Thor, God of Thunder

     I don't recall ever anticipating an event with as much excitement as I do the coming birth of my Grandson, Thor, The Magnificant.  Like "Auntie Mame," I'll show him the world, teach him to sing and dance, how to throw a ball, catch a ball, kick a ball, hit a ball, dodge a ball, and literally  "be the ball" just like Chevy Chase.

     We will be storm chasers, constellation counters, and weather predictors.  We will plant flowers and tomatoes together.  "We'll sing in the sunshine, laugh in the rain."

     He will be exactly who he is, a child of the Universe with the right to be here.  He will understand the value of  his civil rights and the meaning of true freedom.  He will be loved, adored, cherished, and treasured just as he is.  I will never change him, but I have a feeling that he, The Great Thor, will change me.

     I'm already in love.

Hemingway Cats

     Ernest Hemingway had 57 cats, of which some of the descendents roam through the trees that wink in the forest and pause at the waters' edge in the lakes' smile.  I have discovered a hybrid species of human beings living in a wonderland not created by Alice.  They look like people, but they are of superior demeanor and intellect.

     There is magic in the beauty of their skin, soft and healthy.  Some blonde, some brunette with blue eyes - gifted with courtesy and kindness that cannot be taught, but only resides in the souls of enlightened beings.

     They co-exist with wild horses and gracious clear water.  They live "outside of time and underneath thought."  They ask only that you be exactly who you are with no excuses, just truth.

     While there, I met three-year-old twin girls who speak the "Queens English" with perfect diction and the dignity of higher thought.  To entertain the beauty of these children was a lesson in true honor for me.

So, where is this land?  MONTANA!

Say Hail Mary and Go To Bed

I've not been well of late.  Possibly the flu, maybe a reaction to a recent diet attempt, could be that my stomach can no longer tolerate the amount of Advil I take to avert pain.

I've contemplated visiting a doctor, but as acquiescing to the advice of a professional is counter to my nature, I am reluctant.  I guess I have an attitue.  I believe in self-healing, or in other words, sleep cures all.  That was how we approached illness in the Madden family.  "Say a Hail Mary and go to bed."  My Mother, Mary Margaret Madden, was chronically ill, so there was no money  for Doctors for children

When I do have to go to the Doctor, I think, possibly, telepathically I transmit my attitude as the smart-ass that I am.  At any rate, I have been asked to seek medical assistance in another direction frequently.  Even my Dentist asked me to leave her practice.  In her written statement, she indicated that I was uncooperative.  I always thought it was because I referred to her hygienist as "Atilla the Hun."

So, I admit, I'm a smart-ass.  I recall one doctor in particular who seldom gave me more than five minutes of his time.  I noticed he charged my insurance company the top price of that which was covered.  So, in one of his efforts to escape, I said:  "Get your hand off that doorknob and sit back down.  I'm not finished with you yet!"

He didn't show up for the birth of either of my daughters.  Then, he referred  me to one of his associates for future care.  It has become apparent that doctors lack appreciation for my charm.

Leslie Gore in the Desert

Another interesting awareness in the desert is that inhabitants encompass a rather large population of older women with tight skin and swollen lips like Lisa Renna.  I understand that Palm Desert and Palm Springs represent the plastic surgery capitol of the world.  And, these Doctors are good!  I saw Leslie Gore, "It's My Party and I'll Cry if I want To," who is pushing 70 and she doesn't even look 45-years-old.  It was truely impressive.

I bought her CD at the concert and stood in line for an autograph, just like a nerdy teenager from 1965 so I could get a good look at her face.  I wanted to ask her the name of her plastic surgeon, but since one of her hit songs was "It's Judy's Turn to Cry,"  I decided to be more discreet.  Apparently, she doesn't like Judys.  Still, she was so much nicer than Tom Berjeron.

Tom Berjeron Doesn't Like Me

I'm back from California.  After 47 days and nights in the desert, I have come to come to some  startling realizations, like an awakening.  For example, Tom Berjeron doesn't like me.  After all my ballroom dancing lessons at Arthur Murray, you would think the Dancing With The Stars MC would recognize me.  You can't tell it from his TV attire, but the guy is built like a linebacker.  I'm not kidding, he was wearing shorts and a muscle shirt with one of those "Let's Get Physical" sweat bands around his head and his grey hair all jelled up.  Oh, and he's really short.  I'm 5'6" and he stands below me by quite a bit.

I want to tell you though, he wasn't very friendly.  You would think he would love to meet me.  He stood behind me in line at Trader Joe's  in Palm Desert.  Over the years of vacationing there, I've seen several stars and they're always filled with joy when I present myself.  So, there I was, face-to-face with Berjeron and, believe it or not, he gave me an inappropriate lok of disgust like:  "Would you stop staring at me, lady?"

I admit, I spotted him in the store early on and followed him up and down the aisles to determine if in fact it was Tom Berjeron.  It took some time because his biceps were out of  proportion.  Usually body-builders have a thick neck, but TB doesn't.   He has a pencil neck with blown-up arms.  I wonder if Hollywood sub-stars like him  get shots or body sculpting to look like that?

At any rate, all I wanted to say is:  "I'm a fan."

Letterman Salute For All Time

What would you put in a time capsule to be uncovered in 100 years?  I've given this some thought as this is an item on my bucket list.  Possibilities include:

l.  A written ode to cats and their intrinsic value to society.

2.  A Superbowl program to illustrate the twentieth century creation of a new feasting holiday.

3.  A copy of George W. Bush's Harvard report card as proof that our nation elected a President with a 2.0 grade point average.  Anything is possible in America.

4.  A Charlie Sheen bowling shirt as an explanation for Adonis DNA.

5.  A student loan bill to show how we encumber  our children with debt and then offer no jobs for them when they graduate.


6.  An X-Ray of Kim Kardasian's ass.

7.  A copy of the Baltimore Catechism  as evidence of a pre-computer era when people could and did memorize an entire book, word for word, one book for each grade, first through eighth.

8.  A written salute to David Letterman:  I wouldn't give his troubles to a "Monkey on a rock!"

9.  A Starbuck's coffee card along with a Microsoft "Surface."  Is it a coincidence that both were created in the Seattle area at around the same time?  What is the true power of caffeine?  For more information go to:  Amazon.Com.

10.  A library card to commemorate the pre-Kindle era.

More to follow, but not for  a time as I will be traveling.

What would you include in your time capsule?

Don't Say "No, No" To Me!

Today I was severely reprimanded at my Zumba class.  I admit, the rebel in me defied the rules.  I have always had difficulty with obedience.  The sign said:  "STAFF ONLY."

I was reminded of a song:  "Signs, signs, everywhere a sign - blocking out the scenery, breaking my mind.  Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?" I guess I'm just a baby-boomer, hippie from the sixties, but a sign like "Do Not Enter" is an invitation to me.

Today, I endeavored to use the staff bathroom at Curves.  With the patron facilities occupied and three needy ladies in line and facing a dance class deadline, I did the unthinkable.  Unfortunately, the franchise owner discovered my serious transgression and asked me to leave the room.  She shooed me out like a dog.

She said:  "No, No" to me as if I were  a kindergartner.  Can you imagine the nerve of someone saying "No" to me?  Apparently she doesn't recognize who I am.  I am known, in this situation, as THE CUSTOMER!  I'm always right.