Tag Archives: laugh

..and then the crazy lady entered

Just like moons and like suns,         
With the certainty of tides,                                           
Just like hope  springing high,                                                                                                             Still I’ll rise.

                                 Maya Angelou        

I have ruminated on the things that I once loved about being me, just me. More than anything, it was a spirit of adventure, of following the journey wherever it led….and it led to some amazing places.

When I left that little town  back east, roaring into the night on a 1942 Indian  motorcycle  in which  I had  been at least halfway responsible for rebuilding and restoring with my own  small sixteen year-old hands, I never looked back. We rode hard for New Hampshire, a child’s romantic teen dream of escape from a world in decline and into a marriage about which I’d no concept. Small town New England held no charm for me. I was a high school drop-out with a mechanic husband and a little second floor flat in an old duplex. It was comfortable enough and I tried to teach myself the rudimentary tasks of being a housewife. I was a far better mechanic. The town itself was picturesque, with little squares, a diner where the locals held court and the fresh mountain air was foreign to my New York and New Jersey nostrils and lungs. I actually missed the smell of bus exhaust, the noise of traffic and the anonymous hustle by which I’d survived. I was not accustomed to being Mrs. (fill in the blank), the friendly and all-too-familiar local charm. It was 6 months before I demanded that we return to the world I preferred…not that dreadful little town that my parents chose but something more familiar. We again embarked on a night’s journey, this time towing the vintage bike behind a newly restored vintage car. My husband…a term so ridiculous in retrospect, considering my age, obliged me in every way possible. Three months later, a friend of his introduced me to pot…in my mind, akin to heroin! It was not.  It was good and I began to look at the world around me and realize that it was 1968 and everything was changing. There was an excitement in the air that had never been and I wanted to know , to be part of it. I did the only thing I could..I called my mother and her fiancé and requested refuge. My mother was delighted to accommodate me and sent Charlie, her soon-to-be husband, to get me quickly, lest I change my mind. It didn’t take long to realize that I had no forgiveness in my heart for the past and the situation with my mother grew untenable. My step-father was the only buffer in a simmering war between us. I had no money, no prospects, no aim but I left.

I wandered back into New York where I found everything imaginable happening! Being born in Brooklyn, it was always home to me and my love affair with New York has never waned. I love the noise, the people, the 24/7 life that I’ve never found anywhere else. At that time, movements of all sorts were afoot: civil rights, women’s rights, anti-war and everything in-between. I attended the first Earth Day in Central Park! I still look at old news footage of marches, so many in New York, knowing that I was among the thousands of faces in the crowds. The reality, though, was that I needed money of some kind, so I found a receptionist position in a county office, which led not to the drudgery I feared but to more freedom. I worked for brief periods but most of my time was spent on activism, hanging around college campuses, experimenting with minor drugs and living on and off in a commune. When I grew restless, as was my habit, I would hit the open road with my thumb out and off to parts unknown. During one of my trips to see my family for the holidays, I happened into a store where I met a Puerto Rican conga drum player, all looks and charm, living in Hoboken,, N.J. and there I was again. I had a great apartment on the first floor of a brownstone, the park featured in “On the Waterfront” across the street. I took a job in the garment district and spent six months in a crazy life of playing it straight by day and spending nights in Latin clubs with my heroin addict and barely English-speaking lover. Then I woke up. He disdained my politics, my commune past and my feminist ways and I abhorred his drug-addicted, womanizing failures. Again, I left. Back to the farm in Canada, to heal my wounds, regain my wits and grow restless for more travel…and yearning to be free of the sub-zero temperatures and hip-deep snow. The farm was spectacular in other seasons but winter was brutal and I was not made for that…nor am I a farmer. So, I rolled some cigarettes, a little weed, donned my hiking boots and layers of clothing and headed to the Trans-Canadian Highway with the first person willing to drive me the 15 miles out. On it went…

More trails than I could have imagined, more people who became friends, still fondly remembered, more impulsive but priceless experiences. I met another love: he on his post-college summer and me with my thumb out. We married in Los Angeles and, lo and behold, I once again ended up in suburban New Jersey! What were the odds? I tried my best to be a suburban working wife, converted to Judaism and had cocktail parties for people who I considered vapid and annoying. I lied my way into a management position at a chain bookstore, where I worked for several years…my respite from the Short Hills Mall women by whom I was surrounded. I soon found a guru fresh from India and that, along with my ongoing consumption of pot, kept me there for six years before the dam broke. It was an emotionally wrenching time: I was leaving a man I did not want to hurt but staying was worse; my father was dying a long and slow death from a broken heart which he drowned in alcohol and my company had me under pressure for transfer to the second largest store in the chain…in Los Angeles! My divorce was final in March, my father passed away in May and I took my transfer in July. I left all I knew to begin again. Success was short-lived. I was still grieving, trying to fix a business that I was sent to troubleshoot and one day, I tossed it all. I ended up living in the desert, trying my hand at alcohol. The party didn’t last long and I did get and stay sober for many years. Life settled into a pleasant groove.

I figured it was time for that G.E.D., followed by college and an Engineering degree. I acquired a nice vintage (of course) restored Mercedes, had a townhouse at the beach  and , best of all, a great group of people in a 12-Step program. I married again, moved to Oregon where I found love at first sight in Portland. It was the first place since childhood that felt like home to me. My marriage didn’t last but life in Portland did.

I made wonderful friends, took up activism on other fronts, returned to college and then university. I majored in Political Science, minored in Journalism and Creative Writing; transferred on to another school and left to work full-time on a major political campaign, followed by a stint in the Senate Majority Office. When I left, I went to an art school.I was independent, outrageous, self-appointed “Hostess at the Party of Life”. I worked and lived among many dear people who were at the center of the HIV/AIDS crisis and lost many friends to this still ongoing plague. I still thrived until I made one last, really bad choice.

I returned to my family of origin, thinking I had a place at the table. The results of that have been recounted in earlier posts. I am back in my beloved Portland now, blessed with an exceptional man who loves me as I am, a cat and a companion dog round out our little family. As I’ve noted before, it has been a decade if curses and blessings, about evenly split. I am still healing, the emotional and physical toll remains and while my spirit rises, my body has taken on the burden of the trauma. My material possessions are few and I teeter on bankruptcy, living below the poverty levels, but I am alive and blessed. I have regained extended family that I believed lost to me forever and these things buoy my spirits on the days when I think I cannot face another sunrise under these circumstances. Gradually, in spirit anyway, I am re-entering my own. I try not to look too far ahead, but stay close to present. It is what I must do if I am to succeed.

Oh yes, and laugh..more at myself than others, often irreverently, sometimes sardonically, but laugh nonetheless. If I lost that capacity, I would truly be mad. The jury is still  out on that.


They Like Me! They Really…wait, I’m not Sally Field here.

“I never lose sight of the fact that just being is fun.”                    

                                                               Katherine Hepburn

This is my best friend, Harry. He is awesome! We are inseparable, it was love at first sight & he is my “companion animal”. Harry is unfailingly present, loves without condition, is without judgement, listens to me whether I’m complaining or recounting some good news..yes, we have long conversations. He doesn’t care what I look like and is always happy to see me. It’s hard for we humans to live up to that kind of Buddha-nature. I know I don’t and I’ve been terribly disappointed when other people fail as well.

Many of the good people who lived around me when I first moved into this area and found my world crumbling have since moved on. That’s okay…it’s what we do. They were more than just neighbors. They were friends. Self-appointed, at first; guardians in my grief; entertainment when I needed a laugh and social directors when I cloistered myself. Over the years, it became give and take and we shared holidays and special occasions, laughter and tears, life’s trauma and drama and all the other things that go into friendship….and professed our love and bonds with each other. To me, that means something and I assume it does to others. So, where did that all go when each moved as close as shouting distance or as far as a 3 hour drive? I’m still here, but they’ve all but vanished from my life. Yes, I’m hurt.

One who lives nearby comes around at what seem  moments of opportunity or crisis. Visits usually finished with promises of a girls’ night out or some other activity that we once enjoyed. They never come to fruition. Much in the same way, my friend who retired and moved farthest…to a dream place for me…spent years begging me to join her on her pre-retirement weekend jaunts. I eventually did and loved every moment. It is a wonderful place! When she left for good upon retiring, it was with many heartfelt words  to me, I cried and she made me promise to use the open invitation she had extended. She even broke down and got a pc to keep in touch with her friends here. I’ve received exactly one email in 4 months and saw her on one occasion when she had an appointment in town and dropped by the apartment to see her son, who still lives here. We had an all-too-rushed visit,  loaded some things into her car, I cried again and she drove off. I, of course, agreed that I would come to see her soon and she assured me that her door was always open. Not an email or call since. I did call her last month on a whim, asking if I could drop in for a couple of days. She agreed that I could take the bus out…4+ hours…spend the night and return home the next day! Now, why would I spend 8 hours total riding a bus, to spend maybe 6 hours total visiting and the rest sleeping? I wouldn’t and I didn’t. To say I felt out off would be an understatement.

So, what’s the answer? I don’t know. I find myself caught between being reluctant to open up to new friendships and finding new friendships…albeit, online…that seem more meaningful than the ones I spent years living with daily. As in love, so it is in my friendships: I try to give of myself, be present, drop what I’m doing if needed, work at overcoming my fear of not being as good as those around me. I am left to suppose, that as it says in the little picture on the left, just take another shot. The world is full of amazing people who do have the capacity to be good and honest friends, to not feel obligated to pretend or speak in empty platitudes, wo can even enjoy each other’s silences. My dearest and truest friends have either passed away or are geographically out of daily reach. I find myself lonely for the company of those with whom I can share…good talk, new books, something newly discovered,maybe a little gossip and always a laugh or two. That’s when I realize that I have limited in common with those in whom I feel such disappointment. With one, it is books & the sea; with another, it is hip-hop and being rowdy girls. Overall, not well-rounded and deep relationships that will span decades….hell, they’ve faded as the saying goes: “out of sight, out of mind”. Yet, I cared and do care enough about these people to feel pained by their actions..or lack of.

Again, I ask myself why I should be so disappointed. The answer remains the same: I don’t exactly know. I guess I believed these people worked hard to open me up, to bring me back into the world, to be my friends even when I was not particularly loveable. So getting dropped on one’s ass, as it were, makes it all seem so senseless. For all of my attitude, for all of my armadillo-like exterior, I am still that shy little girl who never wanted to be noticed, lived through a fair share of bullying and didn’t believe anyone would really like me if they got to know me.

Life doesn’t come with a handbook, so we’re all just winging it…some better than others.My dog hasn’t run away, my cat still loves me & my fiance has the patience of Job, so I must be doing something right. I know I have qualities to bring to the table and, at my age, I can’t believe I’m still trying to figure out how to meet new playmates! We grow, the scenery changes, but it’s still the schoolyard and many are still finding their niche.


I love Portland, Oregon! It was love at first sight for me…it had everything I wanted: enough city to meet my soul’s need for that; a very mixed population from business to artists to Deadheads; museums, coffee houses…little individually-owned ones where one could read & write for hours without snarky looks. There was pride in the different identities of the various neighborhoods in a city divided by quadrants; a bus mall & transit system that got me out of my car for the first time in eons & there was greatness: Powell’s City of Books…nothing like it anywhere else in North America; a library system that is actually well-used and greenspace…you could be in the rainforest without ever leaving the city. it had one other thing unique to Portland: weather-phobia! Oh, yes…fear of unexpected weather. Psychology has not given it an official name and , in this case, it seems a mass phobia.

I, like most people, had many pre-conceived notions of Portland: small town, unsophisticated, place where hippies went to die and , of course, rainy. Endlessly, always rainy. I was wrong on all counts. Yes, it rains…actually more mist and drizzle than real rain and ,even then, mostly in the winter months. You see, Oregon has some mountain ranges and Portland happens to sit between two in a green belt known as the Willamette Valley. Being between two mountain ranges keeps the weather quite temperate, no extremes. Being an East Coast native..New York to be specific…I like this. Moderate, somewhat grey winters, equally reasonable and sunny summers. Rare is a snowfall or a heat wave, but watch out if there’s either. EVERYONE FREAKS OUT! ALL CHANNELS GO TO 24/7 REPETITION OF WHAT IS OBVIOUS! STORES ARE TEEMING WITH AN ANGST-RIDDEN PUBLIC FEARFUL OF BEING TRAPPED WITHOUT AMPLE……(FILL IN BLANK, DEPENDING ON SEASON).

The first year I lived here, there were mad predictions of a snow storm. Busses were parked on the mall, getting chained….I didn’t know tire chains were still made or used anywhere; people either stayed home or left work early; weather was wall-to-wall on all stations and citizens were assured that the city was prepared to throw something by way of de-icers on the roads. I drove to work. I arrived to find 1 other person, my boss.. and received a hero’s welcome. Oh, did I fail to mention that at this point it appeared like talcum powder from a clogged container sprinkling down? I thought I was going mad! Where were these rugged individualists? Where was that Oregonian can-do attitude. Apparently, clearing supermarket shelves and scurrying back to the safety of their homes. Schools and businesses closed, sometimes a whole day in advance, based on the Magic 8 Ball of weather. I laughed hysterically at this mania along with my fellow transplants from states that had real winter. Life went on, spring and then summer came…

“HEAT WAVE HEADED OUR WAY!” It blared from televisions to print media and , again, I saw the stores selling ice and water….in a city of water fountains from which to drink everywhere and decorative fountains in which anyone can play…on either side of the river. Fans, as though a new concept, were swept off store shelves; people headed in droves to any of the several rivers and lakes around us and, again, media were there to remind us to hydrate, dress accordingly and check neighbors. Coming from a place where the humidity allows everyone to enjoy a steam bath and at least one reporter will demonstrate how fast an egg can be fried on the sidewalk, I was once again astounded. Had everyone lost their minds? Not to mention that for a place as moist as Oregon in winter, it is wonderfully dry in the summer…virtually no humidity. I don’t tolerate heat well as a rule, but it has been a fact of my life always. We went to Coney Island, the Jersey shore or stayed in air-conditioned apartments and cars….and complained. Again, cheap entertainment for those of us from less temperate zones. My main issue with the heat is that I have a low threshold and I don’t actually sweat..a weird malady that leaves me to bloat like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon. Not fun!

After a cumulative 20 years here with a brief  madness of 5 years back east, I have realized that these events of winter/summer extremes…usually 2-3 days long…occur about every 4 years. Right now, we are in the midst of a 100 degree weekend and aside from my sweltering apartment…my family back east: “Don’t you people have air cnoditioning?”…and non-sweating bloat, I can take comfort in watching the mêlée around me. Oh, if I do go out, my fair skin requires SPF 1000, so I don’t have that healthy Oregon tan/burn look.

I don’t drive in the snow, can’t use chains and don’t care to mingle among the frantic. I don’t go to the rivers in the heatwaves because I’m not big on being decapitated by someone’s motor boat or drowning among the hoards of people swimming, tubing and getting caught in currents. One big thing I don’t share with many of my fellow Oregonians and that is a propensity for the outdoors-y life.

I’ll shower 20 more times today, sit in front of my fan and kvetch about the heat and wait for tomorrow, when everyone and everything returns to normal…until the possibility of a flurry six months from now and the shutting down of the city…or I move to the glorious coast, whichever comes first!

The Perspective of the Sea

Rainer Maria Rilke
Rainer Maria Rilke (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

When anxious, uneasy and bad thoughts come, I go to the sea and the sea drowns them out with its’ great wide sands, cleanses me with its’ noise and imposes a rhythm in me upon everything that is bewildered and confused.

                                                                        Rainer Maria Rilke

As time passes and life’ events ebb and  flow, I think more of what is important to me: peace, serenity, compassion for others as well as myself. To live where I feel truly most alive, where I can walk with the sand of the Earth between my toes, present and feeling my weight pushing against it. To be in time with the ebb and flow, conscious of the gifts that are most treasured: Earth Elephantsimplicity and wonder.

I want to awaken each morning and be lulled to sleep each night by the Creator‘s own remedy, the sound of the waves, rocking me gently. I appreciate the grey and foggy hours as much as I appreciate the warmth of the sun and the blue of the sky, for all are necessary to harmony. I find joy in an evening fire outdoors, warming me against the chill even as it provides the gift that affords me the evening, roasting giant marshmallows with childlike glee and sipping beverages tha warm the insides. Telling stories,sharing memories and making new ones.

My needs there are simple: a small seaside cottage for me, my love and my four-legged children. Maybe a fireplace for the nights or a porch for morning coffee and the meditation that seems to come effortlessly when gazing upon the magnificence of the white-capped waves rolling in. To know my place in a community where I can be of service and not be the anonymous face I have spent a lifetime being in the city where I grew up, the roads that I travelled across this and other lands, the farm I lived on in Canada, so isolated.Canada.

It is at the sea, the wide beaches and seagrass dunes where I find perspective,my place in the Universe. It is there in which I see the truth in the best possible way and can treasure it: that our journey here is brief and valuable; that our presence is as small as the infinitesimal grains of sand beneath our feet and that our footprint  be almost untraceable except for the impact we have upon those whom we touch now and who will feel our touch long after we’ve passed.When my time is done, I hope I will pass gently into the next See Clan MacLachan or Clan Lachlan iste for history, new castle & Clan Chiefrealm. My ashes shall be strewn , in part, on eastern shores, where they shall flow to the waiting shores of my ancestral lands and the remains in my beloved west, where they shall be one with tides of  my adopted home. My spirit….yes, my spirit…will fly free unto the next realm in the journey .
Trinity (Trimuthri)

What Would “Auntie Mame” Do? Aunt Sissy knew best….

My Aunt Sissy, the most beloved & enduring women in my life…beautiful,,independent, loving, kind, fierce, hilarious,,a survivor, an inspiration & , of course, my personal “Auntie Mame“!

Last Wednesday began with a rude awakening:  stirred from sleep by my landlord’s son shouting, “Hello? Hello?”. I stumbled sleepily into my living room, stepping over a gaming device, laptop & various dvd’s strewn across the floor. In my fog, the back of my brain noted the oddity, but I focused on the wide open front door & my landlord’s son standing there with a strange look on his face. I was abruptly brought to full consciousness by the scene….

I went to bed, my living room in the tidy chaos that is normal. Like any good former Brooklyn, NY‘er, I had locked everything up & felt the safety of not only the lock but the safety & tight-knit environment of my little Portland neighborhood (also called Brooklyn)…

Sometime, in the wee hours, we were robbed! Not only had we been robbed but it happened as we slept! I remembered my anti-social cat,Mumford, shouting in the night & me shushing him. I know my usual 4 alarms (I am not good at wake-ups) & coffee maker were set & went off at 5:45 a.m., at which time I chose to roll over & sleep in, skipping my early morning meeting. This may have been a blessing as I may have met some unsavory person(s) mid-burglary or a curse, since we did lose some valuables & the few precious funds of someone living on SSD. Who’s to say? Either way, my landlord watched me as shock set in & my mind began racing. I inanely explained to him that things were not this way when I went to bed…..as though this needed explanation. I realized that I must immediately call the police.          

An uniformed officer arrived, after what seemed an eternity, and made his report, advising me not to touch anything as the Forensics person would be following to do whatever it was they do in such cases. Clearly, I am intelligent enough to know this was not a CSI event, no one died in the incident & the case would not be solved in 1 hour. Still, I never thought I would experience an event in my life that would need Forensics. Even when my significant other died suddenly in our home, there was a flurry of activity for a couple of hours, a Coroner’s team, etc, I was too in shock to notice much & went through it robotically. It remains a blur even as the 5th anniversary approaches. But I digress….the Forensics officer arrived, dusted for fingerprints, was given information on who may have touched these items who could be ruled out. He left, advising us that we may hear from detectives in the coming days. That being done, we proceeded to clean up the mess & go about our day. It was not until evening that the reality set in.

My fiancé went to bed & I sat up, not abnormal as I am a “night-bird” & it is also in these quiet hours of night that I am most inspired to write. I planned to write, wanted to write, but the PTSD/Anxiety Disorder reared their ugly heads. I thought through every scenario & examined the facts Logic’s Public Defenders: overworked, underpaid, outgunned) : they’d came, gotten ID‘s, cash & whatever else was of lesser consequence to notice yet. Little could be done, it was over & out of our hands. The only trials at this point were the ones played out in my head…and I was the Judge, Prosecutor, Defense & Victim.

 The Prosecution ( the Anxiety D.A.’s: Ivy League, politically ambitious & win oriented) then entered with their case: the burglars saw what we had, which is not much but easily movable for sale. Perhaps, they would return, disguised & intent on harming us.They had no fear of coming in while we were in bed so what was to stop them from coming back ? I imagined awakening to shadowy figures standing over us, with us being at the disadvantage to defend ourselves.The Public Defender, as most are, was disorganized & without a good strategy.  Needless to say, argued this to the nth degree without a clear goal. I, the victim,  decided to sleep on the sofa; changed my mind, feeling I would be safer in my bed with Toby & my “kids”, Mumford & Harry. After all the arguing, I took my proper medications & retired to my bed, where I lay awake til dawn, meds not being any match for the unending arguments in my brain & the physical fear that left my body in knots. It has been that way since.

I am angry that the acts of strangers, likely drug addicts, had begun disrupting the peace & tranquillity of our little neighborhood. Prior to this, we recently have had spates of car break-ins but, to my knowledge, no home invasions, burglaries or person-on-person crime. Outraged that I am impacted so deeply by this event, my emotions roller-coaster! I recently went through an I.D. theft that is part of an international scam effecting thousands internationally. Another “never thought” moment. Interpol?Yay me! Wreaking havoc in my life for several months & causing me to have to change everything from governmental & financial information down to names/passwords on even the most inane of accounts exceeds mere inconvenience. Violation upon violation! Helplessness is the greatest sense here. Helplessness that I’ve not felt in over 40 years. Helplessness that brings up another topic that I’d planned to write about eventually, but now will be sooner than later.

Does helplessness trump my commitment to the year of FEARLESSNESS? I will not permit that! It may override it momentarily but I will not give up a commitment so vital to me to become the Agoraphobic & fear-filled person I slipped into years ago as I have struggled mightily to get this far on the road back to the adventurous, excited, loving-kindness woman I once was. In fact, I will use this to make an even better me than I was before life caught me unawares and overwhelmed that proud woman. I made decisions & choices that I thought were long overdue only to find that they were best left alone. This is not to say I did not find some blessings in them because I did…new friends, family members who’d thought I disappeared years ago & knew only black-sheep myths….but  the abuse, shame & bitter disappointment came first &  won out, proving stronger than the woman of power I believed could recognize & use all of my hard-won wisdom, healing and power to not only deflect it away from me but imbue those around me with some sense of peace & healing. WRONG!! Not only had I evolved for the better but somewhere along the way developed a sense of super-powers to change others (insert Serenity Prayer here).  Against instinct & better judgement, I stayed on. I ignored the flashing red lights, the sirens and all warnings. Rather than deflect the negativity directed at me, I absorbed it. Not only did I absorb it, I began to merit it…I became judgemental, bitchy and, worst of all, threw away more than a decade of sobriety & drug-free years….all in an effort at acceptance. It earned me not only further disdain from those who shall remain unnamed but from myself. Until I checked in to a posh treatment facility, exited to find my employer selling my division ( was the benefit of the aforementioned “posh”  facility the prep for the coming loss?) &  faced with unemployment;invested then lost all in a small business partnership &  ended up in a homeless shelter for women on a defunct military base, did my loss of self  become Priority One.

Permit me to digress once again and point out that none of this is part of the 45+ year old  trauma to which I referred. I’d yet to realize that I had my beloved extended family on the East Coast, who’d not abandoned me,as I believed, but never knew what became of me! I have since reconnected, told the stories they didn’t know & found that some bonds can never be broken. That will come soon enough…but it does tie in. Eventually, I’ve learned, all things circle around & relate to something past.

At last, the Universe smiled upon me…an investment (which I’d forgotten) check from my former employer appeared in the shelter mail. It was enough to start over there or….return to Oregon, the only other place outside of NY that ever felt like home….from Brooklyn (NY) to Brooklyn (PDX) . Portland,the place where I found  love, acceptance, my power and  been blessed with extraordinary experiences over my years there…and more to come, I’ve no doubt.  And this is where the question came in:

What would Auntie Mame do? Auntie Mame (as portrayed by Rosalind Russell) was a heroine of mine…she reminded me in some ways of my dearly beloved late Aunt Sissy and represented the kind of woman I aspired to: a flamboyant, free-thinking, open to adventure, fly in the face of convention & never give up woman. In many ways, I have succeeded. To come full circle, in the face of home invasion or anything else life throws at you: What would Auntie Mame do?  ” LIVE, LIVE, LIVE! Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!”           

A real “dame” & my partial inspiration for who I wanted to be as a woman!

   A real “dame” & my other partial inspiration for who I aspired to be as a woman!

So, I will live in my home, not giving up my power to the fear of some small little pathetic people whose only power lies in taking from others. I will return to the banquet…and when I get scared away, it will be only briefly. I will return to the banquet until I’ve had my fill….and that, I hope, will be when I draw my last breath and leave for the next plane. Oh yeah… and remember to keep laughing because if I didn’t I’d go mad! Sometime laughter may seem irreverent, out-of-place or plain crazy….it is often the sanest and only thing one can do.