Hiding Me

I find myself trying to define "me" daily.
In my best effort, I gently have to say "That just isn't me." Labels.  Tags. Methods. They all work in formula and theory.
I really don't think I have horns but others would disagree.  Loudly.
I am rarely allowed to be just me.  I am usually someone's friend/parent/support/keeper of secrets. I rarely get the chance to just be.
I want a person I can just be "me" with.
No excuses. No apologies if I use my shirt sleeve to dab the corners of my mouth.  I don't want to have to explain myself. I don't want to have to carry this weight myself.

I see life and people in very different colors.
I will never comply to everyone's vision of me.

I laugh loudly at the most inappropriate jokes & movies. I take comfort in the dark as it camouflages my face.  There is safety in numbers when people sit in judgement.
I listen to people comment on things daily and I know they rarely tell the truth.
If I care enough to ask a question, someone should care enough to give me an honest answer.
I ask for a reason.  I am curious and want/need to know.
Casual conversation escapes most people. It is an art. Anyone can talk.  Taking the time to listen takes effort and very few people expend the energy that is needed.
How sad is that?

Losing Things & Finding Wisdom

Recently, I thought I had lost my camera which led me into believing I had also lost my mother's charm bracelet.  

I went tearing through all my known hiding places, all the spots I normally lay things that are akin to my right hand and produced nothing.  Zero. Zilch. 

In looking for the camera, I stumbled across the box that, at one time, held my Mother's charm bracelet: EMPTY.

I found $13 in an old handbag. Win. But still no camera or charm bracelet.

I discovered, in my panic, that I own too much junk.

It is a recipe for disaster when we become less of a consumer and more consumed.  

People acquire things, people acquire people.  It is a vicious cycle.  I hope to one day be able to not feel the need to hold on to so much stuff. I need boxes & bins to hold stuff of stuff. What do I plan to do with this treasure trove of lip gloss, ink pens & twist ties? Save humanity? 

I save things because I may need them for an emergency.

Where is this stuff when a true emergency comes along? No where near me.

My mother has boxes of things she hopes to do one day.  Her days are running out fast.  I think this is when most people start giving things away-when they don't want to burden their heirs with the task of finding a home for their treasured belongings.  I have nothing that grand to give away.  The importance I place upon things is only sentimental to me.  I keep every token of a happy memory as if I could stop time and go back to visit it again just by glancing on that one piece of paper or card.  It would be nice to do that.  

Actually it would be great.

I should write a story about that.

(**A future note to be placed here....for when you get really bored and need an idea of something to do when you are not doing the other things you promised to get done by now.)

I value insightful conversation.  I was on the phone trying desperately to calm down and search for said lost items when my very busy friend Kimball said "Just breathe. Stop looking.  Now go take a drink of water and walk to the very place you wish you had placed the camera." I thought "You fool....I am having a crises and you want me to drink water?" I did it anyway.  And found my camera. In plain sight. Where I had looked twice before.

And then he said "I have your' Mom's charm bracelet. You dropped it off here to be cleaned and when you came to pick it up, I told you to just leave it here until you had time to deliver it straight to her because you would forget where you left it." 

I love my wise friends.  

I am glad we found each other.

My, How Time Certainly Does Fly

When I was younger, I could not wait to get older.
I worked several jobs. I worked before I knew you had to get a worker's permit.  I remember spending my 13th birthday babysitting because that was the age you had to be to babysit in our neighborhood.

Being a kid meant trying to find a place or a job to run away to. I ran away to music.

I had the great fortune last week to meet my teenage rock and roll hero.

In February of 1981, Rick Springfield released the album, Working Class Dog, and it was "Game Over" for me. My younger sister owned it and would let me borrow it.  She didn't know I borrowed it but, nonetheless, I did. I stuck some fake album in the sleeve and she didn't discover it for weeks.  I got grounded for a week. The local record store could not keep a copy of it in stock so I couldn't buy my own.

I listened to it religiously. I fell in love with the lyrics, the guitar.......

Then along came Dr. Noah Drake on General Hospital and I was truly smitten.

When Clarence tells you "I've got you passes to the Rick Springfield concert." you believe him. When someone else tells you "I have your name on a Meet & Greet list."you become skeptical. I went from one end of the spectrum to the other. I didn't sleep for days.
I knew in my mind that here I was, fast forward 30+ years and about to meet someone who I drove around with in my car, danced to late at night, sang into a hairbrush with daily.....and we would be face to face possibly in a few hours.
I thought I would throw up.

I never get anxious about setting up interviews with "famous" people.  I work on the outskirts of the entertainment field so I should not get nervous about a brief encounter.
I was beyond giddy. I couldn't even eat the catered dinner they offered. I couldn't taste the food.

The things that you want to say and then blurt out like Ralphie on A Christmas Story are truly real-life genius.  It is all just a big swoosh and you want to preserve the moment in a time capsule. You want to see them happen in the crystal clear frozen for that one second and you are almost afraid to breathe. I rarely get excited. I rarely get my hopes up. Retract that last portion. I rarely get my hopes up where other people are in control of the circumstances.  We make our own happiness is really just a blur when the only happiness you want depends upon others and we all know humans are just plain fickle.

Somehow fate smiled on me this one time and I generated my own magic. And it was magical.

I met Rick Springfield! (That should be in ALL CAPS but I won't do that.) He is a real, honest-to-goodness person. He has a goofy laugh. He is embarrassed about the fuss that is made over him. He is older and none the wiser. His very public private life is displayed for the whole world to see and the vulnerability of it is staggering. His tales and adventures in dealing with depression mirror so many others I know. It is both sad and understandable. I empathize with his pain.
He said that he works to get money so that he can afford to help his friends and family to live comfortably.
You cannot fault the guy for that. 








Ticket prices were cheap enough to pack the small impromptu venue we were at. I am imagining he makes the bigger money at the bigger arenas and he is in high demand.  They are adding shows weekly to the tour so word is getting out.  It was almost Cinderella-like seeing all the older ladies buying "Jessie's Girl" t-shirts and watching the reaction of their younger daughters clearly not understanding the hoopla.  

Mr. Springfield works very hard for every penny he gets. At 63 years of age, he rips the stage apart like a kid. At one point he actually surfs the crowd. We talked to some behind-the-scenes folks post concert and were told he issued a "No barricades" order for the entire stage area.  You could walk right up to the stage and beside the stage. Something that is rarely heard of these days: Personable personalities.


It was beyond nice to be a kid again even if it was just for one very special night.

Thank you for that, Clarence.