Saturday, 31 January 2009

More musical interlude

San Fransician Nights

Monterey Pop songs and ad.

Jimmi sets the world on fire.

Thursday, 29 January 2009

Musical Interlude

Here are some videos and photos to go along with the story Ugly. I had thought of putting them with the chapters. I decide, since I have not written all the chapters to give everyone a brake of the heaviness of the last chapter to lighten it up a little.

A funny doc on the birthof the hippies.

A trailer from 1967

And just because this was made in 1967 and I love the song. I am sure they sung it in Cali.

Ugly p4

O.k. where did I end this?

Oh yeah.

My parents all gave me a name. A gift that would be with me forever. I wonder how they will fit that on my tomb stone? Make sure they do, wont you. It is my final wish. Well, I still have a few wishes left in me. But it's the one I want you to remember. Also, dear, rose granite. Yes, I want rose granite for the stone.

Anyway, I am still only one years old and far from the grave.

They took me back to the surgeons again. They had waited for be to get my birth certificate. They realized my mothers and fathers were a little disorganized. They had seen them beg for money. They realized this was the end of a year's journey.

I remember my mothers and fathers wanted to come in with me. My mother's face was so full of hope. As if she could imagine seeing me.

They had seen drawings of the procedure. They saw how a lot of children look afterwards. They got care instructions. While I was taken into another room.

They laid me on a table. They strapped me down. I was frightened. They put a blinding white light on above me and told me not to worry. You will wake and it will be all over. They looked like aliens with their faces covered. Monsters, ghosts, scary things. I tried to stay awake. I didn't want to sleep with the around me. I hate the feeling of being put under. It reminds me of death. It is a little death. I feel the same way about falling asleep sometimes. I wonder if I will wake up.

I did awake. I touched my face to rub my nose. I felt cloth. I cried. I felt pain. I cried louder.

My mother came to my bed. "You can not touch. You will ruin what the doctor did. You want to be pretty for Mommy, don't you? "

She never called herself 'Mommy' to me before.

She couldn't see my face under the bandages. In her mind under my bandage my face became hers as a little child. Flecks of freckle on my nose, pale white skin, and lips that held a mischievous smile.

You see all she could see was my eyes. Sparkly green blue just like hers. That was enough for her to piece the rest together.

"You do realize when the bandages come off she will have stitches and scars. She will never be "perfect", Bobbie? She will just be better then she was before, She will be able to have a more normal life than she would have without the operation. The doctor told us about this." My oldest father said to her.

"No, God, will make her perfect. Just like she was meant to be. My perfect pretty baby girl. She looks just like my little sister when she was a baby."

My mother's and father's looked around. Not really sure how to deal with her flights of fancy when they all knew the reality of the miracle she hoped for.

"Miss Miller, can you go out to the nurses station to fill out some paperwork about your baby." The doctor said. He was standing in the room the whole time.

"What paperwork?"

" Just questions about what your baby eats, likes, and such."

"But I don't know..."

The doctor gave her a stern look. "Are you not this child's mother?!"

"Yes, I can answer these questions, I just didn't want to leave her."

"It's important." Smiled the doctor as he escorted her out.

"Now that she is gone. I wanted to talk to all of you. This baby will need your help to recover. You will need to keep and eye on her mother. She seems to have unrealistic expectations. She is young still. You all live together, is that correct?"


"That is one good thing about you kids," Doctor said and he looked around "you have formed substitute families. Right now they both need family. RESPONCABLE FAMILY." He looked around almost judgemental with a mix of lecturing. " The baby needs a lot of nurturing and the mother needs a lot of growing up. I fear she is too young to deal with a child like this. It takes a strong woman to love a child that is not perfect."

My mothers and fathers seemed upset at that last remark. They felt mothers should love unconditionally. They also watched my mother not love at all but barely tolerate.

"Not all women are cut out to be mothers. The less mature the mother, the more likely she is to harm the child. If the child is deformed in mind or body, it is more dangerous. I hope the rest of you can fill in the gaps." His tone seemed far more concerned than technical now. " From what I have seen, you have. Please remember she's not a doll but a living human. They are delicate. There is a reason we pair off and have children, one mother one father. I hope you are all up for the task."

Mother came back in with a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor.

He looked it over. "So you baby likes hamburgers and fries and peppermint candies... oh and she likes playing with lava lamps. Be careful, Miss Miller, lava lamps can get very hot. Best to keep them away from her."

"O.k. Doc!" mother said as she came over to dolt on me again.

She kept looking into my eyes. As long as my face was bandaged I was beautiful. And she would told me so.

I was in the hospital for a while. Much longer than they would keep you in now. It was for the best. I was mostly healed by the time I got out. Chances for infection were low.

The last day I was there. I was happy to go home. The mothers and father's gathered. It was time for them to see my new face. The doctors had taken the stitched out a few days before, but kept me wrapped up. My mothers and fathers never saw me without the bandages.

The moment of truth as they say, they took off the bandages.

My mother's face went from smile and hope to disgust.

"But she is still ugly!" With that she got up and left the room.

The doctor looked at the rest of them. He didn't have to remind them of the words he spoke weeks earlier. The look said it all.

She rejected me again. I should have been used to it by now. I cried. The doctor was worried I would tear something. I should have been used of it by now. A full year plus of it. But for those few weeks I was her beautiful little girl.

Arms surrounded me. "Don't you look great! I didn't think it would turn out this good." My oldest father was here. Holding my little body close to him. My tears started to slow.

One of the mothers brought over a mirror. "Papillon, you are still my Papillon. See, the baby in the mirror. Her nose is in one piece now. Her lips come together like mine. And she pointed to her face where a long scar was on mine. Once there was a space there. I did look more like them. I laughed. And so did they.

"Time to get Rose into the sunshine where she belongs." Another of the mothers said. They dressed me and walked me down the hallway to the front door. "Rose, while you were in that dreary room, the world exploded in love and rainbows and music.." as we walked outside "and hippies!"

There were more people my mother's and father's age around, dressed the same, singing and dancing than I ever seen before.

One young woman with striaght long yellow hair came over to me and blew bubbles in my face. My oldest father carried me as I tried to reach for the bubbles catching one or two of them all the while I smiled and laughed. She smiled back at me. "Welcome to the Summer of Love, Little One!" She said in a laugh voice and danced away.

One of my fathers danced after her. We did not see him for about a week later.

Wednesday, 28 January 2009

Ugly p3

My mother was young. I tell myself that. She was far from her family. She had no mother around. The only real adults were men. They could not understand all the things a woman goes through during those time. She had no-one to explain to her about how babies form and how many things could go wrong.

I don't really blame her.

I wish I could truly believe that. But those are the first words I heard.

I know people don't believe you can remember that far back. But I do. And my first feeling was rejection. The first name I was called was Ugly. It was not the last time. It was used so much I thought it was my real name or at least one of my names until I was seven.

The father who gave me to my mother took me away quickly.

The women gathered around me.

"Poor thing."

"It doesn't look like any of the men or even the mother."

"We should bring it to a doctor. Get it checked out."

One woman took me. "SHE, she is not an it! She is a baby. I will take her."

One of my fathers drove us to the hospital. We waited in the ER for a long time. A very long time. I started crying. I couldn't stop. My crying for hours is what finally got me looked at.

Bright, bright white light. Each face less loving than the last.

"Someone give this child something to eat!" A man in a white coat ordered.

They fixed me a bottle and feed me. The substance they feed me would come out of my face.

" We can fix this cleft lip and pallet opening with surgery. The birthmark will have to stay. Other then that she looks like a very healthy baby. Why didn't the doctor who deliver the baby explain this to you? " He looked at the woman who brought me in suspiciously.

"This is not your baby? You don't look like you just gave birth."

"No, sir. It was a home birth and the mother freaked out."

"Is the mother alright? Does the father have insurance? Are you the father?" He looked at the father who brought me in.

"I think she is. No insurance and there is no father. I mean..."

"You kids. Creating babies. Having them at home with who knows what around. Not knowing which one is the father. This is not the first child I have meet from your communes. A little girl needs a Daddy.

This is going to cost money. Can your commune come up with the money for her surgery? The longer you wait for it the harder it will be on her. "

My father and the woman looked at each other. They didn't have any real money. Not the kind the doctor wanted.

"When you have the money give this person a call. " He handed them a card with the name of a doctor and an amount written on the back.

"Nurse, get them some formula and some bottles to take with them. "

The nurse left quickly.

"I strongly encourage you to try to get the mother to breastfeed. It is the cheapest way to keep the baby healthy."

The nurse returned with a weeks worth of formula, 4 bottles a package of diapers and pins.

"Take these and here is some pamphlets on how to take care of a baby. The mother might be 'emotional' or depressed. Watch her around the baby."

The nurse washed me off, diapered me and swaddled me in a blanket. Showing the woman how to did it every step of the way. She handed me back to the woman.

When I was brought home everyone gathered around. It was explained about my medical condition and what was needed to fix it.

Each father emptied their pockets. Each mother did as well. For the women, who later saw themselves as mothers to me as they would play with me, smile at me and give me the love my own mother did not have to give.

The months passed. My mother finally did take me to her breasts. She was never alone with me. One of my fathers would be there or one the other women. She didn't do much more than feed me ending each feeding with "Get that Ugly thing away from me!" She was sure I was her curse, her scarlet letter to wear for sinning against God. I know because she would wake up and say it every morning she saw my face.

They would find little jobs here and there. They would bring me to the street with them and out right beg for money. Other communes heard of what had happened. How a baby with many mothers and many fathers needed money for an operation. They would come by and give us what they had. My mothers and fathers sold pot for the 'fix my face fund', my mothers sometimes had sex with older men for profit, sometimes they sold flowers they picked.

It was my first birthday when they finally called the doctor to set up the appointment. At least that is what they told me. May 24th,1967.

My mother called me Ugly.

Each father and mother had different names for me. I responded to almost anything by the time I was a year old. Some named me after their mothers or grandmothers. Some after flowers or other things. Some changed their name for me as I grew. One mother said I reminded her of a cat when I was born. So she called me Kitty. That was until she saw me play with a sunbeam when I was 2 months old. Then she called me Sunbeam. Later as I made a mess while eating sweet potatoes I was Pie Face. When I was crawling I reminded her of a turtle. So I became White Turtle. When I got closer to a year old I was picking the heads of dandelions. So then she called me Dandelion. Another called me Papillon after the birthmark on my face.

When I was brought to the doctors office they asked for a birth certificate. There was not one.

My mothers and fathers brought me to city hall to get one.

"Mother's name?"

"Roberta Susan Miller."

"Father's Name?"

They looked around.

"The Universal God of Love and Understanding."

"So that would be none."

My father's were not amused. They really did want The Universal God Of Love And Understanding on the birth certificate.


"Yes, please."

"Ha, like I haven't heard that before from you hippies? BOY or GIRL?!"


"Place of birth"

"The Planet Earth"

"San Francisco, it is than. You wouldn't have a date and a time would you."

"Damn, did anyone look at the clock that day? " the mummers among themselves.

"May 24th. Sorry no time other than it was dark out. " My birth mother talked for the first time in all of this. No one was sure what day it was either. It was May. She decided to choose Bob Dylan's birthday. It did make it seem like she was paying attention to something that day.

"The child's name?"

"Ugly." My mother responded.

"No! Don't write that!" the others said quickly.

"Good I was hoping you were not serious. So what is her name?"

"Dandelion, Papillon, Rose, Moonbeam, Alice, Rainbow Walker, Emma, Peace Frog, Matilda" They all said their name for me in turn then my birth mother said "Miller"

"You have got to be kidding?"

"No!" They said together.

"Just write it down." my oldest father said to the women behind the counter.

They waited the appropriate time and got my official piece of paper saying I existed and my name was NOT Ugly. Officially. Not Ugly. Though my mother still called me it from time to time. But mostly she started calling me Dani. Everyone else still called me their name for me.

As I grew older other people thought Dani was short for Danella. They never believed that me that it was short for Dandelion.

Tuesday, 27 January 2009

Ugly p2

After loosing Sandra and her sister in the street she ran to the train station. They were not there.

She sat there for the night. Partly because it was her last effort ditch effort to meet up with her again. Part because in her quest to be famous she forgot to find a place to stay.

In the morning the ticket taker woke Bobbie "Baby, you gotta buy a ticket somewhere or go. And don't thing about sleeping here again. This was a one time thing. Got me, child?"

"Yes, Mame." Bobbie Sue said as she took her bag and strolled out of the station.

She got a room in a sleazy boarding house. That was easier than she thought. She just lied about her age, and they didn't really care anyway. She found someone who got to doctor an ID so she could get a job and a driver's licence. She felt scared and alive and free all at the same time. She felt like she was told being a teenager was suppose to feel like. She did not want to look back.

She saved a little. She meet other young people. She meet a young man. Young, he was 25. She thought daddy would shoot him if he ever knew. They moved to San Francisco. He had friends there who were all sharing a house. Young people providing themselves a family when they have none. This appealed to her. She was not alone. She was not so scared. She felt alive and safe.

No more of the old school. No more woman the salve to man. We are modern. We have jobs. We have men who tell us we are free and liberated from the chains of our mothers.

The guys still make the women do the dishes and wash the clothes and clean up after them. She wonders where the liberation was. Every time they grabbed her ass and whispered free love into her ear she remembered. Liberated from being a good girl. When they would bring it up the men would talk about doing the stronger tasks. "Separate but equal, babe. Everybody works in the commune." They still didn't seem to work much, more sitting and talking.

They introduced her to pot, hash and shrooms. Now that felt liberating. She felt free to enjoy the making love not war even when the boys didn't know how. She wondered with her mother's "no sex before marriage" rule, how she ever knew if Daddy was good in bed. She decided it was much better to check out the merchandise and throw the inadequate ones back. She did a lot of throwing ones back, than fished them back out again to see if they learned anything.

Free love plus drugs = me.


Welcome to my conception.

Party time!

Well, literally.

It was an orgy.

I have 5-8 possible fathers. My mother could only remember 4 of their first names. 2 she actually knew last names of.

Well, the night started off with the normal meal, cooked by the women. Lentils, brown rice, you know typical hippie earthy crunchy stuff. Next came the hash brownies. Some friends of friends came by with their "old ladies". And Bob's your uncle...

What, you thought I would tell you this part. If you want a sex story there are plenty out there, films, too, I am told. Especially of the orgy verity. I never asked her the details of an orgy. Mostly because I was sure she would tell me. Some things you should not hear from your mother.

When she turned up pregnant and throwing up a few months later the men in the house got together and decided she should have an abortion, for a baby would really drag everyone down.

The next day they gathers some cash together from their fathers and....

Of course she didn't! I couldn't tell you the story if she did, could I? Maybe I could, from the aborted fetus part of heaven or limbo or where ever aborted babies go. Sorry, my Southern Baptist up bring comes back at the worse time.

Well, she told them. And all the women in the commune told them too. They had their own little revolution. Women's liberation. Explaining what a woman's right to choose what happens to her body meant. It meant a whole lot more the lending them her body for mutual enjoyment.

The women were so furious that they went on strike. Oh, the men laughed. They said anything girls could do they could do better. This went on for weeks.

The men cooked.

Well, the burnt a lot of food. You see their mother's didn't teach them to cook. After a few days they decide raw foods were healthier for all of them special a pregnant woman.

The men cleaned.

They decide cleaning was bad for babies. Because there were toxins in cleaners. The women pointed out no toxins in hot water and a mop and elbow grease. There mother's didn't teach them to clean either.

The men did the washing of the clothes.

The cloths were all pink. Many a dress got shrunk to the size of a 6 year's dress. Mother's never taught them how to sort laundry, either.

The women ended their strike when they could take it no more. The woman not the men.

The men had a house meeting. They admitted the real reason for the abortion suggestion. They all could be my father. They didn't know how to deal with it. They were all taught real men take care of their responsibilities. But she was the first girl they could not convince to have an abortion. They really didn't know how to deal with this.

They all decided to wait and see. Who ever I resembled would be my father and he would take care of me and my mother. One of them had did a study in college where the results were the babies resemble the fathers. It was nature's way of getting the father to bond with the baby instead of killing it.

Not very scientific, I know. DNA tests were not around back then. Until I was born and let them all know, they would all treat her as if she carried his child inside her.

This made me the commune's baby.

Mother enjoyed herself. She was pampered as if she was a goddess. It was the first and last time this happened. She was very grateful for me during this time. I was appreciated. I too, was adored and wasn't even born yet. They would all sing to me. I could hear the music through my mother's skin. Words of love were spoken I am told.

The months passed. I grew, my mother's stomach grew.

During yet another orgy, I decided to make my appearance. The water broke. I am told nothing stops and orgy like a woman's waters braking.

This should have been a sign to her. The party should have been over.

They had all agreed to have a home birth.

My mother changed her mind halfway through. "Drugs, I want drugs!"

"The baby is almost here, it will only hurt for a moment. " One of my fathers said to her.

She responded by hurling a lava lamp at his head. One person screamed that it was expensive. Mother screamed because she burnt her hand.It did take her mind off the pain. That father screamed because his face was burnt. He still has the scares today.

With all this screaming, down the birth canal I came. More things were thrown as advice about my mother's pain being mostly in her head were said by people who would never feel the joys of birth without drugs.

A lot more screaming issued from mother and the people she got with her easily identified flying objects.

When I came out. The noise of the house stopped. The only noise to be heard was my crying.

They handed me to her, naked and bloody and cord still attached.

"Get it away! It's UGLY! God has punished me!" mother cried.

Monday, 26 January 2009

Ugly p1

It was 1965.

The world was filled with the promise of change.

At least that is what all the teen magazines and the television talked about.

Well that wasn't true either.

My mother's version.

The television often put down the young people who were exploding on the world with a vengeance. Called them naive.

"Mama, why do they have to be so ugly to kids on the t.v. and papers?"

"Bobby Sue, you will understand when you you are older, dear. And don't be calling them ugly. they are only telling the truth."

They were fueled by music that demanded change. And more was to come. Dylan. Bob Dylan. My mother loved him. Listened to his words as if he was the new messiah, Jesus came back and preaching to the young masses with the Mother Mary/Joan by his side. At least this time he was able to get a girlfriend.

My mother. Young,15 or 16. Long straight hair. Braided. Free flowing. What ever hit her fancy.

What didn't hit her fancy was being where she was. Kentucky. Small farming town with a lot of hateful talk against the things she admired. Boys from England. Young music makers who talked directly to her. She envisioned herself a movie star. She would settle for television if she had to.

California. That was the place to be. Where the sun always shined and someone would surly saw her for the star she really was.

She saved for years. Since she was 13. All the money people gave her for birthdays and Christmases. You know, they have no clue what to get teens today. She would con boys into buying her presents later. She hadn't spent her own money since her breasts grew in.

In 1965 she left in the middle of the night. She walked to the transition and boarded a train going west with a million of dreams in her head and $39.56 in her pocket. Clothes she had a few.

Reality of California struck her about 8 hours after she got there. Every teenager that ran away seem to come here. All with stars in their eyes. And at every train station and bus terminal there seem to be dirty old men waiting for them. Offering them jobs. Jobs that only a dirty girl would take.

She might have been suckered by one of them if she had not meet a woman on the train. She was from New york. Not the city but the state. She was in her twenties. She had been to college. She was a career woman. Her clothes were like those fancy clothes in the fashion magazines. Fitted like Jackie Kennedy and Doris Day wore. Her name was Sandra, She was heading west to get her little sister.

Her sister ran away a few years back, she was the same age as my mother when she did. Those dirty old men found her quick. She ended up in the blue movies she had heard about. She ended up selling her body to old men for a another old man's pay. She was kept on drugs so she could bear it all. Some guy found her fetching, felt bad for her. She was the same age as his daughter. He saw her a few times. Got to know her. Finally got her parent's number.

At this point you might ask, " Why did they send another daughter out to the land of lost daughters?" It was simple. What she had become was more than they could bear. They were a proper family. Things like this happened to other's family. Ones who's parents did not raise their children right. Ones who didn't give enough discipline. Not to families like theirs. They had one daughter who was successful, though unmarried, proving their ability to parent correctly. They wrote their youngest daughter off 2 weeks after she left.

Sandra was there when the phone call came. She was there when her parents hung up saying to the man on the other side their daughter was dead. She was there 10 minutes later when the phone rang again and her parents to busy consoling each other to notice the phone rang once. She took the info and told her parents the whole ordeal was too much and she was going on a two week vacation to Montreal with her girlfriend from school and roommate.

My mother heard the story of Sandra's sister. She begged my mother, Bobbie Sue, to go back to her home in the small town Southern America. She begged her to finish growing up there. To go to college if she wants to leave home for better things. She told Bobbie that there were greater freedoms there than being 15 and alone in Southern California.

But she had a million dreams in her head and would not be swayed. Sandra gave her $50 more dollars. She said to get a room somewhere while Bobbie looked for a job. She told her to keep it some place safe. Someplace hidden on her body. She also gave Bobbie her phone number in case of emergency. Sandra tried to get Bobbie's parents phone number, even her last name, but Bobbie was too smart to let her call her parents.

Bobbie got off the train. She avoided all the traps set for the young runaways at the train station. One man was very instant until Sandra came over and told her "Don't talk to strangers!"

"Yes Auntie," was her response. they all backed off her after that. She wasn't a runaway. She was a young woman with her aunt. No easy pickings.

Shortly outside of the train station they parted ways.

Bobbie first went to the movie studios asking the guard to go in for her audition. That worked out as expected. With all those big guards telling her to go home it didn't kill her dreams. Well only a few of them. But she started with a million so she had plenty to spare. The last studio she tried Rock Hudson drove up as she was trying to convince the guards. She started unbuttoning some of the top buttons of her blouse.

"Honey, all the women here have them and you are waisting them on him. " He smiled and gave them a wink as he drove on through.

She had no idea what he was on about but it was the first time she ever tried had to use the power of what God and Jesus had given her and had not worked. She looked around and saw all the pretty young girls. Everywhere. Most with what she had and more.

The dinner. The dinner where that starlet was discovered. She went there.

She sat and sat. She ordered things and ate slowly. Slowly sipped at her fountain drink.

Hours passed and every time they talked about throwing her out she ordered something else. She was sitting near the window. Just waiting to be discovered when she saw Sandra. She was walking on the street with a woman. She was very thin, she was very warn. She seemed older than Sandra. She realized as she choked on her drink that was her little sister. The girl who is 2 years older then herself. That was when her dreams died from the epidemic of reality. She had to start a massive grave in her mind. She realized she should follow Sandra to safety.

She paid the waitress for the last drink, turned and grabbed her bag and ran out the door.

She burst onto the street.

They were gone.

And that was how my mother ended up in California.

Sunday, 25 January 2009

New stories


I know I have some readers out there, I can hear you breathing.

I did one, reasonably, called Scent Of a Man. Just a short snip out of a life. I realize I do a lot of those. So if you missed those there is one for you.

I have been channeling a story for sometime. So I finally got around to writing it down. I have done the first three chapters already. I have set them up to be published every day. I am trying to not throw it all out there at once. But I still am sort of.

I will shamelessly plug it, because I want people to read it.

I hope no-one gets offended by my shameless plugs. if you are, just let me know I will avoid doing it on your blog again.

Life had been so busy that I could not write it before.

It is called Ugly. I want to explain for those who don't know, ugly is a term used down south to mean mean spirited or angry. Often used like this "I don;t mean to be ugly but..." then they will be mean to you.

The last few I have done has been depressing. This will have a range. So don't worry about it being a downer.

Here's some music to hold you over, don't forget us artist types like feedback.

Friday, 23 January 2009

The Scent of a Man

The smell of him lingered on the pillow. When he left she would smell the pillow for hours when first he slept over.

He smelled of the oils of his skin mixed with some oils he mixed himself. His special blend. It was intoxicating to her. It was from the first moment she meet him. Some olfactory drug that turned her libido on. She would never tell him this.

As her dark eyes with a golden rim were the same to him. He never quite explained what their to her. There was plenty of time. Plenty of time to tell her that the golden ring made him think of far off lands, exotic women in cheep stories and those women who tempt men in the old movies, the ones they just can not resist.

His smell lingered on his pillow, cool and soft.

She stripped from her clothes and fell into the big bed made for two. She grabbed the pillow, hugs it, smells it deeply.

She fell into the world of the unconscious.

Not really sleep. Somewhere else. There she still lay clutching the pillow. There she clenches her lover. He is younger. Still the same.He is in his prime. Before he got distinguished looking in the last 4 years. He smiles and holds her back.

This time is timeless and lasts forever.

Beep.. they smile into each other's smiling eyes.

Beep... they are not seeing anything physical. They see each other fully.

Beep... the physical drop away and they are bright and brilliant.

Beep... Will that beeping stop!

Beep.. She remembers it from somewhere. Somewhere far away. So far from this place.

Beep... She opens her eyes.


She gets up from bed.

Rolls out of the room. Stumbles around.

"Ouch!" She whacks into the door jam to the bathroom.

She starts the water in the shower and finishes her routine.

The mirror is fogged. It makes her look younger. The illusion he tells her is his reality. She lived in that foggy reality for enough time. She took the towel and moved away the condensation from the mirror. She was taken aback by her 41 year old face. She turns away quickly. She thought it was some one else. Not her. It was her mother's ghost. She is sure of it. Slowly it fogs over again. And she is 25 again.

She pushes the shower curtain away. The water is warm.

Everything stops. Time passes. Unnoticed by her. The sun rises higher. The shadows slowly move. All the memories of him. His touch. His laugh. The look in his eyes when he wants her. She loves it when he wants her.

She doesn't want to wash of the scent of him. She knows it is crazy. Or is it just sentimental.

She thought of jokes of women who hold on to long.

In high school she remembers a girl who didn't wash for a week because the boy she had a crush on finally fucked her. She would have loved to call it making love. But boys didn't do that back then and he did it on a dare. After a week the girl realized her virginity was taken by her own true love who saw her as a piece of meat. The girl finally took a shower then. The circumstances of the how she knew was beyond the cruelty of girls. Forced truth. One of the cruelest things girls do to each other. Followed by a forced shower by said girls.

She pulled her hand back from the shower's water. She was not ready.

She put the clothes back on that she had on last night. She forgets she has worn them already. It is all the same day all running together. Back to back. One long day. This is not the first time she has walked through this routine. Same cloths. Same day.


The stupid reminder of the seat belt she hates. She secretly likes the illegality of not wearing it. Makes her an outlaw. Makes her dangerous. Makes her someone not to mess with. Makes her wild. It's the only illegal thing she does. It's the wildest thing she has done for years.

Driving in a head fog she forgets the trip.

Beep... She hates the sanitized smell.

She reaches over.

Beep... she hates the sound.

She pushes the leaver to the off position.

Beeeeee... ahhhhhhhhh.

Sound of air escaping it's host.

Finally the beeping stops.

She thinks she can rest now.

She is dead wrong.

"You bitch, what have you done!?"

"It was suppose to last another 20 years at least, maybe 30 or forty if we were lucky." She turns to the older woman screaming at her.

"But I was the only one who could do what needed to be done. You can hate me now if you want. At least you didn't have to make the decision. You can hate me for the rest of your life. I give you permission. And I will never fight it. I did it for you,too. I love you, he loved you. A mother should never have to do that for her son."

With that she walks out of the room and walks back in her fog .

Sunday, 18 January 2009

Blog stopper

I have been away for a while.

Life is more hectic.

Life gets that way.

Technology tends to aggravate.

And the depression over loosing David to "other endeavors". I am sure I will watch those other endeavors. Sure, I will still watch the good Doctor.

Seriously, I had been listening to a lot of public radio this month.

For the most part I like to think I keep it light and airy. Then I will write a story or two or three that aren't. Fiction is so much better than real life as far as depressing things go.

Back to the radio...

As a mother I was struck by the latest newest war in the middle east that we did not have any troops in.

Many times I wanted to comment on it. the things I felt were right out outrages. IE bombing UN shelters, schools, hospitals and graveyards.

Anyway, if you read this and the news on the Internet or listen to public radio you know what was happening.

So I couldn't find anything clever or happy to say.

But I found this photo. It was taken after heads of nations agreed to stop. It was the most uplifting thing I could say on the subject.

Monday, 5 January 2009

The new Doctor is 26!

Artical by Serena Davies.

Matt Smith has been cast as the replacement for David Tennant as the Time Lord in the BBC's sci-fi series Doctor Who. Ahead of Smith's incarnation as the 11th Doctor, we profile the young actor who has just won the biggest role in British television.
So who exactly is Matt Smith? There's no doubt a good proportion of the viewers of the grand unveiling of the 11th Doctor Who in Saturday's BBC1 documentary Doctor Who Confidential hadn't the foggiest when Smith's name came on the screen. And after all the feverish speculation that the next Doctor might be played by a Hollywood film star or, better still, Bill Nighy, it felt like a comedown that David Tennant's successor is a 26-year-old stripling with only two semi-popular dramas under his belt – the flaccid BBC1 literary adaptation The Ruby in the Smoke and BBC2's underrated Party Animals. But that doesn't mean Smith's not the right man for the job. It's easy to forget that the only major TV David Tennant had done before he became the Doctor was BBC3's hit-and-miss Casanova. Besides, major stars won't want to be locked into a part for several years, even if Doctor Who is the biggest role in British TV.
Like Tennant, Smith has already made his name on the stage before becoming the Doctor, even if he hasn't done much screen work. He had several minor roles, one of which was in Alan Bennett's National Theatre hit The History Boys. Then in 2007 came his major breakthrough: the part of a disturbed, abused adolescent in the Royal Court's play That Face. Smith was "outstanding" according to The Daily Telegraph; "the star of the evening" said The Sunday Times; "virtuoso", "mesmerising", "heart-rending" said three other critics. I saw his performance in The Face and it was devastating.
But Smith has more than acting ability. He also looks the part. There's the tousled coiffeur – "The hair!" as Steven Moffat, the series' new executive producer said on Saturday, with awe. According to Moffat's fellow producer Piers Wenger, there's something about Smith which makes you believe that, despite his youth, he really could be 900 years old: "There's a quirkiness to him, an unevenness to his face, a lot of stuff going on behind the eyes. He hasn't got an entirely modern face."
Most importantly, Smith has the personality to be the Doctor. Unassuming and "normal", this boy from Northampton isn't a product of a starry acting school, even if his sister is a backing dancer for Take That. In fact, as a teenager, Smith wanted to be a footballer before an injury put paid to that ambition and he did a stint at the National Youth Theatre instead. He then studied drama and creative writing at the University of East Anglia – a place considerably more famous for its creative writing than its dramatics.
Perhaps these humble beginnings helped, but Smith is gregarious and completely unpretentious as a person. You could see this in Saturday's BBC interview, in which he bubbled away about getting the part: "You're watching Doctor Who and your flatmate's there and you're going, 'Ahhh I'd love to share that I'm the new Doctor but I can't!'" I met Smith a couple of years ago in a bar and he was sweetly friendly. His rare interviewers have found the same; "funny and charming" said The Evening Standard in 2008.
A 21st-century Doctor needs to be affable because the role now requires much more than acting. Smith will have to cope with huge media interest, and also with a clamouring fan base mainly consisting of children. This is why the shy Ben Whishaw, another young actor touted for the role, would have been the wrong choice. But it is also why youth is now an essential part of the Doctor's make-up. Along with that fan base comes a huge merchandising industry and children need a Doctor close enough to their own age to identify with.
So what will Smith's Doctor, who will "regenerate" in this year's Christmas special, be like? Like Tennant, Smith is thin and gangly but handsome at second glance, so there is a danger of the 11th Doctor seeming like a clone of 10th.
However Smith comes to the role without Tennant's in-depth knowledge of the series and describes the next six months as a "time to build this Time Lord…to learn the history of the show", which should give his interpretation freshness. His Doctor may also be boyishly mischievous – he spoke with relish of "the sense of mischief" he got when he knew he'd be the Doctor.
He also spoke of the show's "magic". Smith is of the Harry Potter generation and so his Doctor Who may be full of the sense of myth and mystery found in the tales of the boy wizard – one quality that Tennant's Doctor maybe lacks.

Sunday, 4 January 2009

Funny from David's Blog

Check out this story. This cracked me up.

Thursday, 1 January 2009


Start the new year with music from what seems like 100 years ago. Maybe I will take some time to revisit the people I knew back than.