation and the spirit tested along with the physical challenges. It will never be forgotten. Nor re-lived except in unfortunate dreamscapes.

It has been a road taken and one to bid adieu.

Onward to the next corner. Life is wonderful and excitement beckons.

(I love salmon.)

November Days... Friday the 13th..5 Days More

The weird part of this whole experience (at least one weird part) is the fact that in the calendar notebook my entry is in (Bylines), happens to be visible next week. November 15-21.

This is that calendar thingy written by an assortment of writers who submitted essays on their writing inspiration. I decided to make fun of the whole precept and cited watching Judge Judy as the secret behind my inspiration to write. Oh sure. I just so happened to be watching the show when Geri told me about it. Light-bulb! A story was made up. It was the one funny entry in a sea of benevolent, earnest female longings to be known in a literary world. Whatever.

Is that merely synchronicity or coincidence or some spirit-guided meme out of the woo-woo New Age stuff I've been dabbling in? It's this calendar book my friend Geri suggested I submit to and so I did. Geri had an entry too, and her life has undergone some drastic changes these past couple of years as well as mine.

But because of her suggestion, I wrote an essay about why I love watching Judge Judy and how she inspires me to write. Of course I mostly embellished, which is the beauty of fictionalized reality.

And it turns up on the very week we are making the Great Escape. I like the Karma idea. I'm going with that. It has all raced forward lightning quick, from the first week when we got the offer, to the now of boxes collecting in each room.

And so I've packed a couple of baker's dozens worth of boxes, most of the kitchen stuff (even pots and pans, a little prematurely, it turned out) and accidentally packed loyal husband's shaving gel and rubber tip tooth thingy. Whoops. But I asked if it would be okay to pack bathroom stuff. How am I supposed to know what's in play and what's on deck?

Of course, I'm far from perfect but I can still press my own stupid button and get a negative reaction even when I don't mean to. It's just the mouth sometimes spills stuff before the brain edits language. And sometimes I just want to be honest. Can't always do so. Risk of pissing someone off is too great to risk.

So as obscure as this may seem, the excitement is growing, the confidence is glowing and the socialization meme is coming back.

I remember!

I remember!

And in time, this whole experience will reveal as past, for past is prologue after all. And maybe only then will I be able to wrestle and come to terms with an unfathomable incident that came to pass this same week.

Countdown Begins

So this is the home stretch.

"Home" referring to what we carry within, for we have been residence-challenged since making the great SW sojourn.

Finally admitting to self this place never "had a good smell" as a recently passed friend used to say. He was right. Our hearts have never been in this barren moon-state. No matter, this too shall pass.

There's a lot to the smell test, even if not literally. But in this case, literal is true, too. The smell of coyote piss, skunk spray, dust-bowl pathogens swirling in our faces....will not be missed..

And the spiritual side (not woo-woo granola) is sorely lacking here too. There's a reason roots are shallow here...no life-supporting moisture or sustenance. And we are well aware of the opposite-ness of climate to which we are heading. Fine by us. Rain trumps Death Valley heat any time.


I can smell the roses already.

And So On

No scowling today....just a bright perspective on new challenges, hopes, dreams aspirations and positive thinking. Not to go all hippie-dippie but what else is there but choosing peace, good health, happiness and an embrace of wholeness after the void...

Finding a center that will hold is what it's all about, and we have been off-center for a coupla years. That soon will be history as future goals flicker like lighters at a Bono concert.

And to all a good day sir!

We Can Do It!

So says the pillow on my bed and the dish towel. You know the slogan, with the female WWII worker, with uplifting spirit.

And now we know we can get out of the real Dodge (metaphorically) at last. And we thought New York was 'Dodge'--ha ha. So we have learned much on this 2-year hiatus from civilization and meaningful connections. We learned we hate living in the desert and are at peace with our decision to vacate. AND grateful the house was sold so fast. And we don't have to encounter any more gun-carrying conservatives.....not that there's anything wrong with that (in case one of them reads this). We're just not that into guns and cowboys.

We want greenery and non-dried out nasal passages. Amen!

Now we are awaiting "a-ok" on the rental we seek and then the other stuff will fall into place. What a ride, a crazy, jaunty (not so jolly) experience in this very uh, strange land. A place of extraordinary beauty and natural wonders that are being eviscerated by excavation, endless big-box ugly stores and malls and endless ticky-tacky housing developments.

McMansions (SW style) all over, encroaching on wildlife habitats everywhere! I mean, where we live used to be just wildlife and natural plant growth, and now the land is just being raped for money. Of which no one seems to have. Except for the snowbirds and retirees. But we are grateful to have had this opportunity to discover what works and what doesn't. Climate-wise, this was probably worse for my health than NY, so no way to justify staying.........and academia is....collegiate.

Just being in the same area as our kids will be so amazing and healing for us all. And that's no scowl, just gratitude for the attitude.

Hitting the Wall Back

You know those days--sometimes you hit the wall, sometimes the wall hits you.

And when that wall is nothing but a sheer veil of self-criticism, how do you cope if you don't drink? (Humor.)

You write on the wall imaginary new age-y affirmations about not-taking yourself-so-seriously. So I'm reading this Stuart Smiley stuff, opening my being to the now and charting yet another new course of action that will challenge, reassure and unite us with our tree-house people.

Is it wacky? Not really. If you don't try something, how do you know what to expect?
We are the dreamers and we dream different environments until we find home.

I know home is always within you, (I ready those books, too) but if you feel out of synch with where you sleep and live, that is not a life.

And this experiment has now officially crossed the solitude line into isolation.
Inside joke.

We've realized life is too short to be miserable. And not to focus on finances because, waddya gonna do?

My teacher is the wisest guru of all time. I am so lucky and grateful to have him.

And if these past two years taught us anything, it taught us that we are social creatures and need companionship with those with shared ideologies, and HAVE to live in a blue state with logical and socially considerate laws. And be somewhere there's more than a scintilla of like-minded humans.

And no rattlesnakes. Don't even ask me about the skunk.

The mountains are beautiful, the stars endlessly fabulous, the wildness humbling and the vistas overwhelming. We get it!

And now we want to move on.

So if nothing else, realize that lives spin on a whim and a look-see and we must rally the strength to explore new worlds.

That was supposed to be my funny blog.

Next one will be HIGHlarious.

The Sun'll Come Out Tomorrow....

Of course the sun will come out, this is Tucson--land of the scorching sun.

But I jest, sort of, because (fingers crossed) we are sending universal vibrational energy waves (wink, wink) to help guide us in a new direction.

Lest I decline to add deets, you'll just have to keep tuning in to this wonderful saga of two wandering Jews in the desert.

Tucson is beautiful.....to many people. With its majestic mountains, gorgeous cacti in all sorts of odd poses and animals running wild. In our backyard, which abuts a (still) undeveloped wash, the views are spectacular. A wash is kind of like a superhighway to all creatures great and not-so-great.

Like these pig-like things called Javelinas (pronounce "J" as "H" and you will be considered real smart), cute little wild bunnies, not cute rattlesnakes, tarantulas (ewwww), scorpions (triple ewwwwww), coyotes that love dining on small bunnies in the middle of the night and oh yes, our last encounter with Pepe Le Pew.

To clarify, Maggie (our pound rescue puppy now in her teens) decided to hightail it after a skunk that managed to get into our "yard o' rocks" the other night. Yup, she got a face-full of that delicious stench, "au de skunk" and we spent the night fumigating her and dousing her with lavender essential oil. Did it help? Maybe a little.

She did the same thing last year, too, my husband reminded me. Since I choose not to remember awful things, of course I didn't remember it at first. I know what you're thinking--early Alzheimer's.....but that's just...what was I talking about?

But the temperature is no longer 100 (hooray!) and we have renewed faith and confidence our next step is getting close...

Tune in..

BTW, so sad about Soupy Sales. We had lunch together everyday for a long time. Well, he was on tv having his, of course. Still, next time you see a full moon, think of it as the last pie Soupy got in the face......

Another Day Straddling Bi-Polarism

Not Britney Spears-bi-polar.

But the feeling I am alternating between universes somehow. Not in a woo-woo hippie way (not that there's anything wrong with that) but in a "how long must this go on?" kinda way.

We have decided that enough is enough and we don't want to take it anymore. Unless you're a fan of incessant, blindingly hot sun,(I know, if you're in that rainy/snow belt, sorry), crawling things that freak us out and the killing machines known as coyotes who like to dine on bunnies at night. Our bedroom window faces the vast desert and mountains so we get great aural symphonies.

Did you know that bunnies sound like small kittens when they are dinner? It's not a pleasant sound to try to go to sleep with. You try it. You won't like it either.

Add that to this being a failed experiment in "fixing" my health the heat, dust and other conservative influences, intensifies a certain condition of mine and all is not well in Paradise, Arizona.


Call us geeks or whatever, but we want to be near our kids.....is that so odd? Well, that requires a lengthy explanation which will not be revealed here.

But we miss them mightily and since this region offers little comfort or financial reward (ha ha) we figure, let us be vagabonds once again.

Well, we moved a lot when we were first married (pre-kids) and aren't afraid of the great unknown. A tad worried about the real estate market, but that's not under our control. What are ya gonna do?

So we do this thing here, as best we can without turning into rats in a cage, and project our "intention" of a better life--in the Pacific Northwest. Any fingers you want to cross in our quest, we will be forever grateful. If we build it they will come......

So hurry up, next phase....

I Can't Wait to See What's Next....

Said a famous musician and probably lots of other people.

We're on the verge of "next" and I seriously can't wait to be there...

Of course being and next is a contradiction (sorta) but what are ya gonna do? We are here now, in this netherland of junctures. We have down the 3 corners and now we want to finish the board.

You know, to make it even.

Did New York (east)

Did Florida (south and scary red-neck)

Tucson (west, where "things and people come to die" said a certain philosopher-son)

So to round things off, we thought we'd hook up with the Pacific Northwest. It couldn't hoit.

I Knew He wouldn't Read It

Until I sent it to him.

But that's okay, we've been together so long I never expected he would pick it up on his own. Now we'll both have a larf and trust me, we both need it lately.

Major drama, pain activity idiot doctor non-visit visit. Big project of the day: securing a doc appointment... in NOVEMBER!?!?!?!

Yeah, this place is real good to its constituents.

Paging Dr. Nick!

So it's one of those days. It's still hard not to write for free, especially for the Hollywood site one which got decent play. Decent play and no pay.

But he's right--what's the point?

I finally have a reason, something to focus on, and the only thing that gets in the way is literally, my brain. And now that I feel a little better, I am sharing words with the few of you out there.

Words, words and words.

It goes on and the days melt and the sun is still scorching, desert creatures howling a lot at night. Creeping out poor Maggie (our pound rescue of about 12 or so years) who now won't walk in the woodsy (translation: cactusi) section in the back. She's smelling those coyotes I bet. Can't blame her....

We even think she's had it with this climate and boring existence. She keeps pulling out our little suitcases.....hmmmmmm. Is that a dog message?

Chow.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Well, not for us, but for Lew (the husb), because it's Canada's Thanksgiving and since he feels more Canadian that American, I wanted to see if he noticed I remembered. If he remembers to read this. If not, TFB for him.

So, the trail continues, the energy depletes and is temporarily restored. Being at one with lack of pain is a good place to be. As temporary as it might be.

For that I am grateful, and to a couple of new (but seem like forever) friends who have brought some comfort into this wandering girl's and boy's life.

So, I come not with a scowl but a purpose. When I discover exactly what that purpose is, you'll be the first blog to know. It's in me and gots to come out, according to a favorite blues lyric.

And while I am not paying myself for writing this, I promise not to write for free anymore on the Web. Scout's promise. If being a girl scout for 3 months grants me that option.

Yes to yes to yes to yes.

Desert Days

So on we go to the next strange adventures of the wandering Jews.....where we end up someone knows, but we're keeping our eye on you guys up north, despite past declarations of my love for non-wintry stuff.

At this point, I miss trees, grass, college weather and relief from a nagging persistent condition that won't let up. But other than that, everything's great! I'm doing my affirmations, (don't laugh) forgiving myself for who-knows-what (being imperfect maybe?) and loving my family.

I yearn for connection; this is a wonderful place if you like wildlife at your door and horrible crawly things that invade your space. I don't want to discuss that any further. But I miss a social connection that doesn't involve love of guns and cowboy boots and conservatives. I'm tolerant, but I draw the line at cowboy boots.

Maybe when we vacate to greener (literally) pastures.

Everything in life is only for now, and it will get better. It has to. Till next time. Same bat-time, same bat-channel.

What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

Does anyone ever really get this question? How can what you thought you were meant to do when you were in college, or even high school, somehow has lost its appeal?

When do you figure out that what you're spending so much time on is less than satisfying? I could never stand an office job, for example. I don't do well with fluorescent lights and time-clocks. So freelancing seems ideal.

But perspective is different than reality.

For me, someone with numerous stages and labels (writer, mother, part-time writer, philosophic existentialist) what is to be when the unknown is right around the corner?

Does anyone have any clue? Feel free to lend me some clues here, semblance of things great yet to come. If believing is seeing, according to Wayne Dyer, my latest virtual seer, then when will I believe?

Who knows? What are you gonna do? That's what my wiser, realistic, sturdy manly man of a husband tells me. He is my ballast.

What are you guys doing to keep a foothold on sanity?

Answers gratefully accepted.

And So It Goes...

As Kurt Vonnegut used to say....it goes weird these days. A limbo-land of WTF and help a brother out, as we take on yet another strange crossing over. Not that kind of crossing over.

Talking crossing over state lines. Again. Seems this Western experiment has run its course and we are preparing for "the next schlepp." Which means, re-evaluating the whole "life purpose" and mission statement. I always hated that term, "mission statement," but in this case it applies.

This is a period of great flux for so many, with the financial disaster, stress of pressing global, health and universal problems that make our own little discomforts shrink in comparison.

And yet, if happiness is the goal and discovering a true "mission" and purpose will clarify some of the murky waters, so be it. Let's do it!

Meanwhile, I've been obsessing over baseboard dust, awkward splats on walls and general maintenance of our little homestead, which we are about to offer up as our sacrifice for the great experiment.

The Great Experiment being that we transport ourselves to a more, uh, blue state with like-minded thinkers. Unfortunately, we are out-numbered here by gun-lovers, conservative philosophers and a desert that feeds on itself. And not in a good way.

We're tired of the creature-alerts, the dust, pollen and health-intruders that were expected to be benign and oh, so charming, but have revealed themselves to be self-centered and nasty.

Some simply love, love love this incessant sunshine and a couple of months of not-killer heat. If there was a purpose-driven reason to stay, fine. We'd stay.
But the impulse is to get out if and when we can, regardless of the ridiculous real estate market.

I feel the lure of progeny, the change of seasons, trees without thorns! And hopefully a mission that will come softly in a dream.....

And how's your day going?

October in the Desert

Sounds so lovely, the temperatures are starting to dip below 100 (whoopee!) and my "tolerance" for nasty creatures is settling into the, "Waddya gonna do?" mode.

This is a transition time for so many and maybe I'm simply a conduit expressing your pent-up anxiety. Or not. I could just be projecting.

To every thing there is a season. Except in Tucson, where it's either hellacious or not-as-hellacious. Some love this place, get their heads together and blossom somehow in this desolate land.

Me? Don't ask. I have been doing plenty of soul-searching since I have no marketable job skills to take up my time. And my soul is kinda lonely. For my kids, friends and a sense of community. Yes, there is beauty here, but the happiness factor eludes.

Not to be a downer, because it has to get better, am I right? Of course. Everything in life is for now, and soon we will be on the uptick again. Just got to find "it" that will help pull things together.

It's coming. Put away that scowl.
Thank you.

If It's Sunday...It Must Be 100 Degrees...

As the fall season slowly makes its way down the east coast, here we stew in 100 plus temperatures. It's the West, where we chose to venture. It's all about choice and we are all on a learning curve of some mysterious plan.

But the triple digit heat. Still. End of September. Which is normal for Tucson. And not so normal for my mental, physical and emotional state. Whatever. We all have baggage, right? Who knew this baggage would include creatures of the night (and day) and hostile sunlight?

So how did we get here--from ecstatic optimism to soul-crushing emptiness over the past couple of years? Well, not exactly soul-crushing, maybe soul-sucking or soul-seeping. So much for my positive thinking. But yet there is still hope for a good life, a good-enough life, a happy life that doesn't center around the temperature and assorted ailments affected by same.

Not complaining, just reporting. Not scowling, just ready for the next thing, where ever that may lead. It's a long-haul episode that will one day turn into some poetry or other, more pie-in-the-sky dream. Hey, if we don't have dreams how will we ever have the dreams come true? (Quick, name the musical that comes from....hint: it's a song and you know it).

Dreams are for the dreamers who can turn dreams into happy, productive lives that soar and climb.

So on this Day of Atonement, I atone for all my trespasses against anyone whose property I trespassed. Emotionally or otherwise.

I wish you all peace, prosperity, good health and happiness. And I'll even include my
self in that equation.

L'Shana Tova and all good things.

If Not Now, When?

Are you asking me?

I have no idea how this even made it into today's Scowl, but there it is. In Times Roman 12 pt (I think). So it seems that hope is still alive, possibilities remain and a bitter crust of malaise is beginning to crack like a perfect creme brule spoon-spanked.

Are you asking what is the point when every day is a deal with the pain-devil? The point is in Portland, the purpose is within and the hope shall rein supreme.

Sorry to go all crunchy-granola on you, but when the spirit hits.......

And the spirit will guide the right person to the right dealie and all shall be calmed.

Sunday Scowl

Not really a scowl, just wanted your attention.

Sometimes life offers many directions from which to choose. Sometimes our choices don't seem clear immediately, some may take time to sink in as appropriate for the time it was made.

And then we get to re-evaluate and make new choices, new determination and new resolve to change.

We (the hub and I) are straddling two worlds right now, one of the literal and one of the potential. From covering Broadway to covering tarantula hideaways, Tucson beckoned as a health oasis, a change from the soul-crushing NYC life. Sometimes a dream can turn into a night and daymare until attitudes toward the now emerge. Now is all we have, folks. Let's make the most of it.

Spa travel seemed inconsequential compared to good health and a positive attitude. So too did theater. What was once a joy and pleasure, mostly because of sharing it with my beloved daughter Emmy, is now a memory and one that I revisit with fondness.

Yet, the thought of returning to view plays without her seems an empty solution to a more pressing question: what next?

Life choices. Life changes. Always choose life.
Happy New Year everyone!

Another sunny day....

So yesterday marked a personal day--my mother's birthday. She would have been in her 90s, but she left us a couple of years back.

But this post is a celebration of her life and life in general.

For no matter what circumstances are laid out before us, we are able and compelled to make choices. And live with them.

Sometimes the choice taken, the road traveled, seems less shiny once reality hits. But pessimism must not override the hope that is the anchor of love and compassion.

And this time of year calls on us all to give of ourselves in ways compassionate and loving.

Including the great challenge: being compassionate to ourselves and including ourselves on the forgiveness trail.

That's it. No scowl today.

Just a determination to make now the best time in our lives. Until the next now unfolds.

Enjoy your macaroni.

Broadway Beckons

It's that time of year again. When the chill of autumn breaks through every so often, and a cool breeze swirls Times Square debris.

Or tourists.

And it's also the time I miss New York the most.

When the fall theater starts announcing new plays. There are so many I want to see! Some are shows I've longed to see for years ("Finian's Rainbow" which was so ahead of its time regarding racism) that I want to throw things at the mountain behind our house.

I miss the smell of post-stanky subway (it's not too disgusting after Labor Day)and the crush of idiot walkers, who I would dodge and weave. Cursing under my breath. Ah memories!

Now I see some Hollywood actors are in town, ones that aren't cast simply to reel in
celeb-loving tourists. I wanna see them, too.

I wouldn't even mind running into the wacky stage-door-lady who would walk a certain Jekyll & Hyde actor to his bus after every show.

There's gotta be a way.

And then I would happily share all my insight and snotty rejoinders, to you, my fan.

Oy Vey

So this is what passes for high entertainment in Tucson:

Last night was a "family event" that attracted all kinds (believe me, ALL kinds) to this, uh, "happening" that had to be seen to be believed.

People gathered at a pre-ordained meeting spot near a Trader Joe's to saunter over to a special bridge.

Why?

Because at a certain time, hundreds of bats were expected to fly out from under it, en masse.

How cool is that?

So the pay-off to this cultural wing-ding was to see hoards of MF flying rats take to the air (and hair) and people brought their kids to this? I knew Tucson was gonna be a little different from New York, but, come on people!

The only close encounter I had with a bat (before coming here, don't ask) was when I took my kids to play tennis at some little park, we called it the "Care Bears Park" and you'll have to ask Emmy why. We liked to name our parks. You gotta problem with that?

Anyway, it was getting dusky and there were huge trees (trees!) huge and majestic, branches swaying in the evening wind. Suddenly, I served and five bats came out of NOWHERE and we ran like we never ran before.

Screaming, me, Ben and Em high-tailed it to the car, just a tad nervous. Nervous laughter ensued.

Bats have their place in the eco-world, I get it, so lay off you animal right nuts. I love animals too, I just don't see the attraction, the "fun" in watching hundreds of bats magically take flight like something out of "The Birds."

Is it me, or are people in Tuscon just a little different from what I would choose as a "family activity"?

I was invited, but quickly declined, citing a made-up rodeo research project.

Oh, to be back in the Peter Playground. When it was good and splintery.

Tucson, can't wait to say, "Oh I hardly knew ye."

A Heavy Date

Words can never express the horror of that day that swept all semblance of normalcy from our lives. Yes, we have personal stories, too painful to relate. For where we lived, the smoke lived too.

And the husband ran to the scene for truth. And stayed overnight while his family shared fears and tears.

So on this terrible day, reflection is a mandate and survival holds new meaning for us all.

Silence.

Ding-Dong The Rat is...

No, no, this isn't about a rat.

Just its diminutive cousin. And his name ain't Mickey. We called it "Shithead."
Well, it wasn't a rat,but to me it was.........so here's what played out..... two nights ago my darling husband put the oven on and as it warmed up, guess what happened?

A little rodent, a mouse=creature, crawled out and took off (stage left) into the netherlands of our 1500 square footage. Maggie (our canine)was fascinated to see something ALIVE emerge from the oven and simply paddled after it. In case it did something fun, Like shit all over my bed.

No attempt to get it, mind you, maybe smell its butt or something dog-like. You'd think, anyway.

So this morning, as I am working on a very bad cup of coffee (gotta stop cheating ourselves with crapola beans), I hear some noise in the bathroom off our bedroom.
Suddenly a drama ensued. Lew, barely awake, runs into the kitchen and I stay mute at the keyboard. I don't wanna know nothin.'

He forages around for a big metal container and then takes out his "special" cheese
and slices a chunk. In his underwear, hair askew. "Hmm," I thought. "Wonder what THAT'S for."

The next sounds I heard were banging and clanging which seemed to go on for an hour. Then Lew strolled down the hallway, Yuban can in hand, looking all pleased with himself. Hair askew, glasses not quite right, briefs less than flattering. Gotta love him.

Good riddance you varmint. Not Lew. Shithead.

And Lew was so Mr. Eagle Scout, he walked the thing a half a mile away "just in case."

My hero.

Just don't ask me about the tarantula...............................................
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By the way, in case you want to torture yourself with more claptrap from my yap...here's my Hollywood stuff....Don't judge me, can't help it.

www.thewrap.com/blog/naomi-serviss

The Desert is Flat

It's not my fault that I don't get along with the desert. It's one thing to see lizards, snakes and (gulp) tarantulas in their native habitat--the zoo--it's another to come in contact with said creepy crawlers in your driveway.

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate the coyotes, feral cats, bobcats and roadrunners that crap all over our patio. It's those smaller, more insidious things that make my skin crawl and make me "Run, Forrest, Run" into the sanctuary of our abode.

Don't get me started on the rattlesnakes and scorpions. The former in our backyard (where I heard the skin-crawling "rattle" and the latter hanging out in our bathroom or once in our kitchen sink.

What kind of place is this, anyway? The wild west? Oh yeah. We didn't sign up for revolting creatures as house-mates and we want out, please. So say a little prayer, light some sage or do a little dance that Lew's book gets snapped up. Soon please, soon.

Other than that, we love Tucson!

Just us Chickens

So the saga continues. Here we (husband Lew) still are, in Tucson, a city that has no center. And while we are ready to ditch, we need a plan. Stat. Waiting to hear back from assorted possibilities (don't want to jinx them) is a bitch.

But we now see this venture as a huge stepping stone that will one day get us to Portland, a city we almost moved to before Tucson was on our radar.

Instead our plucky daughter (the pioneer) bravely made her way there, collected friends, found non-phony people (a break from LA) and now son Ben is heading north.

And we want in, so we're doing our best to make it happen--it's just the impatience factor that we have to ride out, which isn't easy in 100 plus degree heat. Not fun. I guess B.B. King sums it up best, "The thrill is gone."

You can sing that again..

Later.

Anyone watch the Daytime Emmy Awards? Me neither, but that won't prevent me from sharing my astute observations.....

The View (from Tucson)

Not too many years ago, the Daytime Emmy awards show was just another reason to watch Susan Lucci get dissed again. What drama! How long could she pull off the poor-me, no-respect routine? It was high suspense (not crazy drama, ala most Soaps) and Lucci pulled the sympathy vote for more than a decade before breaking through the soapy ceiling.
Seems “The View” was also always going to be a bridesmaid, never a bride, with the bitchin’ foursome venting and demonstrating forced resignation, with a huge chip on their designer-clad shoulders.
Until yesterday, when the curse was lifted and the schizy show raked in a few of those gold totems at last. Who am I to deride the wacky machinations of a show that once had non-screaming bouts about real news, when Meredith Viera was the main draw, not the wacked-out Debbie Whoozit and others who bounced, or were bounced by Queen Barbara, acting like a ornery club enforcer.
Maybe some of those awards seem, uh, slightly underwhelming, but who am I to judge? I wish I could garner an award for Hair & Make Up. Especially in this so-called “dry heat” of Arizona which is a description failing in truthiness.
I don’t know how Janice Huff (full disclosure: this New York-based NBC meteorologist is a personal friend) keeps her fresh look, unless it’s the hair and make-up staff. But they don’t need to do much work with her, trust me. But it begs the question: Why doesn’t television news have a hair and makeup category? Fake news (Jon and Stephen) have groomers and aren’t afraid to admit it, even if it consists of leftover pancake goo and eye-pencils from “Phantom of the Opera.”
Perhaps it would be harder to take the news seriously if cosmetic touch-ups were a legit category. Wait, who takes broadcast news seriously anyway? Never mind.



But even when schizy Rosie was on “The View,” it was still borderline intelligent, fun to watch and occasionally more than a platform for Barbara to push her own television specials and whatnot. My favorite, Joy Behar, seems neutered compared to those early shows. Before the show found its sea-legs, it was sometimes vulgar and unpleasant, but the hair and make-up: always beyond reproach. And Rosie seemed slightly tamed but ready to burst every time she was challenged. And don’t forget the Donald Trump War—great ratings for both shows!
And now Whoopi has also been tamed (like a free-range horse corralled) by Queen Bee Barbara, whose every nuanced glare sends Whoopi into overdrive mea culpas, signaled by her zip-locking her mouth. Apt metaphor for the show. Whose View is it really?
Behar appeals because she’s a straight-shooter and does not suffer fools lightly. Just watch the show with any politico to see her outrage or support. (What became of her usually-riotous “Comics’ Corner”?) Behar is funny and her hair always looks great, even if it smacks of Long Island (not “mall hair” but definitely over-sprayed).
(Another disclosure: I once spent 3 hours interviewing Behar in her gorgeous apartment and we bonded…for 3 hours.) But Elizabeth with her puritanical, Republican blinders was impossible to take last year, and you know what I mean.
But congrats are in order for “The View,” which added to the 17 Emmys awarded to the ABC mother station. Apparently, none thought the show would win, since all four were no-shows during the 36th broadcast of this poor-cousin of award shows.
Now if only “The View” would get its groove back, let Whoopi and Joy out of their pens, it might also get its original fans back, too. With or without awards for “Hair and Make-Up.”

Hello Out There

So the journey begins. This weird section of my life took a wacky turn for the West a couple of years ago. The reasons why are too ridiculous to share. Or are they? A dream squashed? Get a new dream, I always say.

Oh wait, now I remember: Tucson was going to be something about an oasis where chronic pain has no passport. And Lew could finally get the much-deserved respite from the harried NYC world in which he "lived" for far too many years.

So, one out of two ain't bad, right? So the pain is still here, at least Lew has taken this temporary way-station as something akin to a grand experiment. Where anything can happen. It's just that we both are of singular mind when it comes to this spot. Where once two giddy souls were agog at the sight of a 2-dimensional pig, now we don't bother to count the incessant hummingbirds. Pretty jaded, aren't we? Nah, just realists,

Just not feeling it anymore. Who can say how things will play out? That's why we have choices and make decisions. You never fail when you take a chance. Life is lived far too seriously, and we're here to let you know: Lighten Up! Everything is only for now, yada yada.

Meanwhile, Lew wrote the book he's been thinking about for umpteen years. Talk about accomplishment! Of course, the waiting for a smart agent to take advantage of a former NYT editor and his amazing memory and dexterity with words, is driving him nuts.

And my quest has become more spiritual, even though I love reading gossip and sometimes contribute to it (here comes a plug) via www.thewrap.com (look for me under guest blogs unless you think opinionated columns are heresy.

Sometimes my aim is rewarded the next day with publication, sometimes it's not. BFD, I have you now to be absurd with, make jokes for and complain about the dearth of original movies.
In between, I'll offer my take on this odd little town called Tucson. They can't even spell it right. Sheesh.

Tomorrow, there will be more.
Comments?

What's Taking So Long?

Come on people! I already wrote one blog and so far no one has commented!

What's wrong with you? Oh, maybe you haven't found it yet. I'm not sure how I did, myself.

Okay, you're all forgiven. Now go find it and send me a note!

It's free!

Serving It Up

So, now that I am gainfully unemployed, it's time for me to vent some deep-seated crap I've been dealing with for a couple of years now.

I used to be a contender. Not whining, just reporting. I had a newspaper column (not one of those Pennysaver bullshit "papers--a real one) and wrote for magazines that enabled me to indulge in my fantasy. It was a good fantasy--pretending I was a wealthy traveler, going hither and thither, having special treatment and special treatments (I'll get into that later) that fed my insatiable desire to "be discovered."

Excuse me while I laugh my guts out. Yes, I confess, I was hoping for the Right Person to read something I wrote and JUST HAD to sign me up, get me on the talk shows, blah blah. Look, I said it was fantasy. Then something shifted.

With my soul-mate (and husband who came for the ride) we pulled up stakes from New York after a 20-plus-year hate/love relationship with it, and moved far, far away.

Into a Galaxy of the Great South West. Now, don't get me wrong. I like strange plants and animals---at a distance. So when we discovered our neighbors included Bobcats, pig-like creatures called Javelinas and scary coyotes, it was very cool. For a week.

Now, two years into our experiment, we are trying on some 2-year plans (or sooner) because we sure as hell don't belong in this dust bowl. Not that there's anything wrong with attending Presidential events with rifles and guns. It's just that, well, I miss the ocean.

Not that I went that much when we lived on Long Island. But just knowing I could (and often did when the kids were small) was enough. Salt Air. Hard to find in the scrubby badlands.

So I've been adjusting (slooowwwly) to life in Tucson. This little venture will hopefully give women a smile, a snort or even a belly laugh.

And please comment, or I won't know if anyone is really out there. Yes, I take pity comments. Thank you and goodnight.