new kid in town

We did it! Our relocation to the city is complete. Well, if you can call 32,049..oops, I mean, 32,053 people- a city. Oy, heavens, vey, what an exhausting last couple of weeks. I am bruised, battered, blog-deprived and broke. Big Daddy? I’m amazed he didn’t pull a quick left in the U-Haul and admit himself back into ICU to hide away from all the boxy shenanigans. No wonder “moving” is on the Top Five list of the most stressful life experiences. They say death and divorce is worse, but I don’t think so. Why is it, that ya think you've gotten rid of all that junk in the last move only to find it is still there...tucked away in the musty corner of your Fibber McGee closet? I am still trying to figure out why I kept 200 of my headshots when I moved here to the Ozarks from L.A. Uh, hello. It's not like Hollywood will be calling anytime soon. I haven't even had mascara on in the last four years, for criminy sakes. And don’t get me started on my significant other. He has no less than five boxes of what he calls “memorabilia”. Basically, it is every script he has ever held in his hands and enough copies of his demo reel to run well into the next century or stretch itself out to the Space Station, whichever is longest. All I know is this...I am beat, I have paint brush in hand, I'm gazing at a lawn full of beautiful green grass..rock-free, I can get to the store in five minutes flat and I'm close to a Linens & Things which has given this budgeted mom a killer deal on a cast-iron banana holder and a mod pillow sham. The irony of it all though? Mama is fully ensconced in a dry county. Oh, yeah. Scary, isn't it? No need to worry our little heads about that though. even with gas at $3.89 a gallon, I’d drive across the friggin’ Sahara in a Hummer to get a bottle of wine. I mean, please.

Yes, indeedy, we are settling right on in to our brick abode very nicely, thank you. The Mag union was on the brink of disaster but now that we can both brush our teeth at the same time, side by side..while doing jumping jacks if we want to- all is working out just fine. The girls are enthralled with their Craig’s List bunk bed, having a sidewalk to finally ride the trike they’ve had, unused, for three years now, and, hey, the 8x 10 bruise on my right leg has even begun to heal after kicking an empty Wal-Mart sack out of my way, with all the might I could muster, mind you...only to end up bashing the 75 pound piece of daybed I was carrying. That one spawned quite a few colorful words, folks. Thank goodness, my kids were sitting in front of the T.V. in the brain-dead, drooly stance that they've held for about three weeks now. It's a wonder Child Protective Services hasn't come knocking. Now if I only had the bucks for a massage therapist, I might just make it out of this whole thing in an upright and locked position again. Instead, I will hobble across my fabulously tiled floor, help myself to a frosty one out of the stainless steel ice-maker fridge that conveyed, enjoy a luxurious dip in my stand-up shower, resume mothering my two children, tuck my visiting pals into their very own room instead of a blow-up mattress in front of the fireplace, dance a jig in my walk-in closet and, unfortunately, grab my industrial-sized box cutter and start slashing up the two tons of recyclable cardboard I have sitting on my back porch.

my canopy of green

Well, it just may be official. It's looking like Mama might be a hillbilly. While packing up boxes for the umpteenth day in a row, preparing for a move that will either kill me or put me into re-hab quicker than I thought, I found myself suddenly out of packing tape. Well, you guessed it; I had to bring out the old, gray multipurpose goddess of the South- duct. Or as they call it around these parts..”duck tape”. Well, I guess I haven’t completely gone over to the other side until the door of my Honda comes loose and I attach it with a couple strips of that magic stuff, but I’m very close, people. Don't forget, I still haven't repaired my broken windshield yet.

So the latest Mag news for anyone who gives a flip is.....we have pulled out our swords of courage, sharpened 'em up and are facing our fangiest, snarliest innermost demon..pen poised just above the divorce papers..risking life, limb, liver and sanity like never before. Yep, we’re moving. The cardboard scramble is in full motion, my nerves are shot and time is breathing down my waddley neck like no tomorrow, but the new double-wide we just bought is gorgeous, dah-lings! But seriously, the Mag Family will be pulling up stakes in two weeks or so and moving to the city. The corrupt oil barons have pulled me out of the village and back into what Big Daddy and I like to call, "Truman-ville". Yeah, yeah, we'll be saving gas money out the wah-zoo, and we'll have our ankle biters in a more desirable district for expanding their little noggins and we will actually have a bathroom that the both of us can walk into at the same time but...Mama's just a wee bit verklempt over leaving her cottage in the trees. This place has meant so much to me- a peaceful haven..my niche in the woods. It was my first home, a transition for me on so many levels, the nest that welcomed my precious newborn T., the banister that steadied me when I left the West Coast and all my old pals. It has provided me a window to see the deepest part of myself, a deck that allows me to float among the trees. a perfect place for a quiet respite..contemplation, a whole lot of butt kicking prayer and quite a few tranquil moments of profound appreciation and it cradled me all those scary nights when I was afraid that my man might never see it again.

With every move we make in our lives, no matter what kind it is...it gives us an opportunity to take a nice big refreshing inhale on all that we have learned, all that we've shared, reminding us that we can never get too comfortable really, that life isn't static but constantly moving..changing..whether we think we're ready for it or not. I've learned in my forty somethin' years that no matter what..those boxes in our lives are gonna get shuffled, re-stacked, re-organized, some aren't gonna need the bubble wrap in them anymore and others may just need an extra piece of tape or two to hold them together and make them stronger. And, unfortunately, some of our stuff may have become damp and moldy and it's just time to let it go. And then if we're lucky we get to find a golden treasure box way up in the corner of our attic that was given to us by all the beautiful people that shared in this particular part of our journey. My neighbors have been so special here..supporting me with a smile, a warm meal, a friendly wave when I needed it most. My brindled tenant, the owl, has gifted me with his evening song, my extended hawk family have shown me their perfection in flight and the full moon has lit up so many of my nights with its majesty and mystery...casting it's milky reflection and ethereal beauty through the three-story forest. I believe I will miss it the most.

To the couple who will soon live here, who have both retired after serving our country, who lost it all from a recent tornado, who have so needed to find peace again in their lives, I wish you well here, friends. You will find everything you're looking for, all that you need..and more. I promise. Thank you, Michael and Peggy, for loving this place like I have loved it.

a sailor's story

He was born in the first week of February...eighty-eight years ago, in the hills of West Virginia. His abusive father was a successful coal mine superintendent until he lost it all and died an alcoholic, alone in a hotel room, leaving my dad to pick up the pieces. His mom had left his father many years before, which in the 1930’s, took a woman with a whole lot of guts. She raised her four kids by becoming Post Master. My dad loved and admired her with his whole heart. His closest friend was a German Shepherd named "Lady". He worked, pumping gas, even filled up the tanks of John Dillinger and his goons on a cloudy day way back when.

He was shy, a loner, who liked to spend all his free time hunting and fishing. He joined the navy at 18 to escape the mines. It was on a ship, as a Gunners Mate, where he spent the next six years of his life. He saw a good friend burn alive right before his very eyes and swears it was only by the prayers of his beloved mother that he lived to speak about the war. On December 7th, 1941, he was on the Lexington, an aircraft carrier that had moved southward to help reinforce Midway when he heard of the attack on Pearl Harbor. They had pulled out of Oahu just a few days before.


Five months later, the Lex got torpedoed twice, followed by three bomb hits and then the gasoline vapors caught. It was there she burned until she sank..my dad jumping into the warm Coral Sea, with the sky exploding around him.

He met my mom when they were teenagers but didn’t make his move until he was visiting home, on leave. He stepped off the train, and saw her standing there, with “the prettiest, shiniest, blackest hair you ever saw”. They married at City Hall..he in his uniform and, her, in a mauve dress that I still have in a box in my closet. They had two kids and in the early 50’s, packed up the Chevy and moved west to California, welcomed by the fresh scent of orange blossoms and and all the dreams a young family can hold. They bought a brick home in Burbank for 18 thousand bucks. My dad became a tool-and-die maker and well into his 40's became a dad again when 'yours truly' came along. It was then they picked up stakes and moved eastward where they farmed, cattled, grew blackberries...even owned a boat dock in a small quiet cove where memories of swimming and skipping rocks are some of my sweetest. In 1999, he buried my brother who died at 49 of a drug overdose- the only time I ever saw my father cry.

He was diagnosed with bladder cancer a year ago last January. He had 8 chemos and 32 radiations without so much as a whimper. He never lost a hair, he never complained, and he always had a smile for the nurses.

He has loved my mom for 62 years. They live in a yellow house in the middle of the forest. It is there they will finish out their ordinary lives while listening to the laughter of their three grandchildren and one great grandchild. He's a veteran, he made it through, and he is my dad. I honor you today and always.

the flying princess

You have taught me to dance with abandon...to find beauty in the shimmer of a rock...
to love freely and to pray without fear. I thought the human heart could only hold so much love until I held you in my arms.
You opened the world to me with your laughter, and laid me bare, to bathe in all it's joy and goodness. You are a
reflection of the best in me, the answer that I needed. The secrets of the universe
lie within you and the purity of the lotus..is in your smile. I would like to thank you for all that you are and for the gift of being your mom. Waking up to find an aching, numb, bloodless arm that both of you laid on all night? Not so much.

my mama, my self

Good grief. Mama hasn’t posted for almost three weeks. What gives? It appears my motivation on the whole lately has been down to less than a quarter of a tank. I haven’t been feeling like myself. Oh, I guess I’m still little ole’ me, but now that me has a brand new pesky little trauma wrinkle just above her right eyebrow, an extra pound around her middle and a brain, very much like Elvis, that has temporarily left the building. And let's not forget, this is also the me that’s trying to do it all with only evening primrose oil and pinot grigio. Yesterday, I asked my hubby if he’d go back into ICU for a couple of days to worry this nasty belly pooch off me, but no dice. He didn’t even crack a smile. Go figure.

Between all the 6:00am wake-up calls, the leaky washer and the gasoline dollars that are slipping through my fingers, lately I am waking up feeling like Eeyore has kicked me in my Thoughtful Spot. Many have said it's post traumatic stress, some speculate it’s a thyroid that’s gone loony, a few have suggested that it’s simply being middle-aged and mom to a couple of white-cheeked gibbons, and one has even gone so far to say, thereby putting our relationship dangerously close to the edge, that perhaps it's pre-menopause. Thanks a lot, hon. Me? I agree to almost all of the above, except the thyroid. It isn’t. I already checked that 16 pounds of me ago. As far as my nether region, who knows? My husband hung a Closed for Procreation sign on that puppy a long time ago anyway, so I guess it doesn't really matter. I thought of romanticizing another little one out of him after the “big heal”, but he won't go there. I don’t know what his problem is...I mean, just because we’re going to be wheel-chaired and nursing a bottle of Ensure at their college graduations...

And as if my mini mid-life crisis isn’t cry babyish enough, the other day a package arrived on our front porch. In it were all kinds of clothes for the girls..a good pal o’ mine sending my munchkins some adorable goodies. They tore into that baby like piranhas. Strangely enough, I gave birth to two clothes horses. The frillier, the pinker, the lacier, the skirt-ier- the better. Way down at the bottom, though, underneath the sandals, the summer frocks, the Harley-Davidson tutu and my friend’s sense of humor was a small aqua blue tee with the words My Mom Is Hot. Alrighty then. I grabbed for that sucker as quick as lightning, but there’s simply no race between my old reflexes and T.’s mischievous little mitts and hawk-eye for loud colors. Much to my horror, before I knew it, she was bottomless and running around our pad with that thing on. Rubbing my crisis right on in. My whole family thought it tres funny. I thought about getting on the horn and letting Britney know that she dropped her shirt on my doorstep. I figure if T. continues to insist on wearing it as her jammies every night, then I had better submit my app. to Dr. 90210. Immediately, if not sooner.

So there ya have it. After starring in my very own, poorly acted hospital melodrama for Lifetime, commercial free- no less, and all without the invaluable help of Joanna Kerns, I am left exhausted, somewhat blog entry challenged and just trying to settle in and acclimate to the hum-drumminess of regular life. Hubby is back bringing home the bacon, one kid's immersed in all things letter and number and one has discovered the potty and insists on visiting it about every four minutes or so. Who knew the mundane activity of urinating could be so exciting? Once again, though, it gets me right back to the spot where my old, hormonal self needs to be. Back to all the basics. And reminding myself to appreciate every little bit of it....lazy days spent on "the farm" (actually a plastic bucket of hay that my kids managed to rake out of the bed of my niece’s F150)...laying on our backs, noshing jelly beans and finding dinosaurs and bunnies in the clouds...our prayer just a little bit deeper than before. Over the last few months, I ran like Flo-Jo. Now, I'm just finally catching my breath from the hurdles and easing back into the slow steady marathon of life. Mama will find her rhythm again...trying to skip ahead in a bit more proactive way than my sometimes lazy self would like, a big Hefty sponge to the sweet, simple joy of discovery as seen through the four eyeballs of my two crazy towheads and continuing to be blown away and encouraged by the amazing potential and power the mind has over the body, the incredible capacity of how much love the heart can hold, and especially how one’s good health is truly one's greatest fortune. Whew. Stress can catch up with ya and lay you out, if you let it. I’m going to sign off now and go soak in my kid's silliness and watch them draw rainbows. Then I just might rummage through my pantry for an estrogen-laced chocolate bar.

mrs. b.

Yesterday was gray and cloudy and in the dark hours of the early morning, it rained.. hard...the cool hand of winter still holding on by its fingertips as spring fights to bud its beauty of renewal. The past couple of days I’ve thought of many things. Whether I might lose my hyacinths from the cold snap, whether my husband is working too much, too soon, and a lot about a lady I never knew. Just days ago, a mom from my child’s school passed away. And yesterday, they buried her. Her son is in class with my daughter...a beautiful boy with friendly eyes, who loves dinosaurs. His mom’s obit read of someone who had accomplished much, shared a lot of love but was far too young to have left this world. We had some things in common, she and I..our age, having had the good fortune to become moms later in life, and more than likely, simpatico in the culture shock from having moved to a small town from the big city.

I think all us gals, whether we know each other or not, are connected in sisterhood by many things- our strength, our smarts, our leadership, a history of oppression, a lineage of great ladies who’ve helped us do and be who we are today and a wide open tomorrow. But the thread that truly, deeply ties us all together no matter what color we are, or on what continent we live, what rung of the economic ladder we steady ourselves upon, is our role as mother. The love for our babies is an unsaid, visceral bind that permeates every layer of our soul, defines our lives and imprints upon our hearts like no other. We are in the club. Sure..life can be a wonderfully fulfilling journey without children, but once you feel that thump against your ribs, you are never the same. You can never go back. And hopefully, you never want to.

My mind was heavy last night as my thoughts kept making their way back to her. To all those she loved. To all those that grieve. I shudder at the profound sadness of saying an early goodbye. I wonder why my soul mate was able to return and his was not. I lose my breath a little when I think of her babies and how life will never be what it was before. But I also think of the simple, wondrous joy she felt while listening to the music of their giggles, watching the sun on their face while they swung toward the sky..the gifts that she gave and the ones she received in the short, magical years of being a mommy. There is a light mom’s leave behind to show their children the way. an unspoken love that’s tucked inside their hearts to carry them through the hard times and inspire them in the good, while they travel through life’s mystical, sometimes painful, often challenging but always beautiful journey. I think of the comfort he’ll find when he sees her in their eyes and hears her in their laughter.

I believe that we come around again..that our life force is connected with those we love lifetime after lifetime...the warp and weft of human existence. Last night, while hearing the rumble of the thunder, my smallest one made her way into the black of my bedroom. Her soft voice, fearful, on the verge of tears, “I want Mama”. I whispered to her through the darkness, telling her I was there. She crawled into the bed, shaking from the sounds of the storm. I buried my nose into her soft curls that smelled of lavender and play-doh. With one baby at my back and the other spooned in my arms, I felt complete. I felt appreciative. I felt like I would never let go and I thought of Mrs. B., the lady I never met.

number 52

Rochester has a hero in town. J Mac, they call him. For most, the legacy they leave behind comes from a lifetime of footsteps. For Coach Jim Johnson, I think it exists in this one perfect moment. For 4 minutes and 20 points of it, anyway.

Click here to see Jason McElway

his and hers

To G.- Our from this day forward began in a glass chapel by the sea. Through strength, prayer and determination, we continue here...at our glass chapel in the forest. Just two months ago, there were nights when I was afraid I might lose you and days where even the faintest shimmer of hope shined like the sun. During the dark times when you were ill, I held fast to this dream..to stand in this very place with you..declaring my love for you..and it has come true. We made it..together..you, me and our girls.

Fourteen years ago, we met on the stage. I was barefoot and in a polka-dot dress, and you...became my funny knight in shining armor. Our journey has taken us from West to East, from the city to our niche in the trees, from the two of us to the four of us. You have taught me many things- to love, to laugh, to dream. You have deepened me as a woman, a mother and an artist. You introduced me to my Buddhist faith and helped to create my beautiful babies. The treasures that have spilled into my life since I met you- abound. Our fortune together is immense...friends that are like jewels, family that is strong and supportive and a community that wrapped their arms around us when we needed it most. Your fighting spirit and deep faith have inspired me and serves as a beacon in my life. Your role as father has been an easy one for you...your heart, giving nature and loving arms surround and protect our girls and it is my truest joy to watch the three of you play and share and love.

Having journeyed all these years with you, I am looking forward to this new beginning that we have manifested in our lives...a New Year that began with a force so strong, at times, frightening..but has become an experience that holds much purpose..deep meaning to the four of us...a time where our human revolution as individuals and as a family have opened our lives for the better and given us an opportunity to live another golden day together and to love and laugh with each other a little bit longer. You love me as I am, for who I am and all that I can be. You are my True North, my anchor, my life. I love you.

To P.- What do you say to someone who saved your life? A mere thank you is nowhere near enough. You have, as you always do, give everything, 200%, to whatever you put your mind to. You never settle on anything until all avenues have been explored. That determination is the difference in my being able to stand here with you now. Your focused prayer, along with the prayers of literally hundreds of people of many faiths...people that you rallied through numerous phone calls, emails, was the difference that made my recovery so quick and effective.

In our Buddhist practice, the term Myoho, or Mystic Law, has many different interpretations. My favorite is "to open". You have opened my life to many things that I never would have thought possible. The number one thing is being a father to these two beautiful girls. Also, being open to change our lives for the better and opening me to a new chapter in my life.

A vow is defined as a "solemn promise". I vow to you now that I will do all I can to open my life to you and our girls. I stand here with tremendous gratitude and appreciation for all that you do. And I vow that we not stand still but move on in our life together from this day forward.


It was a lovely day, just as I knew it would be. One of love, light and laughter...Copeland's Appalachian Spring filling our hearts and the gorgeous chapel. A day of raw emotion, pure joy and pretty darn good hair. Just the way Mama likey.

chili and tulips

As I prepare to renew my wedding vows and gather with friends and family to celebrate G.'s life and his return home to all of us that love him, I am deeply appreciative and continually amazed at the mystical ride each of us travel throughout our lifetimes. Some steer through it like Earnhardt, some just coast, and some are forced to look at their deepest fear, square in it's ugly mug, whether we’re ready to or not..and then some are fortunate enough to kick its ass. I believe there are no coincidences, no time for regret and no part of destiny that we can not change. I believe that within life itself lays the power to dream, to be, to do, to give and to live with absolute freedom and the purest of joy. Right here. Right now. On Terra Firma.



Two months ago, I watched G. ride a roller coaster I like to call “The Revolutionizer”. It’s beginning..the staccato click of the chain lift..a life moving steadily forward. But, as the cosmos is known to do, throws in a whip lash or two...accelerates to a speed of 0 to 60 in five seconds and then you got yourself a ride, people. It is then, if we play our cards right, our life condition revs like an Evinrude...kicking into high gear around the banked turns..wrangling with the negative g's that make us bulge-eyed & breathless...looping and twisting through all that nasty karma that at one time seemed so immutable only to discover that after the final quick dip as we pull into the station that..duh...nothing in life is static, you can't learn without lessons and the good part?..nothing is unchangeable. I mean, come on, what did we expect when we handed over that E ticket, anyway?

Back at home base with our hair on end, white-knuckled and greeted by Murphy and Newton, the toothless carnies...we're exhausted, exhilarated, enlightened and hopefully left feeling life at it’s fullest. And Mama? For a short time, I was the scaredy-cat lady that mysteriously got stuck in the very front car, next to my guy, frozen in time, mouth agape, hands over my eyes...my kids, protected by their youth and innocence, arms held above their heads, squealing with delight. In the end though, I discovered that I had a determination, a focus, an oomph in me that I never knew existed and that whether we think we can't or whether we think we can, we still have to ride the ride all the same. We just do it. We all got the goods. We're made that way- fully assembled, life-long battery pack and very durable. In the end, it either becomes a scream machine or an opportunity. It's up to us. With faith as the guide wheels, our loved ones- the lap bar that holds us in place..and managing to keep fear and doubt in the cars behind us, we'll make it through The Cyclone. No matter what happens. Besides, those barrel rolls and sidewinders from up on high are the best way to see the Park, right?

This weekend, we will laugh, we will love and we will remember that almost two months ago, to the day, I was told to bring my kids in to say goodbye to their daddy. Instead they will stand at his side, in a beautiful glass chapel..holding their tulip..a tender sign of Spring to come and then we’ll chow on chili, a symbol of all the zest, the bite, the Bam! that life and its precious gift have to offer.

Whether it's rhapsody, euphoria, a small simple joy, a quiet moment of grace or uh-oh..fear itself..it's just that..only a mere moment in a vast span of time making it all that more important really..all that more necessary..all an impetus for deepening our faith, all a part of the lessons we learn and the amazing power we are able to manifest as a tiny beautiful blip in the great big order. Every last bit of it. So if you find yourself, yawning, on the slow steady people-mover of life, you better brace for the dips as best you can..because they are coming, ready or not...and within them, lie most of your answers. If I know anything now...I know that we learn more about who we really are when we're riding through the scary part.

holy sunday

the quiet storm

Wow. Castro resigns, Mama’s Obama is on the rise and Brit gets visitation....lots of stuff is happening in our world, but none of it matters because it’s all about the gold. Oscar gold, that is. My household is gearing up this weekend for what we call the Holiday of the Year. The foam core and props are a flying and the bubbly is chilled. My poor hubby. I can’t draw a stickman, so Mama comes up with the ideas but G. has to bring them to life. You’d think I’d be going a little easier on him since everything but no. I’ve got Big Daddy cutting, pasting and revving up what will proudly be our third annual Oscars in The Ozarks. Hey, I do something besides being the brains behind this gold dust operation…I mop, I drink, I make the dessert and trollup the girls up in their festive award wear.

2008 is the Year of the Rat for a lot of reasons. Five, actually, as Pixar is dancing a rodent jig over Remy’s five noms. W. thinks “he’s a good actor, mom, and he should win.” Who knows? If Crash can nab Best Picture two years ago, then anything can happen. I have to say, the Coen Bros have done it again for me with their warped brand of cinematic excellence and Stewart will give us a laugh or two as he heads up this grand 80th year. Mama misses her Billy, but what are gonna do? Yes, 2007 was a time for heightened drama, violence out the wah-zoo..one of epic and bloody proportion. But when it all came down to it, it was the quiet ones that did it for me this year. Oh, sure, I’m a big ole drama queen from way back. I’ll cop to that. I’ve always loved my Daniel Day’s squalling, my Piaf tragedies...my Silkwoods and Norma Raes, but this year it was all about the cornflower eyes of Ms. Christie, snow-angeled against the pure white snow...lost in her tangled thoughts and fading memories. Her soft, exquisite beauty is electric and it was an honor to see her grace the screen again...perfectly paired with a lovely performance by Gordon Pinsett. As of late, I am reminded of Ledger’s solitary, restless character in Brokeback...such promise and a Steve McQueen magic in that young man. Very sad…to lose a budding artist, at the beginning of his voyage.

Tommy Lee (as in Jones, not Motley) was powerful and is another vote for Mama this year. That weathered everyday face simmers with its usual quiet intensity and just brings me to my knees. There was a scene where he listens to someone describe the manner in which his boy has been murdered and that still, close-up of a moment taught me more about my craft than any pricey Master Class. You know, good acting is never easy but it is more of a challenge, I think, to play the characters that are holding a bit of something back...from us..from themselve..struggling to make sense of the chaos and not quite sure just how to do it...drawing us into their whisper, taking a small part of our heart to make it all complete. Speaking of heart...Mr. Holbrook and Amy Ryan- you both should walk into Vanity Fair's gala tomorrow night, holding the gold, or the world just isn't right.

Oh, I know, when it comes down to it, it’s all about the campaigning and money..like Hollywood’s never been about anything else but that. But for this old softie, Oscar Sunday is about the magic, the art, the mystery, and yes, absolutely about the couture. I realize that Art of any kind is abstract and when it comes down to it, tomorrow isn’t about being the best actor, the best movie-maker...but a wonderful opportunity to celebrate the power and beauty of the cinema, the art of performance and the mind-blowing amount of talented peeps it takes to put together all those cinematic jewels. For a young girl, growing up on a farm in the South, an hour bus ride to school...the movies were my salvation in a sense- my impetus for shaking the dust of a small town off my shoes...an escape from the hard times of watching my brother slowly crash and burn...the answer to who I was and the path to where I thought all of my dreams laid like a big pot of gold. That precious journey has molded me, unfolding many layers and yielding much treasure along the way. But enough with all that. I just can’t wait to see what Kirkland wears.

sleighbells and superbowl

Who says ya can't recreate a holiday? Who says Santa won't catch the red-eye down from the North and visit two little girls who missed out on all that magic and mistletoe while their daddy was away? And then when you're lucky enough to get three inches of the white stuff and school is cancelled and all four peas in your pod are stranded inside with hot chocolate, popcorn and movies...well, it just doesn't get much better than that, folks. Christmas in February. Pretty darn cool. A red hot month with just a splash of gold added to the mix for good measure...our first Valentine's Day together in 8 years, plus Oscars in the Ozarks, and Mama's even going to be celebrating another year of mid-life at the end of all this month long madness!

But back to last weekend's belated Yule extravaganza....do not ask me why a mother would purposely subject herself to a Barbie cell phone that plays a very loud, maniacal version of Beethoven's Ninth. Or why she'd tart up her own two year old with a three dollar pair of hot pink plastic high heels to teeter around the house in. And I can not even go there with myself...for all the purple feathers floating about the living room from the matching saloon-ey boa purchase and the goopy glittery lip gloss that the girls insist they need to reapply every ten minutes. I don't get it. I visualized an Opie, but got a couple of frilly, pageant types. And Mama's Christmas gift? Well, I was hoping for a Tiffany-wrapped box of Prozac, economy sized, but had to settle for the sweet smile on my man's face and the vocal performance from the two hams I gave birth to while holding their battery operated microphones that feed into the stereo for Dolby surround sound. Oh, yeah.

So here we were, awash in a sea of giggles and holiday wrapping. Big Daddy out of the sick bay- finally...some Christmas cheer, a present or two..and the biggest football day of the year, no less. A man's dream- minus the Doublemint Twins and the keg. Me? I didn't even know what teams were playing, per usual, as the ESPN thing just never did it for me. I like my guys naked, bald, holding a crusader's sword, standing on a roll of film and golden, baby! It really just goes to show ya though, that you don't need a calendar..or a clock for that matter..to make it any kind of day you want it to be. It felt special to have something that was all ours and the world didn't even have a clue. Yep, it's pretty darn good to have all the Mags together again after what seemed like an eternity. My, my..how life can change on a dime, my friends. All the more reason to make it just the way we want it, when we want it..paying no mind to how silly or out of sorts it seems, and to go on and hang those stockings from the mantle with care and keep the fireplace clean no matter what time of year it may be to make way for all the magical ho-ho and wonder that surely comes our way.

home, sweet, home

"For you, G."

top ten reasons why mama needs her man back

10. The remote to the t.v. has somehow been set to Polish.
9. The Geo won't start.
8. The gutters are full, the hoses are frozen and the pansies are dead.
7. I am really behind on my Oscars in the Ozarks prep.
6. My windshield is cracked and the car seats are filthy and my Honda now looks like the wheels Jed Clampett drove.
5. I need just 21 minutes to myself to take the three boxes of Feria #61 I bought and dye what has become my Don King hairdo.
4. I have only one tiny nerve left in my whole body and T. is laying on it.
3. Lost's season premiere is tomorrow night.
2. The bed is beyond empty.
1. It is Mama's turn to go into re-hab.

my window to the world

There are three things that got me through the last 38 days and four hours- love, faith and the duffle-sized Trader Joes care package that a pal of mine sent by hand delivery, no less. All of my faves, individually bubble wrapped with care, morsels of sheer joy...a taste of home. I remember many nights when I thought the darkness would eat me alive. I remember times when I thought I couldn't do it, couldn't think it, couldn't be it. But in some deeply mystical way, I moved along this hair pinned Monte Carlo drag, and found out just how much I can love. A whole lot of other things, too. Like trusting others when I needed to, following my own heart with confidence, and the wisdom to know the difference and the courage to put it into action. There were times it felt like I could not find any of those things and those were the times that you gave them to me...loaning me the flashlight that I needed to find my way. And for that, I am forever grateful. For that, I am changed forever. For that, my prayers will spill over with profound appreciation for the rest of my life.

The day of my husband's surgery was a dark one. At least it started out that way as I was up before dawn. My sister had arrived early that morning to care for my children. It seemed fitting that it was her turn that day to help me. My older sis by fifteen years who had been like a mom to me when I was growing up. A beautiful icon who I admired, emulated..always willing to be my bed partner when I had a bad dream, never once complaining when I wet that bed repeatedly, giving me comfort on her wedding day when I cried harder than I think I ever have...my 11 year old brain thinking I had lost my sissy forever. It was cold and dark and scary when I left the three of them. I didn't know what stories I would be telling them upon my return, but I knew that my babies were in good hands that day. I had someone special..who I knew would bubble wrap them in love and play, and hold down my fort while I went off to battle, coffee in one hand, my husband's wedding ring in the other.

I bathed my man in prayer for three hours that morning and then the dreaded dance began. It was rather surreal, almost like a dream, one in which everything moved around us, in perfect mechanical harmony, a rhythm only familiar to me from watching E.R. episodes, an auditory hell that I couldn't escape..the bells and whistles that I hated but that were helping to keep my husband alive and all the people..so many..who were going to accompany him up a mountain so steep that it frightened me at the thought...but one in the end, he would ultimately have to dig in his spikes and climb himself.

I was told by the man in white that simply getting my sweet from the third floor to the first wasn't very good odds. All those faces around me, their eyes telling me something I simply could not and would not accept. And my guy in the center, barely breathing, so small..my whole life, my heart..right there, laying on a gurney. But make it, he did. My prayer was never so fervent for those 58 minutes, united with so many others. The goodness was palpable. The power of life and it's majesty..all things golden lifted him through that morning and defied those odds. He not only climbed that mountain, but pounded in the red flag atop its pinnacle and let out a yee-haw that would echo for miles.

Upon my return that day, my sis greeted me with a smile, run ragged by my two whirlwinds and telling a story of her own. One of the things I treasure..strangely enough, is my dining room window. It consists of four large double-hungs, very scantily curtained and has been a haven to me over the past three years. It is here where I watch my beloved birds flit about in the dogwood that serves as a backdrop to this lovely view. It is a place while pregnant with my T., that I would sit and dream about who and what this little person who was moving inside me would grow up to be. It is here where I contemplate life, enjoy a cup of tea, sip a glass of wine...a place where I cry, where I balance my checkbook, where I take stock of all the love and beauty that surrounds me and a place that has known a whole lot of laughter and good times. And it is here where my sister's story begins.

She had made a mid-morning snack for the girls’ right around the time their daddy was going under the blade. As she was having a well deserved moment of serenity..the girls munching their buttered toast, there suddenly appeared a wave of blue blanketing the tree in front of her. Not one, not two, but by her account, seven or so bluebirds perching their beautiful selves upon the branches of my dogwood. For those of you who are somewhat familiar with our feathered friends, you will know that it is very rare to see a clutch of these special blue jewels all together like that..having a family reunion of a sort and breaking suet together. Bluebirds though, as we all know, are a symbol of happiness. It was then at that moment, my sister said, that she was certain that her brother-in-law was in very good hands and that he would make it home to his angel ballerinas and to the woman who loves him. That was only one of the many signs from this vast and beautiful universe that would unveil itself to me and my family. Only one of the many treasures that would serve to fuel and comfort us all in G.'s long journey homeward.

to sir, with love

Mama's back, folks, and it ain't been pretty. Over the holidays, my family went from point A to point B with the velocity of a jet plane. On crack. With super sonic turbo boosters. Yep, four weeks and five days ago, I was doing a snippy tête-à-tête at Home Depot with my husband over how to place the Christmas tree on top of my precious Honda without scratching it and now?...well, my love continues to duke it out with the biggest, meanest, snarliest obstacle he's ever laid his sweet, kind brown eyes on. Having caught a "sniffle" a few weeks back, it morphed into a vicious pneumonia...then that basically grew into Freddy Kreuger. So there it stands. But enough of that. For now anyway. I want to talk about who he is.

When I cranked this puppy up about three months ago, I did it for a lot of reasons...not just to ramble about things nesting in my weird head or as a late-night escape...something to call my own for a stay-at-home mom who needed it in a big way, not just as an homage to my friends and family who have been and continue to be my greatest fortune but also as a sort of cyber vitamin B shot for the soul. Stories of ordinary Joes doing the extraordinary...just a wee sunbeam in a rainy day media saturated world...a sometimes silly one, but a sunbeam nonetheless. I mean, it feels good to read something that isn't about Britney Spears, right? I didn't know that less than 90 days later, I'd be putting my husband front and center. Oh, sure, I know how nifty he is..his kids know..his family and friends know this cool fella..but just in case some of you readers may be wondering...

My guy was born in a beautifully stark faraway land without trees, but home to one of the biggest bird populations on the globe. He sang, danced & acted his way through college to finally land in Hollywood, one of the three glam cities in which he has lived, where he first met Mama, on stage, in a small theatre nestled in the foothills. We shared our first date over vodka & sodas at a tiny table in the corner of an Irish pub and talked well over five hours that night. We spent many evenings after that nestled in front of his tiny stone fireplace with a huge orange cat named Fritz that gave me toothy kisses on my chin. During the next few months, our love story blossomed over "coffee and O.J." in the mornings as the Simpson trial was in session and held us both captive. He has impeccable timing. He is a man of deep faith. He is the funniest person I know. He is addicted to TCM. He is loyal and good and a glass is always half-full kind of guy. He was born to be a daddy. And he loves me more than anyone has ever loved me. Warts and all. And now, after ten years, I am humbled and honored beyond belief to be his wife and in jaw dropping awe at his courage, strength and determination. He is my knight in shining armor and he is headed homeward. He may be sitting side saddle holding an oxygen tank, but he is coming home and there's a sunset with our names written all over it.

get well soon

SONNET XVII
by Pablo Neruda

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.