Magic and Loss...

R.I.P Lou Reed.  I have to admit to being a late comer to his music.   Growing up in northern Michigan with one f.m. radio station, severely limited my exposure.  Later on his distinctive voice and style made it easy to recognize his music.  I actually read more about his life in bits and pieces as much as listening to him.  I have always been curious about 'all things New York' (plan to visit the city soon!) and Lou's face and style seem to typify that feeling.  He was cooler than cool.  I am surprised that he lived as long as he did given his crazy lifestyle-and surviving a liver transplant.

 

So how is it that at my age, with relative good health, am I such a wuss?  Saturday night, dressed up in skunk costume and my comrade trussed up in her peacock outfit, hit a friends annual Halloween bash.  Never disappointed, the party had many characters, wonderful food, and the most awesome decorations ever.  The 'punch' was flowing and a good time was had by all. 

 

Why, then, at 12:30 am I hedging for the door?  Yawning even.  Now this is getting ridiculous.  We had plans for an early tailgating party before the Lions game on Sunday, and I knew I would be dragging ass if I didn't get some sleep.  Soon.   So like a skunky Cinderella, I hauled my cookies home to go to bed.  Lame, I know, but I just can't seem to cut it anymore!

 

 Sunday morning came too soon, and I groaned as I got up and got into gear for the next round of festivities.  The invite only party found me charging to the bar for a quick screwdriver in hopes of a wake up and attitude adjustment.  The nice chef made my omelet custom ordered and to perfection.  More screwdrivers came next.  Me and my gang trudged down to Ford Field with anticipation and hope.  Anticipation of a long game and hope that we could cut out early. 

 

With one minute left on the clock, us chickie's persuaded the guys to leave (finally!) early.  And don't you just know it, our team pulled off whatever they needed to do to come from behind and win the game.  I was too tired to barely care.  I was exhausted and the couch was calling my name.

 

Late night and early mornings just don't work for me anymore.  I have seriously fell into the routine of a Florida retiree-party time starts and four and ends at 10, not the other way around!!

 

So much for my 'Walk on the Wild Side'.   xo

 

 

Escapade...

This past week I was lucky enough to experience a visit to a place I've always been curious about.  Everywhere I vacation, I seem to leave a piece of my heart-and this trip was no different.  Cape Hatteras National Seashore has always held intrigue for me.  I have always been attracted to the ocean, particularly it's shoreline.  It's a place sort of like my precious Keys, but sort of not.  Incredible beauty, fresh seafood, world class fishing and a laid back attitude are the commonalities in the two places.  The biggest difference is the beaches. The Keys are built on coral islands with very little actual beach.  But,  holy crow, the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen were outside my door.  Miles and miles of wide, white sand beaches.  I spent hours strolling, picking shells, petting dogs and talking with other beach freaks.  It was a blast to see the shore fisherman with their totally rigged vehicles and they were happy to share their techniques with me.  I was advised where to find the most sand dollars and sea glass.  The slow, lazy pace is totally how I roll and I can't help but love the southern manners and drawl.  In fact, a few more days there and I would have picked up a little accent of my own.

 

  As I re-enter normalcy, washing the sand from my clothes,  I can't help but daydream about that gorgeous place.  Lola, who I usually never leave, is sprung from the boarding kennel and is not too much worse for the wear.  She's crabby, but I'm sure she will forgive me in time. If you ever get the hankerin' to hang out in simply one of the most beautiful shores ever, than do not hesitate to visit Cape Hatteras, it's lovely ocean beaches are waiting.

 

Enjoy your week and thanks for indulging my little travelogue.  I am grateful for you and all the beautiful aspects of my life.  xo   P.S. forgive my lack of paragraphs today, (Mark!), blogger is not co-operating!

 

 

Only the Good Die Young...

My friend of 40 years is gone.  Warren passed away suddenly and has left us all with the huge task of moving on in a world without him.  We are from the same small town and our relationship was rich with common friends and old stories.  The hole in my heart is large and very jagged, and he pops up in my thoughts constantly.  I hope by writing this, I can get on with some healing.

Warren was a one of a kind-a free spirit in every way-living life on his terms.  Warren took chances and did things that most of us just dream about.  He rode his motorcycle with the wind in his hair and was never afraid to explore new places and meet new people.  And once you met him, you would never forget him.  His blue eyes and slow smile lit up every room he ever walked into.  You had to lean in to hear his soft voice, but it was always worth it.  An old soul and a modern day hippie, Warren was famous for saying, "right on". 

You could count on him for anything-just ask my brother, his long time best friend.  He was a man of simple needs and great talent.  He could build a house from the bottom up and everything in between.  He was known for his hugs-he'd bend down and I would get on tiptoe to make up the difference in our heights.  Warren used to say that he was 'freakishly tall'.  And he was!  Back in the day, he could talk me into dancing non stop for hours. 

  He was a founding member of our annual "Sloth, Indulgence and Debauchery Tour" for the past 12 years while on vacation in the Keys.  Memories of our antics will have to sustain us this year, as we somehow carry on without him.  He could crack my back better than any chiro ever has!!  Warren was a lover of all things in nature.  As kids we hung out at the beach,  picked wild strawberries and mushrooms, and snuck alcohol.  Warren was an amazing chef and could whip up the best pancakes and shrimp fettuccine alfredo ever.  He cooked simply and with love, and when he cooked, I would gladly clean up. He spoiled us all with his yummy delights.

He knew the words to every song you can imagine.  I'll never again hear the song, 'Cripple Creek' without remembering me and Warren, half tuned up, belting it out.  It was one of the many little traditions we had that made our friendship special.

  I'll look for him around every corner of Key West and smile as He lives on in the stars and warm breeze.   I'll toast his memory with love.

Till we meet again, good friend.  Right on.   xo

Ghostbusters...

On M25, in the thumb of Michigan lies the tiny burg of Forester.  Not much to see as you pass thru except The Forester Inn, The Forestore and the cemetery.  This small, but once large lumbering community is home to a local legend.  Founded in fact, in involves the suicide of a young local girl. 

In 1876, 16 year old local girl, Minnie Quay fell in love with a sailor that docked at the pier in Forester.  Known as a bit of a wild child, Minnie clandestinely met with her boyfriend, until her parents resorted to locking her in her room when his boat brought supplies to town.  Legend has it that her sailor's boat took to a stormy lake one night when Minnie was on lock down.  She never got to say goodbye.  The boat was tossed around in high waves and wind and finally capsized.  The whole crew drowned.  5 months later while babysitting her brother, Minnie, dressed in a white nightgown, walked down to the pier.  She waved at neighbors, and much to their horror, threw herself into the icy waters of Lake Huron. 

The local, as well as the national legend is that Minnie's ghost is heard calling her lover while strolling the shoreline.  Many have reported seeing her image doing such a thing and some have seen her actually in the water.  She is said to be looking for women to enlist in her search. 

Minnie has also been sighted around her grave where people constantly leave money and gifts on her headstone.  The old Quay home has been known to have the usual haunting.  An original Quay family member has indicated that lamps swing, rockers rock and things randomly move at Minnie's will.  The shoreline pier, the house, and the grave site are sought out by curiosity seekers and her story was recently featured on "The Dead Files."

My search also revealed that Minnie has a Facebook page, a song written about her that is complete with a video, a poem and more recently a book.

Whether it's true or just a thumbtastic legend, the story brings notoriety to Forester and makes wonderful campfire story fodder.

Do you have any ghost stories or experiences in the paranormal?  Do tell-I'm dyin' to know! 

Happy fall, my dears. xo

Om Shanti...

Greetings of peace.  To get into a meaningful explanation of my interest's deep, mystical meaning would probably bore you even more than I usually do.  I will try to keep it simple.

 I happened across a crossword clue that asked for the answer to 'meditation in motion'.  Yoga.  Of course.  Years of high impact aerobics, competitive gymnastics, and even (gasp!) running, put this old hippy bod searching for a different way to move.   After experiencing many teachers, styles and theories, I found Tim-- as if he was lost!! We share a mutual passion for the ancient practice and have spent many long hours at Borders and Caribou Coffee studying and discussing all it's aspects.  He is pictured on the right with myself and uberyogi Bryan Kest at a recent seminar.

Tim has taught me the meaning of the word "equanimity." We have delved deeply into sutras and chakras, inspiring me to identify with and have the second chakra tattooed on my back. (see post  'Tattoo You' dated 09/01/08 for details!) It symbolizes the very essence of me. Yoga is over 5,000 years old, and is a very self enlightening practice that teaches inner peace thru non competitiveness. Basic principles are much like the "golden rule".  The physical benefits are immeasureable--suffice it to say--the entire body, all of it's systems, muscles and even organs are stimulated and opened up. Kinda like an inside out massage.

 It is also quite sensual--it just plain feels good. Living in the moment without regret or anticipation helps me to enjoy the simple things. Cheesy, but true. Yoga teaches calmness in the face of adversary and pain, as well as non judgement of self and others. Meditation simply helps me get right.

 Do yourself a favor, and give some time to allow some of these aspects into your life--you won't be sorry.

The divine spirit in me honors the divine spirit in you.  Namaste..  P.S. Shout out to my ever fabulous yogi, Tim. I don't think I've ever thanked you for the changes you have spurred in my life. Keep it up, Babe, the world needs you. Check out Tim's blog at iamtimclark@blogspot.com    xoxo

Chances are...

Last Friday, which happened to be the thirteenth, was the 34th. anniversary of my brother's brush with death.  As a matter of fact, Steve remembers seeing the white light before he was sent back to finish his life.  Other memories of that night came back in bits and pieces over the years for him.

34 years ago on a dinner break from his job, Steve, my cousin Ray, and friend John made a very unfortunate connection with a train.  Yes, a train.  As in Detroit and Mackinaw train lines.  And the boys were not driving a Hummer-quite the opposite.  A little Ford Pinto, the kind that blew up if it got rear ended was the vehicle they were packed into.  Heading to a party store, they were caught totally unaware as they crossed the tracks in sync with the train.  The warning lights did not go off to warn them.  The guys were dragged down the tracks for 28 boxcars at approximately 28 miles per hour.  The car was trashed and by the grace of God, all three boys survived and lived to tell the tale.  John lost vision in one eye and died a few years ago from an unrelated cause. R.I.P.

My cousin Ray walked away with minimal injuries and my brother, the driver, suffered the worse.  Steve ended up with 5 broken ribs-some with multiple fractures, a punctured lung, a broken clavicle, and head trauma caused by blunt force.  (Oh, so that explains it! teehee.) 

Needless to say, our family was scared spit less as we charged up to the E.R. to find him happily in and out of reality due to liberal doses of morphine.  Recovery was slow and painful. 

Today finds my brother the father of three boys and Ford salesman extraordinaire.  He is an avid fisherman and joins us in the Keys every March for our annual 'Sloth, Indulgence, and Debauchery Tour.'  Steve is also wonderful golfer having recently won a club championship.

Yes, he hit a train, but was lucky to have lived to tell the tale. I still double check when I cross a track and say a quick prayer.  You can never be too careful on that day. 

Hope your week goes well and all of your Friday the thirteenths are lucky. xo

It's a Small World...

Holy bulging biceps Batman!  Here's the fastest and easiest was for me to feel like a petite, 'lil thing-park my cookies on Big Mike's lap! I'm instantly a delicate little flower.  Works like a charm and sure beats the hell out of Santa!  You can imagine my surprise and delight when I ran into my friend at our local bar/hangout up north last weekend.  Mike is the owner of the gym that I work out/socialize at.  It's a small world after all..

I think all of us have a crazy story of being at the same time and same place of someone expectantly.  I once ran into a friend at the dog track in Tampa.  Both of us were hopefully placing our bets when our eyes met.  Those odds were even slimmer than me winning anything big at the track that night.  Years ago, my cousin found herself in an elevator at the Pontchartrain with none other than Rod Stewart.  How cool would that be?  I've ran into Kid Rock and Uncle Kracker at non concert places, but hey, they live in the area.  Same goes for Anita Baker at the Caribou Coffee House in Grosse Pointe.  Bob Seger bought me a drink years ago. IN Alpena.  That was a little weird, but I heard that he had family in the area.  Sometimes when I have a wonderful day with grace and luck combined, I will say that the 'stars aligned' and offer up a little thank you.

John Green has this to say regarding 'coincidence'.  "It's hard to believe in coincidence, but it's even harder to believe in anything else."  I think I agree.

So what do you think?  Do you prescribe to coincidental thinking or just shrug it off to crazy cosmic timing?  Fate maybe?  Luck?  Kismet?  Have you ever had a situation that seemed to be one of these options?  Let me know whatcha think!

Have a lovely, blessed week, My Darlings and may all of your coincidences be happy ones! xo