Goddess Divine's Beautiful Life

Effigy Dream

2009-10-11T19:58:00.000-07:00

Effigy Dream

I walked along a path this morning,
and as I slept,
dark past joined my lonely stride,
my eager heart leapt,
with every step,
its careless hand sought mine. ...

We stood up on the green
and hugged;
then faceless shadow whispered
"Can't you feel me?"
I pressed against its heart unseen
suspecting treachery still festered....

Desirous, I eagerly took hold
of that which had once filled my soul,
but yet again, a swift adieu
left nothing but
a form of smooth hard stone...

So I resumed my solaced journey,
heavy heart intact,
dodging sun umbrellas, brightly colored beachballs,
and black-handled daggers, all flurried
as I passed....

Others frolicked in the desert,
heavy hearts all trapped
Still feeling his callous grip
in the distance,
as I trudged along my quicksand path,
It could have choked me as I woke,
but my soul did not look back.

~Lyd 10/11/09

If I had a billion dollars....

2009-08-20T08:34:00.000-07:00

Stephanie Farris’ Blog, Steph in the City, poses the question, “If I had a billion dollars, I would…” and asks that we participate by blogging about this and linking it to her blog.

After reading her blog I realized I’d do all the same things she blogged about. Totally! I’d definitely go off and travel the world, see faraway places I’d always dreamed of visiting some day. I’d be very happy to own at least one small piece of real estate, or property in a swanky place like NYC, LA, Aspen, London, Paris, Milan, Andalucía, or Capri. I read that many rich folk are buying up entire islands in places like Xuma and Bora- Bora, so I too would love to vacation in my own island with my family and friends.

But also like Stephanie, I know I’d probably grow bored with travel at some point. I have a feeling that not being born rich would give way to wanting to do more for others.

I know that I’d like the money to do some good in the world, so if I had a billion dollars I hope that I’d also remember to use it to build schools, in remote areas of Africa, Asia and South America. A little money goes a long way in places who people suffer and lack the very basics.

If I could afford to do so I’d sponsor the college dreams of impoverished kids here in our own country, fund libraries in community colleges, in the inner cities, and needy places like up in the Ozark Mountains. I saw a documentary last year that chronicled the lives of the people that live there. It was heartbreaking to watch American families living in dire economic situations. What I found most ironic was that they have a hard heating their homes, even though the mountains around them are rich with coal. Plus, it’s illegal to dig for coal there since the corporations have exclusive rights to everything, so I’d sponsor some sort of heating assistance for those families who can’t afford to heat their homes in the winter. I’d like to spare them being jailed for illegally digging coal on the sides of highways. I think that would an important and worthwhile cause.

Anyway, I realize all these ideas would take a whole lot of time and probably necessitate my dealing with bureaucratic b.s., but that’s what I’d really like that money to do.

I’d be happy with one comfortable place to rest my head and I’d feel great that I’m making someone somewhere forgotten, feel less so. Now if only I really did have that money.

Thanks for the great idea Stephanie!

On Truth, Godric and Universality

2009-08-18T14:19:00.000-07:00

Truth is tricky.

Sunday night's episode of True Blood got me thinking about Truth again. Watching a 2,000 year old vampire give himself up to the light from which he (as a human) once belonged, was a redeeming and poignant sight. Especially for an HBO pulp fiction show disregarded for it's purportedly high cheese factor.

When I was young and naïve I believed that Truth was the single most important thing in life.
I had believed in this premise so strongly that I seldom, if ever lied. I, as most people, thought truth and lying were polar opposites. I know better now. It simply isn’t that simple. I quickly found that telling my Truths wasn’t always comfortable, or better than lying. In fact, many times it made things terribly worse.

How many times have you blurted out a Truth you wished you could totally take back? I know I have.

I got myself into quite a pickle once, and because I did the right thing and told my truth a whole lot of people got hurt. In fact, because of my awful truth, someone I deeply loved ended up hospitalized. It has been my experience that a cold, unbuffered truth could knock down the strongest of convictions, crumble stable foundations, and bring good people to their knees.

For years I questioned why it was that even though I had told the truth as I knew it, things ended so badly?

As I got older, I no longer believed that in our modern days Truth alone could ever be a foundation from which man can build his destiny. I knew first hand it could have the potential to be quite the contrary.

Truth’s power can be a remarkable force indeed. My Truth had been forceful, vengeful and downright destructive.

Like I said, Truth is tricky. I learned that Truth is oftentimes complex and that in order for it to work you must take everyone else into account. Easier said than done when your truth is so, well, TRUE. The problem was that I never once took anyone else’s Truths’ into account because my beautiful Truth was all I could see.

The Dalai Lama says that centering in Truth involves the ability to perceive a fundamental wisdom, reflected within yourself and the people you know. That’s just a fancy way of saying that there are many levels of Truth. As such, I think Truth is and always will be subjective to one’s perception of it. So it’s very hard to do what’s necessary, as this involves establishing a relationship between your inner personal truth, or your core, and the circumstances, or people involved.

I wish that years ago someone would have explained to me that in every scenario there at least 3 distinct truths: your Truth, another person’s Truth, and the Universal Truth that all living beings share. Somewhere between yours and theirs, lies the Universal Truth that binds us all.
It is through that last Truth that healing dialogue can happen. Accessing that higher Truth allows one to empathize and be receptive to the other Truths that are also there. But you must have the willingness to see, rather than merely look. And let’s face it that’s really hard to do, and not many of us have the patience. But if you take the time, I have found that it can be extremely worth it.

I’ve learned that whenever your Truth comes into conflict with someone else’s, your Truth is under a shadow. If you are fearful, you will be attacked; and if you constantly stick to religious, or political dogmas, you will surely lose the opportunity to grow and gain new insight. You will surely stagnate, because like water or even money, Truth’s energy must continually flow to be positive.

So don’t be afraid to speak your truth, but also temper it with the courage to listen and find common ground. It is also advisable to find the stregnth to season the tongue with kindness. Like the fictional Godric, I believe this is essential to our continued survival as a species. It is said that if we vacillate in upholding personal Truth with higher wisdom, we will be tested. Yet, when we are firm and strong in the power of your our Universality, we can break through even the most difficult situations. For reasons the show has yet to explain Godric, a vampire older than Jesus, came to understand a Universal Truth that bonds all things. Godric became more humane than even the hate-filled humans that aimed to destroy him. He found KINDNESS. His higher consciousness became elevated even when his vampire counterparts remain savage and un-evolved, and as an example to all he faced the sun undaunted by pain and full of joy.

It is a powerful feeling to actually be able to rise up and perceive the Truth in the other side's argument. You are better poised to achieve a successful and more Truthful outcome— because that is something to which ALL beings naturally respond.

A wise man named R.W. Emerson once said that if you get in touch with the part of yourself that is aware of this universal force, you will cultivate this inner resource, and will become adept at using it to bond with others to support a common purpose. That sounds amazing to me.

Sure hope that's true.

Death of A Secret ~HipHop Don't Stop~

2009-07-24T13:04:00.000-07:00

I have a secret.

Would you like to hear it?

Oh the shame of it all is almost unbearable, but I’m so ready to finally let it out and unburden myself.

There’s another side of me you see, and only my closest friends have been privy to it.

Until now…

So here I go… Let the story begin… begin…begin….

When I’m alone, in the house, in my car, or with my closest friends,

When the eyes and ears of others are far away from me,

When I feel safe enough to let my true self out of hiding,

That’s when I…

Whip out my indispensable iPod Touch and listen to the wailing, sexy sounds of Hip-Hop!!!

What???? Oh the horror! How dare I!

I know what you’re thinking. I am 43 AND a grandmother after all.

Oh my friends, if only that were the entire secret, but alas, there’s more.

There’s always more in every torrid story isn’t there?

And unfortunately, it gets even worse…

How can I put this delicately?…
Oh fuck it, I’ve been living a double life!!!

Shocking I know!

How so? Well, it’s easy actually. I go from being the sweet, dutiful wife and mother which I am most of the time, to a club hopping, hip-hopping, punk-rocking, night crawling, diva deluxe; just one weekend night every so often.

And after so many years I’ve perfected the art, so that no one from my opposite worlds knows what I am on the other side.

Yes, I am guilty as charged. Whenever I can steal a night away from my beloved family… I will merrily hit the clubs and dance provocatively to the furious beats I so love.

It’s a conflicting lifestyle.

On nights where I let loose the wrath of Lyd, I’ve wondered… what would my co-club revelers think if they knew of my 3 kids, my grandchild and my real age?

While alternatively wondering.... what would the other moms at my son’s private school think of me dancing on top of this nightclub speaker?

Hahaha! The Real housewives of NJ got nothing on me.

I do enjoy myself very much and music is a huge part of who I am. Music makes me feel like nothing else can. Like I’m flying through thru a sparkling night sky, without boundaries, limitless, ecstatic, frenetic; transcendent of body, time and space; I miss nothing, I need nothing, I am happy, whole and so fucking free.

Now that’s a powerful feeling.

No drug has ever been able to give me that! I tried stuff when I was really young. Pot gave me a headache, the crash from doing white lines wasn’t worth the stupid high and I never fucked with dope. Nope, no way. At 17 I did stupidly take a tab of acid at paradise Garage, and by the time we went into the after-hours called the Loft I was seeing little green men on the dance floor. That wack shit impeded my dancing!

Can’t have that…Next!

Then, came Vodkahhhh, Tequilahhhh ;) Well, sometimes, as I can dance the night away without a drop to drink, except for water of course. I’ve never had a thing for drugs because I’m naturally high on life.

Oh well, go ahead, judge me if you must, for I am acutely aware that some may believe at this point that I might have a slight problem with inappropriate music. LOL And perhaps I do, however, I reserve the right to respectfully disagree.
In my own defense I offer that I am a very passionate woman that lives a mostly sedentary lifestyle, and this is how I express myself best. It does help that I am still able to move my body in which ever way I command of it. Thus, my plan is to do so, and enjoy it, until I can’t do it any longer. Like that quote says, I’m a good girl, with some questionable habits.

Is that wrong? ---a rhetorical question; don’t answer that :)

All I know is, I love music, all sorts of music, but I especially love Hip Hop- still.

I’ve found that to be a problem for some people in my age group who have “outgrown” it. Good for you. So glad. Plus I’m reminded that Hip Hop carries a stigma. I realize all this, but I still love it.

It’s in me.

It’s in my son too. He’s out there doing his thing, musically, trying to get discovered.

He’s amazing but then again, I’m biased since I gave birth to that talented, wonderful man.

Take a listen to Killa Da Mak on the myspace player…see link below, but I warn you, it’s not for the faint of heart. If you have any aversions to rough rap, or hard Hip Hop music don’t click on this one... He’s not "gansta" but he’s raw and I love his shyt too. Ha!

OK, back to me.

Jay-Z put out a tune called D.OA. (Death Of Auto tunes) and I have to admit the second it hit my ears I was ADDICTED. It may as well be musical crack to me because I could not, cannot get enough of it.

Click on him on the player if you'd like to listen to him as well, but chances are you've heard it on the radio, or as a sound bite/ music track on an episode of some Law n Order-ish show with African-American bad guys holding up a liquor store. But that's another blog...

Anyway, something about that particular song made me feel it deep in my R&B/Hip-Hip soul, just like I did when I listened to him when I was younger. It’s been a while since I felt that. It is what inspired this quasi tell-all blog. I was in base line heaven, lounging on my private cabana, waving at the attendant to bring me another tequila infused fruity drink, when I thought of writing a blog to finally tell my secret. I'm hard-core like that.

Blame Jay-Z. Blame Hip Hop.

Like I said, I love all music. In fact, I used to love the Ramones too back in the day. My ying and yang at work again. Fortunately for me, I find that some of today’s versions of neo-alt rock/punk infused with hip-hop beats rock my soul just as lovely.

Like Fall Out Boy. Gawwd those boys can truly rock out my guilty pleasured conscience, and I will not give them up. I literally enter a trance-like state listening to their syncopated, melodic concertos, chock full of sublime guitar riffs.

They’re also on the myspace player. Feel free to listen.

Then again, I just don’t listen to my music …no, no no, that will never suffice. Music should always be BLASTED in my direction at extreme decibels. It should rush into my veins via a magical, musical osmosis; pushed into my heart; mashed into my synapses, and embedded into every one of my throbbing cells. Yeah, I’m a self-made mutant with musical DNA.

Oh my poor, confused neighbors. They’re such nice people. I know they hear my loud music thumping when I come around the bend, fresh from buying weekly groceries at Whole Foods. The perfect picture of polarity in motion. Sometimes I remember to turn down the volume before I make the turn, but most of the time I am way too lost in the music to remember, or care.

Their expressions say it all.

Just when they think it’s one of the young adults from our cul-de-sac, it’s just me, Mrs. X… aka Lil J’s mom, aka D’s wife. Must be odd to watch this married lady with a big house, nice cars and those BIG kids that already moved out, riding around with her music on full blast. The lady who gardens and has nice tomatoes every summer, yep, SHE’s the one rocking to that music. They have these looks on their faces like I’m absolutely nuts.

They must think I’m trying to be young.

Sorry, but I’m not trying to be anything. I am young in spirit.

Be reminded that your spirit, or soul life knows no age; it is timeless.

I’ve always loved hip-hop and alt. rock and neither time, nor age can do anything to dissipate the feelings I still get when I listen to them. Besides slap some make up on this face and I can blend in with any crowd. LOL! No, seriously.

Hip Hop is me. I am Hip Hop, always will be.

I’ll probably be 80 and still rocking JayZ… or Killa Da Mak or some new band featuring my son…hahaha …I sure hope so.

So there ya have it.

I leave you with the link to my player, check out the music if you like, or not.

I’ve had such a blast writing this blog and the best part is that my secret may still stay a secret because nobody reads my blogs. Ha!

http://music.myspace.com/Modules/MusicV2/Pages/PopUpPlayer.aspx?songid=null&artid=null&profid=381046384&plid=471206

100 years without the Solitude

2009-07-24T12:26:00.000-07:00

Some of you may remember I was offered a teaching job last August?

Well, to catch you all up, I took that job and went back to teaching after 11 years of being away from education
Let’s just say, I felt like Rip Van Winkle.

It was as if I had slept 100-years and woke up to find that everything I knew about education had totally changed.

Totally.

For instance, wayyyy back in the day teaching looked like this:

Her method was NOT good.

Nowadays learning in a productive, engaged classroom should look like this:

This change is definitely good!

While some changes are clearly beneficial, others have yet to convince me.

Although I had a good foundation with Bloom’s Taxonomy and the Seven Learning Intelligences theory I’d used in the past, I was quickly made to understand that other teaching methods I’d used were considered outdated, ineffective and one in particular case, even taboo.

Yes, taboo.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you:

The dreaded, the horrible.....Round Robin technique.

Innocent sounding, yes?

Wrong.

I warn you, mention this term to an educator at your own peril!

You may as well have horns on your head and cloven feet. Heck, you may even be burned at the stake.

What is this evil of all instructional evils?

Well, it has a few variations but quite simply it is that “old fashioned way” in which you, I and most Americans were taught to read: you read a few lines, then Jimmy reads a few lines, then Derrick reads,then Margot, and I read until everyone has had a turn.

Remember that?

Well, apparently it wasn’t fair to ask kids to read aloud, as some may suffer anxiety when asked to read to the entire class thus, hampering their ability to learn to read properly.

Okay……

Let’s get this straight….so Johnny can’t read because teaching him to do so gives him anxiety? And that’s bad, right?

To be fair, I remember what that felt like…

I remember ….feeling ill the second our teacher announced we were to take turns reading our story.

I remember... the awful panic that grew stronger as my turn to read came closer and closer.

I remember… my heart pounding harder and harder in my chest; it's deafening sound in my ears, drowning out the other readers.

I remember ...the dry mouth and the heaves that threatened to expose me for the weak little person I was.

I remember… stumbling through words I knew and not taking breaths in appropriate places until I almost choked.

I remember… that I was always a good reader, but reading aloud left me feeling exhausted.

Yada, yada yada, guess what?

I got through it every single time.

That’s called COPING.

It certainly did not hamper my ability to read, or learn, or anything.

Check it out people, all that "healthy" and very normal, extremely necessary anxiety actually helped me in the long run.

I now know that getting through those hard moments in school served to prepare me for bigger, tougher moments that continued to come my way later in life.

So “Poor Johnny can’t read because he is too anxious” doesn’t cut it for me. No, he can't read for many other reasons, and he can't cope either.

Has anyone else noticed that young adults today lack the ability to handle anxiety ….big time?

I’m certainly not saying there is a super direct correlation here, but there is something here. There is also much to be said about the fact that educational administrators are continually changing their minds, and our teaching methodologies to fit their weekly agendas.

To their credit, they have the best intentions, but perhaps in their quest for higher reading scores some important life skills have been left out.

When I worked in HR, I dealt with young adults who could not fill out an employment application. Most can’t even handle registering for college classes. Their parents do it for them because they just haven’t been prepared.
.. ..

I'e witnessed how they bomb job interviews and have had absolutely no clue how to constructively handle rejection.

Sure some can read (barely) but most have almost zero life coping skills.

I think that’s a bigger failure.

What do you think?

Should coping skills be taught tandem with regular subjects such as reading and math? Is it outdated? Or, is this something that needs to be addressed at home?

Ahhh, it feels good to blog again! ;))

Potentia Deus Validus

2009-07-24T12:18:00.000-07:00

"Who is God mommy?" asks my 5-year old, his mouth covered in chocolate ice-cream. I blink a few times, taken by the recognition. It was a moment I'd lived twice before. But what at first seemed like dejavu was the realization that J had completed a pattern, because I'd just been asked the very same question by every single one my three children, at about the same age.

For the sake of simplicity, the question has always garnered the same answer, "God is the creator of the all things".

It's a good answer. It's the one my mom gave me. I suspect my mom had also always been religiously conflicted.

But I'm a believer. And I will some day tell him why. Just as I have with my older two.

It's important that I share these things I've known; my belief in the existence of a universal, all powerful force and how it manifested in my life countless times. How the force has yet to fail me.

In order to prove this to them, the sharing goes on to add many instances and testaments of my unwavering faith. I will share these things with J someday as well, but not on that day.

In due time, he will know that IT kept me from drowning, IT has saved daddy's life; IT has carried me through my darkest hours and IT has looked after certain situations when I could not.

I will make it clear to him that I know God as a Force of the Universe.

How ITS power is available to me at all times, but most acutely during times of extreme distress. During those times, I've always been able to make an automatic connection to this God-universal force.

It hears and immediately answers.

It swoops in somehow, unbelievably, making everything lighten. Sometimes making the distressful situation disappear completely. Oftentimes weakening the source of my distress enough so that I could manage on my own.

Sound crazy? Perhaps, but that is MY truth with this Universe force. A truth I now share with all of you.

So when the next inevitable question "Does God live in church?" was asked by my curious child, I looked into another set of innocent eyes and said, "No one knows for sure where God lives, sweetie, but it's not just at church." It's weird, but they have all then said the same thing, "Oh I know, he lives in heaven!" My answer always, "Yes, but God is everywhere."

So yeah, I'm a believer, but religious? Not in the least. In fact, most religious people think me a heathen. (Please don't send me hate mail!)

Sadly, I will never believe in, nor ever conform to any religious dogma or ideology.

Unfortunately, I've given up trying to find a home for the It. Not one of them can really be God's true home.

I've never encountered any man made belief system that can encompass all that I know this Universal God force to be. They are all just too small and restrictive in comparison to the all-encompassing light and love of the universal driven power I've experienced.

Trust me I searched for the right religion. I looked and looked. I'd been on such a quest from the age of 8 and by the ripe old age of 25, I was almost a fucking theologian.

I've attended many services in a myriad of different churches, houses of worship, Kingdom Halls, Temples and read countless books. In fact, I have books, books and then more books on all the world's religions. I've been "tutored" by the Evangelicals, the Catholics, the Mormons, the Muslims, the Jehovah's Witnesses, and the non-proselytizing Jews.

They all lacked.

Fell so short of IT.

Sure, I can pick out bits and pieces that can make sense in all of their rhetoric, as they all seem to start out in the same direction, but inevitably their suffocating "rules" come thundering in.

They never feel right to a soul like mine which knows the Universal God is liberating not constricting,

It's amazing to me how they all feel we must abide by their specific guidelines in order to have and experience the God-force's love and protection, and to get into heaven--this one being the biggie. And they all think THEY are right, and everyone else is wrong.

Rubbish.

I know this is not true, because I've experienced the Universe's love and protection many, many times without the benefit of having communion , or being confirmed, or saying 25 holy Mary's, or speaking in tongues, or getting saved, or falling to the floor spirit-filled and wriggling like a snake.

It has not cared if I wear make-up or shave my legs, or use his name to say bless you, or before every not-so-nice sentence.

The Universal God-force has come to help me even when cursing, drinking coffee, or tequila, and sharing blood while becoming blood sisters with Maria, or while celebrating birthdays, and all those other "pagan" holidays like Christmas & Halloween.

Happily, the Universal God-force I know doesn't care about such mundane things. It simply is. It creates in balance. That's it.

It certainly never judges or demands anything. It gives life and light.

So it's obvious that like U2's famous lyrics, "I still haven't found what I'm looking for" religiously speaking. I'd like to someday. I'd like to be able to have "fellowship" with like-minded individuals, but that seems far fetched because it doesn't exist.

Anyway, so, this is exactly what was going through my head after my son asked about God the other night, and what prompted this impromptu blog. I truly hope no one is offended by my thoughts. I do respect everyone's beliefs, but I expect that you don't judge mine.

I don't know it all, but I know what I know.

Meanwhile, J seemed satisfied with my watered-down answers for now.

After I finished-off his partly–eaten ice-cream, (it was chocolate after all, my personal fav!) I wiped his face and kissed him on the lips. He gave me one of those smiles that melted my heart. In that instant, I gave thanks to that Universal power and asked IT to guide us towards light and always protect us from harm.

I pray for all of you as well my friends.

Modus Operandi

2009-07-24T12:13:00.000-07:00

Does learning the caustic heart's terrain
endanger worshippers of stillness,
as navigating unbridled remains
cause a metamorphosis of painful silence?

If haunted with mindful projections
past's specters married in soulful chase,
bathing in ardently refrained intentions
of a new-found stoic grace,

If ascending steep hills; mostly obtuse
to ephemeral beacons disguised as belonging,
if enveloping any surrendering muse
to find shelter in blankets of nothing,

If bowing to lulls of perfected peace
while wishing for chaos' elated return,
offering the anima a sweet reprieve
from the scalding grip of love's concern,

If acerbic minion's continual appearance
dismantles an affective apparatus,
obscuring spirit's flight toward reverence
of love's peaked curves reflected in us,

If life is given but nothing's returned
where cries aren't heard; mistaken for art,
when memories are molded & burned
by the weight of the lightness they've marked,

Then yes,

To learn the caustic heart's terrain
endangers worshippers of stillness,
as navigating love's unbridled remains
such metamorphosis of silence.

Cheating - Shaggy Style

2009-07-24T11:54:00.000-07:00

The only reason my family and I moved to from New York to New Jersey was because we couldn't afford to buy a decent home in NY. We wanted to have a nice house and a decent sized yard and have all the amenities, without the outrageous NY-living price tag.

So we moved to Jerz. Our first house in NJ was a modest but very quaint, "split level" blue house on a development on the other side town. We spent 2 very happy years at that great house.

We always dreamed of building a house from scratch, so when the opportunity came up, we went for it. During the summer of 97', we purchased a newly constructed home.

We prepared for the move and put our old house on the market. Since we had done a lot of work on our old house, it was getting lots of bids and showing well. We were mulling over several offers one day when we got a knock on our door.

When we opened it, we found a young couple with their son. It turned out they were from Idaho and they had been driving through our neighborhood for days looking for a house.

I was reluctant to allow them to see the house, since we were under contract and the house was a mess, so we asked if they could come back the next afternoon (trying to stall—the cleaning lady wouldn't be there until the next morning). They explained that they couldn't come back, as they were due back in the airport in 4 hours to catch a plane back to Idaho.

The wife (we'll call her Peggy) cried and pleaded with us, saying she absolutely loved our house, and she felt it was exactly what she had been looking for, etc.,.... anyway, so yes, I gave in. Besides, I never say NO to a pregnant woman. Not sure if anyone knows this but if you do this, you will get a sty in your eye, no lie!

I remember Peggy coming in first, armed with her measuring tape, notepad & pencil. She was short and her face and body were puffy due to her advanced pregnancy.

The hubby came in shortly after with their son; a cute kid, who looked like the dad. Peggy's husband was a tall fellow with a kind face. As he spoke, we could tell that he was also a mellow kind of guy. I remember thinking they were the perfect family.

While the wife looked through our entire house measuring and taking notes, he explained that he was an executive who had been relocated to NJ. Apparently, they had already researched several towns in a 30 mile radius of the hubby's new office; mapping out distances; gathering census information and such before they decided that our town would be the perfect town to live their perfect married life.

After an hour or so, they decided that they loved our house and had to have it. She said, "It's exactly what we were looking for". I thought well of course it is! It really was the perfect house for the perfect family.

Ok by now you're probably asking yourself, WTH does any of this have to do with CHEATING? Give me a sec, I promise I am getting to that.

It was our first house ever, so we will always hold a special place for it in our hearts. We were generous, and settled on a fair price to accommodate them and shook hands on a deal. Voila! Our first dream house was sold; passed on to another beautiful family.

I was happy. We were transplanted New Yorkers who had loved this house. We left that house feeling that I had passed it on to a transplanted Idahoan (SP??) family that would care for it as we had. We felt that they would have their next baby and naturally live happily ever after in that quaint little blue house... but we were wrong.

Since we were the only people they knew in town, we became friendly with the new owners of our old home. Imagine my glee when I discovered my new friend was a wicked faux painter. I spent many hours with Peggy over at our new house.

However, within one year of our new lives, a very busy Peggy gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl, and also cheated.

The minute Peg dropped that baby, she started to change. I hadn't noticed it right away because it was gradual, but by the end, I realized that all the signs were there, had I bothered to look.

I should have noticed it when she joined our gym to lose the baby weight, and began parading around with the trainer, and without wearing a proper bra. She wasn't endowed in that area at all; however, her nipples were always standing at (and getting) attention. The entire gym was looking at her, and it was embarrassing.

I should have known back when she started showing up at my new door with her new trainer, wearing new skimpy outfits; Or when she started asking me to baby-sit more and more often in order to hang out at a shore club that my older kids used to frequent.

I asked her if things were okay at home a few times, and she said things like: "oh my hubby is so boring, you guys do everything together, I wish I had that", but she was a whiny kind of gal, so I didn't think there was anything major going on. I thought she was just being "pain-in-the-ass' Peg.

Then on a hot summer evening, we got a frantic phone call from the husband. He asked that I come over right away and get the kids.

It was an ugly scene. Peg and her trainer friend had been caught having sex in her own bathroom floor. Yes, in her house (excuse me, ahem, my [old] house).

I remember being very sick to my stomach, because it brought back a memory of a song she had been singing to us in the car a few days prior.

It was a disgusting song by an artist called Shaggy…she was saying how she loved that song when it played on Z100. Then she started singing some of the lyrics ….

"…. It wasn't me…honey came in and caught me red handed creeping with the girl next door…"…picture this; we were both buck naked banging on the bath room floor…"

Yikes!!!!!!

Except this WAS her.

I grabbed the kids and asked her, "Peg, how the hell did this happen?" All she said while struggling to catch her breath from crying was, "…he's so boring, Lyd, he never wants to do anything with me..."

So who is at fault here?

A year went by before we finally got caught up over coffee. I got up the nerve to ask her if the cheating had been worth it, now that she was living with her new beau, (who by the way left his wife and child behind as well). She said yes and no. I wasn't prepared for that one.

We still send each other Christmas and Chanukah cards, but we never hang out anymore. Something got broken. I know it's weird but in a way, I also felt cheated on by her lies and her behavior in my house.

If we see each other and do stop to chat, she always complains about the Ex. He's this or He's that. The last time we spoke she was telling me that the Ex and his new girlfriend were remodeling a house, which happens to be in VERY nice area a few miles north from our town. She seemd bitter. Kept asking me, "how can he afford to live there?" "He can afford to live there and fix up a house there, but he won't give me more child support!"

Okay…. I'm not judging her, but I don't understand how she expects any kind of consideration from that man, after what she did. I mean not that it makes the cheating any better, but at least go to a motel or something.

Perhaps we share some guilt in this story. I always say to my own hubby, that we never should have shown them the house.

In hindsight, I wish I would have shut the door in their faces 11 years ago, when they showed up at my door. I should have said, "Hell No, this house is NOT for sale!!!" "…GO AWAY!" I wasn't supposed to do that anyway, since I was under contract. We should have waited for our realtor.

I'll always wonder how things would have played out had we stalled; had we followed the correct procedure and not shown them our house.

I'm not judging her or him, but it is tragic. See cheating hurts everyone, the couple, the kids, the families, and even innocent bystanders such as us. It's like a vacuum that sucks everything into it, in a bad way.

Then again, maybe we did the hubby a huge favor…

We saw her at the gym again recently; nipples on full display.

Abandon

2009-07-24T11:45:00.000-07:00

~ MySpace Blog Repost from 2008~

So as most of you have already figured out, Lyd went back to work early September.

*Ahem* I realize I said I wouldn't.

And that it hasn't been a year since I abandoned a high profile government position in order to become a full-time stay at home mother.

And although it was the best decision I've made in my life, seriously, the pull of doing more, kept tugging at me day and night.

I needed to do something other than stay at home, when my son was in pre-school 3 half days a week.

I became depressed and listless for a while.

Couldn't figure out what the hell was the matter with me.

Here I am in an enviable financial position, not needing to work, sustained by hubby's diversified businesses which are thankfully not negatively affected by our economic crises, and I sat around with a crazy look on my face.

Hello…I needed some serious perspective.

Because instead of enjoying myself as I thought I would while in the SAHM category, I felt well, decrepit on some days.

Thank goodness, all my myspace friends made me feel better about myself every time I wrote and posted some silly thing.

I have quite a few great friends here on myspace that respond kindly to my silly writing. Thank you *bowing softly* I love you all for it, from the bottom of my heart.

So many of you made my life, my existence, whole again without a 9 to 5. (Or rather, a 9 to7-if you want to be considered committed, and thus raise, bonus & promotion worthy material in forget-your-family work-landia.)

Anyway, I was at peace; maybe too much so? Soon I began to feel the obligation to give something back.

I had this need to do for others without expectation, payment, or need for recognition.

So as I stated in an older blog, I took a volunteer gig.

I certainly didn't foresee it becoming a job.

I didn't plan to take on a job.

It just sort of flowed in that direction.

I followed.

Many of you know my thoughts and beliefs on the higher intelligence, and how it works in our lives. I believe we inherently know things.

Thus, people can sometimes sense you have something they need.

It reminds me of a blog by just dale, where he describes the many and varied careers in his life- which came about without his need for soliciting, but everywhere he went, they offered him a job.

His experiences resonated with me, but I never thought it would happen to me.

Yet, that is exactly how it happened to me.

I went in to a needy school to volunteer my skills to a good cause.

I did it during the summer.

In the process, I befriended some folks that decided they wanted me to take on a more permanent role.

I didn't apply, or express interest.

I didn't have to do anything.

It all just fell into place.

So now I'm back where I started so many years ago.

I'm a Teacher.

My first passion revisited.

Never thought I'd ever go back to teaching, but here I am… and yes, Lyd loves every "mad minute" of it.

I guess it was meant to be.

I learned that it's easy to say, oh yeah I have perspective on my life and yet do absolutely nothing to help yourself, or anyone.

And no your family doesn't count…that's still YOU.

I needed to get some perspective ingrained into my psyche by applying empowered action, fueled only by the higher self.

Glad I listened to myself. *giggles*

We all know the needy exist. But, trust me; you have to go OUT there!

There's so much need in our own backyard.

It doesn't have to be extreme poverty, it can be literacy, and it can be music, the arts, anything.

Whatever your talent is, you can share it with those who lack it.

Give yourself to a cause you believe in and I promise you will not complain about the little things; you will appreciate your life, your family and your country on a much higher plane of understanding.

Helping others truly helps you.

And though it's still hard for me on some level to admit I went back to work, I am comforted by the fact that the quality of my child's care and our time together remains intact, if not elevated in many ways.

I'm fortunate and blessed that I don't have to run home to do housework.

Hubby works from home, unless he has to travel and J's in kindergarten till 3. I'm home by 4, so I spend the entire rest of my day with my son.

I'm not blogging when I'm with him because the last thing I want my son to remember is his mother abandoning him while in the same room; her face transfixed by a computer screen and leaving him to fend for himself.

So my son has my undivided attention.

And an awesome routine.

The hubby cooks when he's home, and my mom cooks when he's away. We order in, we eat out, do whatever it takes, so I have lots of time for bonding; sharing and creating with this wonderful little soul I call J.

My older children aren't abandoned either.

They have access to me via cell phone 24/7. Mom's always on call for advice, emergency funding, last minute laundry services, or just to say Hi.

Nor have I abandoned my blgging friends, *laughs* as I'm always lurking and reading everything you guys dream up.

I love it all because as theold saying goes: "Cada cabeza es un mundo."
(Every mind holds a world within.)

MORNING OF MASS DESTRUCTION

2008-09-19T21:12:00.000-07:00

I woke up that morning in high spirits. I had taken the day off of work in order to wait for the a/c unit to be serviced and was looking forward to a relaxing day at home. I walked over to the bathroom with a smile on my face and a swing to my hips. Once showered and dressed, I walked calmly down the foyer stairs and out the front door to grab the paper, dogs following behind me to do their morning business.

I glanced at my cell phone; it was 8: 30 a.m. I had 2 missed calls from work and several text messages from my girlfriend Maria. She was freaking out over every single detail of her upcoming nuptials and to make matters worse, 4 days before her wedding, one of the bridesmaids was missing.

I'm no wedding planner; however, as her Matron of Honor it was my job to make sure everything went smoothly. I smiled to myself and thought, just a few more days to go and then the gang will all be together again. I was looking forward to this wedding all year.

The coffee maker was brewing and the smell of coffee wafted thru out the kitchen and family room. After pouring my cup, I sat on the tufted chair, swinging my legs onto the ottoman with my paper in hand. As soon as I picked up the t.v. remote, my dogs started barking, and 2 seconds later the repair man rang the doorbell.

I let him in and went back to the TV with my cell phone.

I hit send and automatically got Maria. She was walking to the subway en route to work, she said, she was happy I stayed on the florists….the flower samples looked amazing… she finally heard from Millie, the missing bridesmaid …all is well…"

I said, "…see I told you everything would be fine… only a natural disaster could ruin this wedding now…"

She said, I'll call you later, something's going on by the subway entrance, and there's no service into the city. She also said something about being pissed that she was going to be late.

My hubby was calling on the other line anyway, so I hung up with Maria and picked up hubby's call.

He seemed agitated.

He asked If I was watching TV.

I said yes.

He said, I'm stuck on the bridge, I see smoke everywhere; the radio station says one of the WTC towers is on fire. Are you watching the news? I think it's a bomb again.

I said, Oh wait no, it's on HBO; I never had a chance to change it…

Annoyed, he said, put the news on and tell me what you see!

I turned to channel 7 which is the ABC affiliate here, and then I heard it... " a plane has crashed into the World Trade Center Tower".

They cut to commercials so I flipped over to CNN. It was 9:01 a.m., there were a few video feeds of the burning north tower and people were being interviewed.

I told my hubby …it's not a bomb ….holy shit a plane hit it! He started to say something but I lost the signal. There was a system overload.

In fact, everyone in NYC lost their cell phone signal. Because one of the major cell phone provider's cell tower/antenna was on top of the towers, and since all carriers share the same equipment in NYC, no one could use, or be reached on their cell phones in Manhattan.

At this point the repair man walks over visibly upset. He had been on his cell phone with his brother who was trying to leave the city, and he also lost the signal on his cell phone.

I poured him some coffee.

We sat in the family room and watched the newly aired video feeds of the first plane crash in complete silence.

We had questions. What happened? Was it pilot error?

At 9:03 a.m. we watched in horror as the second plane approached and exploded into the second tower.

At that point, we were both crying. We were now certain we were being attacked by terrorists.

For an hour we sat motionless, transfixed by the horrifying images. Then we prayed.

We had been strangers less than an hour before. Two hours later we were comrades in pain and patriotism.

We heard about two more planes en route to Washington. We were terrified, imagining a slew of planes plummeting into every single American monument.

We felt weak.

We had even more questions. How could this happen on American soil? Who was responsible for this and how do we make them pay?!

My hubby finally made it home just in time to watch the Pentagon attack. The fear we felt was paralyzing.

Our bother in law (who survived the first attack on the WTC in the 90's), stopped by our house on his way home. With the unmistakable look of fear on his face, he joined our silent reverence. He had been one of the lucky ones. After the first attack his company moved their offices to Jersey City. To his chagrin, that meant he had a front row seat with which to watch the day's destruction unfold from his office window- a short distance directly across the Hudson River. He was praying for the many he knew still worked in the towers. Needless to say, he lost a few friends that morning.

Our kids called from school to be picked up early. My daughter's friend was screaming in the background because her dad worked in the south tower. I ran out of the house to go get them. Later, my daughter confided she couldn't take the screaming in the building. In our town, many kids lost a parent in those towers that morning.

The rest of the day is a blur.

At about 10:30 p.m., I finally heard from my family in NYC. My aunt and my mom called me from land lines at home. They recounted a day which seemed surreal. My aunt is a prosecutor for the City of NY, who had to walk over the Queensboro/59th St. Bridge with thousands of others. She was able to reach my mom, who met her at the foot of the bridge on the Queens side with her car. They spent the rest of the afternoon and evening taxing the elderly and the disabled to their homes.

I will always be very proud of them.

I'm still not used to the towers not being there. I cannot recall how many times I gazed at them in admiration. My hubby worked there briefly, so I visited them at least a dozen times. My favorite restaurant, The River Café sits on the East River, directly under the Brooklyn Bridge. The view is magnificent, but back then, those Towers would shoot up in front of us at night, adding to the sparkle and twinkle of that beautiful restaurant. My hubby and I still go there almost religiously on special occasions. We will always miss the towers.

Maria's wedding went on as planned. Somberly, of course, but it went on nonetheless.

As our limo drove on the BQE past the Promenade Deck, we automatically turned our heads in the direction where the towers once stood. This was one of those spots in the city where you could always get a great look at the towers. The area was still burning. Billowing gray-black smoke was frightingly visible against the chilly morning air. It enveloped us as we drove directly across the river from that sacred spot. The stench was awful. I will never forget the smell of smoldering rubble and flesh. I remember thinking if hell existed, this is what it would smell like. Pure death.

On Saturday, September 15, 2001, I came to terms with the fact that the Towers were really gone. Yes, I had watched them fall on TV, 4 days prior, but it was another matter entirely to actually see this blazing hole within the city's landscape. I felt a hole within my heart that day. It has never mended.

Let us not forget those that fell, those that gave their lives in service and those that meant us harm.

PLATFORM DANCE

2008-09-06T06:10:00.001-07:00

On a brisk New York evening, He emerges from the subway tube watching for Her.

He stands at the intersection looking nervously about.

He crosses the Avenue.

Spotting Him, She stops at a fruit stand.

Too scared to face Him, She feels Him walking past Her.

She watches as He turns the corner of 1st Avenue and walks hurriedly past the NYU-Cornell courtyard.

She takes long quick steps through a long well lit alley. A shortcut to the apartment.

She notices Him standing again, now motionless under the dim street lamp.

He lets out a sigh.

She feels His heavy breath in the cold night air.

He breezes past the door man and disappears inside the darkened building. Unseen and unheard except by Her.

Trembling, She walks away from the apartment taking care to retrace His exact steps.

She wisps down into the Subway tube on 3rd Avenue.

Standing too close to the edge of the platform, She studies her hands. The stench of gas fumes make her dizzy.

She refuses to hear the sounds of death she left behind.

She did wince briefly during the explosion. A teary smirk still lays upon Her lovely contorted face.

In her sadness, She notices a tall man waiting across the platform.

Their eyes naturally meet.

She can feel His tense stance.

She immediately understands His torment.

Their gaze is broken by Her train's thunderous entrance.

When Her train departs, He looks out onto a deserted platform.

His train arrives rushed and furious 2 minutes later.

He boards.

He does not notice She follows him home.

AT THE MCPP

2008-09-06T06:00:00.000-07:00

I took my son to the library yesterday and on the way home we decided to stop at McDonalds. Not sure about the Mickey D's by you guys, but all the ones by us have huge "playplaces" that my son loves to visit from time to time.

Here's a picture of JJ at McDonald's in 2006. He was refusing to exit the premises on this day ;)

I'll admit that I don't enjoy the idea of going to a McDonalds PlayPlace (MDPP), astronomical germ count quickly comes to mind, but also because the thought of sitting at a sticky table with years of pancake syrup residue is not my idea of a nice afternoon.

Usually, I'm able to entice my young child to have a picnic with me in the yard, but that was not to be on this particular day. There was nothing getting between JJ and the new spy gear toys, which he knew were in the happy meal boxes this week.

So I did what all mothers would do in this predicament. I grabbed the Purell, a travel pack of WetOnes, then smiled at my beautiful child and prepared to suffer my fate.

I ordered our food and grabbed two, no, three fistfuls of napkins, so that I had enough to cover the table, (Yeah, I'm anal like that) and proceeded to take my spot amongst all the other mothers and the one usual dad, in order to begin the MDPP friendship rituals.

What are these you may ask? Those nods, giggles of agreement and "oh your sons' so cute", "thanks, your little angel is so adorable too", that are the normal ice breakers of the land. An MCPP native tongue that all who visit must master.

I didn't always appreciate the conversations, but found that they make the time go by much faster than if you sat there both kid and clock watching. Trust me I know, I tried that way back in 1987, and it doesn't help. It's best to join the group since you're stuck there for a while anyway.

Once you allow it to happen, it's amazing how strong a bond you can form with perfect strangers in such a miniscule timeframe.

I've always marveled at how our children bond us at our most basic and natural level. We've all landed there at MCPP Land because of these little people who clamor for its promise of food and fun and this alone acts as a magic friendship ring; binding us during our stay.

Conversation flows easily amongst us parents but we are ever the watchers.

We do manage a semblance of coherent communication between glances towards the area where our prodigy happens to be playing and their "hey meet my new friend" interruptions, at say 5 minute intervals.

We commune and chat about anything & everything. Anyone who walks in is greeted warmly, then immediately brought into the fold, whether they want to, or not. I wasn't always so easily led into the fold. I've gained quite a bit of practice over the years and my kids were my best teachers.

The kids are naturals at this. They welcome the newbie by asking for his/her name, making introductions like a newbie orientation of sorts; letting him or her know what game is being played. I love the way they bond to each other so easily at this age.

Their kindness to each other is amazing to observe.

One child forgot his socks and couldn't join the play, so JJ and his new friend Mike stopped the hide n' seek game, in order to call for a search on a pair of new MD issue socks they had found discarded in the shoe cubby earlier.

I was enamored watching my son & his new friends carefully inspect each cubby until viola! the socks were found.

Cheers & laughter erupted in our plexi-glassed cave of happiness. The pride and excitement in their faces was worth millions. Made me wish I'd brought my camera.

Later, I witnessed a little girl dropping her cookie only to be offered several extras from the group's cookie bags.

Much to our dismay they also freely shared their juice boxes in a true show of existential camaraderie. My son among them, already a little humanist, running over to ask if we could go get more juice and make sure I get three extras for his friends.

"Sure babe"... is always my answer.

Even their games are geared to sheer fun: hide n go seek, tag, follow the leader & high/low voices and the best part is everybody always wins.

Those that had to leave early were waved off with warm smiles, hugs and well wishes; a chorus of small voices chanting their goodbyes, some in unison some in spurts.

Time flies when you're in the midst of such enmity, such random and deliberate acts of kindness.

It truly makes an otherwise enclosed stuffy room, a place where the worth of the soul and the panorama of the human collective may possibly be at its highest point

Jacob & Taylor

2008-09-06T05:51:00.000-07:00

Her green eyes,

His skin like dad,

Their angelic smiles,

Voices like a song,

The pitter-patter of their first steps,

Making their boo-boos better,

Chasing monsters out of their closet,

Birthdays,

Their first day of school,

Summer camp,

Teaching them to swim,

Holidays,

Recitals,

Graduations,

A Sweet 16,

His making the team,

Engagements,

Weddings,

Lives lived fully,

What we lost still hurts so much.

Rest In Peace My Beautiful Children

J&T 03*06*02

Nice to Meet You....Anyway (Revised)

2008-09-06T05:50:00.000-07:00

Even in our technologically driven culture we need to go out make friends, don't we?

You know you want to say yes, but.... that would mean that you ...a committed blogger would have to admit needing face to face interaction.

Oh my!

I once read that we know 'instinctively' if a person whom you've just met, moves on to becoming a friend the moment you meet them.

Okay, I think that perhaps there really is something to that premise, but how does it work?

One best friend, Maria and I have known each other since middle school. Yep, we met back in the spring of 1977. We were both in 7th grade, she was 13 and I was 12 and we met walking home crossing Queens Blvd.

Granted, ours was an easy connection; we met the only other Hispanic girl living in a fresh-off-the-boat Irish neighborhood. SO much so, that this particular friendship bond spans 3 decades!!! But the connection was there even before we opened our mouths.

Although I've been married so long I can't remember how to spell my maiden name, I actually still make friends fairly easily.

Which is remarkable considering the amount of angst I tend to feel during the initiation ritual.

I know that I shouldn't over-think the situation, since I'm supposed to know instinctively, yet this is how it goes down for me 100% of the time:

It begins with a Hello.

And once my brain hears that word, it's like a director yelling "action!"

It automatically sets off a mental movie of the rest of the meeting, including the Q&A exchange that usually follows the intro.

Ah, anxiety never fails to make an appearance.

It doesn't matter if I'm introduced to someone at a business meeting, or a grocery store, because I always catch myself doing the same thing. I may be smiling and saying 'nice to meet you', but I am also preparing myself for the next obligatory step in the meeting process.

Too bad that according to the premise these efforts are as effective as tits on a bull.

Unfortunately, it doesn't stop there.

Because soon after the top three Q&A's (name, occupation, marital status) are dispensed with, and the other person launches into the personal synopsis, I have 'probably' already lost interest.

See, without the connection, he or she could be trying to impress the shit out of me with perfect Queen's English, and a melon on their head, but it would be a total waste of talent.

The sick part is that I haven't been able to outgrow this, although a few years ago my brain would have also gone into overdrive dissecting the poor person's face. Pimples, wrinkles, freckles, bad teeth? Nothing escaped me. I was brutal.

With the exception of family relationships, our instinctual attractions drive our ability to form human bonds. Yet, we still hold standards; keep templates in our heads and are pre-disposed to certain answers that we think help us make friendship-driven decisions.

During our youth, these become fraught with even more unimportant hang-ups. You all remember being that young and judgmental. But these in time, as we mature, are supposed to become less superficial (some don't); and allow for choices based on more refined criteria.

Hmm, are we there yet?

Maybe you've heard it said that a woman knows if she will sleep with a certain man from the first hello? Well, it's true. I once met a gorgeous man at work that I knew I could totally have sex with. I didn't, but I knew I could the minute we shook hands. That intelligence is what drives all of us into relationships, including men, even if they don't admit it.

So as you see, I used to be quite shallow, but I've made progress during the past 10 years. I no longer make judgments based on appearance, choice of drinks, choice of designers, or lack thereof.

Nope, I'm not interested in 'what' the person does for a living, or 'what' he/she owns, wears, or carries. Based on my more refined criteria, I'm interested in 'how' they live their lives.

For example, I'll now judge you if I think you are a selfish waster who doesn't care for the environment.

My brain just can't let it go.

So I ask, do we need the mind to make assumptions based on perfunctory data, even as we have more refined criteria being processed via the sub-conscious level?

It may depend on the situation, but trust me our instinctive info is all we need to either draw us forward, or help us retreat.

So here's where I get pedantic.

Trust the inner wisdom and curb the unnecessary mind fucking.

We know instinctively who we like and in what form.

I think it is amazingly LUXE that we can do that. It's why seemingly incompatible people can end up as best friends, or as incredibly happy couples.

We are pre-wired to know.

So pay attention next time you leave your computer and head for some actual (vs virtual) company. Go ahead ... meet someone for the first time. I'll try also.

Introduce yourselves and try to stay present. Then let me know how it goes down…

Oh and I'll be looking out for that blog.

XO

Modus Operandi

2008-09-06T05:46:00.000-07:00

Does learning the caustic heart's terrain

Endanger worshippers of stillness,

Just as navigating unbridled remains

Cause a metamorphosis of painful silence?

If haunted with mindful projections

Of specters married in soulful chase,

Then bathing in ardently refrained intentions

Of some new-found stoic grace,

If ascending steep hills; mostly obtuse

To a beacon disguised as belonging,

Enveloped within the surrendering muse

Finding shelter in blankets of nothing,

If bowing before lulls of perfected peace

While wishing for chaos' elated return,

Yet sweetly offering the anima reprieve

From the scalding grip of love's concern,

If acerbic minion's continual appearance

Dismantles an affective apparatus,

Obscuring spirit's flight toward reverence

Of peaked curves reflected within us,

If life is given but nothing's returned

Where sobs are heard yet mistaken for art,

Here where our memories are molded & burned

By the weight of the lightness they've marked,

Then yes,

To learn the caustic heart's terrain

Can endanger worshippers of stillness,

Just as navigating these unbridled remains

Harvests a metamorphosis, not willful silence.

Paradisus

2008-07-24T14:17:00.000-07:00

The calming turquoise seems to rise
Towards chivalrous majestic skies
Converging oh so seamlessly
A snapshot of eternity

Within the Tropic of Cancer
No worries beguiles the answer
Exuma Isle of Pristine miles
Nooks and cays and blanched powder bays

Bathe your lust in love's forgiveness
Feel Exuma's rhythmic stillness
Liberate mind's insanities
Abandoning infirmities

Hypnotic turquoise seems to rise
Toward effortless majestic skies
A refined marriage so graciously
Surrendering eternity

The eve's nocturnal curtain tells
Of fables on Orion's belt
Clear constellations vast and chaste
Encore! Encore! Twilight's embrace

Lulled to sleep by aquamarines
Crystal clear naps unspoiled serene
Then wakes to ponder Kalik sips
A rum punch haze or naked dips

Melodic turquoise seems to rise
Toward consciously awakened skies
Heaven and earth in symphony
Today IS but eternity

Can U see me?

2008-07-24T14:16:00.001-07:00

I'm better now

No longer down

Living here so happily...

Can U see me dear obscene?

U could not break me though U tried

I lifted up and touched the sky

The universe will see to You

The day will come when You will lose

I flew myself to worlds unseen

by those whose love had atrophied

Forsaking my humanity

Affecting my reality

Ur hands no longer hurtful ties

My eyes no longer fearful cries

I lifted up and reached the sky

Life has blessed me, no surprise

I never knew until I tried

Happiness replaces lies

Finally sweet lullabies

Finally I wave goodbye

I'm better now

My stength has crowned

Started over being me,

Ans U can't see me dear obscene.

Amber Love; A Memory

2008-07-19T17:22:00.000-07:00

I remember ...

windswept hair amid salty skies; tiny bits of sand on my lip; sun-kissed skin touching ever so slightly; eyes that never left mine; the thrill of recognition: love deep within my soul; listening to the soft stream of beautiful words flowing from an intelligent mouth; a gleaming sun in deep amber eyes; how I was smitten; how I marveled and bowed softly before that beautiful creature; a puddle of love and lust at his feet.

Cheating

2008-07-19T17:20:00.000-07:00

The only reason my family and I moved to Jersey was because we couldn't afford to buy a decent home in NY. We wanted to have a nice house and a decent sized yard and have all the amenities, without the outrageous NY-living price tag.

So we moved to Jerz. Our first house in NJ was a modest but very quaint, "split level" blue house on a development on the other side town. We spent 2 very happy years at that great house.

We always dreamed of building a house from scratch, so when the opportunity came up, we went for it. During the summer of 97', we purchased a newly constructed home.

We prepared for the move and put our old house on the market. Since we had done a lot of work on our old house, it was getting lots of bids and showing well. We were mulling over several offers one day when we got a knock on our door.

When we opened it, we found a young couple with their son. It turned out they were from Idaho and they had been driving through our neighborhood for days looking for a house.

I was reluctant to allow them to see the house, since we were under contract and the house was a mess, so we asked if they could come back the next afternoon (trying to stall—the cleaning lady wouldn't be there until the next morning). They explained that they couldn't come back, as they were due back in the airport in 4 hours to catch a plane back to Idaho.

The wife (we'll call her Peggy) cried and pleaded with us, saying she absolutely loved our house, and she felt it was exactly what she had been looking for, etc.,.... anyway, so yes, I gave in. Besides, I never say NO to a pregnant woman. Not sure if anyone knows this but if you do this, you will get a sty in your eye, no lie!

I remember Peggy coming in first, armed with her measuring tape, notepad & pencil. She was short and her face and body were puffy due to her advanced pregnancy.

The hubby came in shortly after with their son; a cute kid, who looked like the dad. Peggy's husband was a tall fellow with a kind face. As he spoke, we could tell that he was also a mellow kind of guy. I remember thinking they were the perfect family.

While the wife looked through our entire house measuring and taking notes, he explained that he was an executive who had been relocated to NJ. Apparently, they had already researched several towns in a 30 mile radius of the hubby's new office; mapping out distances; gathering census information and such before they decided that our town would be the perfect town to live their perfect married life.

After an hour or so, they decided that they loved our house and had to have it. She said, "It's exactly what we were looking for". I thought well of course it is! It really was the perfect house for the perfect family.

Ok by now you're probably asking yourself, WTH does any of this have to do with CHEATING? Give me a sec, I promise I am getting to that.

It was our first house ever, so we will always hold a special place for it in our hearts. We were generous, and settled on a fair price to accommodate them and shook hands on a deal. Voila! Our first dream house was sold; passed on to another beautiful family.

I was happy. We were transplanted New Yorkers who had loved this house. We left that house feeling that I had passed it on to a transplanted Idahoan (SP??) family that would care for it as we had. We felt that they would have their next baby and naturally live happily ever after in that quaint little blue house... but we were wrong.

Since we were the only people they knew in town, we became friendly with the new owners of our old home. Imagine my glee when I discovered my new friend was a wicked faux painter. I spent many hours with Peggy over at our new house.

However, within one year of our new lives, a very busy Peggy gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl, and also cheated.

The minute Peg dropped that baby, she started to change. I hadn't noticed it right away because it was gradual, but by the end, I realized that all the signs were there, had I bothered to look.

I should have noticed it when she joined our gym to lose the baby weight, and began parading around with the trainer, and without wearing a proper bra. She wasn't endowed in that area at all; however, her nipples were always standing at (and getting) attention. The entire gym was looking at her, and it was embarrassing.

I should have known back when she started showing up at my new door with her new trainer, wearing new skimpy outfits; Or when she started asking me to baby-sit more and more often in order to hang out at a shore club that my older kids used to frequent.

I asked her if things were okay at home a few times, and she said things like: "oh my hubby is so boring, you guys do everything together, I wish I had that", but she was a whiny kind of gal, so I didn't think there was anything major going on. I thought she was just being "pain-in-the-ass' Peg.

Then on a hot summer evening, we got a frantic phone call from the husband. He asked that I come over right away and get the kids.

It was an ugly scene. Peg and her trainer friend had been caught having sex in her own bathroom floor. Yes, in her house (excuse me, ahem, my [old] house).

I remember being very sick to my stomach, because it brought back a memory of a song she had been singing to us in the car a few days prior.

It was a disgusting song by an artist called Shaggy…she was saying how she loved that song when it played on Z100. Then she started singing some of the lyrics ….

"…. It wasn't me…honey came in and caught me red handed creeping with the girl next door…"…picture this; we were both buck naked banging on the bath room floor…"

Yikes!!!!!!

Except this WAS her.

I grabbed the kids and asked her, "Peg, how the hell did this happen?" All she said while struggling to catch her breath from crying was, "…he's so boring, Lyd, he never wants to do anything with me..."

So who is at fault here?

A year went by before we finally got caught up over coffee. I got up the nerve to ask her if the cheating had been worth it, now that she was living with her new beau, (who by the way left his wife and child behind as well). She said yes and no. I wasn't prepared for that one.

We still send each other Christmas and Chanukah cards, but we never hang out anymore. Something got broken. I know it's weird but in a way, I also felt cheated on by her lies and her behavior in my house.

If we see each other and do stop to chat, she always complains about the Ex. He's this or He's that. The last time we spoke she was telling me that the Ex and his new girlfriend were remodeling a house, which happens to be in VERY nice area a few miles north from our town. She seemd bitter. Kept asking me, "how can he afford to live there?" "He can afford to live there and fix up a house there, but he won't give me more child support!"

Okay…. I'm not judging her, but I don't understand how she expects any kind of consideration from that man, after what she did. I mean not that it makes the cheating any better, but at least go to a motel or something.

Perhaps we share some guilt in this story. I always say to my own hubby, that we never should have shown them the house.

In hindsight, I wish I would have shut the door in their faces 11 years ago, when they showed up at my door. I should have said, "Hell No, this house is NOT for sale!!!" "…GO AWAY!" I wasn't supposed to do that anyway, since I was under contract. We should have waited for our realtor.

I'll always wonder how things would have played out had we followed the correct procedure and not shown them our house.

I'm not judging her or him, but it is tragic. See cheating hurts everyone, the couple, the kids, the families, and even innocent bystanders such as us. It's like a vacuum that sucks everything into it, in a bad way.

Then again, maybe we did the hubby a huge favor…

We saw her at the gym again recently; nipples on full display.

Independent State

2008-07-19T17:16:00.000-07:00

I have many fond memories of Independence Day: lazy days off, with amazing picnics or parties and my dad's romanticized version of our nation's independence: "even against all odds, from oppressive conditions imposed by a more powerful force." Ok, he said all that in Spanish but I remember thinking, wow; our independence is almost as cool as the Jaws movie, except it really happened.

My dad knew from his own immigrant experience that every freedom comes with a heavy sticker price, and that even for the country's forefathers, independence came with an astronomical interest rate.

As a kid, the phrase "I'm Independent" was one of those important sounding idioms that I couldn't wait to use. (Little did I know that it belonged to the super stimulating hyperbole, too readily applied to mundane situations, biggest offender's group.)

When I was about 12, I said it to myself in the mirror, just to see what it felt like. But it didn't seem to fit. It was way too big, or maybe I was too small; all I know is that it covered-up all that which was happily 'dependent' in me.

Then in my teens, I attempted the phrase a few more times. Back then, I still didn't understand that "I'm Independent" is also highly charged; to be used sparingly and with extreme caution. Like a thunderbolt, the instant I said the magic words "I'm Independent", they mentally highlighted whatever dependencies I still felt I had. It also made me feel like a crappy liar.

For a time, shame blanketed my illusion of independence. I wasn't sophisticated enough to realize that we all need healthy dependencies. There are bad dependencies and there are good ones.

I'm not into the negative, dangerous, often illegal dependencies; I'm referring to the healthy ones we all need and should want to have.

During my youth, I also didn't realize that "I'm Independent" has the power to crush even the strongest among us. It is the nature of the beast to wreck havoc on any developing self-esteem through its sadistic process. First of all, my brain questioned the validity of the "I'm Independent" statement every time I used it. Then, just to f**k with me, a part of my psyche convinced me that my lack of total independence was somehow a colossal failure on my part. It doesn't take a Ph.D. in neurochemistry to get how this self-sabotage could lead to varying amounts of unnecessary hurt and self-loathing. Add to that your normal teen angst and you've got a potentially lethal combination.

Not to worry, Lyd hates pain, so I got myself over it pretty quickly. Like a crowning vulva, I released that mind set with the natural, pain-killer-free birth of my first child.

Not so with my counterparts. For a while, my peers seemed to buy into the catch-phrase even heavier than usual. At one point it just exploded and hasn't showed signs of slowing since. Does anyone remember that song from like 9 or-so years ago, with this catchy phrase:

"… all the ladies who (are) independent, throw your hands up at me…"?

Hated it! It was surreal to watch grown women singing and waving their hands in the air like they were at a tent revival meeting, or something. The idiocy of it all was sad and amusing. Oh I'd love to, I thought, but I can no longer share in your delusion. Which was hard, cause God knows I love to party. Yet, I couldn't get over the 'Oh please, if you're not dependent on a man, you're dependent on something else', thought swirling in my head.

Nowadays, I hear people say "I'm Independent" as if that gives them a mighty scent of achievement. Yea well, I walk away as soon as I catch a whiff of that manure. People who constantly proclaim their state of independence like a red badge of courage are only kidding themselves.

No one can ever be totally unattached to anything, or completely self-contained, or self -sufficient; it's impossible. Yet, there are millions desperately trying to impress us with this bogus misconception and making themselves sad, depressed, disconnected people in the process.

It amazes me how some can't see that their self-created precarious identities are dependent on various factors such as their children, their spouse, their family and associations; their careers; their lineage; their possessions; their income; their talents or abilities; their pasts, their ability to overcome hardships, or abusive parents; their troubled youth; their infirmities, their tragedies; their sexual orientation; OMG take your pick or make your own lists.

Unlike Buddha, a state of complete detachment has never applied to me, or ANYONE I've ever known.

So forget saying "I'm independent". Here's my take on this fabulous phrase: see past the mind trap. As long as you are alive, you are attached to someone, or some situation (hopefully many ) and therefore not really as independent as you may think you are. But it's Okay.

We are not meant to be independent to an extreme extent. On the contrary, we are meant to be connected and dependent on the universe, the earth, and to each other. ....

It is essential to our survival; so embrace it and love your natural and healthy state of dependence on people, food, life, love and the pursuit of happiness in whatever shape or form it may come to you. "Even against all odds, and oppressive conditions imposed by a more powerful force."

Thanks for accompanying me through the tunnel of my thoughts.

Be well!

Reciprocal Decorum

2008-07-19T17:12:00.000-07:00

WARNING>>> This is a pissy blog...

There are many in both my friends and family network that have taken up a running hobby.

Running is an excellent way to get fit and clear the mind. Or so I hear. I applaud them all. *cheering*

These races are run (npi) on some type of lottery system. Apparently, if you don't get picked via the lottery, you can still run if you agree to do fundraising for an organization of your choice.

These organizations are all very noble and deserving causes. I might add, that Lyd is very much a philanthropist, so I love the opportunity to support our friends and family who wish to run these races, whilst also donating to a great cause.

I want to help. And I will give generously, but only to those that I feel deserve it. Not that you have to do me a favor to get a favor, but once in a great while its' nice to just phone someone to say hello. Or shoot an email to say hey, how's it going? I don't know about anyone else but those small things go a long way for me.

I don't need to have my ass kissed, or anything of the sort, but I do think that you should SHOW people that you care and appreciate them once a year in the least before you solicit monies from them.

So, because I do practice reciprocal decorum I have taken the liberty of outlining my methodology for determining my ability to assist in these matters. If

a) you don't normally call me a friend, hang out with me, or visit
or

b) never call to see how the hell we are doing, ie, couldn't give a shits-less if we lived or died,
or

c) you have deleted me for whatever reason from your myspace friends,
or

d) all of the above apply to you;

Please be advised that your queries will not be given any consideration.

Therefore, I would suggest that you refrain from asking me for said assistance via email, or any other mode of communication.

Furthermore, I strongly feel that under any circumstances should person(s) whom fall under these categories feel compelled to bombard me with said emails just because I happen to be online.

Also, it is not a good idea to forward an already sent request immediately after receiving friendly messages, such as e-cards which I so decently send out for good wishes and to commemorate upcoming holidays.

Please be advised that such actions shall be (mis)construed as crass.

For future reference, in lieu of such messages the correct procedure is outlined as follows:

1. Read message ( I took the time to send it, You can at least take a few minutes to read it and watch the cute lil video, damn it!)

2. a. Reply in kind, or,

b. Send a thank you, or

c. Do nothing, Say a prayer for the person, whatever; but
do not send a fundraising form!

It's a shame that although not novel ideas, common courtesy and reciprocity are so often overlooked.

Reality, The Weight of my Words

2008-06-28T05:59:00.000-07:00

The reality of it is that I'm no writer. The fact that I was born with a natural love for words, does not suffice. Words have always fascinated me. What fun to take a word within a sentence and polish it, so that it shines just so.

Too bad that I was also born divided. Yes folks, come see the bi-racial, bi-cultural, bi-lingual, in-all-things-halved-right-down-the-middle, main attraction of the please'em all, or they'll leave ya' traveling carnival. Allow me to give you a quick tour.

Any aspirations to someday churn out a great American (or is that Latino-American?) novel, are also thwarted by my lacking of the skill and my compulsory drive to stabilize this maddening dual reality. Add to that a dispensation for aggressive thinking, outward niceness and no conspicuously favored margin, and mediocrity was sure to follow.

"Unfair, to hell with everyone!" That's Ego, of course, demanding license to take its self-anointed place in literary infamy. The real ME likes to play nice and do things like comment and blog on Myspace.

The real ME also shudders at what comes from its egocentric twin: she that would rather write about awful things, in hopes that someday it may gain us notoriety. Notice I said us.

Hence, the duality of my reality has become an exercise in writing futility. By virtue of inexperience, I do not recognize Me in the writings I produce. I am in reality too much of a nice person to type up all the unfortunate, ugly and desperate things that appear on my pages; heavy words that perhaps I have longed to say.

Ego pushes and prods. It says, "I should be allowed to record these things, as they are truth, and in so doing I will more than likely become a rising star. Everyone loves drama."

Me says, "It's not worth the price! Nothing good will come of it. Let us emulate the 60's and promulgate peace. Let us sit and write poetry."

"Ha! Please do not mistake thyself for a nice person", Ego reminds sarcastically. "Besides, what harm can mere words cause?"

"T'is", says Me. "I can and have hurt many with mere words."

"Aye", says Ego. "You're a good shot; a wordsmith with an aptitude for stings that is legendary among your enemies."

"Alas", says an ashamed Me. "I've been a reckless bruiser of sorts; I have hit hard, but to my credit, I've rarely broken skin."

"Fool!" Says Ego. "I have prepared your regalia, the sword of justice is in hand; you have only but to charge!"

"Nay, there shall be no bloodlust", says Me. "I lack the want to be despicable. I don't wish to summon fury, hatred, rage or apathy in order to conjure the words I'd need to make a single cut."

And so it goes.

Meantime, pages ripe with possibility stare back at me pristine and unsullied by the weight of the polarized world inside my head.
A quagmire and a conundrum lost within the maze of consequences called reality.

Diggin the Groom

2008-06-22T16:29:00.000-07:00

Ted and Koda were groomed today and I've got happy, clean pups!
SO LUXE

My poor dogs needed a groom in the worst way and for over a month I could not get an appointment with the groomer. I will admit that I sort of waited out the month before actually calling for the appointment. And I did miss the first one, but then they told me I have to wait 2 more weeks for an opening…what? I thought we had a relationship? Where's your valued customer courtesy? geez louise... Is it me, or are dog grooming establishments run like a Bumble & Bumble salon?

My guys, T&K, need grooming often because they are rarely leashed and feel it is their business to get into everything. They have no real confines except for when we have guests; otherwise, you can say they are cage-free dogs who have the run of an oversized fenced-in-yard.

There is one minor problem with the wood fence though, as they tend to escape via cleverly dug holes once in a while. Trust me, I am very vigilant. Even though I am on constant hole plugging missions, ingenious Miss Koda will manage to dig a new one in a stealth location, and just when I least expect it.

So it's painfully obvious that my pioneering pups can get pretty dirty doing all that frolicking and exploring. I've seen them in action and it's very funny watching them roam the cul-de-sac investigating the neighbor's yards. The neighbors are not so amused. Thankfully, we have a good relationship. One well meaning co-suburbian dweller has graciously given me the number to the electric fencing company they use(hmm…more on that another time). I do admonish my pups though, especially once I realize how filthy they are after their escapade.
My schedule is erratic, and I tend to get busy, so it's hard to stick to a regular grooming schedule. We need a groomer practically on an on-call basis, especially during bad weather. (It's been raining here a whole lot!) Not the greatest conditions for maintaining happy grooming associations.

Yet, I've had quite a few that T&K and I really liked. Unfortunately, although our arrangements always seem to start out with a bang and I'm usually excited about the potential liaison, eventually something goes wrong, leaving us to find yet another groomer.
Fortunately, we do have a new place that although very popular, seems to find a way to also be accommodating. Imagine my delight when there was a miraculous cancellation today, and they could take both of them. Wow. Me likey very mucho when I get accommodated. It also helps that I remember to be especially generous at checkout time.

Anyway, this was T&K's4th time there and so far, so great. They're back t home now and I am happy to report that they are chillin with their sweets smelling selves.
Although next time I think I'll ask for something to better masque their chronic doggy halitosis.
Here's to a lasting relationship

10:05 AM

Bedside Manner

2008-06-22T16:28:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

One should think twice before initiating a topic of conversation. The art of conversation is a dance that involves the delicate and deliberate calibration of issues and opinions through statements. These must be well thought out as they involve not just content but also tone, timing and delivery. As one speaks, everything that is uttered hangs out there, held only by a fine thread of engagement between willing participants. The very point being discussed could either be upheld or dismantled with just one word or phrase.
Hence, it is through willing and engaged participants that true conversation can actually take place, so it baffles me when some will allow a topic to take over their reasoning. In the past, there had always been unspoken line of demarcation. Perhaps, this is an old-fashioned cliché, but this may be one time a cliché is worth a damn.
The current democratic primary is an example of an off-limits incendiary topic, to be used only if you are an expert, or engaged with willing, reasonable participants. Until this particular primary I had never encountered so many random conversationalists wanting to have their opinion not just heard, but adjudicated. This past weekend I was approached by the neighbor that routinely serves up unsolicited updates and at least a dozen wanna -be discussioneers. It seemed everywhere I went, there they were.
However, nothing prepared me for what happened to me today. Let's just say I'm pretty good at not getting sucked into the issue without coming off as cynically uninterested, because nothing gets them more upset than apathy towards their topic, but today I was caught off guard. I simply wasn't prepared for an out-right ambush. It happened during a routine Dr. visit. It was quite a leap. I mean, when did my sacred line become blurred? Hadn't we only been moderately chatty about banal topics? Keep it mundane and no one gets upset, that's my LUXELiFE motto.
The doc decided to jump right into a discourse on why Hillary is a sore-losing, catty bitch and Obama is practically a messiah, who has already won the hearts of Americans. I lay there listless, my personal space invaded. Yet, the medical provider either ignored my obvious consternation, or decided my discomfort was of little or no concern and proceeded to ask me why Hispanics are backing Hillary and not Obama. Huh? Seriously, my comfort zone was stripped and I was shaken to my core. Had I been able to bolt out of that office I would have, but trust me, I cannot stress how this was not a viable option to me at the time.
There was no way out. I was forced to engage. Or was I? My answer was generic: "…Sorry doc, I don't follow the democratic primary as I'm not affiliated with any political party… I refuse to follow a pack of lemmings over the proverbial cliff…I can do that on my own, so I'd rather just think for myself, thank you...blah, blah, blah, ….that said, I cannot answer for all Hispanics, as I cannot possibly represent or think to explain the myriad of racial, cultural and socio-economic ranges that encompass the entire ethnicity…"
I did it. The doc seemed satisfied and my check-up resumed. Once done, I was alone in the room, relieved. My confidence was soaring. I had once again successfully avoided the topic of choice. The doc returned a few minutes later with paperwork. All I had to do was close, but the doc "went there" again. That's when the topic (and my apathy for it) took over for me and I heard myself saying: "… frankly , Dr. X, I don't care who wins that idiotic democratic nomination…who cares which one of those disingenuous , divisive, egomaniacs actually wins the nomination, because it's all the same shit to me… "
I fucked up.
Needless to say, I am now in need of a new doctor. (NOT SO LUXE)
4:30 PM

Sylvia Marie Likens

2008-06-22T16:25:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 31, 2008

My last two blogs have definitely been non-LUXE, but one must deal with the crap in order to make sense of this world and then make life as LUXE as possible.

So allow me to share what's on my mind this weekend...Sylvia Marie Likens.

I watched an extremely disturbing movie on Showtime, called An American Crime. It was based on the torture and murder of 16 year old Sylvia Likens in Indianapolis during the Summer of 1965.
Her parents worked the carnival circuit running a concession stand, and left Sylvia and her semi-disabled sister Jennie with a woman they had only known for less than 24 hours. The woman, Gertrude "Gerty" Baniszweski had 6 children and lived in a dilapidated house in a bad part of town. By all accounts, the house was filthy, had only 3 beds, no stove and only 3 spoons to eat with. Poor Sylvia was doomed from the start having those two nitwits for parents.

It was very an extremely difficult movie to watch. I've watched horror flicks that never made me flinch, but I had to pause this movie and skip through certain scenes. Thank heavens for technology.
Call me whatever you like but I could not stop crying; could not deal with it at all. It was horrific. Too bad I didn't know that it was only a fictionalized account of the real-life, terrible nightmare that befell that poor defenseless girl. After the movie, I googled her name and could not believe what really happened to her.

Sylvia Likens' torture and eventual death at the hands of that family has affected me deeply. I have always been sensitive to any kind of abuse, but especially towards children. I cannot watch a child being hurt in any way. I have yelled at mothers in supermarkets and been told to mind my own business on many occasions. Sometimes I feel bad after I do it, but I can't help it.

Her story is so shocking that it touched me and will never leave me. I could not stop crying during or after the movie. I was in a daze all day yesterday; I kept thinking about all that happened to this poor girl. I read a few articles and one line traumatized me. It described the condition of her skin, how she had over 150 cigarette burns, how all her nails were bent backwards, which were probably self-inflicted during her agony. How does one digest this?

We live our lives doing the best we can to be good citizens of this nation, of this planet. I at least have tried to live consciously. We are not perfect, but we try to do the best we can, to live our lives without hurting anyone. We do the right thing. Or do we?

It baffles me how no one, not even her sister helped Sylvia escape her hell. I truly cannot comprehend torture or the human race's apparent appetite for it. You have to be an extremely sick individual to want to hurt anyone in that way. I can only wonder what kind of evil lurks behind her killer's psyches that allowed for those beasts to be taken over by the blood-lust that led to the torture, and murder of an innocent child in that home.

The abuse was made even more horrible by its duration, the savagery and the fact that it became collective. How was it that so many neighborhood kids participated in the beatings, burnings, brandings and every other unspeakable thing done to her? How is it that they had the sense not to tell anyone? And those adults that did hear about it simply dismissed it. Neighbors heard and saw plenty, but no one reported it. In their own way they participated as well. Welcome to Salem's Lot?

No other species on this planet tortures their own, or others for that matter. Humans have this ability all to themselves. For weeks, they burned and beat her mercilessly. So many awful things were done to her, including forcing her to eat shit...wtf??? It's not even fair to label them animals, because animals kill out of fear, or hunger and by instinct (non-malicious) in the quickest most efficient way. Those people were the epitome of the lowest form of human kind.

They deserved far worse than what they got. I read that one of her torturers, Hobbs, died 3 years after Sylvia's sister Jennie. I hate all the monsters, but I have to tell you I cannot absolve the sister. She also participated in the beatings and never sought help from anyone. This girl attended school, church and various functions and throughout all that time she never thought of telling someone. A teacher, the pastor? A letter to the parents through a schoolmate? Anything? I find that hard to swallow and disturbing. She should have sought help. No excuses for Jennie, sorry.

There was also an older sister who at one point went by to check on them, but didn't think of calling the police when she was not allowed to visit the girls. She was never suspicious that maybe something wasn't right in that disgusting house? Everyone dropped the ball and Sylvia paid the ultimate price.

Meanwhile, those pieces of garbage people that remain like John, Paula and Stephanie should be hunted down and similarly tortured. Okay, perhaps that's going overboard. I certainly don't want to turn into a monster that rationalized torture and murder, as well. My point is that I don't agree that they should be able to go on with their lives, not when Sylvia never had a chance at anything.

It seems like it was a sensationalized trial. I don't believe those kids' accounts of the events since many were contradictory. How can one have faith in statements made by same purps that committed the crimes? Nobody was sorry, and no one wanted to go to jail. There can be no honor amongst murderers.

Gerty got life, but was paroled in 1985. She died 5 years later. May she have eternal misery! The kids received light sentences and were freed early. I read that little John is now a Lay minister. See what I mean about religion? Makes me want to friggin puke! Paula and the other wretched sister changed their names and went on to live out their lives. They had children and one is a teacher. How quaint. Not! That just makes my stomach turn in revulsion. Those loser-faced bitches probably torture their kids too, that's probably why evil incarnate Paula moved out to a farm. I hope someone flushes these turds out, tells everyone who they are, and what they did, so they can never escape it, never rest easy.This story has affected me and I don't think I will ever forget this American tragedy. In fact, I went to the market for some groceries late yesterday and had to leave because a woman was dragging a 2 year old fragile little girl, screaming and crying all over the market. It went on for a very long time. They finally caught up with me by the refrigerated section. Poor baby, she was so small and skinny. She was pleading with the woman. Please! Please! I'm tired ...I can't walk anymore..Please! Please! I'm so tired ...please I'm cold! (it was freezing in there and she was wearing a flimsy sundress) Oh, I'm so cold, please….Oh, oh please, I'm tired...I can't walk anymore...don't leave me, please I can't walk...please please! Her cries and her pleading pierced right through to my soul. All I kept thinking about was how Sylvia must have pleaded for her torture to end.

The woman would not put that poor sobbing kid in the cart, and instead had put some groceries in the child seating area. I noticed there wasn't much in the rest of the cart. And you know what? Everyone saw and heard, but nobody cared. I finally could not stand it any longer. I went over to the woman and asked her to please put her in the cart. The woman gave me a cold, blank stare, turned away from me. She then yanked the girl and continued to dreag that little screaming toddler all over the store without looking at her.

I had to leave the store. I was literally sick to my stomach. I sat in the car for a while till the shaking subsided. When I got home, I headed straight back to the computer to continue reading everything I could find about Sylvia. I was a little freaked out to learn that her death and my birth are only a few days apart.

Thanks if you are still reading this far and for allowing me to get this off my chest. It has certainly helped.

I hope that Sylvia will never be forgotten, and I wish all kids were in safe homes and treated well. I also wish that we'd all stop turning away when we witness abuse. Unfortunately, people are too worried about pissing off a parent, than standing up for a defenseless child. For me it's easy, if you witness someone behaving in an uncaring manner towards a child in your presence, just imagine how much worse it must be for that child when you are no longer watching.

Vigilance against abuse, consistently practiced; that would be LUXE.

1:56 AM

Nice to Meet You...Anyway

2008-06-22T16:22:00.000-07:00

Even in our technologically driven culture we need to go out make friends. I once read that we know if someone moves on to becoming a friend the moment you meet them. Perhaps there is something to that premise, but how does it work?

My best friend Maria and I have known each other since the spring of 1977. She was 13 and I was 12. (She's going to kill me because she adjusted her age a wee bit on her profile) We met while walking home from school. We were crossing Queens Blvd. at the same time, so we got to talking. Even back then, we knew we had a connection: we met the only other Hispanic girl living in a fresh-off-the-boat Irish town.

Although I've been married so long I can't remember how to spell my maiden name, I still make friends fairly easily. Which is remarkable considering the amount of angst I tend to feel during the initiation ritual. I know that I shouldn't over-think the situation, since I'm supposed to know instinctively, yet this is how it goes down for me 100% of the time: It begins with a Hello. And once my brain hears that word, it's like a director yelling "action!" It automatically sets off a mental movie of the rest of the meeting, including the Q&A exchange that usually follows the intro. Ah, anxiety never fails to make an appearance. It doesn't matter if I'm introduced to someone at a business meeting, or a grocery store, because I always catch myself doing the same thing. I may be smiling and saying 'nice to meet you', but I am also preparing myself for the next obligatory step in the meeting process.

According to the premise these efforts are as effective as tits on a bull, but it doesn't stop there. Soon after the top three Q&A's (name, occupation, marital status) are dispensed with, and the other person launches into the personal synopsis, I have probably lost interest. Without the connection, he or she could be trying to impress the shit out of me with perfect Queen's English, and a melon on their head, but it would be a total waste of talent. I haven't been able to outgrow this, although a few years ago my brain would have also gone into overdrive dissecting the person's face.

With the exception of family relationships, our instinctual attractions drive our ability to form human bonds. Yet, we still hold standards; keep templates in our heads and are pre-disposed to certain answers that we think help us make friendship-driven decisions. During our youth, these become fraught with even more unimportant hang-ups that later become less superficial (some don't); and allows for choices based on more refined criteria.
Maybe you've heard it said that a woman knows if she will sleep with a certain man from the first hello? Well, it's true. That intelligence is what drives all of us, including men, even if they don't admit it.

I've made progress during the past 10 years. I no longer make judgments based on appearance, choice of drinks, choice of designers, or lack thereof. Nope, I'm not interested in 'what' the person does for a living, or 'what' he/she owns, wears, or carries. Based on my more refined criteria, I'm interested in 'how' they live their lives. For example, I'll now judge you if I think you are a selfish waster who doesn't care for the environment. My brain just can't let it go.

Do we need the mind to make assumptions based on perfunctory data, even as we have more refined criteria being processed via the sub-conscious level? It may depend on the situation, but our instinctive info is all we need to either draw us forward, or help us retreat.
So here's where I get pedantic. Trust the inner wisdom and curb the unnecessary mind fucking. We know instinctively who we like and in what form. I think it is amazingly LUXE that we can do that. It's why seemingly incompatible people can end up as best friends, or as incredibly happy couples. We are pre-wired to know.

Pay attention next time you meet someone for the first time. Introduce yourself and try to stay present. Let me know how it goes down.

Ritual Reality

2008-06-22T16:21:00.000-07:00

Saturday, June 14, 2008
Ritual Reality Current mood: rushed Category: Life
"A man never stands as tall as when he kneels to help a child."
- Knights of Pythagoras

The eve of Father's Day is upon me! *gasp* How did this happen?

Tomorrow is a special day in my household. The only day in which my hubby gets the royal treatment. Yes, on Fathers Day (FD) the man is treated to 3 meals made by my lil hands, plus presents galore and more importantly (to him), is allowed to overdose undisturbed on any and all sporting events of his liking. So yeah, it's a big to do!

Why you might ask? Well, he's a SUPER father, and my D-Luxe hubby extraordinaire. But besides that, every other day of the year belongs to yours truly, so it's only fair that he at least have a day. I'm generous like that. *shy grin*

I strive to make FD special, but in order to accomplish it this year, I may have to literally transform myself into wonder wifey. It's unbearable to be unprepared. Yet I've uncharacteristically waited for the last minute, so I'll just have to dedicate my entire day to preparing for the super blessed event.

In my defense, (and I'm no sympathy whore) June has been insanely socially hectic. I've attended funerals, graduations, various parties and hosted several barbeques. It's enough to make this veritable wonder woman's powers wane.

But I'm not down just yet. I will not allow myself to become daunted at the tasks yet ahead of me, like card making with my 5-year old; trips to the market and mall with said child in tow; meal prep work, etc., even if they threaten to weigh on me like the price of gas. (Hmm, I wonder, (npi) who is WW without her dominatrix whip and golden bracelets? Ordinary woman?) No matter, my sense of duty will prevail and as always Super Father's day will be in full effect by this time tomorrow.

If only I had an invisible plane to fly me to the mall! Nah! A heliport in my yard...oh yeah baby that'd be major Luxe.

P.S. I've been trying to post this blog since 5am this morning!wth?

"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection."- Sigmund Freud

"When I was a boy of 14, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be 21, I was astonished at how much the old man had learned in seven years."- Mark Twain
11:41 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment - Edit - Remove

To Be or Not to BE a SAHM

2008-06-20T09:48:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time I was employed. I was the prototypical working mother in a two-income household. My mother lived with us and my sister-in-law helped out, so I made a decision to take on a demanding job. I accepted a promising position within the legal system which crowned me with quasi-prestige and power. For a long time, I loved my job, and it loved me. My performance reviews were frame-worthy, but even though I loved my job, it didn't make me happy. Unfortunately, with every success, I felt the pangs of mommy-guilt beating at me from the inside out.

Within 2 years I had developed a full blown case of Stay-at-home-Mommy envy. Ever of heard of it? Yea, it's a real dysfunction. I'd see them everywhere, those women of no work and all play with their perfect kids. Their carefree faces seemed to have that 'I've got it all figured out and you don't' look. Or was that the botox? Anyway, that little annoying voice in my head would say, 'see, that's what a good mommy looks like! So I hated those women; which is to say that I actually loved them but rejected them entirely because I couldn't be like them.

For months I vacillated between my realms of existence, the kingdoms I had built. I was burning the candle at both ends and the stress began to take its toll. I engaged in a desperate and foolish attempt to be prefect at work and at home, which of course backfired. Instead, I lost a tremendous amount of weight on my already thin frame, and my hair began to fall out.

I know all working moms go through a similar torture. You love your kids, but you need to work. I don't miss those days. I used to make myself sick when my older two were in school and I HAD to work. Back then, I juggled 2 kids, a husband, work and night school. Leaving a job had never been an option I could afford to consider until now.

A very good friend at work once said to me; "go home to your family Lyd, that's where your heart is". But I couldn't hear him, because his voice of reason was being drowned out by all those other well meaning coworkers' voices that also wanted to be heard. They would add to my uncertainty by saying things like… "If I had it like you, I wouldn't show up to this hell hole by choice" or "You should always keep something for yourself…" For too long I made myself nuts worrying about the wrong things. I'd ask myself, what would my working friends think? Would my family think me a quitter? I should have been asking "How will my life change?" Because once I listened to my inner voice, the still voice- that is exactly what happened.

After much soul searching and even more bouts of unimaginable mommy-guilt, I decided to call it quits. This would be great, I thought. I eased my way out by taking all my accrued vacation time and yes even some sick time, I'll admit it. I was excited and prepared to start my new life of leisure. The quality of my life changed drastically.

Unfortunately, I was in utter culture shock within 3 weeks of handing in my resignation. I assured everyone I was fine. I just needed to do some adjusting. I was kidding myself. You can't go from being a self-driven project managing maniac, to a soap-opera watching SAHM! It's just not plausible.

Anyway, let me fast forward. That was 7 months ago. I finally did reach an internal compromise. Since then, I started a small business from home and have bonded with my family and friends in ways I never thought possible. This process has also made me so much more appreciative of my D-Luxe hubby. Without his constant love and support my new luxelife would not be possible.

I also discovered blogging. hehe. So, as I post this to my blog, I am readying myself to pick up my son from daycare at 12:30 p.m. J and I are will head over to the local library to return his books and charge out new ones. He wants to check for more Spike the dog books. This makes me deliriously happy! It is a true luxury to spend my days with these amazing people... A treasure above any title ever bestowed upon me.