Thursday, November 28, 2002

Happy Thanksgiving!

Good morning. I just wanted to wish everyone a wonderfully Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you get your fill of turkey, dressing, and anything else that makes Thanksgiving happy for you. God Bless.

Tuesday, November 26, 2002

Long Lost Treasure

It's amazing the treasures one comes across while in the process of preparing to transfer one's belongings from residence a to residence b. Last night I discovered a whole slew of poetry I had written in my late teens and early 20s. A lot of it is awful but here is one I particularly like. I remember its inception.

I was sitting in my car one evening, in traffic, on Highway 183 in Dallas, Texas. I had just turned 23 a couple of months before and I had what I guess one would call an epiphany. It was as if I stepped outside myself for the very first time and looked in on my life and upbringing through objective eyes. I think that evening was the very first time I had an “adult” moment. A moment where you really leave your childhood and all its illusions behind and you come face to face with reality. I was on automatic pilot for the rest of my drive home. As I was turning on to my street I looked up behind the traffic lights and saw the sunset behind the trees, which looked black and broken in the glare. I felt very empty and I heard the words in my head and so I entitled it

Coming of Age.

Painfully peering,
a perceptive perspective.
Rationalizing realizations,
redirecting remorse.
Baneful bourgeois baggage.
Attributable acquiescence,
acquisition, or atrophy?
Storied sustenance.
Lush and languid,
en forme de larme.
Falling down
full, firm, fallow, visage.

Monday, November 25, 2002

Moving, Moving, Moving.

I know, I have been severely lax in posting to my blog; my apologies. I have been sick with a severe sinus infection, bronchitis-type of cough, and a four-day migraine that would kick anybody’s ass, but thanks to Zithromax, and Lortab I am now feeling much better. I also want to apologize, up front, for not posting too much over the next week or two. We are moving! YEAH! Since I have been under-the-weather for the past 10 days I have been procrastinating packer extroridinaire!

Yesterday was the first day in almost two weeks where I actually felt like some semblance of my old self and as my great-grandmother used to say: I was “full o’ vim and vigor.” So, consequently, I packed. I packed a lot. And, I’ll just bet you can guess what I’m going to be doing this week… that’s right, packing because when the movers arrive first thing Saturday morning and I want to be able to simply sit back and direct their path.

Early Christmas Presents

I just have to tell you about an early Christmas present from my wonderful husband. The new town home we are renting has a small eat-in kitchen; currently I have a dining room suit that belonged to my grandmother and it has been serving as our table and flat-surface-catch-all for a while now. So, last weekend I went to a furniture outlet store looking for an additional small table to put in our new kitchen.

While there I came across gorgeous cherry-wood sleigh-bed (I’ve always wanted a sleigh bed). The style has been discontinued by the manufacturer and was deeply discounted at an almost-too-good-to-pass-up price that also included a dresser, a mirror, and two nightstands with an optional chest of drawers. So, this Saturday I drug the husband out to see if he liked it as much as I did. He didn’t. He liked it but he wasn’t crazy about it. I was crushed. I absolutely fell in love with it and being the visual person I am, I had mentally already made up the room with our comforter, pillows, curtains and accessories. We left the store with me in a funk and went to dinner; he had to be at work at 10pm so the evening was cut rather short.

Sunday morning I awoke and started packing. Phil’s relief was an hour late and he said he had some errands to run and wouldn’t be home until after noon. He came in a little after 12:40 and dropped an envelope on the kitchen counter saying “that’s for you.” I opened it and to my absolute surprise there was a Christmas card, which held the bill of sale for one cherry-wood bedroom suit! I was so surprised and excited. He had this incredible grin on his face and I just ran and jumped in his lap for a hug. He had tricked me! He really did like the bedroom suit and intended to buy it for me but wanted to make me think he didn’t like it. UGH! Why do men do that? Anyway… it worked. In spite of his little white lies I really do have a wonderful husband, one I too-often take for granted. I know we aren’t perfect and we are way too stubborn for our own good but, he loves me and he has the most generous heart.

So, some day when I figure out how to add photos to this thing and we’re all moved in I’ll post a picture of it complete with comforter, pillows and curtains!

Wednesday, November 13, 2002

My Alter Ego

Everyone has one, don’t they? Mine is always there, lurking just under the surface, threatening to destroy my sanity—and she can be very difficult keep at bay. I do let her out on occasion but by the time I reign her back in I have usually come to regret giving her any freedom at all. Give her an inch and she’ll take five miles.

Lately, I’ve been toying with the idea of identity. Who am I? What do I want out of life? What does life want out of me? Yes, I know these are age-old questions and they seem to be a theme of mine but I just can’t help but wonder.

If it’s really true our personalities are formed when we are but two-to-three years of age then how do you explain curve balls in the form of a life-altering experiences which subsequently alter our views and thus perhaps our personalities? What about old-fashioned personal growth, chemical imbalances, ADD, education, God and religion—how do you factor those in?

I can assure you I am not the same person I was just three years ago much less ten. There are subtle yet definite shifts to my way of thinking, my personality. The question of the hour is this: Am I really who I am now or am I really who I was then? How about who I am when I am depressed verses when I am not. I fear I have I become so accustomed to my present state I no longer recognize myself.

Where is my true identity found? When are we really honest with ourselves; when do we really mean what we say? What happened to the little girl with curly blond hair who had no fear of anything at all; where did she go? Is it even possible to get her back? Is she my alter ego?

One thing I have to say for her though… she always makes me feel amazing.

Here’s something that’s been swimming around in my gray matter off and on for years. It’s finally finished. Let me know what you think—good or bad.

Dysfunction In Motion

I see your form from across the room
I feel your pulse in the way you move
Our eyes connect, lightning strikes
The flame ignites, firelight

You ask my name and we play your game
Toe to toe, I stake my claim but
I know you’re one who won’t be tamed

Eye to eye I feel your breath
Caress my ear I kiss your neck
Graze my teeth a with touch of pain
For more of your pleasure to gain

I know oil and water never mix
But God, baby, with you it kicks
I don’t love you and all your flaws
But I want to fu@k you just because

Off and on you spin me round
When we stop I hit the ground
I know you’ll go eventually
Until then just let me ride, Free

I look at you, and your once-warm eyes
Colder now and paralyzed
It was then I realized

I want to see your sick side
I want to see you crawl
I want you on your back
And on my knees so tall

I want to tease you
I want to please you
‘Til you’ve everything you’re dying for

I want to tease you
I want to please you
‘Til I am everything you’re dying for

Enable me you do
As I enable you
We Are
Dysfunction in Motion

My dysfunction
My addiction
Be my habit
Be my fix

My dysfunction
My addiction
Be my life
Or you’ll be my death

© 2002 Perpetual Platitudes

Tuesday, November 12, 2002

One Bad Apple . . .

Last night while cleaning out the refrigerator—a task I abhor— I came across a bag of apples hiding out behind the mayonnaise, garlic pickles, Spanish olives, Maraschino cherries and Woodchuck cider beer.

I looked them over trying to remember when I bought them and gave them a squeeze. They seemed to be just fine, not mushy at all. I was excited to have found them because I wanted to try out a new apple recipe I saw on a cooking show this weekend. However, I then realized my husband had bought them before he left for his fishing trip. These apples have been sitting in my refrigerator since around the 20th of SEPTEMBER!

My questions are these: Are these apples still all right to cook with? How long do apples keep? Are they safe to eat raw? Do they still look/feel/smell ok because they have been injected/sprayed with preservatives? Will they make me ill if I were to eat them?

Is there anyone out there who can attest to the average life span of a pampered, refrigerated apple? Anyone?

Thursday, November 07, 2002

Better than Prozac

I have to confess I bought the new Santana CD, Shaman, last weekend and I have listened to it nonstop for four days now. I can't get enough of it, particularly The Game Of Love because I sing and that song is right in my range and perfect for my voice. The whole CD is just amazing.

I saw him in concert Easter weekend of 2002. He gave a fantastic performance. There was such a mix of people there—everyone from leftover hippies to teenagers and everything in between; I think it was testimony to his talent and appeal. I like his new stuff but I also listened to Oye Como Va and Black Magic Woman back in the day.

It’s putting me in such a good mood I want get up and dance! Damn, I need this every day.

Wednesday, November 06, 2002

Vote = Voice Of The Enthusiastic

On Election day I left early for work (6:55am) but when I arrived at the polls there was already a line and I knew I would have to postpone my voting if I wanted to make it to work on time. So the day wore on and the rain started coming down and by 4:30 it was absolutely pouring. I decided to leave a little early to get ahead start on the traffic—yeah, right. It took me an hour and fifteen minutes just to travel 20 miles.

I got out of my car and walked through three large puddles of water into the bright blue doors of the elementary school, down a hallway and into the voting area—the cafeteria. I can’t remember the last time I was in an elementary school but I have decided they all look the same. They have the same speckled hard tile floors and the same painted cinder-block walls. They have the same high ceilings made out of stuff I always thought looked like spaghetti that had been compressed and hardened. They have the same lunchroom tables with little round individual seats and “scenes of the season” artwork lining the walls.

I was suddenly in the third grade again and looking at my surroundings through the eyes of a nine-year-old and remembering the presidential election of 1980—Carter v. Reagan. I was struck by the similarities of this cafeteria and the cafeteria of 1980 in an elementary school in Hot Springs, Arkansas for there at the end of the room was the stage and they even had the same blue velvet curtains. There was a “Kid’s Vote” ballot box set up just like there had been when I was nine.

Mrs. Gill lined us up in the hallway to wait for our turn to walk up the creaky wooden steps and onto the stage where we could cast our ballot. I was anxious and fidgety in my excitement, not much different than I am today some 22 years later. My teacher had stressed secrecy and how important it was to freedom in voting, freedom to express our true opinions without fear of retribution. We were not to discuss our vote with each other.

I was wearing wine colored pinwale corduroy pants and a wine colored pinstripe shirt with a rounded white collar. My pants were new and my hands had turned magenta from the dye. I was worried the dye would rub off on the ballot—a piece of paper much like the “do you like me check yes or no” notes we used to pass in class. It had two boxes and the names Reagan and Carter next to them. I had put an X in the box next to Reagan because he was the candidate my parents had talked about the most.

As I walked up to the ballot box I became increasingly more nervous. What if they see the red dye on my paper and the red dye on my hands? Then my vote will no longer be a secret. Will I be the demise of freedom? I was a worrier even then. I folded my paper in half, then half again, again, and again until it was the size of a die. I dropped it in through the hole and moved on down and out to the playground for recess.

Later that day Mr. Holt, our principal, announced the winner to be Ronald Reagan. I sighed with relief thankful my red dye had not precluded democracy.

As I left the polls last night I couldn’t help but think how nice it would be if all of life’s issues were presented in the form of a ballot. You could simply step into a booth, press a button or two or even simply check yes or no and voila, problem solved.

Alas, life is a bit more messy than that.

Tuesday, November 05, 2002

Rain, Rain

It's nasty and cold outside.... wait make that.. it's lovely, cold and rainy outside. Yes, I am one of those that loves cold weather even if it's raining. Although, I would much prefer to be in my jeans and hiking boots while out in it than in my nice grey dress slacks and black leather wedge-heeled shoes that look great but offer no real form of protection from the puddles one must traverse.

Thus I present the weather-inspired meal meant to warm one's bones: homemade chili and grilled cheese......Campbell's--eat your heart out... Mmmm Mmmm Good!

Friday, November 01, 2002

Opposites Attract

They say opposites attract. I suppose that’s the case with my husband and me. He is an introvert. I am an extrovert. I like people and I need A LOT of external stimulation in my life. For me, the kind of stimulation I need comes in many forms. I enjoy movies, concerts, the symphony, small local plays, big theaters, shopping, going to the antique show, flea market, mall, taking a class, joining a club, going to a bar to listen to a band, going to a party, hosting or throwing a party and numerous other activities as well.

In my downtime I like to read, create new recipes and try them out, read, watch TV, read, design, read, play in Photoshop, read, write, read and occasionally write some more—but that’s what days are for. However, on the weekends, I like to go out at night. Daytime can be downtime but nighttime, in my opinion, is “out” time besides, anything you can do during the day is just about twice as fun at night.

On the other hand, my perception of what my husband, Phil, likes to do is this: stay in. We go ‘round and ‘round about this all the time. He thinks that because I got such a late start “experiencing” life that I am, just now, wanting to do take it all in. That’s just not true. See, the years I was single I spent wanting someone to share all these experiences with and now that I am married I am with someone who seemingly has no interest in sharing any of this with me. What do we do?

I am a thinker. I like to take things apart in my brain and then put them back together again but that means I am also an extreme over-analyzer and forecast far into the future. Phil says I need something to relax a little but I can’t help it. Here’s how my mind works:


I want to go out tonight, he wants to stay in.

I “always” want to go out, he “always” wants to stay in.

Why can’t we compromise and go out half the time and the other half stay in?

Now, for the rest of my life I am going to have to either stay in or go out by myself or with other friends.

I am married to someone with whom I will never be able to share these wonderful experiences.

I am going to be alone for the rest of my life and I am being penalized because I am an extrovert.

Why do I have to change being an extrovert just because he doesn’t want to go out?

We have nothing in common.

We don’t like any of the same things.

We will be one of those couples who never spend time together.

We will both be miserable wishing the other one would “go out” or “stay in”

I am stressed; we are doomed.


Now sometimes the ability to see that far down the road is helpful. However, it’s not always helpful. I’m not trying to be dramatic it’s just the way my brain works. It takes a subject and sometimes drags it out to a logical conclusion and other times it drags it out to an illogical conclusion. Phil says that’s why I get migraines.

It’s just that I am frustrated and I know he is too. You see, the problem with all of this is love. We love each other dearly and wouldn’t hurt the other one for anything but it seems that because of our personality conflicts we do end up hurting the other one. I am just scared we will hurt each other one too many times and the damage will not be repairable.