True

I haven't written a blog in three months. Three. Months. I've had things to write about. I just didn't. I stopped myself. I kept all that stuff locked inside my noggin and now it is lost, crammed, rattling about with all my other ideas, plans and fears that lay the ground for anything I might write. Or not.

Still, something got me pondering as I was driving yesterday (and it was a scrumptious day) windows down, new fave radio station 103.1 The Wave playing excellent 80's songs one after the other. I was taking the scenic route home, getting as much leaf peeping in as possible when Spandau Ballet "True" https://youtu.be/AR8D2yqgQ1U comes on. 

The line "This is the sound of my soul" hit me.  It never really weighed that much when I first heard it all those lifetimes ago. The song was more about Molly Ringwald and Sixteen Candles to me. That moment in time.  All those pop culture references.  A good baseline for everything 80's. But right then, with the breeze and the leaves and that line "this is the sound of my soul" I wanted to know what the sound of my soul was.

I knew immediately what Todd and Dad would say, they would say the sound of my soul was a fart. Then I wanted to know what my friend's souls sounded like.  Was it the ocean? Their children's laughter? The Main Street Electrical Parade?  Beethoven's Violin Concerto in D Major? Rain?

Then I needed to decide why this even mattered to me and what in the world my soul would sound like and if I even had one. Or wanted one.

Then I walked in my door and I saw my Bunny Boys.  Then I heard them chomping their hay.  And I knew. The sound of a soul, any soul, is what gives you peace. Listening to my guys chew on fresh hay is that sound.

I had a ten pound box of hay delivered today.  All is right with the world.

Half Baked

I talk to the television.  Not like my Dad does, he gets riled up at the news and commercials.  Okay, I would scream profanities at the Arby's ads if I allowed them to play, but DVRs are a wonderful thing.  No, my talking to the television is more along the lines with plot and character development.

I hold my hands up in mock despair when a character does something that has either nothing to do with their beliefs and original story line or there is an action that completely contradicts their core. I end up saying "well that was stupid" a lot.  Or, "why was that even necessary?" 

This talking to myself (or muttering) continued into daily actual for realsies out-of-doors life while I was shopping last week.  I was trying to pick out the best hot dog buns.  I don't buy hot dog buns on the regular.  I splurged and bought some fancy vegan kielbasa (bring it on Jeff) so I needed some buns.  As I stood there, weighing the cons of this brand and reading the ingredients of this other, I heard myself, chittering away.  Then I noticed the bread-man stocking shelves.

Me - "So, lucky you.  You got to hear my one way conversation with my crazy self."

Bread-Man - "You should hear me.  We drive ourselves crazy in order to stop ourselves from going crazy."

*Side note.  With the heat being so overbearing I have been opining about changing the expression of "The Best Thing Since Sliced Bread" to "The Best Thing Since Air-Conditioning" because I mean in the history of things I would think we as a human race could survive with having to slice our own bread.  I'm team Air-Conditioner.  Except for my Bread-Man.  He's the best thing to happen to sliced bread and rationalizations.

I Have An App For That

I have run out of space for more CDs and DVDs/BluRays and in trying to imagine moving things around on my bookshelves, maybe packing away some books, my Mom made a comparison; not buying anymore appliances for her kitchen due to her limited space.  Solution: don't bring anymore CDs and DVDs into my home.

My mother equated movies and music with kitchen appliances.

Before anyone brings up the cloud and Itunes let me stop you right there. I don't play that. I am a child of the 70's and 80's. I have LPs, 45s, cassettes and CDs. I need to see, smell and touch my music as well as listen to it. Pandora is a great little plaything before I get it for realsies. When I was amongst the land of the working I was an assistant manager at Pegasus Music and Video. Music and Video. I basically worked for trade. Of course I was young, living with my parents, time and money was different. Money does of course keep me from amassing the collection I desire now, but isn't that the same for everyone?

What is really stiffing the growth is lack of space. Is this age? The soundtrack of my life is stacking up, up and up. Would I need a mansion to house every song that pinpointed each landmark? Every note, every quiver.

Music can be seen as frivolous and possibly unnecessary to existence. That thinking would be wrong. It is a life source, much like food.

My Mother didn't realize what she said, but I heard this; Music and Film bring joy to life, joy increases sense of purpose which is a main function of being alive.

Solution: I'll be making more space for the appliance of joy. 

 

 

 

 

And Many More

I always loved how on the calendar it goes Pot Day, My Day, Earth Day.  My being born day is sammiched in between two pretty hippie dippie movements.  Of course I don't hold complete stake on one day, neither does any one movement, thing or person.  I have friends born on Christmas Day and a cousin that dared to be born on my Grandma Hollister's birthday.  My uncle Cliff was born on Earth day.  Aforementioned cousin's husband plus the Queen of England and I share a birthday.  Friends have had loved ones die on their birthday.  My Aunt's Mom was born on 9/11 and on and on it goes.


We moan about aging, wrinkles and not looking twenty anymore.  I do it.  I feel age settling into me.  Birthdays are precious commodities.  Having one is the best gift.

How Tube

I've fallen into a YouTube hole today. Tutorials and How To's galore. One after the other. It does not end. How to braid; waterfalls and dutch and lace and holy crap my arms ache watching them all. Medium length and LOBs vs long with extensions for volume. But I found the best hair tutorial ever. 3 Hairstyles for Dirty Hair. Dorkiest derpiest girl ever. Love her till the end of cyber time.

Spoils

Today has to be double blog day because last night I opted to go out to dinner with Siss and then have a Voice marathon instead of write anything. It's all good. No worries. (For those of you pacing the floor over my DVR habits) I'm caught up, ready for the Live shows. Pretty sure Team XTina has it covered. I won't have to worry about having anything spoiled with major spoilers like I did with Star Wars and Adam Driver on The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. I waited far too long to see Star Wars in the theatre (rush of the holidays, broke after holiday, want of a companion, Sundance and on and on) and knowing that it is out to rent soon I figured I could enjoy it at home. Then, as I carelessly chose to watch this interview, all of a sudden Stephen asks Adam how it feels when little kids come up to him and say "You killed blah blah blah." I'm not a total jerkface so I won't say it here. Not that Colbert is a total jerkface. But, assuming EVERYONE has seen the film wasn't the smartest move ever. Neither was my choice to watch an Adam Driver interview before I saw the film. So, my jerkface percentage to the sum total of the Star Wars Spoiler Equation is pretty high.

Speaking of spoiled I encountered a child having a full on rolling on the ground kicking his feet screaming so hard until he was coughing tantrum. Not quite sure if this a true definition of spoiled, but it happened because his brother got the mail and he didn't. I was on my way to the mailbox and I see him. No, I hear him first. He is on his knees and wailing while another boy is trying to comfort him. The comfort boy comes running to me and says "The mail man came." I answer in the affirmative and see that another young boy (presumably the brother) is getting the mail and just as I see him close the mailbox little wailing boy jumps up and sprints over to the brother with the mail and tries to tackle him. Of course all wailing boy ends up with is another wailing session, this time only closer to the mailbox.

Suppose, I could have given him my mail before he ran off. It was a ShopKo add and the coupon flyer that I use for under the bunnies' cages. It wasn't what he wanted but it was something.

Shelved

Today's entry will be brief and potentially rife with spelling and typing errors as I am doped. The reason for said doping will be expounded upon later in the new up and coming blog, hot off the interwebs (fanfare and spirit fingers galore tada) loosestgirlintown.wordpress.com For now I am groggy, surly and punchy. The three least liked dwarfs. Still, here's a moment I enjoyed from earlier today.

As I left my apartment and walked down the steps I saw the face of Diana, a young girl that used to live here but moved away I'd say over two years ago. Some of you might know her as the young girl that sold old books to me with her friends. We chatted for a few seconds and then suddenly a young girl comes over, around six years old and squeals right into my face "WHO ARE YOU? YOU HER TEACHER?" Diana and I start to giggle and I say no, introduce myself and then I go back to talking to Diana about her moving back here. Little girl with plastic Cinderella shoes squeals again "HEY! WHO ARE YOU? HOW OLD ARE YOU? YOU HER TEACHER?" I say "Well, in a couple of weeks I am going to be 45." Diana leans back and goes "Daaannnnng." I manage to not spit laugh all over her face and then say "Again, my name is Heidi and I am not her teacher and you demonstrated very clearly how much you don't listen."

As my Mom and I were driving away Diana was playing tag around the cars and she waved to me. She hollered "See you later Heidi." I still have her books on my bookshelf.

I Am Batman

I'm cleaning up bunny mess, Pickle mess in particular as he has been exceptionally naughty in the "peeing outside the litter box and making extra extra mess with hay" department of his cage the last few nights. He of course sees none of this as a problem and waits for me to fill his hay and stop mucking about with his perfectly arranged home. I put on pants, then shoes, then take the full garbage out to the dumpster. Our Complex has a little park area and it is full of kids and Moms and other neighbors talking and laughing. I joke around with my closest neighbor about actually being outside with everyone (I stay away from my neighbors mostly) and I wave at the sky saying "Hello Sunshine!"

As I turn to go back to Pickle and his return to mess-making, I bump into two little boys. The youngest almost runs smack into me. He is wearing a Batman shirt and a cap, all the while sucking on a bright green sucker and carrying a giant brown stuffed toy bunny. I say "HEY! Nice Rabbit!" He turns his head up, highly skeptical and points his sucker at me "Who you?" "Oh, I'm Heidi. Who are you guys?" His big brother answers for him but I didn't understand it so I repeated what I thought I heard back to the youngest "Did he say Kevin?" Brother. "No,Heaven. His name is Heaven." In a flash I imagine how many times in this kids life that is going to happen and probably has. "Did you say Kevin, Oh Heaven." Blank stare. Shakes hand. More blank stares. I then say "Nice Batman shirt too. I'll see you later Heaven." Heaven looks down at his shirt like he either forgot he was wearing it or had to do a second take because Batman is that cool. They both scamper over to the playground.

It's official. Heaven is real. He lives in my apartment complex and he loves Candy, Batman and Bunnies.

"Words are the Voice of the Heart" Confucius

This is not an April Fool's post however (that's a fancy but) I do feel foolish. I had a goal this year to blog/blop more and I simply have failed at it. I stop myself. I talk myself out of each post saying it either isn't worth the effort, it is redundant, it is tired and played and I am sick of myself and/or no one, not even me wants to hear it. Simply, I don't trust my voice and I need to get it back. I need to remember that I do this to heal and help myself and possibly a few that choose to read along. I could talk so much about Ehlers-Danlos that I could start another blog solely for that purpose. Suppose I could do the same for Bunnies and animal welfare/vegan causes. Maybe one for fart jokes.

Everyone wants approval. No matter how much they profess otherwise, they want it. Resistance will happen and ultimately the strongest resistance is inside yourself. I get tired of disapproving of myself. Yet it happens. I want and need to share these discoveries about the big and the mundane not just for me (and that is how it all starts) so possibly a reader might get an insight as well.

So for the month of April, my Birthday month, I am giving myself the challenge/gift of using my voice. To blog everyday. No matter how silly or deep or happy or sad, it will be me finding out what I have to say.

Thank you Heidi.

Pick A Lane

Dad was telling me a story about this girl on the freeway today. How she was behind him in the fast lane and she started texting. Then this...

Dad - She swerved all the way out of our lane into the SUV lane, or the SVU lane, what is it called?

Me - The HOV lane. (I'm laughing pretty hard by now.)

Dad - (recovering) When I drive in it, it is the SUV lane because I drive a SUV. Get it?

Me - Maybe it should be called the STFU lane then.

Both my parents look at me like I'm talking in Klingon.

They both ask what it means. I explain.

My Dad does the most wonderful belly laugh.

Sometimes It Lasts

Went to see "An Inspector Calls" at Pioneer Theatre and then Del Taco on 4th with Jeanette this afternoon. The play and company were superb. Also, the overhead music at that Del Taco was an awesome High School time warp.

Dropped by for a visit and finally delivered two years worth of Christmas presents at Kalee's. Grease is the word. So is Adele.

Speaking of Adele, I have been keeping her Live In New York special on my DVR. Unwatched. If I didn't watch it then I had something to look forward to. Well, now it is no longer unwatched. It IS still on my DVR.

I'm full. Today was full of activities, friends and now memories. Looking forward and looking back. There are worse things I could do.

When We Were Young

Watching the Grammy Awards right now, I'm thrown back in time to when I was about ten and we as a family were watching The American Music Awards and my parents sat there in a daze not knowing any of the musicians or songs. I teased them for being so old and out of touch. "How can you not know this song? It is the BEST!"

As I sit here watching these new batch of musicians, I find all I'm thinking is "Oh, I know that guy. When is this over? Who was that? That was a lot of glitter Taylor, I mean come on. When does Adele sing? What's the median age in the first two rows? If I see one more fur coat I'm going to spit. Don't these girls know they have to walk in their dresses? When does Adele sing? I like Adele's haircut. Lionel Ritchie, now we are talking!"

I'm an out of touch fuddy duddy.

There Is Love

Stephie would be 43 today. We would be groaning about crows-feet and gray hairs. Stretch marks, muffin tops and bifocals. But WE are not. WE are not giggling about the loud talkers in the movie theatre, or all the farts that will be in the movie itself. She will not be having Teriyaki ANYTHING in any form she can get it. WE will not be sending proof of life selfies at the end of the evening to confirm we made it home safely. I will have to imagine and pretend that we did, and could have. Because I'm here. Still smiling, when I think of her. Sometimes bitter-sweetly. I have fun, and love and laugh and smile and hug and kiss and dream with all my might. For her. For me. For us.

Today, would have also been the birthday for another beautiful member of my cousin Jet's family. Our Family. But sadly that was not to be. Sometimes, words don't fill the gap. Just knowing how much we love.

As the old superstition goes, if you say "Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit" on the first day of the month it will bring you luck.

Rabbit, Rabbit, Rabbit.

Stephie, Stephie, Stephie.

Family, Family, Family.

Tea Time With Babs

The Moms came over and we tag teamed my Christmas Decorations. Now, my apartment is back to boring, excepting the spaces where Christmas used to be are all ludely naked and the dust outlining their absence is not so quietly nagging me.

Both bunnies were miffed about the disturbance. Pickle refused to eat until my Mom left. Peanut is now inspecting every surface my Mom touched and clearly showing his disappointment.

We also went through cookbooks and blocked out a menu. I'm going to try at least one new recipe each month, not only just pull ingredients from my cupboards and fridge to say víola.

There was also tea.

Healthy Screening

I had a message today from some sort of digestive health survey something or other asking if I had diarrhea, and if so please call them so they could give me $125 and take my blood and stool samples.

You know, cuz I loooooove to give out samples of my stool. For shits and giggles.

I'm imagining being the fella that leaves all those messages all day long. What does he say when people ask how his day went? New Year, same old shit.

Outside

Hello. It's me. Long time no blog. I haven't ventured out here for nearly two months. I actually feel ashamed, which kept me away longer. I had things to say and things to share but didn't. I have many things swirling around this head of mine. Constantly. Point of matter is I am never not writing. Reading a book, I'm writing. Watching a movie, I'm writing. Cooking, cleaning, talking, spanning social media and spaced out... writing. When I lie my head down on my huge stack of pillows at night (whom am I kidding, in the early morning) I am writing. Always. My head is loaded with people, characters and conversations. I close my eyes and scrawl on my endless manuscript.

Now, the challenge. Getting the inside outside.