Art In Hand

If I were male, I'd tat my hands and forearms in similar fashion.

These, to me,  are warrior hands. These hands tell a story.
The writer in me conjures images of what this warrior might look like.  His accent and timbre, words he crafts to argue a point or seduce a woman or blackmail  enemies. 
The lands he has traveled to, their divergent customs, smells, sounds, sights.  Battles he has won and battles he has lost. 
What cause he would willingly die defending.  Who he would willingly die protecting.

I must apologize for having lost the thread as to where I found this photo and who deserves credit for it.

See Here...

Yeah, yeah. I've been gone.  A lonnnnnnng time.  I've had things to do, places to go, people to see.  Which brings me to the subject of my Hey, I'm back first post in three months...

I remember very clearly the day I discovered my need for eye glasses.
My dad was stationed at Fort Ord in Monterey, California.  The U.S. Army Post is now closed but at that time it was a pretty choice assignment.  Our quarters sat on a hill with an amazing view of the Pacific Ocean.  The climate being fairly temperate, we kids stayed outside until dusk most days.  We played hide-n-seek in the oak tree stands behind the houses, built forts & go karts (no, you cannot just nail the wheels on! jeez.) , captured blue-bellied lizards, put on plays, sold lemonade, and continually had poison oak.
One day while waiting for my friends, I grabbed my mom's glasses and put them on for kicks.
 Whoa. Wait. What the heck? Those are what leaves on a tree actually look like?  Damn. 
I didn't say damn.  I don't think.  Knowing me, I probably said something a lot worse.

When I informed my mom of my amazing discovery I was hustled off to the optometrist and fitted with a pair of adorable (not) cat eye glasses.  blech
And I've been visually challenged ever since.  The glasses were replaced with contact lenses at one point but I've always had to rely on assistance of some sort in order to see.
Over the last two years the challenge has become more like a WWWF Smack Down with me pinned on the mat.
Not only did my vision deteriorate from a minus 7 to a minus 11.5 over the last two years, I had to have strabismus surgery.  Yeah.  Those pesky muscles that keep your eyeballs situated in a face forward position grew lazy and decided to wander around wherever the heck they felt like.
And now...gee whiz.  What do you mean you can't correct me to 20/20?  What the hell, uh sorry, heck does not wearing sunglasses have to do with cataracts?  I'm not that freaking old yet!  Well.  Hell.  Oh shush it.  I'm upset here.

Next stop...Tyrell Corporation.
"You Nexus, huh? I design your eyes."  (Blade Runner)

Can I get me some new eyes?

That New Fangled Music Machine

My dad is 82.  He's always been quite hip and knowledgeable.  He stays on top of trends. He dresses a hell of a lot better than many men half his age who insist on wearing...never mind.  That's just going to get me all hot and bothered and off on a tangent.
He watches the news incessantly (really, he does) so I never have to.  I hate the news.  I just call dad and ask him for the Cliff's notes version of what's going on in the world.

He knows the best car to buy, the most reliable kitchen appliance, how to turn off the gas in case of earthquake, what to do if a power line falls across your car, stuff like that.  Well, he's not all that handy with fix-it type things.  He reversed the hot and cold water spigot in the spare bathroom, but who ever uses that anyway?  And if it can be secured with duct tape then go for it.

And then we found out that dad had cancer.  Oh, hey...it's all good here.  Happy ending and all that.  But, the chemo and radiation and surgery sure did a number on him.  He hasn't quite returned to his old self yet.  It's hard to see my dad forget what was just explained to him earlier that day. He gets frustrated.  We understand and try to console him. Words of caution...don't do that.

One final round of chemo to go!  This time, he gets to sit in a recliner with an IV in his arm for three hours.  Boring.  I picked him up after his first session.

Dad, what is that you're carrying?
My cassette player.
Uh, really...
Yeah, the nurses made fun of me, too.  They said I should get an I-Hop.
You mean i-Pod.
One of those.  What is that anyway?
Kind of like a cassette player but you don't have to insert tapes or anything.
Well, how the hell do you listen to music?  Is it a radio?
No, you download music.
You lost me.
I have an i-Pod, I'll set you up. We can go onto i-Tunes and buy you whatever you want, download it into the i-Pod and you'll be all set.
I don't get it.
You don't have to.  I'll take care of it.

So, we picked out Big Bands music, Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin.  I downloaded only his music, set it all up easy like so he wouldn't have to fuss.  Told him that the nurses would help him get it going if he forgot.

So, how did you like the i-Pod?
Great!  The nurses liked it too.  They wanted to know why I chose a pink one.
LOL
I told them it was my favorite color!

And It Just Continues...

That feeling of being pulled apart chunk by chunk like a loaf of monkey bread?  Yeah, still happening.

Pretty soon the only remaining evidence of me will be the empty cake plate strewn with sticky crumbs.  That cake plate has been around since I was in first grade, by the way.  It has a cowgirl on it, decked out in a short fringed skirt, tight checkered button down shirt and cowgirl boots.  She's poised in that  Wonder Woman stance but she's got a lasso in her right hand.  I think my dad bought it for my mom.  Wishful thinking on his part, and not for cake, is my guess.  I don't know how that all turned out but the plate is still around so...   

And the weather has continued to be an unruly toddler, bugging the shit out of me.   I'd send it to the corner for a time out if possible.  But the next best thing I could think of was to escape the city of Angels.  Ha!  I'll just go up to San Francisco where no one ever expects anything remotely predictable or decent as far as weather is concerned.  No expectations = no disappointment, right?

I booked my flight two weeks ago in order to take advantage of the Get Away bargains.  It stumps me that airlines offer this ridiculous lock-em-in discount.  I mean, I'd be much more apt to fly spur of the moment and much more often if the fare was truly a Get Away price all the time.  Hey! I feel like eating at that noodle place out in the avenues tonight.  Let's hop a flight and be back by midnight.   Oh well.  That's another discussion.

Where was I?  Ah, I was talking about how the weather in California is conspiring to screw me over.  Forecast for San Francisco this weekend...possible snow.   SNOW, people.   SNOW.

It's Got To Be The Weather

The greater Los Angeles area is predictable when it comes to weather.  Summers...hotter than hell.  Winters...who knows?  It's like that every year. 

This winter has been one big fat mess of crazy.  Last week (was it last week or the week before?)  was sunny, clear, warm.  Everyone traipsed around in sandals, shorts and t-shirts, convinced we were finito with winter.  We'd lost our minds and forgotten that it was still February. We are completely disconnected from places buried up to their eyeballs in snow and we think tornados only happen in movies.  You see, California is the sole existing state in this country.  If a Californian ventures across state lines we think we need a passport and immunizations.

But this week it all went bottoms up.  topsy turvy.  Arctic air bullied its way into LA like some rogue gang hell bent on destruction and domination.  We were offended.  How dare this happen?  And then it rained.  WTH?  Cold and rain?  We don't do well with a one two punch. 

Which is probably why I've been in a funky mood.  I'm feeling very put upon by the world in general.  Everyone wants a piece of me and I'm done with that crap.  I should be flattered, really, that my friends and family think so highly of me to need me so much.  But I'm not flattered.  I'm being a big baby about it. 

I'm sure when the sun returns all will be well in my world.

Zoe Has Left The Nest

*Sigh*   Months ago I coerced my niece Zoe, an honest to goodness "Young Adult",  to join me here and talk about YA books.  This was her first experience at blogging and talking to the blog-o-sphere about the books she had most recently read. 

In the beginning she was nervous.  What should I write, Auntie Deb?  How about you just ask me questions and I answer them?  So cute.  I gave her some guidelines, she followed them to the letter.  Good start.  Then I prodded her to allow her own style to take over and write the way she would talk to her friends.  She took the cue. 

And then, she took off!  Forget about "reviewing" books.  She and her friend, Megan, began writing their own book.  They started posting chapters on the blog!  They've decided that they are going to earn college tuition with the sale of this book.  :)

 I am sooooo  proud of Zoe and Megan!  Their story is great, they have created some fantastic characters, amazing dialogue, gripping suspense.  And throughout it all they haven't worried about what anyone thinks.  And that is the key.  Write what compels you to write.  You will most certainly do a good job of it.

And now that Zoe has some experience under her belt and is quite capable of taking charge of her blog all on her own, I've set her free.  It's a sad day for me but it has to be done...they all fly the coop at some point. 

Shadow Demons by Zoe (and Megan) can be found in installments on Zoe's blog....www.zoetalksya.blogspot.com
Please check it out, follow the blog, lend your support.

Oh, and I hear Zoe's blog is being bookmarked in her high school library/English classes for other students to use as an example of projects to do in lieu of essays.  Right on!

Happy Birthday Gift To Me

It's my birthday.  It's a big one. 

I thought about getting a tattoo.  For years.  It's just that I've never seen a design that spoke loud enough.  Significance is key with body art of a permanent nature.  I'm pretty sure I know the design I want now.  Just need to find it to "fit".  And to hell with those tats that are hidden.  Why get one if you can't see it?  At least that's my opinion.  Placement for this one...inside of the left forearm. 

Erin has an amazing tattoo artist who has done a few for her.  Most notably, the replication of her partner's  LAPD badge on the back of her hand.  ouch

My only question...what would Nyssa do?