.. Random meanderings: (is there any other kind?) I'd rather be alone than with people who don't get me. I'd rather read than go to bars. I wish I'd learned to dance. I am a master procrastinator; because I hate being unable to complete a task in one swoop, I never start. I'd rather be outside than in, almost any time. In my next life I'm living near the ocean--I'll want a view with a room. My family means everything to me; I'd do anything for them, but it needs to be my turn for a while--I'm burnt out in so many ways. My favorite times are in the deep night watching a small girl sleep. It is good to have someone trust you, and to deserve that trust. Forgiveness is the most precious gift. I hope I can be emotionally close to my precious granddaughters as they become beautiful and thoughtful young women. I hope they know how important they are in my world... .. .. .. .. .. ..

Mar 30, 2008How did this happen?Current mood:drainedAfter enduring the 17 weeks of February this year, March has vanished! What the hell happened? I was looking forward to a couple of very important birthdays, a trip to Disneyland, a couple of weekly (and weakly, oh brother, I need to practice) watercolor classes, Easter with a bubbly grandgirl, and renewal in our home by way of new colors: paint, carpet, window treatments, the works...I blinked and now here comes April! And it’s still snowing! And my flowers are getting trammeled! (Is that the word? or is it bammeled? flammeled? whammeled?)And I don’t care! And the house is painted! and the birthdays happened! and Easter eggs were here and there! and my shoulder aches and my thumb is tired! and suddenly, there goes March. It was nice while it lasted.I have to say a heartfelt and hearty thanks to Nessa and her fine friends and quite a few of my own who rallied behind me (No pushing!Stop shoving!) and got me through this year’s February meltdown. I really feel that true cleansing has occurred, and it is due almost entirely to the kindness of strangers and former strangers, now my dear friends and companions. In the course of one of my replies, I realized that the old saw, "It takes a village" became true in a whole new way for me. I realize that no one is really alone who does not choose to be. "Alone" is one of my preferred states, having taught grade school for a long long time...one begins to appreciate quiet after that. No one tugging your arm, patting your chest, hip, butt, thigh, whatever’s in reach, in a bid for help, no one spraying through missing teeth their retelling of last night’s "The Brady Bunch" onto your egg salad sandwich during a lunch time tutoring session. But I digress. This amazing online village has lifted my dank soul out of some pitiful mire and lighted the darkness for me. I really feel that I am well on the way to healing, precious life-sustaining healing. I’m tempted to apologize for wallowing in self-loathing mixed with self-congratulation in such a public manner, but that would be dishonest. I couldn’t have found a better source for healing than all of you who showed up to lend a hand and a heart. You know who you are. Thanks, and may you, too, find peace.

Apr 16, 2008What makes you nostalgic?Current mood:curiousA friend recently sent me an old video clip of "The Tonight Show with Johnny Carson." George Gobel was featured, but sitting on the couch were Dean Martin & Bob Hope, clowning around and knocking each other and Johnny out with visual stunts behind George's back. Pure silliness from "the good old days." Besides Mr. Hope looking like my dad, bringing on a bit of heartache missing the old man, I got nostalgic for the hilarious old comics who didn't have to resort to profanity for laughs as so many do these days. Funny, clever guys and gals observing the human condition and making the rest of us laugh despite our foibles. What makes you feel nostalgic? I know every generation has its own set of icons. I would love to know yours!

Jo and Honey interview the DirtdivaThis is a voluntary interview, conducted by a really earnest dog and her person.1. Honey is asking this one – If God (dog spelled backwards) honored you by allowing you to be a dog, what breed/type would you ask to be and why? I'd be a Standard Poodle; big enough to kick ass, but with Naturally Curly Hair.2. If a tv show was made of your life would it be a comedy, drama, cartoon, soap opera, cop procedural, or animal program? I'd like it to be a cartoon strip like 'Frazz.' He's a highly evolved janitor at an elementary school, where he interacts with the brightest kids, who are generally on their way to detention since their teachers are NEVER ready for the answers they give!3. If you could live anywhere in the world with your whole family able to visit/live there, too, where would it be, and why? If we were all there, it wouldn't matter to me where we were, but knowing my girls' and my sweetie's preferences, it would have clean tidal water to swim in and to investigate; a grove of trees for me and a clear view of the night sky. OH! And a really really good library within walking distance. A bar and an ice cream parlor wouldn't hurt, either. 4. What should I plant to the right of my double front doors to replace the Bird of Paradise that was there? (full sun and wanting some sort of ornamental or evergreen or accent for the entry.) Hey, you ARE the Dirt Diva, right? *innocent look*:D I love it! Take a look at "Black Lace Elderberry" (Sambucus Nigra Eva). It's a hardy perennial, not too thirsty after it's established. It has lovely dark purple to black foliage, can be pruned to a 6-8 foot tree or cut off at the ground each fall to produce a bush. It blooms pink or white in the spring, very fragrant. (Here come the butterflies and bees) It produces berries for the birds later in the season. WARNING: the berries are toxic until cooked, so if Honey likes to eat the landscaping it's not a good choice, although you can clip off the blossoms after they are spent and no berries will be produced. For eye-popping ground cover below, plant lime green Japanese creeper (also called Creeping Speedwell), also a drought-resistant hardy perennial. 5. What is your favorite Ivan Doig novel and why? I like all of his novels, mostly set in early 1900s Montana. I like his sparse writing, his ear for dialogue, and his descriptions of the landscapes. He has written some very believable characters, some of whom show up in his other writing, too. One of the best in my estimation is "House of Blue Sky." Thanks, Jo for such pleasant questions!

Another Haiku attack approaches...A Haiku attack approaches; I can't help it, It's just like sneezing!******************************Her mum thinks in lines of seventeen syllables.Is there some treatment?*********************************Their dog gives me fits.She cowers and shits and then comes at me barking.***********************Her blog interviewwill dredge up safe memories.I have no secrets.***********************They say I'm funny.They have no idea what lieslie behind this grin.************************And on a totally different, but similar topic:Larry Smith of SMITH magazine and Rachel Fershleiser (NO IDEA who she is...) have teamed up to collect "Six Word Memoirs." There is a plethora of websites devoted to this, and you could go there, but I hope you'll share your own Six Word Story here instead. A couple of examples which I admire:Love me or leave me alone. For sale: Baby shoes, never worn. (attributed to Ernest Hemingway)Not quite what I had planned.Here's one from me to get it started: (not my own memoir, thankfully, but a true story just the same.)"Despicable executor absconds with orphans' inheritance."Who's up for sharing? Peace! and Inspiration! and a good thesaurus to keep us busy!

Jun 5, 2008Nature’s reality showCurrent mood:peacefulI have had the privilege of watching a pair of robins in my aspen the last month or so. At first there was much singing, flirting of tails and downright chasing through the patio. Suddenly there was a nest right there in the fork of the tree, high off the ground, but easy to spot once you knew it was there. Then mom robin is spending more time in and near the nest, but also leaving it for long periods of time. On May 11 she finally settled in and barely moved from her sheltered spot for 9 days. Papa robin spent his time at the top of the roof next door singing his cheerful 'cheeroop, cheereep, cheeroop, cheereep.' He also would take turns sitting on the nest, with a quiet flight into the tree, a pause while mama robin stepped off and went off to see to her own needs, and then he would nestle down, too. Such diligent parents, both of them.May 20, early in the morning, there is a gentle pipping from the dad, standing over the nest with a tiny tidbit in his beak. They've hatched! Over the next few days little yellow beaks, scrawny necks and wobbly heads stretch their way toward the larger and larger mouthfuls being brought. Room Service! The noisy screes pick up in pitch and volume. Both parents seem tireless in their shuttling back and forth to feed this demanding brood. There are three of them.May 27: an evil magpie enters the picture. I encounter it outside our yard, but it is racing me home, on a beeline for our patio and the aspen tree. I was mulling over in my mind what actions I could/would/should take, when suddenly from out of nowhere came 5 adult robins who chased off the magpie, striking it forcibly and calling out when it fled: "And STAY out!" It did. I haven't seen any magpies around since, and we generally have a few. The robin security flock dispersed. Zip! The babies continued to flourish, elbowing and outstretching each other in their bids for the next meal. Soon they appeared fully feathered and WAY too big for 3 in the nest, and Mom still sitting over them at night.Tuesday, June 3: again at first light, the first bold hatchling took steps off the nest and onto an adjoining branch. By 10:00 he had moved to another branch and was hunkered down, beak pointing to the sky, demanding and receiving chow. By noon he had changed his posture from hatchling to young confident bird of the world, ready to seek his fortune. He spread his stubby wings and floated down, down, down over the fence and into a neighboring vegetable patch, complete with irrigation water and a handy supply of worms. From an upstairs window we were able to watch him, being shepherded by his father. By early afternoon, baby number 2 was out and stretching and preening, and soon flew off. Gone, just like that. The last baby, Junior, stayed hunkered down and made demands about food and more food. The parents continued to feed all day. Late afternoon the (presumably) female, 2, returned to the tree and stayed till almost dark. Dad brought her a snack at one point. She left again sometime after 7 p.m. Junior was still in the nest, plaintively expressing his dismay that no one was keeping him warm and that dinner hadn't been served. The parents both fed him once more before dark, and left the tree. Dad stayed within earshot; we could hear his evening song.Early the next morning Junior was taking tentative stretch breaks out of the nest, crying piteously, and then scuttling back in, just like a late bloomer home from college. Not leaving, nossir. Dad took pity and brought late breakfast, then disappeared again. Junior spent that morning in an adjacent tree bitching and moaning and hunkered down. AND it was starting to rain, and NO ONE was coming to help! I went indoors at about 10 a.m., having done all the wet-shirt-and-hair gardening I could tolerate. The mowing dudes came through, and when they were gone, so was Junior. The parents are still in the area; Dad Robin is next door as I type this, cheroooping away in the afternoon halflight. It's rained periodically this afternoon, and his cheery song makes me want to just go sit in a wet chair and listen, rain or not. Pour the wine, Beulah, I'm going out.

RemoveJun 7, 2008Robin updateI was enjoying my quiet garden this afternoon when Junior robin fluttered onto his "bitching branch" and proceeded to whine and call for room service some more. I had just told someone this a.m. that the robins were good and gone, and here they were back. I laughed at Junior and stuck my nose back in what I was reading. After a time I realized what a racket that one bird was making. He was gone from the tree, but still nearby. I peeked over the fence and there he was, with siblings and Dad, all practicing catching juicy earthworms in the rainy grass. I'm convinced Junior should be renamed "Special Ed" (my apologies if this is offending anyone. If it is, blog off...)because Dad was making a big display of hauling a long worm out of the grass and pecking at it instead of just chugging it down as they usually do. Special Ed just watched, slack beaked. Finally dad hauled the worm to a dry hard patch of soil and laid it out like a six-foot subway sandwich. Ed watched, but watched me more, so I ducked back down. Eventually they all vanished again. I have no idea if anyone got to eat anything. I have GOT to get out more.

It Was a Dark and Stormy Night, Part I.Current mood:quietI used to teach second grade. One afternoon a former student showed up with a tiny baby Teddy bear hamster in a shoe box. His mom wouldn't let him keep the new litter (Who could blame her? They are worse than rabbits!) and he was 'sure' I'd like a classroom pet. Of course I would. Who could turn down such a tiny, plaintive puff of blonde cuteness? So Puff began her sojourn in room 17 in a shoebox.The next morning, I brought an old Habitrail from home, which of course I had, being the mother of a future professional animal rescuer. We provided Puff with water, food, litter, toys, exercise wheel, the works and left for the evening. The old Habitrails were/are made of clear plastic with circular vents and attachable modules providing infinite ways for the thing to break. The next morning it was obvious that the sweeper had bumped the crummy tube attaching Puff's sleeping module to her gym module. The tube was askew and Puff was nowhere to be found. 28 heartbroken seven-year-olds and their guilty teacher searched everywhere. I informed the office and neighboring teachers so they would know whom to notify when they found the tiny corpse, and life went on in room 17. With sadness. And gloom. And vile self-blame on the part of the teacher who was too cheap to buy a pricey new hamster set-up. Just before lunch one of the boys went to the wall sharpener to sharpen his pencil. His cries, "I found her! I found PUFF!" filled my heart with dread. ("Please, god, let her be asleep!) Poor Puff had exited her cage to newfound liberty only to fall from the edge of the table smack into the plastic bag lined wastebasket below. She had apparently thought to chew her way out, which left her falling through the plastic bag into the bottom of the waste can, where she had curled up and fallen asleep. A groggy and confused Puff was gathered up, dusted off and put into a hastily repaired cage. Yay, Puff! But this was just the beginning of the long and harrowing life of our little blonde buddy.

"It Was a Dark and Stormy Night" part 2Puff grew quickly to her adult size of 6 inches long, with long blonde 'skirts' on her sides and hind legs. She had the most intelligent shiny black eyes, and the dearest little pink hands. She was very obliging to the children, and nothing seemed to faze her. She was a wonderful addition to our classroom, waddling around the floor during circle time, visiting this student and that one as we worked through the calendar, stories and show-and-tell. She was handled, dropped and mauled without ever a nibble or an attempt to run away. The Plan was that Puff would go home with a different student each weekend. In order to take her, students had to take home and bring back a form letter spelling out permission, disclaimers and instructions. Piece of cake. Righty-o.The very first request was from a doozy of a family. The mother would show up in her XXXL tank top, pajama bottoms and bare feet. This was long before this uniform became part of America's 'Dress Down All the Damn Time Day.' She was loud and brash and had a big heart and a big ole messy trailer house and a trucker husband who came and went from their lives. Of course they wanted Puff at their earliest opportunity. With a heavy heart I handed over my precious innocent little buddy, in her new metal traveling cage. Monday morning dawned rainy and cold. Here came the McNasties, hauling a damp Puff back to school in a diagonally slanting cage with a dangling handle. "It just broke!" was the explanation. Heavy sigh. I put Puff into a white plastic storage container while I cleaned and straightened and cussed the formerly decent cage. When all was back in order, I scooped Puff from the tub to put her in her home. What's this? Tiny black and tan dots were falling from her fur, bouncing onto the white plastic, and scrambling around the bottom curves of the tub. YEEESSSHHHH. Nits!? Or fleas?? Yes, I know, head lice don't inhabit animals' fur. Only human fur. That doesn't keep them from catching a ride when they can. I didn't wait to find out what the hitchhikers were. I washed them down the sink, gave Puff a bath with the janitor's yellow soap, bleached the really compromised cage and determined that Puff wouldn't be going home with anyone else. Time to buy another cage, and to put an end to Take A Hamster Home.

Aug 18, 2008It Was a Dark and Stormy Night; the penultimate chapter, part 3During Christmas break the second year of Puff's reign in our classroom, I took her home for safekeeping, of course. One night in late December we had a lightning and wind storm that was thunderous and intense. We went to bed expecting to have power outages and sleeplessness due to the noise. Nevertheless, I drifted off. Some time in the night I awoke to dark, dead calm. Ahhh...back to sleep. But wait! I could hear a rustling metallic swishing sound. Something was disturbing the metal mesh of the fireplace screen in our bedroom. Too sleepy to care, I made a mental note to be sure the damper was tightly shut in the morning. Back to blessed quiet sleep...A while later I awoke again, to the slight rattle of the vertical blinds on the sliding door in our bedroom, which leads to a small balcony. The furnace must have kicked on, the vents rattling the slats. I hadn't noticed that before....heavy sigh, turn over, back to sleep. Some time after that, I awoke to my husband's laughter. It was 3 a.m.! He was sitting up in the bed, with his bedside lamp on, laughing at something in his hands. As I became conscious and somewhat focused, I realized he was holding Puff! Puff belonged in her cage, far away, downstairs in the office! Why was he playing with her now, of all times? He never held her or had much to do with her. What the hell? It's 3 a.m.! He had awakened to the sound of little feet on the extra pillow he'd thrown off the bed. At first he'd been afraid to look, vowing to set traps in the morning. As the little dance persisted he decided he was afraid NOT to look. When he turned on the lamp, there was little Puff, sitting up, tiny pink paws clenched, shiny black eyes pleading. What else could he do but bring her into bed?Upon inspection, Puff's plastic cage (yes, the old much patched one, I'm embarrassed to admit) had committed another failure, or Puff had achieved a break out. Either way, a vent flap hung open, making possible her escape. Poor Puff! She must have had quite a tumble from the cabinet to the floor. She then had to negotiate her way in the dark past a bathroom with all the hidey places she could have become lost in; the kitchen which had Decon rodent poison under the cabinet toe spaces (another long and disgusting story); past the living room and dining room; up 7 carpeted stairs with railings to fall through, across a landing, up 6 more stairs with railings, through the loft, past the laundry room and its attendant hiding spots and hazardous substances, down the hall, around the periphery of a large bedroom, past (apparently into and out of) the mesh fireplace screen, two walk-in closets, the sliding door, (remember the rattling slats?)around the foot of our bed and onto Mr.'s pillow, where she paced until she was rescued. She didn't like the noisy storm any more than we did! We brought Puff's patched-again cage into the bedroom where we all hunkered down until morning. The next day, Puff got a shiny new Habitrail. The Upgrade. The one she was worthy of. She spent most of the next year, safe and sound in her new home, entertaining seven year olds and their teacher with her dear antics and calm personality. Then the inevitable happened, mercifully during a school holiday away from the children. But that's another chapter.

RemoveAug 18, 2008It Was a Dark and Stormy Night. The inevitable ending pt. 4 {Before you read this, be sure to see chapter 3. I'm posting them at the same time.}Puff's demise came quickly. It was during a winter holiday from school, so she was home again, mercifully. No children had to witness her quick descent into a thin fur-covered shadow of her former self. In the last days Puff quit eating and drinking, quickly dwindling down to a hunched listless old lady. One morning she was just gone, her tiny corpse stretched out and emaciated. Since it was deep winter, there was no way to bury her, and she deserved much more than a casual toss into the trash. So I gift wrapped her. And put her little brightly wrapped box into a zip-lock bag. And stored her in the chest freezer in the garage till we could do a proper burial. My daughter, on a chocolate foray in my absence, came upon the lovely little box. But being an almost-adult living away from home, decided that maybe since that box had been given such special treatment, even if it WERE chocolate, maybe it would be best not to open it, thus saving herself a lifetime of therapy.In the spring, Puff was given a quiet little burial in the flower garden under a stepping stone to deter any curious diggers out there. No other tiny mammal ever graced our lives like that little blonde sweetie, Puff.

Oct 16, 2008The reddest stateCurrent mood:energeticNow hear this. I have just returned home from the presidential debate which was shown on the big screen in one of my favorite theaters, Brewvies: a pub, a brewery, a decent diner and a movie theater all in one corner bar. It is a precious blend in the land of Zion. An amazing and lovely thing to behold. Best of all, in this scarlet, crimson, redder-than-red state, unless you're talking about BYU Cougar Blue (It's an actual color, folks) it is right there in downtown Salt Lake City, Utah. The crowd was standing room only, so maybe 400 of us with our best friends. From what I could determine, exactly 4 of them were McCain supporters, and they beat it out of there the moment Bob Schieffer thanked us all for coming. I feel energized and elated, and anxious for voting day, since I'll be working the polls for about 15 hours, and will get a chance to see how it all goes down. The crowd tonight was boisterous and cooperative, waiting for their pizzas, hummus plates and Guinness. There was a party atmosphere, with "JOE!" becoming our drinking tip. But when the questions were asked and the candidates spoke, a hush came over the mostly college-age and post-college crowd. There were also a few old people like myself-- burnouts and retirees. I was braced for a noisy, "shut up we can't hear" kind of night. Instead, it was FABulous to see the way everyone was paying attention. I have regained my trust in the next generation if this crowd was any sampling. Best of all, no one beat up the McCain creeps. I mean vocal supporters. At least not while I was there. It was a neat thing to see in this uptight little village in Zion. I am hopeful that Mr. Obama will serve out his presidency with honor and with good health. May it be 8 years, if his plans can come together the way he presents them. It's a long shot, but I'm willing to wait.

Dec 9, 2008It's officialI have been noticing a startling phenomenon lately. At first I chalked it up to people shmoozing me for better tips as they performed various services on my behalf. Then I thought it might be the spirit of the season. It hit me this afternoon as I freaked out and had to return THE most important and most commented upon and most asked for gift, and find a replacement. I was stressed, impatient, and trying my best to just be calm and friendly. And to hold my face so I didn't look mad. {A certain six-year-old has taken to asking me often: "Are you mad?" "No darling, my face just does this when I'm thinking." What the ?!!}A recent early morning photo suddenly reared its ugly head in my memory as I waited in line for about the 9th time today. People have been calling me "dear," "Hon," and "Sweetie!" Men, women, younger, older (I somehow thought I was their age-ish...) all have been using endearments on me in public places. I don't live in a place where that is part of the vernacular. Instead, it's "Sister" this and "Brother" that if you're part of the incrowd in Zion. Which I am decidedly NOT. So I can only draw one stunning conclusion: It's happened! I'm officially OLD. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On the one hand, it lowers the bar somewhat. On the other hand, I'm REALLY not done yet, not close, and will go kicking and screaming and cursing into the 'home' (or onto the ice floe, as my beloved children have asserted may happen when I become Too Much Trouble.) My mortality became a constant nagging shadowy presence 16 years ago when an oncologist had to break some ugly news to me, but decades become years, and finally years become less than that. And suddenly people you don't know are calling you "Sweetie." I'll get back to you on my 99th birthday in several decades from now, and let you know how it's going.Peace to you, and time well spent. dd

The California ZephyrCurrent mood:sleepy For those of you wishing to travel and dreading the weather and the delays, I want to tell you that I took the California Zephyr over the Sierras the week before Christmas and home again the day before. On the highway below, there were creeping cars and semis, occasionally in white-out conditions. I, on the other hand, felt safe and cozy, watching from the dome car; I saw my first northern goshawk, some busy quail in the snow and a number of deer. The forest was a fantasy of light, snow and greenery. The train slowed considerably during one storm, but a locomotive plow moved into place ahead of us and cleared those hundred-year-old tracks for us. It was wonderful. My sweetie thinks we should spring for the sleeper car next time, though; the reclining seats are comfy enough in the coaches, and the days spent in the observation car were fun. But we both felt the effects of true sleep deprivation going and coming home; the conductors did a fine job of keeping the area quiet, but there were just a lot of interruptions, stops, people needing drinks or to go downstairs to the biffy. Biffy. That's one I haven't heard or used in about 35 years! But I digress. The food was fine, there was booze to be had. You could wander at will or stay put in your reserved seat, which is close in size to first class in a plane, only a little larger, and certainly with more freedom.The train is THE way to go if you want to avoid airport delays, highway mishaps, and crummy weather. Friends reported that it took them four days to get from Oakland to Portland, Oregon because of weather delays and grounded planes.Here on the high desert of Utah we got at least a foot of snow in the valleys today and they are expecting four feet in the ski areas nearby. Happy and safe traveling, everyone! I hope your Christmas was as calm and bright as mine was...all of my best girls, my honey, and my favorite son were in abundance, here and there. Lucky me. Peace!

"The Work of Christmas" by Howard ThurmanWhen the song of angels is stilled,When the star in the sky is gone,When the kings and princes are home,When the shepherds are back with their flock,The work of Christmas begins: to find the lost, to heal the broken, to feed the hungry, to release the prisoner, to rebuild the nations, to bring peace among the brothers and sisters, to make music in the heart. Peace to you all in the new year. May we all find opportunities to do the real work of Christmas, finding forgiveness, acceptance, tolerance, love; building community and helping the lost, the broken, the hungry...

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Manage BlogFollowRemoveJun 1, 2010My Father's Navy Memoirs, with thanks to Jo for askingIn Tribute to:V.L. Jacobson Born: Vernal, UT June 15, 1922. Died: Murray, UT February 19, 1999Son, Sailor, Good Neighbor, Loving Father, Devoted Husband, Gardener, Reader, Craftsman and Home Builder...These are my father's WWII Navy memoirs, written in the early 1990s. When the war broke out we knew that most of us single men would be drafted, even though we worked for the critical industry of Kennecott Copper. My best friend Joe Evans joined the Marines and was killed at Midway Island in the summer of 1942. He had wanted me to go in with him, but I had some debts to pay off before I could go in. In early September 1942, I decided the time was now, so I could choose my branch of service and not be drafted into the infantry. So I went to the Navy recruiting office in Salt Lake on my day off, signed up and passed the physical. In the week that passed before I was shipped out I had to get my affairs in order, quit my job and my family gave me a farewell party. They gave me a beautiful 17 jewel Bulova watch which I cherished and carried until it was lost when our ship was bombed at Sicily. On September 17, 1942 we were put on a train bound for Los Angeles and then San Diego. We were up at 6 every morning and lights were out at 10. They issued us gear and crammed 8 weeks of training into four weeks so there wasn’t much free time After graduating from boot camp I was promoted to Seaman Second Class and sent to the Hemphill Institute Diesel School. I was able to get a furlough in time for my dad’s birthday. I was able to fly home on a seventy-two hour pass and surprise him. It was also my first flight on a plane. By graduating in the top half of the class I qualified to attend advanced training operated by General Motors. Going from L.A. to Cleveland in January was a really cold change. We were ready for our assignments by March. We arrived at Norfolk Navy Yard then on to Cape Bradford, Virginia. Because there was no motor machinist rating I was classed Fireman First Class. My new assignment at Bradford was to tend the boiler at the mess hall and make sure they had hot water and steam at all times; an easy assignment. Finally we boarded the LST 350 and sailed to New York City. After a short stay we sailed on to Hoboken, New Jersey and boarded another LST as passengers and were on our way to Bermuda for a few days. We left Bermuda on April 14 and hit rough waters. It took us two weeks to get to Gibraltar. We entered the Mediterranean and had to be prepared for attack at all times. We slept in our clothes and had a life preserver on at all times. We sailed for Oran, Algeria which had just been liberated from the Germans. The harbor was in shambles from our shelling. There was nothing for us G.I.s to do. The city smelled terrible, as did most North African cities due people using the alleys as latrines. We took our small boats down the coast to a small resort on a river mouth where we trained our small boat crews. We left there in May and went to Arzew, Algeria, where 24 of us were assigned to LST 158 as small boat crews. I was the highest rated man of the crews and was put in charge of maintaining all six boats, making sure they were in top shape at all times. I was kept busy so I didn’t have to do mess hall duty or stand other watches. We left for Bizerte in May and encountered another mess left by the Germans. We had to thread our way around sunken ships, derricks and barges. We were finally putting a flotilla together for actual landings. I spent my 21st birthday aboard ship in Lake Bizerte. We were under air attack almost nightly but couldn’t shoot at the planes as it would reveal our location. The antiaircraft units had a ring around the lake and did a good job of protecting us. One day in July while I was working on a small boat, Mr. Morgan, the ship’s engineering officer came by. He asked why I didn’t tell him I was from Utah, as his wife was living with relatives in Price. I said “nobody asked me.” He said, “by the way, as of today you are MOMM2/C.” I asked him when he wanted me to take the test and he said “You already have, by keeping our boats in such good shape.” After more training we began making final preparations for a landing in Sicily. Our convoy formed with ships from all along the coast of North Africa. To fool the Germans and Italians, we took a course to make them believe we were headed for Sardinia and Corsica. The seas were very rough with swells as high as 15 feet. At midnight, July 9, 1943 we were off the coast of Sicily. We loaded our troops via cargo nets down the sides of the ship. Those G.I.s had to climb down the nets with full battle packs and gear in rough seas. We didn’t lose a man overboard. We were about five miles out, incomplete blackout with only small blinking lights from the beach, courtesy of ‘scouts and raiders’, Navy men who had sneaked ashore early. Suddenly the whole area was lighted up by huge flood lights from shore. Our cruisers and destroyers opened up on them and suddenly they went out. We later learned the Italians manning them turned them off, as they didn’t want to be targets, and wouldn’t believe there were that many ships out there. As we headed for the beach, naval bombardment continued with shells passing over our heads: eight-inchers from cruisers, five-inchers from the destroyers, and some three-inchers from the LSTs. It sounded like a freight train going by. We were in the second wave of small boats and by then the surprise was over. We hit the beach amid much machine gun fire and had many pock marks in our bow ramp. {Amphibious LCVP} The Signal Corps men left some gear in our boat and we waited for them to come and get it, but decided we had to get out of the way of incoming waves of boats. We returned to the ship and I was happy to be back aboard in one piece. Late that afternoon we were docked at a pontoon dock unloading cargo. My crew was called out to launch our boat and handle a cable from the bow to the pontoon dock so we could get underway. We had just started to be hoisted back aboard when an ME-109 strafed the ship and a second one dropped two bombs. One went into the sea next to our ship. The second bomb hit amidships, went through a half track, cargo hatch and into the tank deck directly into three truckloads of gasoline. The explosion was directly above our auxiliary engine room. It knocked out all power, including the winches holding us aloft. It also started a real inferno. Our boat free-fell back into the water. My crew and I regained consciousness within minutes. With no firefighting equipment operating, all we could do was abandon ship and let it burn. Our small boat circled the ship and picked up crew men and Army personnel as they came off the ship. The last one off the ship was the captain and he brought the ship’s papers with him. Total lives lost on the 158 were 33 Army and five Navy. The two men, who slept above and below me, were both killed in their bunks. We took the last load to shore and then circled the ship once more to make sure no one else was in the water. We then beached our small boat, joining the crew in a corn field above the beach watching our ship burn and sink, and waiting for a ride back to Bizerte. It was one year to the day that the LST 158 had been initially launched. We had to dive into a small gully in the field several times to avoid strafing by the German planes. I don’t know where our air cover was. LST 350 picked our crew up and provided us with shoes, clothing and any thing else we needed and headed back to Bizerte. We were under air attack half the night and part of the next day. None of us would go below to sleep that night. We spent the night in the galley passageway with our lifejackets on. It was nice to be out of harms way back at Bizerte. I ran water taxi for a while and ended up in the transportation department driving trucks on land. Christmas 1943 was my first one away from home. We hosted a part for French and Arab orphans. On December 17, 1944 we received orders to go home. We left Bizerte on an Infantry Landing Craft for Oran, Algeria. Our ship home wasn’t ready to go so we spent Christmas in Arzew, my second Christmas away from home. With delays for needed repairs and rough seas we finally made it back to the states as we docked in Chesapeake Bay. It was really great to be back. I had been gone from the USA for 21 months and 16 day. My brother Noel, also a sailor, was stationed at Little Creek, Virginia and I was able to spend three days with him before heading home. I had 30 days leave and 8 days travel time. After a too-short visit home I returned to Camp Allen, Virginia and was transferred to the Seabees. About four hundred of us Motor Machinists were sent to Davisville, Rhode Island for assignment to Pontoon Battalions. I received word that my stepmother Rose had died, so I was given 10 days emergency leave and came home again. I then received orders to report in Port Hueneme, California where I caught up with the rest of my outfit. We spent some time training barge crews in the bay off Point Magoo. On June 8, 1945, we went aboard the transport USS Florence Nightingale, a converted banana boat. It was not a luxury liner in any sense of the word. The bread had weevil shells in it, and if you tried to pick them out, you had nothing left. The ship’s doctor told us it wouldn’t hurt us. That helped a lot! We sailed unescorted to Hawaii and went between Oahu and Molokai. We joined a convoy and kept on going, on to Eniwetok where we stayed a few days and helped build a fleet canteen where the crews could come ashore, play baseball and drink a beer or two and relax. While unloading oil drums from and LCT to a truck I slipped and fell off the tail gate of the truck onto the ramp of the LCT and broke the bone in my arch. It was a challenge getting around the ship on ladders with my foot in a cast. We went from Eniwetok to Ulithi, then on to Okinawa, where my cast was removed. My foot hadn’t completely healed, and it gave me a lot of pain. We landed at Naha Okinawa on July 24, 1945 and hiked up into the hills where we built a vehicle repair base and later relieved a pontoon battalion at Buckner Bay where we ran barges from ship to shore unloading all kinds of supplies. Each barge had a crew of four men and we lived aboard our barge. I was assigned to a large pontoon repair barge where we had quarters above the machine and repair shop deck. We were anchored in the middle of Buckner Bay and the cargo barges tied up alongside for repairs and to spend the night. We were self-contained with fresh water, a galley and crew and the barges kept us supplied with fresh meat and other supplies, as they liked to come aboard and eat with us whenever they found an excuse. We rode out one typhoon on the barge by putting out two extra anchors and keeping the engines on the barge running steady. In September I was promoted to Motor Machinist Mate First Class. The Japanese had surrendered in August. I was relieved because we’d previously been told to have our barges ready for the invasion of the Japanese home islands. After a smooth trip home on the USS Grimes, a brand new attack transport, I was discharged from the Navy on November 11, 1945. I had spent 3 years, 1 month and 27 days in the Navy. Dad wrote this memoir in 1993. In addition to his brother Noel, Dad had a younger brother, Gordon in the Navy at the same time. They were featured in a news article at the time. Gordon spent time in the Pacific Theater and was one of a handful of personnel to explore Nagasaki two weeks after the atomic bomb was dropped there. Dad was pleased to attend an LST reunion in Washington, D.C. in 1992. He was one of two attendees specific to the 158. He especially enjoyed finding and traveling with his former crewmate and friend, Tommy Brown. He kept in contact with Tommy until Dad died of cancer on February 19, 1999. As of October 2006, Tommy is the only living survivor of the LST 158. Post Script: When last my brothers and I communicated with Tommy Brown's wife, she informed us that Tommy was in a home for Alzheimer's patients. That was in 2007; we have not heard from either of them since, and the connection has been broken. The LST 158 was sunk off the southern shore of Sicily. It is still visible under the water there, and can be viewed on Google Earth: "Licata, Sicily" + "LST 158." As a child I loved Fourth of July fireworks. We lived in a small town, in a little house, when I was 3. The fireworks were seemingly directly overhead. I vividly remember my dad hitting the floor in the late night, as the booming fireworks commenced. Dad had been home about 5 years by then. His instincts were still strong! Peace.Dirt Diva"Old Sailors never die; they just get a little dinghy!"8:15 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (4) Post a comment... PostDirtdiva We went to a lovely place in the mountains for breakfast this morning, and Mr. Diva opened up a little with a couple of 'vignettes' or life lessons from his time in Vietnam. I pointed out that those are the very stories he needs to share with his children. He's wearing down, bit by bit. We talked about the vast amount of tedium in his Army days interspersed with bouts of sheer adrenalin-pushing terror. Dad's record reads a bit like that if you pay attention to the timeline. He had only been in the service for about 7 months, most of it in training in the States and 2 weeks in Bizerte when his ship was blown to oblivion. There followed 3+ more years of being shot at, maneuvering, providing services, and just doing his job. Dad was very humble about his role in all that followed.My husband this morning pointed out how daily and how consistently our forces in the Middle East are attacked. He claims they didn't have that daily assault on the senses and psyche that today's troops do, who are there for the 3rd, 4th, 5th deployment, many of them. No wonder so many of them come home messed up!... Show moreReply1 year agoCarey Lenehan Wonderful vivid account of his war experience. Well done for Jo daring you to post this. What a time they lived through! :) XXCReply1 year agoLisa What a nice surprise this morning to find you added this to your post! I'm so happy that you have this:)Man, I think I got sea-sick just reading about some of this! I have never been one that takes motion very well! I'm usually so high on Dramamine that I don't enjoy boat rides or airplane rides that much;) Reply(1)1 year agoDirtdiva You started it! (thanks)1 year agoJo & Honey What wonderful reading, Karla. Thanks for posting! Your Dad saw more close-up action than my Dad, but he, too, hit the floor (so I am told) when he heard loud explosive sounds. By the time I came along in 1953, I think he'd gotten over it, but he still talks about it. I am very grateful to your father, to mine, and to all that generation who did what had to be done to ensure, in a very real way, our freedom. But for them ...... Show moreReply(1)1 year agoDirtdiva Thanks for all of this, Jo. And pat your dad on the head for me, smooch his sweet cheek and let him wonder who this Karla person is and why she's so thankful for him now. xo1 year agoViews (46)·EditRemoveJun 1, 2010In memoriamCurrent mood:pensiveI am so grateful to my dad that he finally recorded his Navy memoirs. None of us knew his story, since he was like so many others: didn't want to talk about it. His story fills most of a spiral notebook, and I'm so glad we have it. I've made photocopies for my brothers, and it is archived in two different sites online. Now I'm married to a Vietnam vet, and he is still, after 40 years, unwilling to put it on paper, although we've spent untold hours and nights undergoing talk/weep/hug therapy. He doesn't want to be judged, although anyone who would judge him does not deserve to know him. He is an amazing, gentle giant of a man who still makes my heart skip when he walks into a room, after 47 years together. (We met in 3rd grade, dated through high school, married young. That's how I can be 29 and have all this history with him. :D)I hope all of you who know and love a vet will urge them to record their stories before they are lost. The "Greatest Generation" doesn't have to be the last great generation. But without those stories, the history, the personal cost and sacrifice goes unnoticed, unresolved, unthanked.I want to thank Lisa for her Memorial Day tribute to her dad, which triggered this response.5:17 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (3) Post a comment... PostCarey Lenehan I have my father's naval log from his time as a gunboat captain in Burma. One day when I have time, I'm going to dive into it and write his story for him. I think he would have liked that. Kudos to your for keeping your Dad's memoirs for current and future family to enjoy. XXCReply1 year agoJo & Honey How wonderful that your Dad wrote down his experiences. Would you be willing to share them with others? I'd love to read what he experienced. I ache for your husband and the memories he has. Perhaps he would consider writing about his experiences, but posting them anonymously? The more we read about the individual human experience of war, perhaps the less likely we will be to jump into the next one. ... Show moreReply(2)1 year agoJo & Honey Having read a few books and memoirs of the Vietnam War, I can imagine what your husband experienced - at least as well as any civilian can. My guess is the men on the front lines of WWII have similar memories as your vet. The crying shame (difference) is that most people can agree that we had to fight Hitler and Tojo, but we had no business in Southeast Asia. I wonder if that is the hardest part of surviving Nam? Knowing that all that they experienced, sacrificed, and survived was for naught. I 1 year agoDirtdiva Dear Jo, thanks for asking. No sooner typed than done. I have posted Dad's memoirs on the blog here, and I'm considering taking it to FB, too. As to my resident vet, I'll keep working on him. Maybe his children can prevail...There are not memories of heroic movie-image derring-do. It was a dirty hungry thirsty stinking itching wet slog through dangerous jungle interspersed with chasing down snipers, mines, traps and VC; witnessing the horrors of burning villages and paddies; gre1 year agoLisa Hi Doll! That is so cool! I wish I had thought to ask more, or urge him to give up more information when I asked! He was so darn modest about the whole thing! Now I grew up fascinated with his tattoos he got with his squad(?) What is the correct term for a Navy group anyways? Platoon? He had the anchor with a banner that held a saying. I want to say there was an eagle on top. I wished I could see it now that I think about it;)So I have a couple of pictures that are dear to me now! My Dad was very humble when it came to talking about himself. He was a trucker & when he got on that radio he changed! So on family trips, we got to see a different person:)He was "Wild Willie" CB handle as well as service moniker. Maybe this could be a reminder to everyone to urge the older folks to talk about everything, as I could kick myself now. He was lucid right til the end & I wish I would have asked more questions!... Show moreReply(1)1 year agoDirtdiva I'm with you, Lisa. I wish I'd known enough geography/history/anything as a kid when Dad did mention things like "When I was in North Africa." DUH!? I was too shy, too stooopid to ask him to tell me more. Then I moved away for 20 years where I did my growing up and finished my education. By then our visits were frenetic weekends with children and dogs, and we never really talked. My brothers probably know more than I do, but they are what? guys. Who don't say much. My dad didn't have ta1 year agoViews (33)·EditRemoveMay 7, 2010Mothers DayCurrent mood:optimisticI post this with appreciation to those who have more elegant language skills than my own. I do so with the fervent wish that my children and their children will know that what I truly want from this life is the opportunity to love them completely, without question or reservation... Mother's Day (to my children) I do not doubt you would have likedone of those pretty mothers in the ads:complete with adoring husband and happy children.She's always smiling, and if she cries at allit is absent of lights and camera,makeup washed from her face. But since you were born of my womb, I should tell you:ever since I was small like youI wanted to be myself -- and for a woman that's hard --(even my Guardian Angel refused to watch over mewhen she heard). I cannot tell you that I know the road.Often I lose my wayand my life has been a painful crossingnavigating reefs, in and out of storms,refusing to listen to the ghostly sirenswho invite me into the past,neither compass nor binnacle to show me the way. But I advance,go forward holding to the hopeof some distant portwhere you, my children -- I'm sure --will pull in one dayafter I've been lost at sea. ~ Daisy Zamora ~ (Clean Slate, trans. by Margaret Randall and Elinor Randall) Web version: www.panhala. net/Archive/ Mothers_Day. html __._,_.___ . __,_._,___
9:14 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (4) Post a comment... PostDirtdiva Thanks all for visiting. Happy days, whatever they are, to all of you. KarlaReply1 year agoCarey Lenehan Very eloquent and I entirely identify especially with the first verse. But it's still the best job in the world...Have a Happy Mothers Day.... :) XXCReply1 year agoJo & Honey So beautiful! Thanks for posting this, Ms. K. So much truth there. And a blessed and happy Mother's Day to you!Reply1 year agoLisa Yay! Happy Mothers Day!I'm so happy to have you as a friend:)Enjoy your weekend!Reply1 year agoViews (40)·EditRemoveMar 21, 2010Dog HaikuCurrent mood:pensive I thank "Patsy" for resurrecting the Dog Haiku from many years back. Some of my favorites...thanks also to Lisa King and Pelauria for reminding me to go look! http://dan.drydog.com/patsyann/doghaiku.html7:32 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (1) Post a comment... PostLisa ..Hehe, that's pretty funny! So happy when my puppy moved past piddling on the floor every time I walked in the door! And my poor cat cant walk in the doggy door without getting a wet snout in his heiney! I'm glad you found that! Reply1 year agoViews (51)·EditRemoveFeb 21, 2010the tea baggers/tenthersCurrent mood:contemplativeI recently asked the question here and elsewhere: "Who are the tea partiers/tenthers and what do they want?" (Their own original name was much more colorful...)This reply was delivered to a different venue as an unsigned attachment. I apologize to the author for my inability to properly credit him/her. The inability of our educational system to instill a proper civics lesson in students. The result is that too many people have absolutely no idea about how to exercise their rights and responsibilities as citizens. Without a proper knowledge base in the electorate, jingoism and completely wrong ideas about the proper function of government are allowed to take root and grow like weeds, clogging the entire process. Except for the growth of the massively profitable security state, the ability of government to deal with the needs of most Americans is left to rot. Americans routinely give up most of their hard fought rights to those police and security state tactics. (Somehow the right to bear arms is given preeminence above all others). The result is a cult of insularity and selfishness and an overwhelming sense of misplaced entitlement and a fearful sense that others than themselves may be able to reap the "benefits" of our society. As in, they want the benefits of a civilized society, but aren't willing to pay for it and allow it to function in an egalitarian fashion. At no time do they ever realize that people like undocumented workers and women and minorities in general are still treated as second class citizens in this country.Basically, teabaggers have absolutely no idea how things are supposed to function and they suffer from a massive case of cognitive dissonance in regards to their role in a properly functioning society.The second problem is the massive corporately sponsored propaganda campaign that takes the place of the inadequate civics education. The result is corporate personhood, the overwhelming influence that money and corporate concerns have in the halls of government over the needs and concerns of the majority of Americans. The corporations are then given carte blanche to exploit and abuse workers, promote legislation that usurps the basic needs of people to make a proper living in our relatively huge economic system. Since the corporate masters depress wages and earning potential by forcing American workers to directly compete with people earning paupers' wages overseas, they are directly responsible for restricting access to wealth and concentrating a higher percentage of it among fewer and fewer people.This adds to the sense of powerless that they already have from not knowing what their true role as citizens. The fourth estate, already owned and instructed by their corporate masters, are complicit in promoting disinformation and distraction to keep most people in the dark. Behaving quite like fifth columnists. An improperly educated electorate routinely sends people to government who are co-opted by corporate influence, or are just too incompetent to take their responsibilities properly. So, we end of with corporate whores, weaklings and hypocrites of either party, who are all too happy to serve their grey suit wearing masters.It falls to an un-coopted media to expose this insidious connection, very loudly and very frequently.The result of overwhelming corporate clout is a sense of corresponding overwhelming powerlessness and the frustration that ensues, all taken advantage of by functionaries who hail from the very same source of these problems; the corporations and their whores in the government and the media.And again, that plague of cognitive dissonance prevents our teabagging friends from seeing the root of the problem.As an addendum, about the issue that teabaggers, who on one hand declare that they AREN'T racists, but on the other routinely they use rhetoric straight out of an anti-civil rights rally from the 1950's, I chalk that up to their inability to work through the aforementioned cognitive dissonance. These people, and I'm sure that they are from the least culturally diverse areas of the country, have absolutely no idea what constitutes bigoted thought and language.That lack of exposure, coupled with the all too human tendency to blame people unlike themselves for their own problems is the cause why we see the high level of resentment against President Obama's non-whiteyness, undocumented workers and people who are generally unlike themselves within the teabagging rank and file.Unless there are some radical changes with the cultural and age demographics in the problem areas of the country, that teabagging mentality will pretty much persist. 10:58 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (3) Post a comment... Postdw I went to a local Teabag Party back in September and it scared the hell out of me.Reply2 years agoDirtdiva I have subsequently been informed that this comes from democraticunderground.com, but still no name for the author.Reply2 years agoX X A - Frekin' - men!I'm going to repost thisReply2 years agoViews (41)·EditRemoveFeb 16, 2010Rest in Peace, Lucille CliftonCurrent mood:quietwe are running running andtime is clocking usfrom the edge like an onlydaughter.our mothers stream before us,cradling their breasts in theirhands.oh pray that what we wantis worth this running,pray that what we're runningtowardis what we want. ~ Lucille Clifton ~ (QUILTING: Poems 1987-1990) 9:14 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (4) Post a comment... PostDirtdiva Lisa, I love what you quoted...and it seems true to me. I hope the terms of service police don't find you! Jo: I don't think we need to run at our age, just open our arms wide and see what we pull in. :D That totally works for me. I don't want much, but I love what I have and have what I love...Reply2 years agoJo & Honey Hmmm, I never run. Will I never reach what I want? Reply2 years agoLisa Rut-ro! not sure what exactly I violated...Reply2 years agoLisa “People wish to be poets more than they wish to write poetry, and that's a mistake. One should wish to celebrate more than one wishes to be celebrated.”Quote by Lucille Clifton(very, very true:)... Show moreReply2 years agoViews (41)·EditRemoveFeb 3, 2010February again! Two years ago I made my pitiful debut here, whining and fussing about the dark cold month of February and all the decades of bruising I'd taken at its hands. So many complete and dear strangers stepped up to salve my wounds, to share a peek at their scars, to assure me that I am not alone in the world. To all of you, you know who you are, I thank each of you for being the someones requested below: A repost from the Diva by Father Joe Mahoney. Wish I'd said that! Needed: a strong deep person wise enough to allow me to grieve in the depth of who I am and strong enough to hear my pain without turning away. I need someone who believes that the sun will rise again, but does not fear my darkness.Someone who can point out the rocks in my way without making me a child by carrying me.Someone who can stand in thunder and watch the lightning and believe in a rainbow. May there always be a someone who steps in for you, too.Peace. Karla10:54 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (3) Post a comment... PostUnbecca Happypants thank you for sharing. i think we all need friends that fit that description!Reply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva Yes, we do, and thank YOU for being here. This is a no whining zone now, for me at least. My guests can whine if they want to.2 years agoDirtdiva That would be great fun. I'll bet there's an interesting place to meet in the middle. :DReply2 years agoJo & Honey How beautifully said. Truly someone who knows and understands clinical depression. I can't believe it's been two years since I 'met' you, K. First your beautiful daughter, then you. What a wonderful place this is. Hugs to you and peace, also. xo Jo and the pretty Honey girlReply2 years agoViews (36)·EditRemoveJan 2, 2010Celebrate what's right with the world - Dewitt Joneshttp://uk.video.yahoo.com/watch/1598539/5397639?v=...Celebrate what's right with the world - Dewitt Jones @ Yahoo! VideoI wish I'd said this! It IS what I believe; now I need to practice it. "I weave when I weave."7:29 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (2) Post a comment... PostCarey Lenehan Beautiful, warming, a good thought to start a New Year with. Happy 2010 DD. XXCareyReply2 years agoLisa I have no sound on this machine, so I will return to listen. I'm sure it's good;)Happy New Year!Reply2 years agoViews (59)·EditRemoveSep 1, 2009The poetry of W.H.AudenDate: Sep 1, 2009 W.H.Auden Category: Writing and Poetry I receive a daily feed from "Writer's Almanac." This appears in today's offerings.W.H. Auden (books by this author) wrote a famous poem about this day, called "September 1, 1939." It beginsI sit in one of the divesOn Fifty-second StreetUncertain and afraidAs the clever hopes expireOf a low dishonest decade:Waves of anger and fearCirculate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth,Obsessing our private lives;The unmentionable odor of deathOffends the September night....We must love one another or die.Auden also wrote "A Hymn to St. Cecelia," the muse of artists. In it he appeals to her: "Blessed Cecelia, appear in vision to all musicians...appear and inspire. Translated daughter come down and startle composing mortals with immortal fire..." and later in the same poem he notices "...O dear white children casual as birds..." Not a racial reference, but a reference to their purity and innocence. I hope you'll make a date to read more of Auden's poetry...They are goooooglish and also at: http://www.audensociety.org9:00 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (4) Post a comment... PostCarey Lenehan A timely pre-war poem that still rings true. 70yrs on and why does it still feel as if we are on the brink of a great catastrophe...? Nice blog. XXCReply2 years agoDirtdiva Thanks, all. He was one of the original hippy poets, although he was born too early for the beat generation. Once a teacher, always a...Reply2 years agoJo & Honey Yeah, and my middle name is Cecilia, and I am the LEAST musical person I know. Humph to St. Cecelia for ignoring me. As for the poetry - lovely. Thanks for sharing. Reply2 years agoX X FabulousReply2 years agoViews (60)·EditRemoveAug 22, 2009Quotable youAbout 15 years ago I found a wall on a defunct gas station covered with graffiti which said:"Practice Random Acts of Kindness and Senseless Beauty."It was spelled and punctuated according to the accepted rules of informal written communication, neatly printed in spray paint. I found it charming. Nearly two decades have passed, and I have to wonder if this still holds true, or whether there is a better phrase to describe our intentions these days. What do you say? "Practice random acts of _________ and senseless ______________"?10:23 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (1) Post a comment... PostLisa Thanks for he smiles today! I was going to say the very same thing as Patricia:)I wish my funds were better because I would help all my friends that need it right now!Reply(2)2 years agoLisa I think we are a lot alike, you & me;)2 years agoDirtdiva Me too! Me too! I have generous impulses that I can't back up with an actual check. Thanks!2 years agoViews (57)·EditRemoveJun 18, 2009Ranting: you can't fix stupid, only worse this time With apologies to my friend Jo: http://www.myspace.com/waddadogI just blogged all over Jo's blog. It started me ranting about the state we live in. I mean the real state I live in. That is, the unreal state I live in. It is now legal to carry a loaded firearm in your vehicle in the state of Utah, with or without a permit, or it will be, on July 1. The Utah legislature is full of scared old men with prostate trouble and little teeny weenies. That's the only explanation I have for this new law. Those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. When I taught school in Idaho long ago, we lost 2 elementary age children in just a couple of years due to the stupid storage of loaded weapons, and now there are 2 young men out there living with the knowledge that they were also innocent victims of this outrage. One: lost a brother, due to a pistol in a glove compartment and 2 bored boys playing in the car. One: a dead friend, bleeding out in a lonely field after a seven year old panicked, fled and didn't come clean till the body was found days later. So all you foreigners, illegals and shape-shifters out there, and you know who you are, be warned. We are wearing our foil hats, we are armed, and we are dangerous besides.Peace. Go check your firearms supply. Really.dd6:41 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (6) Post a comment... Postlucky The Good Ol Boy club strikes again! Well, unlike Texas and Tennessee, at least it is nigh impossible to be drunk driving with your loaded weapon.....but I have to wonder if the no-drinking thing adds to the problem of roadrage and gee, roadrage and loaded guns go so great together! Thanks for the heads up, I won't be giving any folks from Utah the finger if they cut me off in traffic....;)Reply2 years agoCarey Lenehan It's been a while since I was in Utah. Think it might be a bit longer of a while before I go back....Men and their teeny-weenies have a lot to answer for, not just in Utah, I think.....Reply2 years agouhh... Could be worse... I heard Tennessee just passed a law that makes it legal to carry concealed weapons in a bar. This isn't even a comment about guns in general. Truth be told, while I'm no card-carrying member of the NRA by any stretch of the imagination, I'm probably more pro-gun than most of your readers. But... who on earth could think that mixing firearms with alcohol possibly could be a good idea???Reply2 years agoDirtdiva Yup, the hits just keep on coming.Reply2 years agoJo & Honey No apologies re my blog, DD - I know how it goes. Texas is much like Utah. Besides the guns in cars blessing, they also allowed (don't know if they still do) open beer bottles in the vehicle. Larry and I once stopped at a roadside rest area off the freeway the the trash receptables were literally overflowing with beer cans. It boggled my mind and made me drive oh, so much more carefully after that! Loaded guns AND drunks on the highways - way to go, Texas.Reply2 years agoLisa Oh, when will this insanity end?Hi hun, how ya been? Sorry I havent been over to your page in awhile, I have been a slacker. hahaSorry about the awful legislature! I'm sure that Arizona will follow right along. We being a red state with all the NRA card-carrying scardy-cats! OOOOO, they may take away our guns? No way! We'll show them! Let's everyone fill your cars with loaded guns! Let's just see them try to take away our Constitutionally, rightfully, God-given? right to bear arms! hahahaScary stuff.Love ya;)... Show moreReply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva Well, if you've looked at my blog lately, there's not been much to see. :DWelcome back, though...2 years agoViews (65)·EditRemoveApr 14, 2009unconditional love?Current mood:awake A quote from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, psychiatrist, educator, 1926-2004: “I have never met a person whose greatest need was anything other than real, unconditional love. You can find it in a simple act of kindness toward someone who needs help. There is no mistaking love… It is the common fiber of life, the flame that heats our soul, energizes our spirit and supplies passion to our lives.”11:15 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (4) Post a comment... Postlucky And that's why "God" made doggies!!!!! So far, dogs are waaaaaay ahead of us human types on the unconditional love thing. I love and respect Dr. Kubler-Ross, her work and philosophy have been a great help to me in my Life.Reply2 years agoX X If the loved one's welfare is not one the primary concerns of the lover, then there is something wrongReply2 years agoDirtdiva At this point, I'd be happy if it could just start in every single family. Thanks for putting your thoughts out there to the cosmos, Jo. Reply2 years agoJo & Honey A very wise lady, that Dr. Kubler-Ross. How I wish all those who wage war, commit atrocites, etc etc, could feel the love she describes - surely they would give up the evil!Reply2 years agoViews (113)·EditRemoveMar 29, 2009China blog3: the neighborhood market on the "Murmuring Stream."While we were in Suzhou, China, we were invited to take a boat down the “Great Canal” which leads to the “Murmuring Stream.” Suzhou is purportedly the Venice of the Orient. Not so much…I’ll give them this: it does smell better on the small waterways than in Venice! It has been a major waterway in Suzhou for 1300 years. We motor downstream, watching the houses and parks roll past. We have seen very few school age children on the trip so far, but here on the canal, the kids are just getting home from school, wearing their backbacks and waving at us. There is an appearance of crushing poverty here; the houses do not look habitable in many cases, and yet there is laundry hanging from windows, plants on the battered concrete steps which go down to the water. Are these the backs of the houses? Or is this the main entry? Few private boats are evident here. At a concrete pier we hop out of our little launch and wander through a ‘typical’ canal neighborhood, complete with market. What a visit this is! There are 6-foot wide streets filled with vendors, bikes, pedestrians, cats, motorcycles, news sellers, mopeds, tourists and carts, yet it is curiously quiet. The people smile, nod. We have been warned to keep our possessions close, though, and to step away from anyone who gets too close. Pickpockets and bag snatchers may be present. Backpacks and fanny packs are vulnerable, they tell us. Keep tabs on your stuff, they tell us. So we cluster like sheep at first, watching one another’s backs, but after a very few moments we are mesmerized and just break out of our tragic pack to go exploring. The food choices here in the open market are not to be believed: eels swirl in plastic dishpans; green turtles pile up in plastic dishpans; huge bug-eyed frogs scramble over one another in netted-top plastic dishpans; pointy, green, toothed, black-spotted fish (gar?) struggle in what? Plastic dishpans. There are tables of beautiful fresh fruits, nuts, grains, sprouts, tubers and vegetables we can identify; horrifying dried -somethings- we cannot. Bags and bales of them. There are live chickens and ducks, just waiting in wire cages for someone to choose them for dinner. I was apparently spared a chicken’s beheading, witnessed by some of our companions on a different alley. There are buckets of eggs of all sizes: chicken, quail or pigeon, duck, goose. There are brass sellers, silk sellers, coin sellers, post cards, feathered and bangled and jingling stuff everywhere, waiting for the tourist boat. A friend buys ‘ancient coins’ only to discover later that they are old pot-metal disks, maybe washers. Our guide warns us that the “silk” will disappear when washed, and the colors will run. Nevertheless, there are takers. A delicious aroma assails us: a pristine bakery is just around the corner, complete with gloves, hairnets, glass display cases and coffee or tea offerings. Chocolate seller. Beans. Rice. What iS THAT? Yikes. We move on. Further along, I buy some cunningly crafted life-sized insects: dragonfly, cricket, preying mantis, all made of woven grass and so convincing in their reality, they spook my budding-scientist granddaughter when I show them to her back at home.Time to get back on the boat, which will take us to a new parking spot, and our intrepid bus driver is always there waiting for us, handing us up and down as if we are gentry. At the bus parking there are horrifyingly mutilated beggars with holes cut in their clothing so you can see their stumps and damaged flesh. They call to us and flail their stumps. Our guide firmly leads us past, informing us that if they stayed in their own region, they would be taken care of by the government. Some of them have no hands & no feet; others are so crippled and deformed they are hard to acknowledge, so we don’t, and one wonders how they got here. Our guide tells us it is all a scam; that they have income, they are just wanting more. I wonder. Our guides, although wonderfully friendly to us and constantly filling our noggins with Chinese beauty, history, geography, philosophy, and language, are very scripted and do not always hear our questions. “Look over there!” They know the American ADD will kick in…Our guide, Li-li, is a native of Suzhou, and she expounds upon how lucky the residents here are to have such sweet air and plentiful water. The air is murky and polluted, but admittedly it is not full of coal smoke, as is Beijing. There have been many, many fields , gardens and newly-flooded rice paddies along our route today. Indeed, parts of Suzhou remind me of the canals and farmland surrounding Sacramento. It is still early spring here, and cold, just as it is back home, but there are camellias in bloom, and the magnolias and azaleas are in full bud, not far behind. I have to wonder, though, where the bounty of fresh produce at today’s market comes from. It cannot be local; it’s still too cold for the tomatoes, watermelons, tubers we’ve seen today…Has this “typical Chinese neighborhood market” been posed and scripted just for us as well? Many parts of our trip have been “demonstrations” rather than true factories, and we have commented on Disneyesque aspects of the propaganda we’ve been handed. Well, says I, as long as we understand it’s propaganda, right?Right?8:14 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (4) Post a comment... Postuhh... I've never been to China, but I think I might have had occasion once or twice to venture into the Great Canal and end up with a Murmuring Stream... ;) Reply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva TOOO much informations!! As they say in China...2 years agoLisa Right=)heheReply2 years agoX X Wonderful travelogue. It would be great if those dishpans were made in Romania.Reply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva I believe the dishpans made in Romania are still wooden.2 years agoJo & Honey Oh wow, DD, what a picture you have drawn. I can see the marketplace teeming with all the things you described. I can see the guides steering your attention away from the things they don't want to discuss or see. Did you, or would you have been allowed to take photos of the cripples, do you think? Your final paragraph sent chills up my spine. The Disneyesque propaganda you wondered about reminded me of the "show" the Nazis put on at the Theresienstadt concentration camp. Scary, very, very scary. Reply(5)2 years agoDirtdiva Right you are. It's being there at the right time that is the magic. 2 years agouhh... Once, in Italy, I saw a homeless man dressed in rags and laying asleep on the sidewalk, right in front of a bed displayed prominently in a store window. I thought long and hard about taking a picture... and ended up not doing it. On the one hand, it seems crass and insensitive and exploitative. On the other hand, the symbolism of those types of shots have the potential, at least in theory, to accomplish change directly or indirectly...2 years agoDirtdiva Not crass at all. I just didn't have the fortitude it would have taken to stand there and document that misery. We were being hustled past, let me tell you, and no one messed with Miss Li-li, our imperious, I mean our Imperial guide!2 years agoJo & Honey I apologize if my question about taking pics of the "cripples" sounded and/or was crass. I didn't mean to be, honest. After I reread it, I squirmed. My reason for asking was that I was thinking along the lines of a photojournalist and trying to document the poverty and misery. I agree with you - I would never take photos of those less fortunate either, at least not in the "touristy" sense. ...... I am with you 100% that it was NOT your job to make anyone squirm, particularly since the trip was l2 years agoDirtdiva I didn't and wouldn't have taken pictures of the beggars. As you can see, I was very careful about including faces in the market pix as well. As much as I loved the trip, I still feel conflicted about the "factory workers" and guides who worked so hard to put a nice face on China. There are still serious concerns to be addressed, and we didn't get any answers to those concerns...in fact, most of us agreed not to make anyone squirm; cowards, do you think? Or do you accept our excuse/reason: We ar2 years agoViews (91)·EditRemoveMar 26, 2009Chinese food After all the fun food in China, I've decided to embrace a new food style, so I forayed into the recently opened China Grocery near us. All of the food on our China trip was fabulous, fresh and beautifully presented. The produce was new, crisp and glossy with recent washing. ("don't drink the water...don't eat the salad: it's been washed with that water.) 10 days without veggies and fruits is not an option for the Diva, especially when we're talking the best watermelon EVER, for breakfast, crunchy little cucumbers, brand-spanking new, never refrigerated tomatoes, and the ultimate dessert: perfect, plump, sweet kumquats the size of your thumb. I've never had such perfect fresh food, even when I was the gardener! So I ate the washed stuff and was just fine. Mr. Diva, who eschews anything green and steamed, even ate the baby bok choy and looked around for more. We've had it at home 3 times since the trip, and he's eaten that, too. Chalk one up for learning while traveling.We also had savory noodles with a variety of sauces, perfect sticky rice, small bits of meat, fish, plentiful shrimp. All lovely, tasty, beautiful, presented on pristine white plates or in steamer baskets fresh from the kitchen...with the exception of a particularly loathesome looking something brought out in a brown, grievously chipped bowl at one of our meals. It appeared to be stewed, chopped eel or maybe saddle. It was a ghastly color of grey, contained in a greasy sauce, with dark pieces of hide stuck to lighter colored pieces of surely-not-food. A chopstick couldn't penetrate it. Our traveling companions were nothing if not brave; these are the same ones who paid $2 USD for the privilege of drinking "medicine wine" from a large glass jug full of yellow liquid and a large dead snake. At least I presume it was dead. It was huge, coiled around and around, nearly filling a 5 gallon bottle similar to the watercooler bottles we have here. At any rate, one of our fellow gourmands took a bit of the 'surely-not-food,' pronounced it "pretty good, some kind of vegetable MAYBE. All righty then. After a little girding of the diva's loins, I took a bite. The taste was sublime, the texture--ack--. Turns out it was eggplant! Hahahahahaha...yeesh. Cleansing breath--whhhhhewwwww. So, back to the culinary experiments back in the desert:The Diva served home-cooked calamari strips last night. I had the chef deep fry them outside on the grill burner so as not to stink up Chez Diva. They were lightly coated with panko. Yummy. I found whole squid tubes at the China grocery near us, sliced them and Voila! Calamari. Admittedly, it's not new veggies and lightly steamed noodles, but with a major carnivore in the house, I'll be taking baby steps toward the new cuisine. Happily, I also found at the Chinese Grocery, all sorts of frozen dumplings, dim sum and buns, so this new cuisine may be EASY PEASY. Don't tell Mr. diva. He thinks I'm martha stewart. Hahahahahaha! 11:42 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (6) Post a comment... PostDirtdiva I just read and commented upon your fabulous quilts here http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=202200770&blogId=479923478I'd do a real link, but I'd surely mess it up. I wouldn't want anyone to miss your artwork! Thanks for checking in! TTFN.dd... Show moreReply2 years agoDirtdiva Yes, and a very large snake it was, too. The size of your wrist; coiled around and around probably 8 or more circumferences of the huge bottle. Two of the manly men tried it. I'm proud to report that Mr. Nye kept his manliness intact without resorting to such hi-jinx...the guys who did try it said it tasted like a garter snake smells. A cross between pee and feet. TASTY! Good to hear from you. How are the kids? How are the quilts coming along?dd... Show moreReply2 years agoJo & Honey How divine, Ms. Diva! (Well, all except the fish/seafoody stuff. yuck!) I had wondered about the food and if you liked it during your trip. I would live on the sticky rice, dumplings, and fresh fruit and veggies. I'll pass on that "medicine wine" though. A coiled snake???? EEEEKKKKKK.Reply2 years agoNessa Mmmmmm.....arghlmph.TELL me Sunday dinner is your newfound culinary delights!!!!Reply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva well, I'm thinking a bit of dim sum as appetizers before the turkey and salads. How would that be? We just have to keep grandma away from the shrimp...I'll be making little dumplings without meat for her. Any ideas for that?xoxo2 years agoLisa Hahahaha!We came back from Hawai'i last year jazzed on the cuisine, too! Probably not as healthy as China, though. Ive wanted to do a dim sum meal as a co-worker described the tradition her husbands family had on Sundays with all the little courses, sounds good to me. I love Chinese food, but have only had the American kind so far;)Big Love is my favorite show-it'll be a long time til the season starts again:(I will copy & paste my last blog for ya, I meant to do that already. I just started feeling funny about opening up that far & almost foolish in a way, like simple or something? *shrugs*I didnt want so much feeling sorry for me, either. I wonder why that is... ... Show moreReply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva It's not silly to feel sad about the loss of a loved one. It's something we all experience. You're not alone. No pressure to share, though. I love Hawaiian food, too... mmmm. fresh pineapple 2 years agouhh... Hell, I think you're Martha Stewart (or at least her cool version) after reading this, even if you do say it is easy. I'm the guy who's most complicated cooking endeavor is usually boiling noodles and pouring sauce straight from the bottle...Reply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva Cool??? Me?!? Garsh, thanks! It's all smoke, mirrors, freezers and steamers, hon. Not hard at all.2 years agoViews (47)·EditRemoveMar 22, 2009China trip part 1 REPOST with photos......................
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.. I may have mentioned in passing that I had been invited to China. Sure! Why notgo?So we leave our home in Utah at 4 a.m. on Friday, flying to L.A. where later in the day we board Eastern China Air in L.A. and head--whoa!--north?! We blow north along the California coast until we are past Mendocino, then make a sweeping left turn out over the vast Pacific and into the west. We have been warned to prepare for a grueling 15 hour flight to Shanghai, then 3 more hours on to Beijing. We chase the sun, flying through an infinite Friday, which has no night. It isalways day, more day, day again, still day as various curious passengers peekthrough the sliding brilliance of their window shades. Dazzling day. The oceanbelow looks like sky, dappled with clouds. The water is wide. We settle in. We wait. Watch. Read. Eat. Doze.Pace.Drink. Eat. Rest. Walk. Watch. Sleep. Eat again. Three meals and a snackpass through our alimentary canals. Still day. At times this Airbus feels as if it's not moving. Time goes all haywire. Itbecomes Saturday without finishing Friday. We fly on into an endless day.It some point it ceases being a journey and becomes an existence; separate,distinct. This is all there is, all there ever was, will be.A scruffily bearded teen asks how much longer. I tell him, "140years." He smiles and accepts this. Fourteen hours into the flight we have caught up with Earth's shadow as themurky sky darkens. Turbulence has us captive in our seats once again. I fallinto a brief discontinuous sleep as we descend into Shanghai's bleary evening.A rushed capture of our luggage precedes a long queue through...customs? We must have gone through customs. I do remember asevere security inspection... and into the next aircraft for our final leg,a devastatingly tiresome 3 hour 'hop' to Beijing in the north. We leave the aircraft in Beijing and embark upon a forced march, following ourimpeccably uniformed and groomed airline representative. He is unaware of ordisinterested in our complete exhaustion, bursting bladders anddehydration-induced stupidity. It's 11:30 p.m. on Saturday in Beijing. We feel we've been awake for days on end, and our appearances bear out that belief. A beautiful woman appears in front of us, with her sign of welcome: SB2. SB2??Oh. Yes. SB2! In our previous existence, there was a little label telling us whereto muster. We obligingly put on our name tags like a bunch of kindergartenerson their first field trip. "Come now. Stay together. I will help you, I amyour family in China," Ana tells us. I just want to sleep now. My brain has left me. Oh no. A bus. Not a bus!It's a short ride and Ana has already picked up our roomkeys, handing them to us on the way. Our organized, merciful angel delivers. Express elevator, here I come! Oh dread. I have luggage to schlep and I need a shower. Will this day never end?I have reposted this so I could add this cross-pollination:(photos)http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=59446786434#/album.php?aid=2018763&id=1391473512&ref=mfDon't tell Tom!6:36 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (5)Post a comment...Postuhh... I thought I would surely go insane toward the end of my trans-Atlantic flights... I can't even imagine being on a single flight for 15 hours, only to turn around and get right back on another plane.You may have thrown out the guy counting down the bottles of beer on the wall, but I probably would have been right behind him jumping on my own...... Show moreReply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva hahahahaha! It wasn't really as bad as all that. It was just long...but if you keep moving, reading, resting, eating, eating, eating, drinking, you get through it somehow. And the China visit made it all worthwhile. It really was a magical trip. Of course our guides were scripted and we were never without an escort, but as long as one understands the propaganda that's being foisted, it's all right.2 years agoX X you are still on the plane - dreaming about reading my response to a blog you wrote in an earlier dream.Reply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...................!!2 years agoLisa You made it! What a trial! Can't wait to hear more=)Reply2 years agoJo & Honey Oh wow, and here I expected photos, and instead I get literature! What a great blog, K. A better description of an 18 + hour flight, I've never heard. Please hurry and post part 2.Reply2 years agoNessa A lovely, eloquent description of a trans-pacific flight...but I don't wanna think about anything going thru anyone's alimentary anythings during a 15 hour flight. Glad you're home! Excited to read the rest! I'll come over and show you how to upload and embed your pics, k?xoxo... Show moreReply(1)2 years agoDirtdiva I was hoping you'd offer. T-I, that's your mom. Thanks much! mummy xoxox2 years agoViews (41)·EditRemoveMar 4, 2009A thought from George EliotCurrent mood:calm Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort of feeling safe with a person--Having neither to weigh thoughts or measure words, But pour them all out, chaff and grain together,knowing that a faithful hand will take and sift them,keep what is worth keeping,and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away. ~George Eliot~10:25 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (2) Post a comment... PostCarey Lenehan Imagining..... still trying..... Damn that GE to make a poet feel underemotionalised!! :) Reply3 years agouhh... Must be a nice feeling...Reply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva Probably a LOT nicer feeling than having some lout club ya upside the head. With his shoe. :P:Ddd... Show more3 years agoViews (21)·EditRemoveFeb 12, 2009Bake this for your valentine. Or yourself! You're worth it!................*This is a recipe for flourless chocolate cake, from my friend, Annie.**QUEEN MOTHERS CAKE**6 oz. sweet or semi-sweet chocolate 6 oz. ground almonds6 oz. butter 1/8 t. salt3/4 cup sugar 6 eggs, separated................................................................................................Use a spring form pan. Grease and dust with flour or line with parchment. Melt chocolate in double boiler, taking care not to allow any water to drip into the chocolate. Cream butter, sugar and egg yolks. Beat in melted chocolate and ground almonds. In another bowl whip egg whites till stiff. Fold into chocolate mixture. Bake 20 minutes at 375 degrees, then lower temp to 350 and bake 50 minutes. Place cake pan on wet towel to cool. See frosting recipe. **FROSTING:** 1/2 c. heavy cream 2 t. instant coffee crystals 8 oz sweet or semi-sweet chocolateScald the cream in heavy pan. Add coffee and whisk till dissolved. Add chocolate and stir one minute. Remove from heat and continue to stir till melted. Allow to stand at room temperature 15 minutes. Stir gently and pour carefully and artistically over cake. This is a rich, dense chocolate dessert. It's wonderful with coffee or vanilla bean ice cream or whipped cream. Or plain! So, who's going to make this besides me? Spread the love, people.And have a rapturous Valentines Day. Which, by the way, is a total crock. dd 7:34 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (3) Post a comment... PostNessa Not going to make it, but ooooohhhh, thanks for sharing, Mummy! Yummy as always!Reply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva You're welcome! 3 years agoJo & Honey Sounds delish. Probably won't make it, though. I already eat too many yummy, fattening things!!! So, when do you leave for Asia (China, right?) Sounds exciting. Hope it is fantastico!!Reply3 years agouhh... Should Valentine's Day dinner not be made in the crock pot then? Sorry... that was bad. Real bad. But it is a crock.Reply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva Well, the crockpot DOES leave time for other activities! A girl can't spend all of her time in the kitchen...3 years agoViews (46)·EditRemoveFeb 11, 2009Hope for a crummy February dayCurrent mood:silly Here's a little 'prayer' for you; even if you aren't a believer, this may help.Let me change what I can.Let me accept that which I cannot change.Let me ignore that which I cannot change or accept.Let me run away from that which I cannot change, accept or ignore.Let me lock myself in the bathroom, hold my hands over my ears and hum about that which I cannot change, accept, ignore or run away from.Let me... 10:55 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (8) Post a comment... PostDirtdiva What?Reply3 years agoAshley Dicksa oh my gosh this is the prayer i need to say every hour on the hour if not more. think it really works?Reply3 years agoJo & Honey Love it. I also find, standing under the shower, hot water streaming down, with the accompanying loud sound of the shower water helps as I hold my hands over my ears and hum....Reply3 years agoNessa What are we ignoring and plugging our ears against today, Mummy? ;)Reply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva I don't know: whatcha got?3 years agoLisa Oh my gosh, yes!Reply3 years agoDirtdiva Yes, that too...I hope to make a better list as time goes by. This one isn't mine; I steal from the best. Reply3 years agoX X and lord, while I have you on the line, please don't let me get arrested today...Reply3 years agoDirtdiva Yowch. Have you tried the train hat? It always works for me. :DReply3 years agoViews (43)·EditRemoveFeb 7, 2009No harm doneSo I and the Mr just returned from a trip to Coronado Island near San Diego. It was just time to flee February in the desert. Our trip to S.D. was lovely for a time. The weather for the first 2 1/2 days was nearly hot. Our hotel (Glorietta Bay Inn--the Spreckles Mansion on Coronado) is very nice, within walking distance of everything, including the hop on/hop off trolley, the beach and great restaurants. (read: bars)But on our way to a whale watching tour on Thursday we were driving along a lovely boulevard all by ourselves in our little rented car and an older gentleman failed to yield on his way to his golf game and just bashed us. No one was hurt, our airbags didn't even deploy, but it really wrecked both cars. We were in a Chevy Cobalt; he in a Toyota Corolla. His car, which t-boned ours, sustained serious front end damage and it seemed to have wet itself all over the road. I was glad he wasn't in anything bigger; it surely would have hit my beloved right in the window. As it was, my sweetie had to crawl over the gear shift and out of the passenger door. Our car had a broken axle and destroyed quarter panel, so we got to wait for the police to come twice (he was called away on a priority the minute he got to us), then wait again for the tow truck to haul us and our box of vehicle parts back to the airport for a replacement. Our new friend, Mr. Vasquez waited for his wife to get out of bed and get put together and come fetch him. I truly hope he's as okay as he seemed to be. He is surely well into his 70's. We were in a lovely neighborhood with herons flying overhead and shade and a view, so the waiting wasn't too bad.Needless to say, we missed the whale watching. We hopped back on the trolley instead and made another tour of Balboa Park museums which we'd missed the day before. Then the rain came. It wasn't too hard to come home yesterday! Next stop: China11:41 AMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (7) Post a comment... PostAshley Dicksa OHHH no. I am glad to hear everyone is okReply3 years agouhh... So glad you're OK... those T-bone wrecks have the potential to be so much worse.Reply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva Thanks, all, for your kind words. the diva3 years agoCarey Lenehan Lucky escape for sure. Glad you're ok. XXCReply3 years agoLisa Wow! What a bummer! China? For real? When are you going??Reply3 years agoJo & Honey Whew - so relieved you are both ok! That is NOT something anyone wants to happen, ever, and most particularly while on vacation. Glad you enjoyed San Diego. Was it warm enough to swim? Reply3 years agoNessa Sounds like you two need a babysitter next time...keep you out of trouble, you crazy kids! You were missed, dearly. Glad you're okay. Love you. Reply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva Thanks for missing us. We wished you and yours were there right up until the collision, and then I was so glad for that empty back seat! I was amazingly calm, could come up with phone numbers, the agent, the address. Your dad had a much worse time of it than I did, and he was visibly shaken and exhausted the next day as well. Adrenalin overload, maybe. 3 years agonothing it's a miracle we survive day to dayReply3 years agoViews (60)·EditRemoveJan 18, 2009Stress and AgingMy sweetie (hereafter referred to as 'S') and I had a long discussion this morning about stress. We had just watched CBS' Sunday Morning, where they did a story about the presidents and the aging that became apparent over the course of their years in office. One researcher claims that the presidents age 2 years for every one year in office. There were before-and-after photos of FDR, Nixon, Carter, Reagan, George the First, Clinton and W. All had acquired lines, white hair, and a weary countenance. The point of the story was that stress ages presidents more than it ages the rest of us.S made the claim that stress is stress; that all people, all jobs, all parts of life become stressful if we let it. That more stress is not worse stress. His mother became stressed one time, he related this morning, just because she had invited us to dinner. She stressed all week over it, and his contention is that she chose to be stressed, that she cared too much what her guests might think or desire. I expressed a hope that I hadn't done that TO her, since the diva has been known to be um, a bit, err, picky? persnickety? passive aggressive? [I know! The Diva?? How? What?] No, S says, she did it to herself, despite all of her early training of her son to Disregard What Other People Think. My own new motto is: "What other people think of you is none of your business." It's my motto, but it's hard for me to live it: not to care what other people think of me. I've had a lifetime of training to observe, to judge, to comment. It's hard to cast that off. Stressful, even.I think there are quantities of stress (Life piling on) and qualities of stress (losing your job versus tight shoes) as well as ongoing stress (I need a break! When will this end?) and that all of them have various effects on our relationships, our mental outlook and our physical aging. But:I feel that the president has the lives of millions of people in his hands and that is a bigger stressor than whose turn it is to clean up after lunch. S feels that the President has so much help that We The People don't have, that his stress levels are effectively changed. Walk the dog? Bring in the groceries? Tidy up? Take out the trash? Next meal? Make the bed? Pay the bills? Pick up the dry cleaning? Make him a sandwich? Someone else will do that for him. (For S, too...) Less stress. Focus on the big picture, day at a time. Get good help.I think that to be effectively cut off from the real world is a stressor. When We the People need a break or to stretch our legs we can go out for a movie, take a walk, grab a burger, check our Blackberry. George W has said that it was easier to stay in than to try to get out to any of D.C.'s many wonderful restaurants due to security issues. (For what it's worth, it's also the reason he didn't have them land Chopper One in New Orleans after Katrina...) I wonder how the First Ladies have shouldered this stress burden. None of them have complained in public to my knowledge. They have smiled demurely, deflected the press and gone off to perform their favorite civic duties. I am sure they worried about their spouses' blood pressure, mental outlook and physical health, even with a doctor on staff. More stress.On January 20, they powder their noses and attend the parade down Pennsylvania Avenue for the Inauguration, knowing that someone else is packing and moving their personal belongings out of The Residence, and that at the end of the day, they'll be sleeping Somewhere Else. I'm still waiting for the before-and-after pix of the former First Ladies. I know the past 8 years are written clearly on my own face, no fault of the Current Occupant. So, what do you think? Tell me about stress and aging. 3:03 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (7) Post a comment... PostAshley Dicksa I think stress to a certain extent is something we can control. Like Mr. S says, but the president. I think even with all the outside help it is one of the most stressful jobs out there. I think the stress of worrying about an entire nation is something only a few individuals are willing to even take on. I know worrying about my two kids, two dogs and husband is sometimes to much to bear. I secretly think the first lady has more stress than the president, because really who do you take your stress out when times are tough?? Those closest to you and I can imagine being President that person would be the first lady. Also the worry that goes with what if this happens or what if that happens is really stressful. Also to bear the weight of the common peoples opinion and having to read this and hear this day in and day out is a lot. I would love to have one of the first ladies write a tell all about what their lives are really like while their husbands are in office. I was thinking about that the other day. I wake up feed my kids, take the laptop down to the breakfast table and answer emails. The President gets up and goes to the Oval office and tries to figure out how to resolve the worse economic crisis in decades. No thanks I will pass!... Show moreReply3 years agoCarey Lenehan I think there is a direct relation between stress and early ageing. BBC Horizon did a study some years ago about the prevalance of early cardiac problems in Italian men emigrating to the USA even though heart problems are virtually nonexistent in members of the same families who remained in Italy in the traditional family situation. They concluded that moving away from this secure, healthy, communal existence to live in the hectic and stressful environment of (principally) New York far from the family structure that gave them support in the old country was sufficiently stressful to induce early heart attack deaths.I thought Obama looked extremely tired yesterday when he was painting the homeless shelter, already very drawn around the eyes, thin and pale. Will be interesting to compare pics in a year or so.XXC... Show moreReply3 years agoUnbecca Happypants Hi DD,I read and re-read and have arguments for both regular people and the Prez suffering stress, of course I'm in favor of *we the people* having it worse off because I can't imagine the Prez ever worries about how he's going to make his mortgage payment or what he'll feed his kids. But then, they say never judge 'til you've hiked in shoes too small - or in this case, too big? While the Prez does obviously have some bigger concerns than Joe the Plumber - will he suffer any real repercussions if he fouls? Sure, people won't like him very much - but will he lose his house? Will his car be repo'd? Will social services come and take his kids? I tend to think the things closer to the heart would cause more damage.BUTI think they should've done an apples to apples comparison for real consideration. Show Joe the Plumber over a span of 4 and 8 years. See if trying to run his own business, provide for his employees, make a few bucks to put his kids through college and keeps his wife and/or dog happy have aged him in the same way (or worse) than of Clinton.... Show moreReply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva Brilliant, Cog's! That's a really important comparison. And I agree that things closer to the heart do cause more damage. Maybe that's what my sweetie had in mind during our discussion. Stress is stress! dd3 years agoNessa All I know is that I inherited your propensity to worry about what people think of me and to observe and try to figure out what that might be. I've also noticed that the last year has been inexplicably stressful for me (have NO IDEA why other than that typical housewife worry that I'm suddenly useless and obsolete with the kid at school) and my wrinkles have doubled in size and quantity. I seriously doubt that W has been that stressed over the last eight years; it's just not his style. He's the decider, everyone else can buggar off, right? I agree with Jo that if Obama can stick to his own values and ethics in the face of the myriad of handlers with their own agendas, he'll be all right.... Show moreReply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva Right. Useless and obsolete. Geez, you're a little young to be going through the empty nest syndrome! As for "wrinkles" on your beautiful face, if they exist, I'd see them as character etchings. And you've earned them, as have I. So repeat after me: "What other people think of me is none of my business." Whether W realized what he had incited, or stressed abo3 years agouhh... We certainly all have our fair share of stress, but I think what sets the president apart (despite all the people around him to offer support) is the weight of the decisions he (and someday she) has to make. Imagine the decision, for example, to go to war. The president has no shortage of advisers and expert opinion to assist him, but ultimately, it's his decision and his alone... with thousands of lives and billions of dollars on the line. And that's only one example. Mix in the economy, health care, natural disasters, etc. (often all at once), and you have a recipe for aging very quickly.And not that presidents probably have a whole lot of "free time", but it probably is somewhat of a claustrophobic feeling to not be able to go anywhere freely, and to constantly be surrounded by people...... Show moreReply(1)3 years agoDirtdiva This is my second attempt to thank you for your thoughts here. The cyber muncher has been busy today! I agree that the constant decision making, the barrage of information and opinion that must land on his desk, and the paradox of holding the loneliest job on the planet would definitely take a toll. I can only imagine the craving one would have for solitude, for quiet, for privacy. And to be right in those decisions. I have to appreciate anyone who would take on that job. It seems he'll have goo3 years agoJo & Honey Fascinating blog, dd, and excellent comments by Robert. Yes, I do think it must be more stressful to be President, than a We the People person. Even a total incompetent like the shrub, must face a whole world ridiculing him, versus (worst scenario) our loved ones ridiculing us. I agree, the Prez and First Lady (and someday the First Gentleman) don't face the ordinary stresses we do, but being in the public eye constantly, being judged, both fairly and unfairly, has got to take a huge toll. The example you give Dubya not landing in Nawlins due to security risks is probably a good example - his life isn't his own. Unless a Prez is an extraordinarily strong individual (and the shrub was far, far from that), then his (her) life really is dictated by so many factors you and I never have to face. I am keeping my fingers crossed that Obama 1. doesn't get assasinated by a wacko, and 2. he hangs onto his strength of character and vision and doesn't allow himself to be "managed" by all the folks whose job it is to 1. keep him safe/alive, 2. get him re-elected, 3. keep him popular with We the People, etc etc. It's a tough, tough, tough job.... Show moreReply3 years agonothing I think stress has qualitative and quantitative components.I think leaders of nations, especially ours, with our delusions of world leadership, have more stress and a more pervasive brand of stress than us common folk. We have more down time, and missing a car payment is not, in my opinion, comparable to Pakistan imploding and going to defcon 4 in unison with india. The help they get is conditional, prone to sabotage, betrayal, and incompetence, all of which will reflect back on the prez. They have to be in the moment and yet unless very unique, keep their eye on the next term or on their legacy. They make a million promises to get into office then watch them winnowed down to pale, embarrassing phantasms of their original intent. They are sniped endlessly, and often unfairly by the press, the opposite party, and a certain percentage of their own. It's lose/lose city.... Show moreReply3 years agoViews (23)·EditRemoveJan 3, 2009Jo’s quiz/blogCurrent mood:busyFriend Honey and her person, Jo, have a wonderful blog. If I weren't so T.I., I'd link it here but she's among my listed friends, so I suggest you check out my friends and go see some fantastic writers. Don't miss Robert, Ness, Weaselseashells and Carey Lenehan, either. Then get back here and read this! Here's the latest suggestion from Jo, so I'm following her directive. 1. What was your favorite Christmas/seasonal gift this year? I received many generous, thoughtful and loving gifts, but the best by far is time with the people I love. Absolutely priceless.2. What gift were you the most excited to give and to whom was it given? I was anxious to give a certain 6 year old the Pegasus of her dreams, but Santa pre-empted me, as is right and correct. It was fabulous to hear all about it on the phone. So it was the best thing I DIDN'T give.3. What is your biggest personal wish for the New Year? World Peace and a smaller behind. Not necessarily in that order.4. What did you do New Year's Eve? Had a quiet evening at home with my favorite husband (so far) savoring fondued crab, shrimp and scallops and too much wine. Followed by chocolate. Followed by some music including Janis Ian's live (but taped) performance on Public Television. Followed by fireworks and some other stuff. All good.5. You are on Death Row and being executed at midnight. What do you order for your last meal on earth? (We're going to assume you actually have an appetite.)Dinner out? 6. The Power in Charge of Life and Death is granting you eight hours to spend with a loved one who has passed on. Who, among your loved ones, do you choose and what will you do? (This will take place on Earth, not in some far-flung nebula.)Dad, for sure, who loved to travel and didn't get nearly enough of that on this earth, so a far-flung nebula would suit us both just fine. We'll look in each others' eyes and tell truths. 7. It has been deemed that you will live a life of abject poverty, but you get to choose where to spend that life - the Amazon Rainforest or Siberia. Which do you choose and why? Well, since I've had good practice for Siberia living in Idaho and Utah, I'll choose the Amazon, just for a nice change. Brazil nut soup, anyone? 8. If you could have one talent at which you excelled, what would it be? (and if you already have a talent at which you excel, unlike many of us, pick another one.)I'd be a fabulous pianist. 9. You are being forced to share a bed with someone, and you are given a choice between a snorer or a farter. Which do you choose and why? The snorer!! I can't imagine living within the range of someone else's toxic releases. I'm married to a complete gentleman, praise be. I can live with earplugs much easier than with nose plugs!10. You just won the gazillion dollar lottery. After all the excitement has died down, what is the first thing you do? First, take my extended family on a world cruise and MAKE THEM LOOK. No cell phones, no texting. While on this trip, I'd buy and have destroyed all of the machines and weapons of war and discord, and I'd buy my own police force and MAKE PEACE HAPPEN NOW! Gently yours, the DivaI hope some of you who haven't already bowed to Jo's peer pressure will take this opportunity to share your own responses to this quiz. Pretty please?dd7:38 PMLikeYou liked this Unlike·Comment (3) Post a comment... PostCarey Lenehan Oooh, like your gazillion dollar wish for no more guns. What a good idea.... imagine a world without guns where if we wanted to hurt someone we'd actually have to get good at throwing or swordfighting again rather than dropping explosives on people from two miles up....Nice answers. I tussled with piano skills but in the end thought it would be just too cool to be a cat burglar on a robin hood type mission.... XXCReply3 years agoNessa Santa says thank you for your sacrifice and he still feels bad about asking for it. Just didn't want the belief system questioned. Thanks again. Much love! And thanks for everything. I'll take you up on that world cruise anytime.Reply(3)3 years agoDirtdiva Christmas isn't Christmas without an exhausted and jubilant kid or two. Good on you, and lucky kids! Have a great year, B.3 years agouhh... This was the first Christmas that I gave as "Santa" and not just as myself. Giving as Santa to the wee ones was far more rewarding...3 years agoDirtdiva I meant what I wrote. I feel good about it, and glad that it happened that way. The replacement wasn't too shabby, either! It might not be a world cruise, nor all expenses paid, but that's my dream...xo3 years agoJo & Honey Wow, you had me at "Dinner out?" I laughed so hard, the two men in the house wanted to know what was so funny. Wish I had thought of that answer! Wonderful answers and insights into The Wonderful DirtDiva. Thanks for doing this! Peace in the New Year, my friend.Reply3 years agoViews (65)·EditRemoveJan 3, 2009Memories and thankfulnessCurrent mood:contemplativeOne of my favorite bloggers, Weaselseashells, wrote about his grandmother's children, a prodigious list of names spanning 28 years of near-constant pregnancy. While my hat goes off to those women who worked so hard and so persistently to feed, clothe and shelter their large families, I feel so grateful to medical and social advances that made my small family (2 perfect children, one of each) possible and acceptable, even in the land of Zion where 5 kids is a "small" family....My own grandmother married grandpa when he already had 3; had 12 of her own, then took in 3 orphans. 18 kids at the table during the Great Depression. She delivered unknown hundreds of babies for other women, taking eggs, butter, chicken, honey, prayers and promises in payment. Said payment almost never made it to her own family; she'd take it to the previously delivered woman on her way home. She and Grandpa were swindled out of their property and then even out of a share-crop which they had labored to produce for a scoundrel and church goer. My then 6 year old father and the rest of his siblings worked alongside them, and Dad even worked in the community helping another farmer, trying to help make ends come close; they never did meet. Grandma died at age 46, totally worn out. That took the wind out of Grandpa's sails, and the older children raised the younger children, and took care of the old man, too. He was nearly 20 years older than she had been. Dad and his siblings were understandably very close, very supportive, very competitive, very independent. Dad and two of his brothers served in the Navy during WWII. Some of the rest of the boys were too old or too vital to the home front (farmers and mechanics, shoemakers and miners) to serve. Dad's sisters were good-hearted salty broads who ran saloons and hair salons filled with the blue smoke of cigarettes and bawdy language. Many of the brothers and sisters turned to brethren and sistern in their old age, which toned down the monthly family dinners considerably, much to the youngsters' chagrin.All but one are gone now. Aunt V was the 5th born to Grandma, 6 years older than my dad, who was number 13 in Grandfather's list, Grandmother's 10th. 5 siblings separated them. She has outlived all of them much against the odds. When she was 11 she and a sister were using a kerosene iron on the family's laundry. Sister Ellen,8, failed to cool the iron before trying to refill it. The kerosene flared, catching the curtains on fire. The girls, aware that the house was full of younger siblings and the parents away from the house, pulled the curtains down to extinguish the blaze as fast as possible, igniting their own hair, skin and clothing. The family lived in Vernal, Utah then, a sleepy farm community on the eastern fringe of the state, hours and hours by wagon from Salt Lake. Both girls were "rushed" to Primary Children's Hospital in SLC where according to a news clipping from the day, "Ellen is expected to survive." No mention of Auntie V except a gruesome description of her injuries, including the loss of much of her skin from her torso, neck and back. The implication was that she was doomed. However, after A YEAR at Primary Children's Hospital she was able to return home. This was in the late 1920's, and a family of limited resources. Grandma hopped a ride with the milk truck from Vernal to SLC to see to her daughter whenever she could break away from her other responsibilities.Little V had innumerable skin grafts, using her own skin from her legs and buttocks, which necessitated long waits between repairs to grow more skin, and to endure the painful healing of large swaths of her little self. Ellen went on to become a truly beautiful woman, a flight attendant with American Airlines. A gorgeous Irish redhead with milky skin and green eyes. Smoking cigarettes took her down at a way too early age. Cancer of the everything by the time they went looking. V went on to be a wife, mom, and business woman, the sister who took in the returning soldiers and sailors in her family and her husband's, giving them a home until they could get on their own feet. She lost her husband 14 or so years ago and has lived independently and fiercely since then, honing some crafting interests, reading, and welcoming one and all in for visits. Aunt V, 93, has just this year been put into an assisted living complex, much against her will. She loved having her sporty little wheelchair to zip around and visit people and pick up her mail and just get outdoors any time she chose. A recent fall made her sons decide it was time, and while she was in the hospital for a day they closed her apartment, got rid of her stuff, including all of her crafting supplies, and took her from the hospital to her new "home" which is lovely and new and modern and clean and... so not her home. Her motorized wheel chair is banished, lest she hurt someone in the hall (or escape down the elevator and out the door.) She is truly a force to be reckoned with, clear of sight and mind and intent. Kudos to Aunt V, may she find contentment in the new year.