Dana (scribblers sanctuary)'s Posts - The Ark2024-03-28T08:34:27ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Danahttps://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2196230592?profile=RESIZE_48X48&width=48&height=48&crop=1%3A1https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profiles/blog/feed?user=1vlbmc30arm8s&xn_auth=noIsland Life and Broken Hearts on the Mendtag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2018-08-20:2426069:BlogPost:1807052018-08-20T12:23:38.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Hello Arkians and greatly missed friends.</p>
<p>Much has happened in the last bit, heh? For those of you that haven't heard, Mr. Scribbler and I were hit by a drunk driver on May 28, 2016. My beloved and best friend did not survive the accident and I have spent the last 2 years. 2 months and 3 weeks figuring out the rest of my life and healing; both physically and emotionally.</p>
<p>I'll spare you the details and tell you what's going on at the moment. I have become quite the scuba diver…</p>
<p>Hello Arkians and greatly missed friends.</p>
<p>Much has happened in the last bit, heh? For those of you that haven't heard, Mr. Scribbler and I were hit by a drunk driver on May 28, 2016. My beloved and best friend did not survive the accident and I have spent the last 2 years. 2 months and 3 weeks figuring out the rest of my life and healing; both physically and emotionally.</p>
<p>I'll spare you the details and tell you what's going on at the moment. I have become quite the scuba diver (yay!) Turns out, I must have been a mermaid in a previous life. They call me the fish whisperer because the fish just come right to me. I've always been a water lover but never had the opportunity to dive. It's magical and I could bore you for hours once I get blathering on about it. (but I won't. You are WELcome!)</p>
<p>I also moved. Our plan was to move back to Texas and we were in planning mode at the time of the accident. I discovered that I really couldn't stay in that house any longer, living alone in a life built for two, so I accelerated my efforts. I went down to Galveston Island to look at houses and/or boats to live on and a friend made me promise not to buy anything just yet.</p>
<p>I am now living on the island of Roatan. It's the largest and one of 3 islands off the coast of Honduras. And it is paradise. The diving here is amazing. We have the pleasure of being part of the Mesoamerican reef system which is second in size only to the Great Barrier Reef, which I visited and spread some of Mr. Scribber's ashes in March of 2017. We had been planning a trip there for some time.</p>
<p>Anyway, my island and diving has turned out to be my best physical and emotional therapy. Moving here didn't allow me to leave my shit behind, or instantly make everything perfect. But I have found peace here. Change can be scary and stressful, but missed opportunities are infinitely worse.</p>
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<p>I hope this finds everyone well, happy and living life as they choose in their own paradise. </p>Time flies...sometimes pigs do too.tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2013-10-03:2426069:BlogPost:1511932013-10-03T02:01:24.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Oh my! Has it really been since last December since I posted? I feel like such a derelict. Especially since I think about you Arkians nearly every day. Ok, so here's the Reader's Digest version should any of you be curious...</p>
<p></p>
<p>In the last 10ish months I've...</p>
<p>Been promoted to Advanced Master as both a designer and trainer</p>
<p>Got my Redken Color Certification and Redken Specialist</p>
<p>Transitioned into a Vegetarian Lifestyle</p>
<p>Started excercising. sort…</p>
<p>Oh my! Has it really been since last December since I posted? I feel like such a derelict. Especially since I think about you Arkians nearly every day. Ok, so here's the Reader's Digest version should any of you be curious...</p>
<p></p>
<p>In the last 10ish months I've...</p>
<p>Been promoted to Advanced Master as both a designer and trainer</p>
<p>Got my Redken Color Certification and Redken Specialist</p>
<p>Transitioned into a Vegetarian Lifestyle</p>
<p>Started excercising. sort of.</p>
<p>Been to New York, LA (twice), St. Louis, Houston (4 times), Phoenix, Vegas. I think that's it. </p>
<p>Received two awards (one for being in the top 3% and one as trainer of the year in district.</p>
<p></p>
<p>And in OTHER news...</p>
<p>My daughter, son-in-law and 2 grandbabies move to Anchorage. (He's in the Air Force)</p>
<p>Mr. Scribbler has published two novels with a 3rd in the series in the works</p>
<p>My son has been training to be an electrician and is planning to enlist in the Navy in the next monthish</p>
<p></p>
<p>Other than that, I have absolutely no excuses for neglecting you as much as I have. Please forgive me. :c)</p>
<p></p>Hello Arkian friendstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-12-05:2426069:BlogPost:1415402012-12-05T07:31:50.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
Just stopping in to say hello. I hope this finds you all well, happy and enjoying the good life. I think of you all often. I continue to lurk and creep around VH keeping an eye on you.<br />
<br />
As for me, lots of good things going on and keeping me busy and out of trouble. mostly. I have some blogs in the works and hopefully, I'll get them posted at some point.<br />
<br />
I also wanted to take a moment to thank you all for the support and friendship that was so generously extended when my father passed in…
Just stopping in to say hello. I hope this finds you all well, happy and enjoying the good life. I think of you all often. I continue to lurk and creep around VH keeping an eye on you.<br />
<br />
As for me, lots of good things going on and keeping me busy and out of trouble. mostly. I have some blogs in the works and hopefully, I'll get them posted at some point.<br />
<br />
I also wanted to take a moment to thank you all for the support and friendship that was so generously extended when my father passed in February. As you all promised, we are surviving it and the dark cloud has given way to delightful memories. With the holidays upon us, I'm finding myself doing what I was doing before. I turn to my online friends when I need strength. This holiday, we will survive as well but I fear it will be the most difficult. I have no doubt that I will find the peace and support where I always do. Here with you.<br />
<br />
Thank you.<br />
danaSocks with sandals? I don't THINK so!tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-06-13:2426069:BlogPost:1373582012-06-13T07:07:25.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>My dad was a bit of a prankster and he loved a good joke. Most of the jokes he told aren't appropriate in polite company. He was, after all, a sailor. But he was always up to something. One day, he came home from work, and as was his custom, went straight to his room to change his clothes. I didn't think much of it because he always did that. After a bit, my mom followed him and then a couple minutes longer, I was summoned. </p>
<p></p>
<p>As I walked down the hall, I could hear my mom…</p>
<p>My dad was a bit of a prankster and he loved a good joke. Most of the jokes he told aren't appropriate in polite company. He was, after all, a sailor. But he was always up to something. One day, he came home from work, and as was his custom, went straight to his room to change his clothes. I didn't think much of it because he always did that. After a bit, my mom followed him and then a couple minutes longer, I was summoned. </p>
<p></p>
<p>As I walked down the hall, I could hear my mom grousing but I didn't know about what and I was pretty sure I was in trouble for something. As I peeked into the room there was my dad. My mom was standing near the door with her mouth covered so she wouldn't laugh - My dad, on the other side of the room, was wearing his brand new Navy Issue, FREE, black plastic prescription glasses. The square ones that everyone wore. He was also wearing his t-shirt, wrong side out and backwards, a pair of gray sweat pants with a pair of VERY short jogging shorts OVER the sweat pants. To complete the ensemble, he was wearing some sandals with his Navy Issue Black socks. </p>
<p></p>
<p>I stood there for a moment taking it all in when he said - "Wanna go out to eat? I got all dressed up for ya'." I stood there for another moment trying to determine whether he was kidding or not and then said, "No." I was as straight faced as he was - for about 3 seconds. Then, I couldn't hold it in any longer and Mom and I both just blew! I was laughing so hard I was crying. </p>
<p></p>
<p>As it turns out, he had done a bit of shopping on the way home, stopped to pick up his new glasses and just decided to show me what he bought, much like I did whenever I got something new. </p>
<p></p>
<p>Whenever we went shopping for school clothes or supplies or did any Christmas shopping or whatever, the first thing I would do would be to remove each treasure from the bag and show him. More often than not, if he was home and not gallivanting around the world on a ship, he would just go with us for the shopping. I think it was probably less painful than having to sit through the unveiling when we got home.</p>
<p>Q. How many pencil cases, lunch boxes and backpacks can you get excited about anyway? </p>
<p>A. All of them.</p>sailors and ships and movies and promisestag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-06-13:2426069:BlogPost:1375342012-06-13T07:06:36.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p><span>We went to see the movie Battleship. It has several actors I enjoy, it's science fiction, it has sailors and aliens. What's not to enjoy? I liked Cowboys and Aliens too. Sue me.</span><br></br><br></br><span>For those of you who have been following my blog for a moment, you know that my dad, my hero and my buddy, was lost to me on February 15th, 2012. I have written several blogs that I have not been able to share with you yet, but as promised, when enough time has passed, I…</span></p>
<p><span>We went to see the movie Battleship. It has several actors I enjoy, it's science fiction, it has sailors and aliens. What's not to enjoy? I liked Cowboys and Aliens too. Sue me.</span><br/><br/><span>For those of you who have been following my blog for a moment, you know that my dad, my hero and my buddy, was lost to me on February 15th, 2012. I have written several blogs that I have not been able to share with you yet, but as promised, when enough time has passed, I will.</span><br/><br/><span>Back to the movie. I won't spoil it for anyone that wants to see it but the previews show a bunch of sailors doing sailor-y things. They show destroyers aircraft carriers, jets and helicoptors. You see aerial views of the ships, and views from the bridge. I love Navy movies. I love seeing sailors doing sailor-y things. Even if the sailor-y things are the trouble they get into during shore leave or the mundane things they do during drills. My dad used to tell me stories. Like the one where a guy not where he was supposed to be when he was supposed to be there ended up getting sucked into the engine of a jet on the flight deck. I was pretty young when he told me that story. "How did he get out of the engine?" He just hugged me and promised that he would "...always be where I'm supposed to be when I'm supposed to be there..." He made me lots of promises like that. I always believed him and he always kept his promises.</span><br/><br/><span>He spent many years on aircraft carriers. He loved ship life. He said once that if he didn't have a family at home, he would volunteer to stay on the ship all the time." I always hoped that none of us would ever do anything to make him want to stay on the ship and we never did.</span><br/><br/><span>On more than one occasion, we got to tour his ships and we'd eat in the Chief's mess hall onboard. Dad always went on about how much better the food in the Chief's mess hall was. Even better than the Officer's. I didn't disagree although I never ate anywhere else on the ship and had nothing else to compare.</span><br/><br/><span>In the movie, they honor a dozen or so retired military personnel. They were old men, with a drag in their steps, and crackels in their voices. You could see time in their faces. They looked like old men until they put on their uniforms. Their steps quickened, backs straightened. And you could see the pride in their faces. It was just a movie, but pride and strength and resolve comes with the uniform.</span><br/><br/><span>At one point in the move, the group of retirees were walking together on the deck of their ship. I could almost see the American flag waving behind them and their families waving from the docks. I got a lump in my throat and my eyes began that burning that I have become acustomed to at the most inappropriate times. I saw my dad standing there in his uniform. Proud, strong and resolved. Never doubting for a moment the honor it was to serve his homeland; to protect his family. His military career lasted 22 years but it defined him till the day he died. His family came first, his country came second.</span><br/><br/><span>I asked him once what he would have done if he hadn't become a sailor. The thought was almost absurd. I don't remember what he told me but I suspect he would have found a way to serve his family and his country one way or another. He would have lived and died with honor, and the respect and love of everyone who knew him.</span><br/><br/><span>And he still would have been my hero and my buddy.</span></p>wee hour mindchattertag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-04-22:2426069:BlogPost:1361302012-04-22T06:39:55.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
Hello,<br />
<br />
I have several blogs written that I haven't posted yet. I have been writing. I will post them. I just have to chew on them a bit. I will say that the journaling of memories of my beloved father has been a bit of comfort. I find myself feeling somewhat normal during the day and when I'm busy. But at night, when all is still, it's something else. I have stopped the shedding of daily tears. I can talk about him without that tightness and lack of air. But at night...that's something else…
Hello,<br />
<br />
I have several blogs written that I haven't posted yet. I have been writing. I will post them. I just have to chew on them a bit. I will say that the journaling of memories of my beloved father has been a bit of comfort. I find myself feeling somewhat normal during the day and when I'm busy. But at night, when all is still, it's something else. I have stopped the shedding of daily tears. I can talk about him without that tightness and lack of air. But at night...that's something else entirely.<br />
<br />
My friend asked me today, "when are you going to allow yourself to mourn?" What? You mean there's more? Strange dreams, restless sleep, a constant gnawing that I have forgotten something? Where has my "normal" gone? I left the water running at work today. I walked out of the dispensary. Several people were there. I felt their eyes on me and I stopped. When I turned to find out why all had gone quiet - odd thing for a bunch of hair dressers - when I noticed the water. I went back, turned it off, and left the room. They all think I was just so busy, or had something on my mind. A couple of them asked me. "What's going on? You seem a little off lately." Oh? hmmm...I hadn't noticed.<br />
<br />
It's not like I am constantly thinking about my dad's passing. Leaving me here to fend for myself with my mother. My mother and my son, incidentally, had a falling out the day after the funeral. There will be no reconciliation. The words exchanged were more hurtful than usual. That weighs heavy on me. It would break Papa's heart. He loved his family very much. Even those that made love a difficult task.<br />
<br />
Strange that I felt the need to come share here in the wee hours with you tonight. I don't do so easily or elsewhere. I have managed to turn on the waterworks again, for the first time in several weeks, so I will close now. Thanks for listening.Scary Movies and Roof Rattlingtag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-02-28:2426069:BlogPost:1341742012-02-28T08:52:17.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
My sister was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was about 8 years old. In order to pay for the medical/mental help she needed, Dad worked 3 jobs and Mom worked 2. I was one of the original latch key kids. <br />
<br />
Dad was stationed at Millington for a tour of Instructor's duty, worked at the enlisted men's club on base as a bartender and managed a pizza hut on weekends. I would often go with them to pizza hut. At that time, they still had bars and bar stools in the Pizza Hut. I would get a pitcher…
My sister was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was about 8 years old. In order to pay for the medical/mental help she needed, Dad worked 3 jobs and Mom worked 2. I was one of the original latch key kids. <br />
<br />
Dad was stationed at Millington for a tour of Instructor's duty, worked at the enlisted men's club on base as a bartender and managed a pizza hut on weekends. I would often go with them to pizza hut. At that time, they still had bars and bar stools in the Pizza Hut. I would get a pitcher of Root Beer, a large pepperoni and mushroom pizza and a bar stool and there I'd sit and entertain myself for 6 or 7 hours. People started coming in and hanging out while placing bets as to whether or not I'd finish an entire large pizza on my own. It would take me all night, and it was thin crust, but most nights I'd give that large pizza a beat down. That may explain the stringent culinary rehab in which I find myself currently. But that's another story for another day. <br />
<br />
On the nights that I didn't go to Pizza Hut or have school the next day, I'd wait up for Dad to get home. He'd roll in from the Enlisted Club around midnight which was just in time for the Friday/Saturday night Double Feature with Sivad (which I later discovered was Davis spelled backward. I was disappointed by that particular revelation. Davis was sooo NOT scary.) Anyway, it was a double feature of scary movies which I LOVED but could not watch alone. So, after having gotten up before birds and sunlight and working 18 to 20 hours a day, Dad would come home, put on his pj's and lay on the couch. He'd lay on his side. Then, I would crawl up and sit on his side and watch both scary movies, generally while peeking through my fingers as soon as the scary music started. I'd watch both features while Dad sawed logs. His snoring was a comfort and reassurance that he was there to protect me from the evils of the world and the monsters on the screen. When the second movie was over, I'd climb down, wake up Dad and he'd go get a couple more hours of sleep before he had to get up and do it all over again. If I tried to watch a scary movie alone, I'd have nightmares and hear every creak and rattle in the house. But as long as Dad was in the room, I was safe. No nightmares or sleepless nights. <br />
<br />
Till the day he died, even though I didn't hear it nearly as often, whether it was a soft rumble or a roof rattle, I was comforted by the sound of him sleeping. On the rare occasions when he slept silently, I'd barely sleep at all. The silence was deafening. Once I moved out of the house, it took me a long while to get used to the sounds of night without Dad's rumbles. <br />
<br />
I can watch scary movies alone now, sometimes peeking through my fingers, but I still have trouble sleeping if it's too quiet. <br />
<br />
Sleep well Papa.Can Your Daddy Come Out to Play?tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-02-27:2426069:BlogPost:1342802012-02-27T06:14:14.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
We lived in Rhode Island for a year when I was six. That was when/where Dad made it official and adopted me. We lived in a one bedroom trailer. One of those silver ones. When I asked my mom where I was going to sleep, she said, "In the closet in the kitchen." And sure enough, there was a closet with sliding doors in the kitchen. When you opened the doors, there were several side by side drawers with a countertop, and then another shelf above that. The drawers were perfect as my dresser but the…
We lived in Rhode Island for a year when I was six. That was when/where Dad made it official and adopted me. We lived in a one bedroom trailer. One of those silver ones. When I asked my mom where I was going to sleep, she said, "In the closet in the kitchen." And sure enough, there was a closet with sliding doors in the kitchen. When you opened the doors, there were several side by side drawers with a countertop, and then another shelf above that. The drawers were perfect as my dresser but the actual plan was for me to sleep on the sofa. I was so excited about sleeping in the closet though that they didn't have the heart to tell me they were teasing. So, my dad bought some dense foam and cut it to size and mom got me sheets and pillow. Eventually, they built a room onto the trailer and much to my great disappointment, I moved into a real room. <br />
<br />
Across the street from the trailer park was a field. Then, it went nearly straight up and a bit further back from that was woods. When it was warm, it was where all the kids gathered for games of kickball, freeze tag and football. The neighborhood held an Easter Egg hunt. I didn't find any eggs but a little girl gave me one of hers. The BIG thing though, was the snow. The kids all came out with their sleds and dogs and trash can lids and card board boxes and we'd creep up to the top and slide down the side of the hill. Sometimes, it looked like we'd keep going till we hit the street but we never did. <br />
<br />
We would put plastic baggies on our hands and feet to keep our gloves and socks dry and we'd stay out as long as we could. I got a sled for Christmas that year. Dad would lay down on his stomach. Duffy, our dog, would jump up and sit between his shoulders and then as many kids as would fit would hop up on his back and down the hill we'd go. The more kids that piled on, the farther and faster we'd go. We'd stay out till we either got tired or wet and then we'd go home to dry out. Often, we'd just get done peeling off our wet coats, gloves, hats and shoes, and Mom would make us hot chocolate. One day, the first occasion that would become many, we were sitting at the table with our hot chocolate when we heard a tiny wrap at the door. Mom answered. One of the neighbor kids that we didn't actually know very well stood there. "Can your daddy come out to play?" Mom turned and looked at my dad. Dad looked at Mom. She smiled and he went to bedroom for dry socks while she dug out more plastic bags. Out he went, with my sled and the dog, and as I watched from the window, dad, the dog and the neighbor kids, piled on and went up and down that hill till nearly dark. We got to have more hot chocolate when he came home. We'd listen to Elvis till I fell asleep.Let Me Tell You About My Dadtag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-02-26:2426069:BlogPost:1341682012-02-26T05:31:34.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
So, let me tell you about my dad.<br />
<br />
My mom was married, had 3 children. I was the third. Unfortunately, it was not a match made in heaven and when I was about nine months old, she gathered the courage, or her sense of survival kicked in, something - but she packed up her kids and her stuff and left Buffalo to return home to Corpus Christie. A few years of struggling, socializing and...<br />
<br />
Doug and Gloria met at a party - she a divorcee' that worked at a jewelry store - he a Petty Officer, 3rd…
So, let me tell you about my dad.<br />
<br />
My mom was married, had 3 children. I was the third. Unfortunately, it was not a match made in heaven and when I was about nine months old, she gathered the courage, or her sense of survival kicked in, something - but she packed up her kids and her stuff and left Buffalo to return home to Corpus Christie. A few years of struggling, socializing and...<br />
<br />
Doug and Gloria met at a party - she a divorcee' that worked at a jewelry store - he a Petty Officer, 3rd class (for those unfamiliar with the military, that's one stripe which isn't very many). She had been introduced to him once before and was unimpressed. But a few weeks later, she had gone to the party with his roommate (who by the way, thought Doug and Gloria were a match made in heaven even though he was dating her. I believe his name was Jack. Well, as all good sailor's do, Jack took Gloria to the party and began to enjoy the plentiful and obligatory liquid refreshment. Before anyone realized it, Jack was too drunk to behave and was going around and pinching the other wives, and just enjoying a bit of healthy military mayhem. Someone found Doug and suggested that he do something about his roomie before things got ugly. Now, Doug was a pretty good sized fella with a good stiff swing but Jack was a gooder sized fella with a stiffer swing. So, Doug looks for some commotion and finds Jack. He walked up from behind, started to walk past him and just as he did, Doug swung his arm back, caught Jack in the chin with his elbow and Jack went down like the giant. When asked why he knocked him out Doug just simply explained, "If I didn't knock him out, he'd have been able to hit me back and he would have killed me." So Jack is out like a light and Gloria has no ride home. Doug of course, being the designated clean up crew offers her a ride. He walks her to the door, and says - "I'd really like to see you again. But, if you're not interested in something lasting, permanent and serious, don't waste my time." Gloria contemplated that for a moment, shrugged and said, "ok". (I did not get my communicational gifts from my mother:c) A few weeks later, Doug sat us three kids down and asked if we would allow him to become our daddy. He asked my sister, the eldest, first, then my brother, then me. I remember sitting on the couch and watching him ask us one at a time. When he got to me I gave him a resounding YES! and at that moment, the REAL love affair began. A couple of days later, Doug asked Gloria if the kids could have a dog. She said "NO!" The next day, he showed up with the cutest puppy that we called Duffy. About six weeks or so after the party, Doug and Gloria were married. And the pattern for the next 47 years was set. <br />
<br />
My mother and I have always had a tenuous relationship. We don't understand each other very well. We don't think alike, we don't communicate well. But one thing's for certain; she knows how to pick her sailors.a scribbler with no wordstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-02-17:2426069:BlogPost:1339972012-02-17T05:30:37.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Life is a funny thing. Only sometimes, it doesn't make us laugh. For those of you who have known me for more than a minute, you know that my dad has always been my hero. (Heck- how can you not love a guy in a uniform with Toblerone in his pockets?) Anyway, I lost my dad unexpectedly yesterday. I don't have it in me to write about it at this moment so here's a link of one of my favorite memories. …</p>
<p></p>
<p>Life is a funny thing. Only sometimes, it doesn't make us laugh. For those of you who have known me for more than a minute, you know that my dad has always been my hero. (Heck- how can you not love a guy in a uniform with Toblerone in his pockets?) Anyway, I lost my dad unexpectedly yesterday. I don't have it in me to write about it at this moment so here's a link of one of my favorite memories. </p>
<p><a href="http://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profiles/blogs/the-homecoming">http://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profiles/blogs/the-homecoming</a></p>
<p></p>
<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514562?profile=original" target="_self"><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514562?profile=original" width="261" class="align-full"/></a></p>Dog Sleds and Pay Backstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-02-01:2426069:BlogPost:1330592012-02-01T07:45:46.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Pyper's Blog - 2012 Episode 2</p>
<p>It's January 31 and it was 64 degrees and sunny today. Proof that buying a bigger car circumvented a 5th straight year of crappy Kansas Winter. I know. Those of you who live to the North think I'm a whiner. But this Texas girl needs a sweater when it falls below 75 and the sun goes down. I am what I am. …</p>
<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514258?profile=RESIZE_320x320" target="_self"><img class="align-left" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514258?profile=RESIZE_320x320" width="200"></img></a></p>
<p>Pyper's Blog - 2012 Episode 2</p>
<p>It's January 31 and it was 64 degrees and sunny today. Proof that buying a bigger car circumvented a 5th straight year of crappy Kansas Winter. I know. Those of you who live to the North think I'm a whiner. But this Texas girl needs a sweater when it falls below 75 and the sun goes down. I am what I am. </p>
<p><a width="300" href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514258?profile=RESIZE_320x320" target="_self"><img width="200" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514258?profile=RESIZE_320x320" width="200" class="align-left"/></a></p>
<p>Now the big plan is to figure out what next year's big ticket item will be to give me at least one more mild winter before I'm drained dry and someone else has to pitch in. I've narrowed it down to a customized snow mobile or a dog sled and a dozen hungry shoe chewer uppers. Either way, I'm willing to take one for the team to ensure that I don't need either one for at least one more winter. </p>
<p><img width="196" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514270?profile=RESIZE_320x320" width="196" class="align-center" style="border-style: initial; border-color: initial;"/></p>
<p>I went to Vegas a couple of weeks ago, hence the late posting of this blog. Do not think it has been lost on me that I'm already a couple of weeks behind on my pledge to do 52 blongs is 52 weeks. Nay, Nay! I will make them up as promised. The 52nd blog to be delivered, most likely with little ceremony the last week of 2010. That may mean 2 at a time occasionally, but I figure as long as I do 52 the rest is semantics. No? </p>
<p>So, the training in Vegas was freakin' AMAZING! I got to do an impromptu photo shoot with a bunch of models. I don't really like to shoot people (ok, maybe a co-worker or two from time to time) but when someone else does the hair, makeup and lighting it kind of takes the edge off the project. I'll post a few of the pics eventually, although unless you're into hair you may not catch the vision. </p>
<p>I'm always so hyped up when I'm in the room with 900 other people who get my jokes. Speaking of which, here's my funny for the week:</p>
<p>client - "Do you have kids?"</p>
<p>me - "Yes! I have a daughter who will be 28 and a son who will be 22 this year. Their birthdays are in June."</p>
<p>client - "Oh! Are they twins?"</p>
<p>me - "ummm...no" </p>
<p>And, my favorite quote of the week: "If at first you do succeed, try not to look so bloody surprised!" Robert Cromeans. This is an important one because I'm surrounded by mirrors at work and can't hide a damn thing.</p>
<p>I like quotes. I write them on the white board in the dispensary at work just to annoy the Whiny McWhinersons. Much like slamming drawers and doors when some poor slob is suffering a weekend bruising from a beer bong. I swear, that cracks me up! I wonder occasionally if I'd think it were so funny if I had ever had a hangover, but only for a moment. We're all a bunch of pranksters though so I always get my paybacks. I think that's why I do it. I love getting paid back. Makes me feel like part of the team. </p>
<p>I'm going to Omaha and Des Moines in February to teach some new, fun color techniques. Have to earn my keep so the company will continue to send me to places like Vegas and New York. Omaha and Des Moines. In February. I think I'm being punished. </p>
<p>With that, I'll leave you with this thought: Indecision is the key to flexibility - anonymous</p>
<p></p>The World is Good Whether We See it or Not... (Pyper's Blog)tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2012-01-05:2426069:BlogPost:1300602012-01-05T07:00:00.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Precursor to the following blog: I was challenged by my friend Pyper to write a blog a week for 2012. I have accepted the challenge however; make no promises or guarantees that even a small percentage will be noteworthy. For you Pyper my friend – I’ll do my best.</p>
<p>2012 episode 1 – The World is Good. The World is Very Good.</p>
<p>The New Year always makes me giddy. Maybe it’s the lingering buzz from the holiday season. Maybe it’s the symbolic nature of starting afresh. A wiping of the…</p>
<p>Precursor to the following blog: I was challenged by my friend Pyper to write a blog a week for 2012. I have accepted the challenge however; make no promises or guarantees that even a small percentage will be noteworthy. For you Pyper my friend – I’ll do my best.</p>
<p>2012 episode 1 – The World is Good. The World is Very Good.</p>
<p>The New Year always makes me giddy. Maybe it’s the lingering buzz from the holiday season. Maybe it’s the symbolic nature of starting afresh. A wiping of the slate proffered up by the God’s as it were. Maybe it’s just the opportunity coughexcusecough to continue the celebration. Perhaps, and most likely in my case, it’s that damn chant that’s always running through my head. “Seeing is not believing. Believing is seeing.” I always have high expectations for the New Year and I am seldom disappointed.</p>
<p>So, this year began with an (so far) extremely mild winter which makes this scribbler extremely happy. It was foretold though, by yours truly. When we bought our home, we had been living in the city. We had no need of large tires, heavy snow shovels or plugged in machinations for moving snow. Hence the double dose of cabin fever we suffered when we got snowed in, not once but twice. Red spots and all. We learned our lesson. I do not look good in cabin fever. So, we bought a snow shovel and traded in our teeny, tiny car for one with enough clearance to not rub bellies with 3 inches of snow. So there you have it. We are now prepared for snow and ice. And it’s 60 degrees in January. (She says with a huge smile on her face. No red spots, none at all)</p>
<p>I have been counting my blessings and tweaking my resolutions. I get to go to some phenomenal training this week. I was chosen along with 9 others to go and I’m so excited I can hardly stand it. I got a great teaching schedule for February. My friend got a badly needed NEW LIVER! (The world is good. The world is very good.) Mr. Scribbler and I managed to survive the holidays with our new healthy lifestyles still intact and continue to grow stronger both in health and will. I have a brand new and amazing management team at work that promises to continue our growth there as well. </p>
<p>And, I found - or perhaps rediscovered is a better word – a new hero today. As I was sitting on the sofa watching Twilight Zone and going over my notes for the upcoming trip I got a text message from my 28 year old, married daughter. She is the mommy to my 7 year old and 4 year old grandsons. All it said was, “As of today, I am no longer driving. Doc says my peripheral vision is so bad I’m legally blind.” It’s no longer safe for her drive. Sarah, my first, only and favorite daughter has Retinitis Pigmentosa. It is essentially a fancy word for damaged retinas. It causes tunnel vision, night blindness, and eventually, color and sharpness can be affected. You can read more about here if you’re interested. <a href="http://www.blindness.org/index.php?option=com_content&id=50&Itemid=67">http://www.blindness.org/index.php?option=com_content&id=50&Itemid=67</a></p>
<p>Anyway, as I was sitting there celebrating all that I am so thankful for, my immediate reaction was heartbreak. What more do we want for our children than full, happy, healthful lives? I had visions of her stroking her children’s faces to “see” them. Turning an ear toward the door rather than looking when her wonderful husband walks in. I got a knot in my stomach and a lump in my throat. I asked a few questions and finally, “How are you? Are you ok?” Her response filled me with pride, gratitude and a tremendous sense of relief. The conversation follows:</p>
<p>Sarah: “Yes. I’m fine with it actually. Paul said I’m taking it extremely well. At least I now know that it’s unsafe for me to drive and I need to find other avenues. I can work that out.” (We’ve been thinking the same thing since the day she got her learner’s permit)</p>
<p>Me: “That’s my girl :c) Love you.”</p>
<p>Sarah: “Love you too. Glass half full, right?”</p>
<p>Me:“Yep. It could always be worse.”</p>
<p>Sarah: “Exactly.”</p>
<p>I still have that lump in my throat, and my eyes are still a bit damp. But my daughter with the lovely, vibrant blue eyes has reminded me again that perspective and attitude is everything. For a short moment my heart was breaking. Now, it’s so full it may burst anyway. Yes, I have much to be thankful for and I’m fairly certain that I don’t deserve half of it. So my biggest resolution for 2012 – right behind the blog a week for Pyper – is to pay it forward. I’m going to earn all the goodness and all the heroes in my life. And, thank you Sarah, for reminding me that when I die, I will have done what I set out to do; to leave the world just a bit better than I found it. I had you.</p>
<p>So come on 2012. Bring it on! </p>
<p><a href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230530846?profile=original" target="_self"><img src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230530846?profile=original" width="226" class="align-full"/></a></p>another non-blog - and a wee story about a wee dog and it's wee.tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-12-08:2426069:BlogPost:1281232011-12-08T07:35:01.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
It's finally getting cold and i suddenly remember what I don't like about winter. Cold is painful. My muscles object and retaliate with a lack of cooperation. The wind is making its music tonight, as it lowers it's shoulder and forces its way through the thick trees and brush. And the starless sky is black as pitch. Too cold even for the stars, perhaps. And here i sit with my trusted friend, tapping on its keys while pondering the great design and enjoying the warmth of my Betty Boop snuggi.…
It's finally getting cold and i suddenly remember what I don't like about winter. Cold is painful. My muscles object and retaliate with a lack of cooperation. The wind is making its music tonight, as it lowers it's shoulder and forces its way through the thick trees and brush. And the starless sky is black as pitch. Too cold even for the stars, perhaps. And here i sit with my trusted friend, tapping on its keys while pondering the great design and enjoying the warmth of my Betty Boop snuggi. (You KNOW you want one. It's ok to covet this once.)<br />
<br />
It's funny how nights like these, quiet and dark, make me so contemplative. I find i can imagine quite easily whatever comes to mind. The latest news, of the new planet, the Earth's twin, has me all aflutter. One of the girls at work has decided that when the world ends in 2012, "God is going to take all the good people to the new earth and leave all the bad ones here to burn." Really. she said that today. Which of course led me to questions how anyone can believe in an all knowing, all omnipotent God, who created his children imperfectly and then punishes them - for all eternity no less - for being imperfect.<br />
<br />
Which of course, led me to ponder imperfection. Who decides what's perfect and what isn't anyway? Does a bit of chocolate tastes sweeter if it's perfectly formed? Are people less worthy because someone somewhere decided noses should be small and breasts should be big? Ask anyone who has ever rescued a mutt or runt of a litter if what someone else deemed as imperfect didn't make the most appreciated, loving and constant companion.<br />
<br />
Which reminds me; another one of my co-workers breeds some kind of dog that I can't remember now. She sells them for $850.00 each. She told me that if I wanted one and I let her know in time, I could come over and bottle feed the pup to build the bonding experience. She assured me that I could look anywhere on the internet and I wouldn't find the same breed for less and all the money went to keeping her son in private school. When I explained that most of my pets find me she was confused. How do you explain that to a person?<br />
<br />
Which got me to thinking; One of my rescues, many years ago, was a couple of St. Bernard's. They weren't fierce enough to protect themselves from the other more viscous and savage animals on the farm they lived on. And true enough, they were the most lovable and sweet natured dogs. What I found to be interesting though was that they were so lacking in will that they couldn't protect themselves, but let them think that I was in danger and they suddenly became so fierce they were frightening. I would have to walk them one at a time. The male would step in front of me and stand sideways at every street crossing and he would look every stranger up and down like a mother looking over her son's latest squeeze. People often say taking dogs out is a great way to meet people. Not with my dogs.<br />
<br />
I can't think about dogs without remembering one of my clients. He was a man, who wanted to be a lesbian. He was always dressed like a woman, albeit one you might see in a vintage Sears catalog. Chiffon dresses, woven hats, floral purses with shoes to match. And he never went anywhere without his wee dog. He was in one day wanting suggestions for his hair. The dog wee'd in the corner of my station. I couldn't concentrate on his hair knowing about the wee on the floor so I had to stop so we could clean up first. He said, "It'll keep till we're done." I said, "I know it's just a little wee from a wee dog. It'll only take a wee moment to clean it up." He said, "Ill wait". I said, "No, I'll wait. YOU"LL clean". He never came back.<br />
<br />
A car has just gone by and broken my reverie. I guess I'm done.<br />
<br />
Sweet dreamsThe Challengetag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-11-24:2426069:BlogPost:1270732011-11-24T04:31:10.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Thought I’d share a few questions I was asked back in the old days of LV. My answers follow. If you feel so inclined, your responses would be most welcome. I did a response video. If I find it I'll post it too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Q. Show and Act of Love</p>
<p>A. I kissed my husband. I didn’t repeat something I overheard. I bought lunch for a friend. I laughed at a joke. I wrote a blog.</p>
<p>Q. What is most important to you?</p>
<p>A. To be worthy of the love I receive.</p>
<p>Q. What do you…</p>
<p>Thought I’d share a few questions I was asked back in the old days of LV. My answers follow. If you feel so inclined, your responses would be most welcome. I did a response video. If I find it I'll post it too. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Q. Show and Act of Love</p>
<p>A. I kissed my husband. I didn’t repeat something I overheard. I bought lunch for a friend. I laughed at a joke. I wrote a blog.</p>
<p>Q. What is most important to you?</p>
<p>A. To be worthy of the love I receive.</p>
<p>Q. What do you want to be remembered for?</p>
<p>A. That I took the road less traveled; Found beauty in simple things; felt genuine gratitude; shared freely, laughed often and experienced true joy; that I have loved truly, deeply, without reservation or qualification;</p>
<p>That I lived well.</p>no blog here...just some random thoughtstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-10-27:2426069:BlogPost:1241662011-10-27T00:39:03.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
One of my clients told me today that her daughter, who is now a college student announced at the height of intellectual capacity,(17 yrs for those of you who don't have children) announced that she had in fact decided on her life's mission. She wanted to be a sex therapist. Since I had not made one single inappropriate comment all day, and I was working on my last client of the day, and that's clearly against my principles, I asked, "Is she a 'hands on' kind of gal?". My client, fortunately has…
One of my clients told me today that her daughter, who is now a college student announced at the height of intellectual capacity,(17 yrs for those of you who don't have children) announced that she had in fact decided on her life's mission. She wanted to be a sex therapist. Since I had not made one single inappropriate comment all day, and I was working on my last client of the day, and that's clearly against my principles, I asked, "Is she a 'hands on' kind of gal?". My client, fortunately has a sense of humor. Apparently I misunderstood what she meant. The kidlet wanted to counsel people with sexual issues. That is until she found out her patients might include child molesters, et al. She's changed her mind and is not studying clinical psychology.<br/><br/>Christine: DANA! WHY do you have all the brooms over here?<br/>Dana: Might wanna take a trip.<br/>Christine: But do you need ALL of them?<br/>Dana: Might be a long trip.<br/>Christine: No response but she made that face.<br/><br/>We have somewhere around 18-20 life sized animatronic halloween props. They never go away. They line the walls of the basement which is entirely appropriate as we have a 60" big screen and we watch almost exclusively, scary movies on it. Anyway, many of them are motion or sound activated. Mr. Scribbler turned them all off because the bug guy was coming. So, this big, burly, manly kind of man (said with mock deep voice and appropriate inflections) goes downstairs to rescue us from an annoying ladybug/salamander problem. We were sitting at the breakfast bar waiting for the guy to finish his bu exorcism ritual, when a headless bride, or perhaps a caldron stirring witch tried to make him feel at home. We immediately hear a scamper and what sounded like the Patriot's offensive line running up the uncarpeted stairs. The bug bursts through door, almost losing his footing and gallantly announces, "Okey dokey! All done!". Mr. Scribbler and I manage to hold in our hysteria until the pale faced and startled bug guy left the house. Guess we coulda' warned the poor guy.<br/><br/>I attended a workshop recently with four "celebrities". I didn't know a single one. Babak, a fashion photographer, Fateemah, a hairdresser who won Shear Genius, Mondo, a fashion designer and Yoanna House, who won America's Top Model, season 2. Here's a few of the quotes I kept because I thought they were funny.<br/><br/>"I KNOW you guys are down there thinking 'OH MY GOD I'm Magic!"<br/>"I know I'm great, and do amazing hair, and fabulous and all, but there really is a place for humility."<br/>"I'm hoping one of you guys takes this and does something wonderful with it and makes me famous. Oops! I already am!"<br/>"It's sooo awesome! I just get to stand up here and be myself and everybody LOVES me!"<br/>Well, not everybody.<br/><br/>One of my clients brought me a blog she wrote and asked me to read it. She then asked if I had any she could read. Um, sure. Ok. So, her blog was written about her cat. In first person. Or, first cat as it were. Full of little cutesy phrases like, "I had a purrfectly good home..." and "It gave me paws..."<br/>She sat there intently waiting for me to giver her a response. The only thing that immedeiatley came to mind that wouldn't put me over my daily quota for inappropriate comments was "cuuuuuuute". Then, she read mine, And critiqued it. For the entire 45 minutes it took me to do her hair. Line by line. I've decided I don't like unsolicited criticism. I hope that doesn't affect my future as a writer.<br/><br/>...blogging is not dead...blogging is not dead...blogging is NOT dead...blogging is NOT dead...the journey to greatness...or...love your mirrortag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-08-29:2426069:BlogPost:1188372011-08-29T07:00:00.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>I had a discussion recently with a client about greatness. Popularity is probably a more accurate description. It’s funny what people will tell you when you lay your hands on them. They seem to forget they are in a public place, surrounded by other people. They get in my chair and once we’ve talked business, they spill their dreams or their fears or their guts. I don’t really understand it.</p>
<p>Anyway, my client mentioned out of the blue that she regretted that she had never done anything…</p>
<p>I had a discussion recently with a client about greatness. Popularity is probably a more accurate description. It’s funny what people will tell you when you lay your hands on them. They seem to forget they are in a public place, surrounded by other people. They get in my chair and once we’ve talked business, they spill their dreams or their fears or their guts. I don’t really understand it.</p>
<p>Anyway, my client mentioned out of the blue that she regretted that she had never done anything or become anything special. I asked her what she meant by special, envisioning a short school bus but knowing that isn’t what she meant.</p>
<p>“You know, I’ll never be famous. I can’t sing, I can’t dance, I’m not funny, I’ve never been on t.v…Have you ever been on t.v.?</p>
<p>“Yes”, I answered I went home from work after moving around a half dozen appointments because my son had a fever. By the time I got there, he didn’t have a fever, so we went to my daughter’s school carnival. I was stuffing my pie hole with a chili dog and ended up on the local news where every one of my clients I had canceled saw me. It didn’t make me famous.”</p>
<p>“SEE??? Even YOU have been on t.v.!” I wasn’t sure how to take that so we moved on.</p>
<p>She explained that her entire life had been a dull, dreary story that she couldn’t even keep a journal about. My immediate reaction, which I managed to keep to myself, was…so?</p>
<p>It occurred to me that she just needed a change of perspective. We were giving her a new color and cut that day so we had enough time for me to share my perspective.</p>
<p>Here’s my take on greatness. Greatness is a personal thing. And it is achieved on a personal level. It is not determined by the number of friends we have, the neighborhood or size of our homes. It is not measured by our stature, career, bank account or spouse. </p>
<p>Greatness, like respect, generosity, integrity, leadership, comes from within. It is revealed to us at the end of the day when we look ourselves in the mirror and know we spent our day well. It is reflected in the faces of our children. Greatness is purity of heart; follow through on intention, ingenuity. We achieve greatness daily by putting one foot in front of the other when every fiber screams “LAY DOWN”; when we live one day at a time with gratitude; when we remember that someone in the world loves us, when we end the day weary of a hard day’s work.</p>
<p>Greatness is not an empty vessel to be filled with the adulation of thousands of strangers who only want to be around us in the hopes that we can do something for them; it is not shallow like outer beauty; it is not vengeful, selfish, or brutish. To achieve greatness we must be the vessel.</p>
<p>No, we achieve personal greatness every day that we survive, that we choose good over evil, that we do some selfless act. We need not desire the approbation of the masses. We need only to accept and love ourselves in order to love and accept others. We need only to live gratefully, contribute productively, and remember that we never know who is watching, listening and learning from us.</p>
<p>During my musings with this client, I reminded her that she had two wonderful children, is a wonderful and supportive wife, an amazing and talented teacher, and a thoughtful and respectful friend. And if all those successes didn’t make her “great” I’d be willing to contribute and write a blog about her.</p>
<p>I finished her hair, which, if I do say so myself, looked stunning and handed her the mirror. She gazed at herself for only a moment before exclaiming. “OMG! I’m gorgeous!!!” loud enough to draw chuckles from more than a few sitting in earshot.</p>
<p>“See? Now, your outsides reflect your insides. And you said you weren’t special.”</p>
<p>She left with a smile on her face. My job was done. :c )</p>Hello's and Pink Flamingostag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-08-29:2426069:BlogPost:1188282011-08-29T04:21:17.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>Hello my Arkian friends!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sorry to have been absent so long. Here's the Reader's Digest version. </p>
<p>I mentioned last time that I was seriously considering auditioning for a position with Redken. Well, we went to NY so I could take my certification exam which is the first step to the process. Mr. Scribbler and I turned it into a Fabtieth birthday trip as well and had the most marvelous time. I'll post pics to give you a bit of the essence but this amateur photographer…</p>
<p>Hello my Arkian friends!</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sorry to have been absent so long. Here's the Reader's Digest version. </p>
<p>I mentioned last time that I was seriously considering auditioning for a position with Redken. Well, we went to NY so I could take my certification exam which is the first step to the process. Mr. Scribbler and I turned it into a Fabtieth birthday trip as well and had the most marvelous time. I'll post pics to give you a bit of the essence but this amateur photographer simply didn't do that magnificent city justice. Guess we'll just have to go back so I can practice. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The test kicked my sitter!!! I knew the info inside and out. We had a quick run through on Saturday night prior to the exam and I was well prepared. On the day of the exam, I swam through the two written portions as though I had hand picked the questions. The technical portion, HOWEVER, was nerve wrecking. It's a crap shoot as to whether I passed or not. I did PERFECT on Saturday night but Sunday was another story. We'll see. It takes 6 to 8 weeks to get the test results and tomorrow is 6 weeks to the day so I expect to hear something soon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the meantime, back at the ranch...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>We've been searching for the perfect wall color for the great room. We've been searching for 2 1/2 years. I announced to Mr. Scribbler that I would have, at least, the great room painted prior to decorating for the holidays and he sincerely hopes I mean Christmas and not Labor Day or Halloween. (I meant Christmas but you, my dear Arkians, are sworn to secrecy about that particular detail). </p>
<p> </p>
<p>One of my beloved co-workers, and the salon philanthropist, is a year round active member of a team that raises money for the Susan G. Komen for the Cure organization. The name of the group happens to be "Save the Boobies". Anyway, I organized an ongoing event at our salon. To thank me, I came tonight after a class and our Sunday evening ritual of dinner at Ruby Tuesday's and a trip to Yogurtopia to this...</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a target="_self" href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514454?profile=original"><img class="align-full" width="750" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230514454?profile=RESIZE_1024x1024"/></a>There's about 60 in all. I told Mr. Scribbler that we can't really complain. I did mention to my friend that we needed some landscaping done. :c ) </p>
<p> </p>
<p>While I'm at it, here's a few pics of NY. I'll upload more to my private quarters but for those of you who have not taken the opportunity to visit, put it on your bucket list. Even Mr. Hermit, I mean, Scribbler loved the city. We even saw the Naked Cowboy and the Naked Cowgirl (who, I don't mind telling you, needs to be told that star shaped pasties should not be that far south!)</p>
<p> </p>
<p><a target="_self" href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230527853?profile=original"><img class="align-full" width="750" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230527853?profile=RESIZE_1024x1024"/></a><a target="_self" href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230528873?profile=original"><img class="align-full" width="750" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230528873?profile=RESIZE_1024x1024"/></a><a target="_self" href="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230537456?profile=original"><img class="align-full" width="750" src="http://storage.ning.com/topology/rest/1.0/file/get/2230537456?profile=RESIZE_1024x1024"/></a>So, my friends, please know that while I have been a bit preoccupied, you have been in my thoughts and hopefully, as things settle to a dull roar, I'll be able to come back more often and bask in your delightful presence. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>dana</p>hot pizza and difficult decisionstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-04-19:2426069:BlogPost:1055202011-04-19T07:30:00.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>So, I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. Many things are happening and coming together, the stars are aligning, the clouds are parting, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. I like to mull things over for a decade or so before speaking about them but the time has coms...Mr. Scribbler and I chatted about it today...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So here's the dealio; I work for a growing ~ and wonderful ~ company that gives me the tools and the freedom to grow and prosper in any way I see fit. Mostly. The…</p>
<p>So, I've been doing a lot of soul searching lately. Many things are happening and coming together, the stars are aligning, the clouds are parting, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. I like to mull things over for a decade or so before speaking about them but the time has coms...Mr. Scribbler and I chatted about it today...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So here's the dealio; I work for a growing ~ and wonderful ~ company that gives me the tools and the freedom to grow and prosper in any way I see fit. Mostly. The wee bits that irritate me like a tortilla chip stuck in your gums or that hangy downy stuff on the roof of your mouth when you eat pizza that's too hot for human consumption are few and far between and for the most part, negotiable. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, I am coming up on my 5th anniversary with my company and in a very short time I shot to the top of the heap. I am a member of the National Design Team which allows me to travel; affords me educational opportunities that I would otherwise forego because of my coughsotightIsqueakcough frugal tendencies; opens new doors of opportunity and affords me the teeny tiniest bit of distinction and prestige. It also gives me a reason to get really dressed up and spend the night in a swanky hotel once a year so they can thank me for my fabulousness while still wallowing very low on the food chain. I'm cool with that. I've been doing what I do in some form or fashion for what will be 29 years in June and still love going to work every day. In short (ok, I know it's much too late for that) I'm at the top of my game at present. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>AAAAANNNNNNNDDDDDDD...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>I will be 50 on my upcoming birthday. Now, if you know me even a bit, you know I LOVE birthdays. Yours, mine, everybody's. Even my 50th. I can hardly wait. It has, however, brought home a realization. The choices I make now are more crucial than ever. If I take a few risks, I could substantially improve my quality of life in the next 5 to 15 years, and retirement will just be a continuation of the celebration. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>And therein lies the problem. I suddenly feel a tremendous amount of pressure concerning some career choices that I'm facing. I have several opportunities and fully expect to retire from my company. It's good. It's designed that way. Many doors opened when I hit the ranking of 7th in the company (out of 850ish), when I made it through the auditions for the design team (they pay me to travel and talk shop), and most recently was awarded Trainer of the Year (I just wanted to brag about that one:c ) Other opportunities though are surfacing and mostly due to my success with my company. For example, I am being encouraged by several Redken Artists to submit the paperwork and a demo vid to become an Artist for Redken. I would still be able to do all the things I'm doing with my company; working behind the chair, training, traveling, etc. It would require a fairly large financial investment on my part because none of the preparatory training is in my area. It all calls for travel and missing several weeks of work, plus, it's training I will have to pay for because it's necessary prior to sending in my application. I haven't missed several weeks of work even cumulatively in 29 years! I have until the end of December to get it all together if I want to be part of the 2012 Redken Recruitment. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The icing on the cake? There's no guarantees. I could spend thousands of dollars, miss roughly a month of work, and not make the team. And, even if I do make the team, the rewards are more in terms of intangibles than tangibles because it takes several years and several bits of good luck for it to become particularly lucrative. My business in the salon will certainly be enhanced. I'll rise above the mere mortal designers in education and perks, and my skill level will expand so my clients will benefit quickly. But the pay off will be slow and steady and most likely match what I would do anyway without doing the audition at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, I dunno. My practical side says it's too much for too little. My innards tell me - hell yeah! Education is everything, always "worth it" and is a monumentally integral part of who I am. My emotional and karmic reaction is that I have a responsibility to magnify that in which I excel and share my gifts. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Any thoughts?</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>Hittin' below the belttag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-03-21:2426069:BlogPost:1041312011-03-21T02:46:42.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
When I was little, the world was a scary place. Everyone was bigger, smarter, funnier, prettier, luckier and more talented than me. They had joyful lives. They didn't fear spiders. They could run faster, swim better, hit the ball. They knew what they wanted to be when they grew up and they were good and successful at everything they tried and the whole world loved them. All of them. I very much wanted to partake of the fruits of society. To be invited to the party of life.<br />
<br />
In elementary…
When I was little, the world was a scary place. Everyone was bigger, smarter, funnier, prettier, luckier and more talented than me. They had joyful lives. They didn't fear spiders. They could run faster, swim better, hit the ball. They knew what they wanted to be when they grew up and they were good and successful at everything they tried and the whole world loved them. All of them. I very much wanted to partake of the fruits of society. To be invited to the party of life.<br />
<br />
In elementary school, I got beaten up everyday. I still remember the girl that did it. I often imagine her and wonder where she is and how her life turned out. I hope she didn't end up living some dreadful, painful life of want due to the bad Karma she must have acquired for her cruelty. As I got older, I realized that she must have really felt awful about herself. She picked on me to feel better. I doubt it was a successful plan. There was another girl too. She never hit me. But her words hurt worse. I've searched for her from time to time since the advent of the www. She reminded me of a chihuahua. I would think about that when she was running her mouth. As she was spewing her hateful mantras toward me, I would picture a little yippy dog with little hair and bug eyes. It always made me laugh. To this day, whenever I see one of those dogs I think of her. It still makes me laugh although I feel a little bad about disparaging all those sweet little dogs.<br />
<br />
It's important to point out here, that for every unkind, creepy kid, I knew far more who were kind, and well, normal.<br />
<br />
There's a moral to this story. When someone hit me, I would not hit back. I would stand there and take it, but I would not raise a hand to my aggressor. I think I knew even then, though I didn't understand it at the time. I knew that I did not have it in me to inflict that kind of pain. I don't think that girl ever even bruised me. She hit as hard as she could, but other than the discomfort of a blow to the stomach, she didn't physically hurt me. It was my spirit she broke. I did not understand the need of some to hurt someone else. I was incapable of being unkind in that way because I knew how painful it was. I suspected that nothing I did would hurt as much as whatever it was that was already causing them pain.<br />
<br />
As an adult, those concepts are much clearer to me now. Always wondering what is going on in the lives and minds of those who punish themselves by punishing others. The mystery is seldom revealed. As children, we often mistake kindness or apathy or even differences for weakness. I suppose we do that as adults as well. We don't beat them up anymore. Not physically. We withhold love, friendship, respect. We roll our eyes or discount their opinions, assume those we see as weaklings to be wrong or incapable of contributing. Unfortunately for us as well as our victims, we most likely missed opportunities to see within.<br />
<br />
.<br />
What I didn't understand as a child was that pretty much, everyone else felt the same way. In my later years, that would evolve into quite a relief. I wanted to be normal, whatever that was. As it turned out, I was. Finally, I recognize the weakness of those who would belittle another in attempts of self edification.<br />
<br />
I still don't hit back.Wish Granted...love, the Universetag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-01-26:2426069:BlogPost:1007462011-01-26T08:00:47.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
Jack of all trades, master of none. I wonder if this is a phenomena of recent history. An inclination to dabble in this, tip toe in that. Small bits of exposure to lots of interests in an adhd kind of way rather than focusing in and becoming proficient at one thing.<br />
<br />
I see it everywhere. Over the years, I have worked with people with this affliction and been guilty of this very thing myself. I’ll do this and on the side, I’ll do that. A wee bit of exposure here, a bit of beginner’s luck…
Jack of all trades, master of none. I wonder if this is a phenomena of recent history. An inclination to dabble in this, tip toe in that. Small bits of exposure to lots of interests in an adhd kind of way rather than focusing in and becoming proficient at one thing.<br />
<br />
I see it everywhere. Over the years, I have worked with people with this affliction and been guilty of this very thing myself. I’ll do this and on the side, I’ll do that. A wee bit of exposure here, a bit of beginner’s luck there.<br />
<br />
I worked with a woman many years ago who by any standard was one of the most intelligent people I had ever met. It was hard for her to make idle conversation with people because she was so much more intelligent than most that she just didn’t communicate well with, well, normal people.<br />
<br />
She was constantly looking for something fulfilling in her life. She was just always a step away from finding whatever it was that she needed. Like me, she was a hairdresser with more education than she needed for the job. Like me, she had about a million hobbies. Unlike me, she had not decided what it was she wanted to do when she grew up. She enjoyed being a designer. She thrived on the creative aspect of the job, and to be truly successful in this industry, as many others, the business end of it is an often ignored but vital part of the plan. That was thrilling to her too. Planning out how she was going to reach her goals, planning promotions, ongoing education, all filled her with enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
The problem was, she kept missing one vital component for her to feel successful. So she would keep looking. She tried every new gadget that came on the market. She tried selling her hobbies. She was, in the 3 years we worked together, a part-time photographer, free-lance writer, jewelry maker, painter, sculptor, ceramics, glass and porcelain –er, a tarot card reader, liquor store attendant and seamstress. She also loved to cook and bake, but during the time I knew her, she had not tried making money at either of those. AND, whatever she was doing, she was talking about one of the other things.<br />
<br />
The poor gal had an extremely difficult time making ends meet because she never made quite enough money. I suggested once that she do her own Tarot card reading and see what it said. She said that it wouldn’t work that way but tried it anyway. When I asked her about the result, she said, “It didn’t work that way.” I suspect it worked just about as well as all of her other schemes.<br />
<br />
I was a bit like her at one time. I had to do extra on the side until I built up my skill set and clientele’ but I tried to always keep my mind on the goal. One job, five or 6 days a week, with time enough for my family and doing other things I enjoy. It took a while but I did it.<br />
<br />
My supposition that whatever I was focused on was what I would be successful at turned out to be fairly accurate. When I kept my eye on the goal, planned and worked toward certain outcomes, I had a much better chance of accomplishing a thing or three. Whatever was forefront in my mind, and this is still true, is where I manage to move forward, make headway. Some suggest it’s the law of attraction. That whatever I put out into the universe, the universe will go to work fulfilling my desires. I call it hard work. After all, the universe isn’t going to give me anything I don’t deserve.Un Abrazo - Happy Birthday Pypertag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-01-26:2426069:BlogPost:1007442011-01-26T07:48:21.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
I love birthdays. All birthdays. Mine, yours, theirs. Doesn’t matter. Birthdays make me smile. I know a lot of people who find no joy in them at all. They see them as reminders of being older than they were yesterday. Opportunities to recount all the goals they didn’t achieve the previous year; all the things they didn’t do, didn’t accomplish, didn’t improve upon.<br />
<br />
Not me. Where others’ birthdays are concerned, they give me the opportunity to celebrate their presence in my life. And while I…
I love birthdays. All birthdays. Mine, yours, theirs. Doesn’t matter. Birthdays make me smile. I know a lot of people who find no joy in them at all. They see them as reminders of being older than they were yesterday. Opportunities to recount all the goals they didn’t achieve the previous year; all the things they didn’t do, didn’t accomplish, didn’t improve upon.<br />
<br />
Not me. Where others’ birthdays are concerned, they give me the opportunity to celebrate their presence in my life. And while I should do it all year, birthdays single out a day for me to remind them how much they are loved, respected and valued. It’s a day set aside just for the sole purpose of celebration and gratitude. A day for me to say Thank you for making my world a better place; Thank you for being who you are; Thank you for who I am when I am with you.<br />
<br />
As for my own, my birthday represents how far I’ve come. It’s a reminder of how joyful and purposeful life can be and that I only need choose a joyful and purposeful path to make it so. It reminds me that life is abundant, generous, lovely. My birthday reminds me that success is achievable, miracles are probable, happiness is a choice. It reminds me that I am better today than yesterday and growth and greatness, however personal, are possible. It reminds me that while my successes are fortuitous, they are not random.<br />
<br />
There are those who wish people would ignore their birthdays with them. Leave it alone. To that I say, please forgive me, but I cannot. Because, you see, I need you to know how you have affected me. I need you to know that you are important, special, loved.<br />
<br />
So, when I say to you, Happy Birthday, especially those of you who do not love your birthdays, consider yourself hugged and know that I say it with a most grateful heart for all you are and have been to me.I Love You Too, Ms. Etheltag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-01-26:2426069:BlogPost:1007372011-01-26T07:37:31.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
For three years to the day, I spent one or two days when I wasn't in the salon working at a nursing home. I had a little room with a shampoo bowl, dryer, station and a nice window that looked out to a couple of bird filled trees. It took about five minutes for me to fall in love with the residents of that home. For many, I was their only visitor each week. Sometimes because they had neglectful families, but more often than not, because they had simply outlived their friends and family. Some…
For three years to the day, I spent one or two days when I wasn't in the salon working at a nursing home. I had a little room with a shampoo bowl, dryer, station and a nice window that looked out to a couple of bird filled trees. It took about five minutes for me to fall in love with the residents of that home. For many, I was their only visitor each week. Sometimes because they had neglectful families, but more often than not, because they had simply outlived their friends and family. Some only knew what day of the week it was when I walked through the door.<br />
<br />
One of my favorites was Ms. Ethel. She was only 70 and had suffered a long hard life of addiction. She was diabetic, arthritic and delightful.When she first came to us, she had very little hair. It had all broken off and was long in spots and gone in others. We started conditioning treatments and scalp massages and in no time she had a head full of beautiful curly hair. We did her hair different every Friday morning and she would giggle like a school girl because she felt so pretty. Sometimes, the physical therapist would come for Ms. Ethel during her visit to the beauty shop. This normally docile, joyful lady would turn around and let that PT know "I'll be down theah when I'm goot and ready! Ms. Dana is doing mah hair this monin' and Ah'm damn sho gonna be heah when she walks through that theah doe!" And she always was.<br />
<br />
I got to work one Friday morning and Ms. Ethel was not sitting outside my door. I ran to her room expecting the worst but there she was laying in her bed. As I turned to step out of her room she called me. She apologized for missing her appointment but she just didn't feel up to getting out of bed. As I stepped out, I noticed a small tear run down her face. I went down to my room, got a couple of combs, some scalp oil, a hand mirror and a brush. When I got back to her room I asked if she would accept a house call. With the help of a nurse, we propped Ms. Ethel up and I massaged her scalp and brushed her hair into place. Though weak, she was delighted when I handed her the mirror so she could see her hair. I helped her lay back, and she asked if I had a favorite song. "Yes, Ms. Ethel would you like to hear it?"<br />
<br />
"Vey much, yes, yes, I wut. 'Cause I love you."<br />
<br />
Sitting there in the darkness of her room and holding her cool hand I sang to her.<br />
<br />
"You are my sunshine.<br />
My only sunshine.<br />
You make me happy when skies are gray.<br />
You'll never know Dear,<br />
How much I love you.<br />
Please don't take my sunshine away."<br />
<br />
Ms. Ethel fell asleep and I went to tend to Ms. Cliffie who was giving the nurses and other residents fits.<br />
<br />
I never saw Ms. Ethel again.<br />
<br />
I love you too, Ms. Ethel.The Spain Chronicles: Chapter 1tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-01-26:2426069:BlogPost:1007352011-01-26T07:30:19.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
I have been asked on several occassions, by several people for a blog on my experiences in Spain. I have attemtpted this blog several times but every time I sit down to write something, it falls flat. I have decided to just do a series of unconnected memories of my experience and hopefully, as they are peiced together, you will get a fuller picture of what a wonderful and powerful time it was. My deepest appreciation to those who have inspired this series. I am enjoying the opportunity to…
I have been asked on several occassions, by several people for a blog on my experiences in Spain. I have attemtpted this blog several times but every time I sit down to write something, it falls flat. I have decided to just do a series of unconnected memories of my experience and hopefully, as they are peiced together, you will get a fuller picture of what a wonderful and powerful time it was. My deepest appreciation to those who have inspired this series. I am enjoying the opportunity to revisit what was for me, a most magical time. <br />
<br />
The Spain Chronicles: Chapter 1 <br />
<br />
Sailors and Sunflowers <br />
<br />
I arrived in Rota in June 1979, just 15 days after graduating high school. My parents were already there and met me at the air terminal. The weather was perfect. Sun shining, warm breeze, excitement making the air crackle. Because I flew into a military facility, my baggage was easy to spot. It was one of the few that wasn’t military issue duffle. We ate dinner at the Chief’s club and I met several of my parent’s friends who had the same idea. It was a Friday. My parent’s couldn’t wait to tell me about the Community Theatre group on the base and the following Monday just happened to be try outs for the summer children’s theatre production of The Wizard of Oz They thought it would be a great way for me to meet some friends. I had studied french for 4 years in high school but I didn’t know a word of Spanish. They didn’t doubt my ability to adjust to my surroundings but I was a big theatre geek and the timing was perfect. My excitement about my new adventure doubled. (I got the part of Dorothy and was known by my theatre group friends as “Dot” for the duration of my stay in Spain.) <br />
<br />
We ate dinner and then headed for Chipiona which was, at the time, a small village about 30 minutes from the base. I asked if we were going to site see a bit before we went home. The daylight suggested that it was about 6:30 and I didn’t want to waste a minute. Even if I had just flown for 2 days and slept very little. It was actually about 10:45 p.m. and they assured me that I would have plenty of time to site see. <br />
<br />
Chipiona which, during the winter was a ghost town of a few thousand I think, swelled to a couple hundred thousand in the summer. We drove down the middle of the only road that led to Chipiona. It didn’t look quite wide enough for 2 cars but it was. There was no shoulder and it wasn’t graded. It was higher in the middle so you just drove down the middle until another car came along. Then, you both moved to your side to pass and got back in the middle. The road ran along side the coast. On one side, there was a patch of trees unlike any I have never seen any where else. They were tall and the foliage stayed up around the top so we had a clear view of the Mediterranean sea behind it. They almost looked like mushrooms. As we looked through the trees we could see the sun setting on the water. Often, I would take this drive at sunset just to experience the magnificence and sense of peace I felt at the site. We passed an occassional house, ranch or small bar and grill. Sunflowers are prolific there and we passed the largest crop of sunflowers I have ever seen. I was amazed they grew so well in what I suspected to be sandy soil. They went as far as the eye could see. They made a striking contrast against the bright orange Datsun truck we were in. Saffron is a big thing in Southern Spain. You need lots of sunflowers. <br />
<br />
As we got into town, people were every where. They were sitting in large groups at sidewalk café’s. They were walking in large groups, arm in arm. Often, they were singing and clapping as they walked slowly down the street. There were people of all ages from small children to grandparents meandering down the cobblestone streets. I could hear music. I could hear the ocean. I could hear the clinking of glasses. I could hear the sounds of life being lived. And I felt right at home.Lost Sheep - deity on vacation part deuxtag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2011-01-26:2426069:BlogPost:1007332011-01-26T07:24:36.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
When I was in High School and still under the watchful eyes of family and church leaders, I did what I had to do to get along. I figured if I wasn't "feeling" what I was supposed to be "feeling" (read believing) that one of two things had to happen.<br />
<br />
1 - I either had to look inward to find out what I was doing wrong - why couldn't I be like everyone else and just accept the dogma and doctrine, OR,<br />
2 - I had to play along until I could release myself from the clutches of my oppressors.<br />
<br />
I wrote…
When I was in High School and still under the watchful eyes of family and church leaders, I did what I had to do to get along. I figured if I wasn't "feeling" what I was supposed to be "feeling" (read believing) that one of two things had to happen.<br />
<br />
1 - I either had to look inward to find out what I was doing wrong - why couldn't I be like everyone else and just accept the dogma and doctrine, OR,<br />
2 - I had to play along until I could release myself from the clutches of my oppressors.<br />
<br />
I wrote a previous blog that explains my current situation and how I came to be here so I won't bore you with the details again. If you're interested, you can find it here.<br />
<br />
Where I went to church all through high school, the church leadership was very attentive to the youth group in an effort to keep us from wandering too far from the flock. The general belief was that if the kids were kept busy enough, and had plenty of attention and understanding from worthy leaders, If they were loved enough – they wouldn't seek those things from less worthy or worldly sources - they wouldn't suffer from the ills of worldly vices. They kept us busy with church activities, sometimes daily, but more often several times a week. We had youth sports, youth conferences, youth firesides, youth hay rides, youth camp, youth Sunday School, Youth scripture study, youth activities, and youth service “opportunities”.<br />
<br />
They pounded into us the importance of church attendance, paying an “honest tithe” (that meant 10% before taxes, not after, unless of course, you only wanted to receive “net blessings as opposed to gross blessings”. Being chaste, dressing and behaving modestly, working hard, spending our time in the service of others, (extra blessings for those who did it without complaining) and sharing the gospel with our friends. They counseled us to choose our friends wisely, (don't hang out with baddies), avoid R rated movies, cigarettes and alcohol, and anything that would pollute the mind with worldly or less worthy thoughts or activities.<br />
<br />
Believe it or not, there was one thing I actually loved about church. I loved the music. Sweet harmonies, tender rhymes describing love and divinity truly moved me. Story time set to music. How absolutely perfect.<br />
<br />
We had weekly interviews with the church leaders to make sure we were staying on track. Most of the time, mine were run of the mill, how's things? You're a great kid – thanks for your help – don't forget to pay your tithe – type conversations. They'd ask questions, I'd give them the answers they wanted to hear – I'm doing great – I LOVED camp – I'd be happy to help Sister Saggybritches with her garden – I suck at basketball but I'll play if you insist – yes I memorized my scriptures for the week. My favorite is...”<br />
<br />
One Wednesday night, I was called into “The office”. It was odd because it wasn't quite time for my weekly tribunal. Brother Badbreath was a very kind, sometimes funny, grandpa. He spoke quietly and gently and generally, I didn't mind visiting with him. I was wearing a blue t-shirt with a large rectangle that looked like marquee lights and within in the box it said, “Disregard this message”. I soon found out that the reason for this impromptu meeting was to inform me that my shirt was inappropriate. It drew undue and unnecessary attention. I was cute and smart enough without wearing a shirt that would draw, perhaps, the “wrong kind” of attention. I sat there pondering what he had just told me for a moment without saying anything. I had never worn a mini skirt, stiletto heels, or gone bra-less in public and I did not understand how an over sized t-shirt with a joke on it could possibly be considered enticing. I wanted to ask if he thought a hijab or nuns habit would be more appropriate but I was too afraid of being disrespectful to an adult to say that out loud.<br />
<br />
He asked if I understood. I shrugged and muttered something indiscernible like, yeah, ok, whatever and asked if I could leave. He mentioned to my mother that I seemed a bit disturbed. Perhaps I was embarrassed. As I left his office, I started to cry and went straight to the car. My mother came to my defense with Brother Badbreath and then promptly took me home.<br />
<br />
We never discussed it again but I knew from that moment on, I would be following my second option. I would play along until I could break free. It took longer than expected.I Wish for You (for Pypermarru1)tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2010-12-24:2426069:BlogPost:986732010-12-24T07:10:20.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<p>This is my favorite time of year. I know, weird. Whatever. I love the music, the crowds, the lit up trees. I love looking for the perfect gift, sitting in front of the fire, baking sweet treats. I love surprising people with gifts who least expect them. I love bells on my Christmas socks, my Santa hat, and my Mrs. Clause dress. (of course I have one) And I particularly love irritating the hell out of all the Scrooges at work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anyway, I thought it might be appropriate to…</p>
<p>This is my favorite time of year. I know, weird. Whatever. I love the music, the crowds, the lit up trees. I love looking for the perfect gift, sitting in front of the fire, baking sweet treats. I love surprising people with gifts who least expect them. I love bells on my Christmas socks, my Santa hat, and my Mrs. Clause dress. (of course I have one) And I particularly love irritating the hell out of all the Scrooges at work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anyway, I thought it might be appropriate to share with you some holiday wishes, whatever your particular celebratory habits happen to be. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>I wish for you...</p>
<p>joy. The real kind.</p>
<p>laughter. the belly kind.</p>
<p>friendship. the eternal kind.</p>
<p>peace. the inner kind.</p>
<p>music. the moving kind.</p>
<p>strength. the heart and mind kind.</p>
<p>play time. the rejuvenating kind.</p>
<p>rest. the revitalizing kind.</p>
<p>hunger. the motivating kind.</p>
<p>creativity. the problem solving kind.</p>
<p>art. the inspiring kind</p>
<p>judgement. the discerning kind.</p>
<p>work. the rewarding kind.</p>
<p>time. the plentiful kind</p>
<p>love. the fulfilling kind. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>and spiked egg nog. and brownies. lots of brownies. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thank you for your friendship and kindness.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>dana</p>REAL paper dollarstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2010-12-24:2426069:BlogPost:986682010-12-24T06:18:28.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<div style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; background-color: #ffffff; color: #000000; min-height: 1100px; counter-reset: __goog_page__ 0; line-height: normal; padding: 0px; margin: 6px;"><b>I got a whole, real paper dollar for my fifth birthday. I was very excited. My dad was always generous with his change and I was quite fond of that too. You could buy a cherry or grape sucker for a nickel, or a piece of double bubble for a penny, or even a chocolate or two for somewhere in between.…</b></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; background-color: #ffffff; color: #000000; min-height: 1100px; counter-reset: __goog_page__ 0; line-height: normal; padding: 0px; margin: 6px;"><b>I got a whole, real paper dollar for my fifth birthday. I was very excited. My dad was always generous with his change and I was quite fond of that too. You could buy a cherry or grape sucker for a nickel, or a piece of double bubble for a penny, or even a chocolate or two for somewhere in between. Sometimes, I would get candy cigarettes, wear my mother's shoes around the house and play “grown up”. That particular game led my mother to tell people that I was very pigeon toed as a child. I explained that she was mistaken, as I was only imitating how she walked in her high heeled shoes. This information was not received well for some reason.<br/><br/>We lived in a small house with a large tree in the front yard. My dad cut a piece of wood, drilled four holes where he could thread some sturdy rope and spent an afternoon tossing the rope up and over a branch to build me a swing that would become my first sanctuary. I spent many hours on that swing, dreaming of what I would be when I grew up, where I would live, who I would marry and what I would contribute to the world. (a stewardess or an actress or a singer, On the beach, a sailor prince, velcro) On that swing, all things were possible. I came up with many ideas for making the world a better place. One that I remember in particular was a very special glue. One that would glue my doll's arm back on and still enable it to move so she could hug me still and would motivate my mother to take her out the the big round trash barrel at the end of the driveway. It didn't matter that I had many other dolls that I loved just as much. The wounded one was the one I loved the most. I took my baby out of the trash and with her in one hand and her severed arm in the other, I marched back to the house with a mission. Mom, of course, caught me at the door. “We can fix her! I promised!” With as much patience as she could muster, mom explained that dolly's arm, could not be glued, sewed, stapled or pinned, shooting down every option a 5 year old could come up with. “I'll just hold it then.” With that, I went to the bathroom, got out a box of band-aids, and applied them as neatly as I could where her arm was supposed to be. Rather than argue with me, she just waited, hoping at some point I would forget the old ratty doll and move on to another one.<br/><br/>Every now and then, Mom would try to get rid of one toy or another that was no longer, in her eyes, worth keeping. I would catch her, retrieve my beloved stuffed bear with no eyes, Barbie missing a leg, clothes long lost, or armless doll. I would always pull them out of the trash. When she would try to convince me to let the toy go, I always said the same thing. “I promised!”<br/><br/>I don't remember if it was Christmas or my birthday, or just a time my dad came home and brought me a gift from his travels, but I got a new stuffed bear with a large ribbon around his neck. I was delighted. He was soft and his fur felt nice against my cheek. I hugged and squeezed him and whispered in his ear, “ I will take care of you. I will sing to you. I will be sweet to you. I will love you. I promise.”<br/><br/>At the age of five, a promise was sacred. You didn't make promises you couldn't keep. I used the phrase “I promise” like some people use “Thanks” or “Hello” or “I love you.” I expected the same loyalty from others as well. If someone promised me something, there was no doubt in my mind that it would be so. I believed what people told me. Their word was their bond. I did not know that sometimes people did not tell the truth. I did not know that sometimes, people would say things they didn't mean. I did not know that sometimes, people will say things just to get what they want. I wonder what happened. When did a promise become a bargaining chip, a tool of coercion, a meaningless idiom?<br/><br/>And why? Is it a commentary on the degradation of society? Have we become so debased that our word is no longer essential? Is it cultural? Do only some communities or societies suffer from this lack of verbal allegiance? Or, perhaps, it's the result of the age of technology. Instant gratification has spoiled us into thinking waiting is unnecessary. Possibly the fine line that exists between wants and needs has become so blurred that it's indiscernible. Or is it something much simpler than that? Maybe, as we become older, we use it so much that it becomes common place. We say “I promise” like we say “thanks” or “hello” without much thought to the meaning behind it. Whatever the reason, saying the words “I promise” doesn't mean what it used to.<br/><br/>But it can. :-)</b></div>a eulogy of small consequencetag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2010-12-24:2426069:BlogPost:986662010-12-24T06:09:30.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<div style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; background-color: #ffffff; color: #000000; min-height: 1100px; counter-reset: __goog_page__ 0; line-height: normal; padding: 0px; margin: 6px;"><font face="Comic Sans MS" size="3">I am in mourning of the truest sense. Oh, I won’t be wearing black or covering my face. I will not need drops to lessen the redness of tear drenched eyes, or staying home from work to hide from the world as I toil through my grief. <br></br><br></br>No, I will carry on daily…</font></div>
<div style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: 10pt; background-color: #ffffff; color: #000000; min-height: 1100px; counter-reset: __goog_page__ 0; line-height: normal; padding: 0px; margin: 6px;"><font size="3" face="Comic Sans MS">I am in mourning of the truest sense. Oh, I won’t be wearing black or covering my face. I will not need drops to lessen the redness of tear drenched eyes, or staying home from work to hide from the world as I toil through my grief. <br/><br/>No, I will carry on daily as though all things remain as I left them before the demise of my good friend. When I went to bed last night, I went knowing that my friend was in a weakened state. I knew that all was not right and while no fever was present, slow movement, frozen face, and lack of what was once enthusiastic and quick response had all but vanished. <br/><br/>I will remember with fondness the hours, days, weeks and years that we spent together in the exchange of ideas, creative pursuits, intellectual discourse, and imaginative time I consider well spent. <br/><br/>I will treasure the memory of the world seen through my friend’s eyes, exposing me to ideas, places, art, music, people, philosophies, that otherwise would have been strangers to me. Our friendship, like all healthy relationships, offered me the opportunity to grow and learn new skills, and hone some I already possessed. My friend always appreciated my presence and showed it by giving me something new to think about, admire or appreciate every time we visited. I learned much and in turn had the opportunity to share as well, and I would like to think that my contributions to the friendship were equally worthy. <br/><br/><br/>With gratitude and heartfelt affection, I will miss my friend. <br/><br/>Farewell LV.</font></div>Diety on Vacation...Leave a Message (for Liz)tag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2010-12-24:2426069:BlogPost:986632010-12-24T06:00:46.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Someone asked me the other day if I was glad the holidays were over. No, in fact, I’m always a little sad when the holiday season ends. “But you are not a Christian” she said. Oh? By whose definition? How do you know I’m not a Christian? (The reason this came up at all is because she does not approve of my particular religious upbringing.) I got a bit snippy and asked if her preacher had bought the rights to Christianity lately because the…</span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: medium;">Someone asked me the other day if I was glad the holidays were over. No, in fact, I’m always a little sad when the holiday season ends. “But you are not a Christian” she said. Oh? By whose definition? How do you know I’m not a Christian? (The reason this came up at all is because she does not approve of my particular religious upbringing.) I got a bit snippy and asked if her preacher had bought the rights to Christianity lately because the last I heard, lots of denominations claim to be Christian and they don’t require membership in HER church to claim so. She explained that her preacher told her that So and So church believes ____________ and Such and Such Church believes ___________ so neither one of them, regardless of what they “claim” are REALLY Christian. I see. At the risk of sounding exceptionally irritated, I told her that the next time I wanted to know about Catholics I’d be sure to ask a Baptist. And when I wanted to know about Baptists, I’d be sure to ask a Jehovah’s Witness and when I wanted to know about HER church, I’d ask a Mormon. I explained that she seemed to think asking people who were not of a particular faith was a reliable source of information so I’d give it a try. She asked me why I wouldn’t just ask her if I wanted to know about her church and I told her I was just following her example. Now, I’m not trying to start a war here. I am not looking to be convinced nor do I seek answers to where this woman is right or wrong. Frankly, while I find her a bit closed minded and ridiculous, I don’t really care. But it put me to thinking…yes, that’s smoke you smell.<br/><br/><br/>I am a lover of history. I have studied the culture, history and religion of this country and many others. I have done in depth study of not just the Judeo Christian variety but of many others as well. My parents raised me in a religious, if not particularly spiritual home. It may surprise some to know that I raised my kids in church. And I did everything I was supposed to do. If I didn’t feel the spirit it was because I was unclean. I walked the path of righteousness. For you non-believers out there that means I walked the walk and talked the talk. If I didn’t hear the still small voice, it was because I didn’t stop to listen. So I spent time daily in quiet and solitary repose. If I did not feel the burning in bosom when the truth was revealed to me it was because I had not asked the holy spirit to come into my heart and witness to me. So I prayed, fasted, tithed, served, prayed, sought counsel, and prayed some more. I studied my scriptures, I quoted my scriptures. I applied my scriptures. I even had a favorite scripture. It’s still my favorite scripture. Matt 6: 19-21. Look it up. You see, I WANTED to believe. I wanted my eyes to well up with tears of joy at the sound of my favorite hymn; I wanted to feel the joy and peace of KNOWING that there is something more. That this life is not the end; that there really is something on the other side of the veil. I am, I believe, a spiritual person. I’m just not a believer.<br/><br/><br/>I cannot say that I have not had prayers answered. I have. To that all I can say is that the universe is a mysterious thing. I raised my children in church because I thought the positive, goal oriented, virtuous path was a good place to learn how to survive in the jungle of modern society. I was right. You may be wondering how a non-believer managed to spend that much time in church and tell my kids things were true and right when I didn’t believe necessarily that they were. The answer is simple. I didn’t. I never claimed to be a believer and they were always encouraged to seek answers for themselves. When they asked me questions of a spiritual or religious nature, I answered them the same way I answered their questions about school work. “Look it up.” Nah, I’m just kidding about that. I would ask them questions. “Well, what do you think? How could we find out? Let’s research it and see what we find.” Then I let them make their own decisions. I did not tell them what I thought because I didn’t want to influence the outcome of their studies. It helped me too. All three of us came up with our own, very different conclusions.<br/><br/><br/>I am not going to go into my reasoning for not buying into the God, Jesus, Mary, bible thing here. I am not going to try to sway anyone to my way of thinking. I do not want anyone to try to “save” me. I spent the first 35 years of my life walking a path chosen for me just because my parents happened to be born in this country. I strongly suspect that had I been born in India I would have had the same struggles with Hinduism. Had I been born in Israel, I’d be struggling with Judaism. But just because I do not subscribe to the societal confines of religion in the U.S. does not mean that I abhor it. On the contrary, I embrace religion in general as an integral part of our culture and history. We are who we are because of where and who we have been. I admire people who cleave to and rejoice in something bigger than themselves and if it makes them better, stronger or gives them a clear path, all the better. And yes, even though I do not subscribe to a particular religion my self, I do have cause to be a good person, to make good choices. When I was trying to find my own personal spiritual path, I did not try to be a good citizen, parent, spouse, friend employee, because “God” wanted or dictated it. I did not try to be a good and positive person because I was afraid of burning in hell. While I am hesitant to go the distance and call myself an Atheist because of my genuine desire to believe, I am not a believer. That does not make me a bad person. And when I hear people carry on relentlessly about their belief and faith, I do not automatically assume them to be good.<br/><br/><br/>What I will say with all certainty is this; If there is a God, he has some explaining to do.<br/></span>The Tao of Scribblertag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2010-12-24:2426069:BlogPost:986612010-12-24T05:53:33.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Art is personal.<br></br><br></br>Happiness is a choice<br></br><br></br>Gratitude is essential<br></br><br></br>Authenticity is rare<br></br><a id="more" name="more"></a><br></br><br></br>Anything free comes at a great price<br></br><br></br>Respect is earned<br></br><br></br>A sense of humor can save you<br></br><br></br>Words are magic<br></br><br></br>Strength is mental<br></br><br></br>Joy is attainable<br></br><br></br>Work is…</span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Art is personal.<br/><br/>Happiness is a choice<br/><br/>Gratitude is essential<br/><br/>Authenticity is rare<br/><a name="more" id="more"></a><br/><br/>Anything free comes at a great price<br/><br/>Respect is earned<br/><br/>A sense of humor can save you<br/><br/>Words are magic<br/><br/>Strength is mental<br/><br/>Joy is attainable<br/><br/>Work is healing<br/><br/>Clarity must be sought<br/><br/>With knowledge comes responsibility<br/><br/>Silence is priceless<br/><br/>Believing is seeing<br/><br/>The world revolves around the sun </span>dirt roads and movie starstag:lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com,2010-12-24:2426069:BlogPost:986592010-12-24T05:52:42.000ZDana (scribblers sanctuary)https://lovevideoplayhouse.ning.com/profile/Dana
<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Earlier this year I went to Des Moines, Clive to be exact, to teach a couple of classes. I had never been in that part of the country so I began asking clients about what to do, where to go, points of interest. The resounding theme…</span></p>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;"><br />
</span><p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Earlier this year I went to Des Moines, Clive to be exact, to teach a couple of classes. I had never been in that part of the country so I began asking clients about what to do, where to go, points of interest. The resounding theme was, Des Moines is a good place to pass through on the way to somewhere else. I thought, surely there’s something fun to do there. I have a new camera, I’m easy to entertain, I’ll find something.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">We arrived on Sunday evening, checked into our hotel, and set about looking for a place for dinner. It was 10:20 p.m. Apparently, with the exception of McDonald’s, the good citizens of Clive, Iowa roll up the sidewalks at dusk. We found a brewery who would be open for another half hour and if pizza was ok, we were more than welcome to come in. It was, we did.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">I had been told about one Mexican restaurant that had “The World’s Best Margaritas”. We went. They didn’t. The food was good though.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Originally, the plan was to stay an extra day. Instead, we headed home Tuesday afternoon. So we grabbed some lunch at the clown’s drive through and hit the road. It was sunny, windy and warm. The traffic was light as we started noticing the signs for Winterset. Madison County. It’s claim to fame, not only the bridges, but also birthplace of The Duke.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">We detoured and for a couple of hours tooled around Madison County, Winterset, Iowa. We visited several bridges, John Wayne’s birthplace, where for $6 they’ll give you a personal tour of the 4 room house, and got sodas and Blue Bunny ice cream at the Kum and Go. Most of that time, we were on dirt roads although Winterset is home to a most charming “Down Town” which looks like it just fell off the page of a book from 50 years ago.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">As we were driving through town, back on asphalt, we stopped at one of the few stop lights in town. Facing us was an old, beat up, beloved, cam-fire-am-ish car being driven by a teenager. A boy who looked to be about 12 walking, said to the boy in the car, “Hey Joe! You missed it last night. We had a bonfire!” The car kid said something I couldn’t hear and the news was repeated jubilantly. “Yeah! a bonfire! It was awesome!” They both smiled and waved at each other just in time for the light to change. It brought rushing back many memories from my high school years in small Clarksville, Tennessee. Clarksville, even then was bigger than Winterset, but still, bonfires, lazy days fishing at the river, hay rides, all qualified as big news along with high school football games and ridin’ on Friday nights down Madison and Riverside Drive.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">I haven’t lived in a small town for a long time. I had forgotten what it’s like to know every one, feel safe leaving doors unlocked, allowing children to play outside while I fixed supper. While I do love the city and all it’s civilized trappings, I think I could be very happy in Winterset. With their dirt roads, bonfire’s; ice cream, soda and gas from the Kum and Go. And of course, the tiny four room birth place of The Duke where I would happily pay $6 to see the inside time and again; Where you see more American flags than foreign language signs directing strangers to the nearest rest room and more trucks than Beamers. Where people smile, wave and offer help before you ask rather than avoid eye contact and hurry on with their busy, important tasks.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Where you see people sitting on their front porches rather than burning rubber out of their drive ways and more kids playing outside, video games saved for rainy days. With skies clear enough during the day to actually look blue and night time skies blanketed with stars, far from the 24 hour lights, sights and sounds of the city, I can almost hear the crickets chirping and the wind rustling the leaves lulling me to peaceful sleep.</span></p>
<p><span style="font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; color: #cccccc; line-height: 20px;">Yes. I could be very happy in Winterset.</span></p>