Memoir: Internal Monologue by Ja'Nee Newman

Big Fat Mama

2012-01-28T19:31:00.004-07:00

I love comfort food. Tonight it was homemade meat loaf, cornbread stuffing and green beans with real bacon bits sprinkled throughout.

I crave comfort food. I want macaroni and cheese toasted brown on top; or pork chops double dipped in ranch dressing and bread crumbs.

I demand comfort food. An ample piece of apple pie with a slice of sharp cheddar cheese. Or warm cookies out of the oven with a cup of hot chocolate.

I dream of comfort food. A seven layer white cake with raspberry filling. A New York cheesecake that I don't have to share with guests.

Although I am now slender, that doesn't mean I don't have a daily battle with food. I eat in moderation but continue to dream of devouring two plates of dinner, washing it down with three glasses of wine and sampling four desserts at one sitting.

My therapist told me her comfort food was a bowl of mashed potatoes. I immediately thought what is WRONG with this picture? She failed to mention a pool of butter! She forget to tell me if gravy was involved? She told me the size of the bowl was of no importance. Well, it is to me. Just how many mashed potatoes can a therapist put away? I myself can eat an entire pan of them - lick the spoon and never look back.

Must run and check the oven. I have macaroons baking while the husband is downstairs shaving and I pray he thinks its just Glade air freshener. I'd rather not share.

Its all about my comfort. Right?

Spring Chicken

2012-01-22T19:09:00.005-07:00

I've always enjoyed doing housework! I like to vacuum, dust, and spritz all the glass in the house with Windex. Nothing makes me happier than to walk into our home and smell Lemon Pledge and Febreeze. I don't think I could live without an air freshener in both bathrooms, and an extra one in the master bedroom. Having everything clean and straight and bright simply makes me happy. Then I got older.

I find that its more difficult these days to keep up with the maintenance of a 2,000 sf home. I use to move the couch to vacuum, not any more. I use to stand on a kitchen chair in order to dust the ceiling fan. Not any more. I use to scrub the bathtub with all the elbow grease I could muster. Not any more. Sometimes my heart beats so fast, I need to sit down and gather my wits. I may break out in a sweat after a marathon of Sunday morning housework. Use to call it good exercise. Not any more.

I need someone to clean my house when I'm not looking. A wonderful person who will not only wash the whites in hot water, but also fold them "just so." I pray for a person that will see the cobwebs without having to put their bifocals on first. I wish for a 40-something person that can easily get the ring out of the bathtub and wash the horizontal blinds in the kitchen. Also, this person should know how to shake a rug, chase dust bunnies out of the house, flip the mattress over and get the pet stains off the main staircase.

I'm too tired to keep up with it all. At this point in my life I'd rather read People Magazine or file my nails while eating a bag of caramels. My house is neat and tidy and put together. My husband loves that dirty dishes are never left in the sink and his socks are always in the second dresser drawer. The cat loves that she has fresh water and dry food every day, and the dog just assumes that her kibble bowl will be full and topped with a dog bone. It's all work and someone has to do it.

So, all I'm saying is this:
I'm 60 years old and I'm slowing down some. Just be grateful that I remember how to run the washer, turn on the stove, and flush the toilet after going No. #2. My priorities are changing and someday soon I may just sit down with a good book and say (to no one in particular) I don't care about the dust, the pet hair, the fingerprints on the mirror. I'm going to take care of me first.

I will now step down from my Tide soap box.

Definition of a Writer

2012-01-15T13:14:00.008-07:00

Due to a knee injury, my handsome husband has been home and flat-on-his-back for close to a week now. The first couple of days I was truly kind, gentle and understanding. I made him breakfast on my two days off; I made him hot lunches; I made him wonderful balanced evening meals. I brought him his bottled water; I brought him his pain medication; I brought him the morning newspaper. I even made him hot chocolate with whipped cream. On Day #4 I was exhausted and I was DONE playing nursemaid, line cook, bartender, driver, and so much more.

My life had been turned upside down. My schedule flew out the window the moment he twisted his knee and stooped over like an 82-year old man. No privacy; no quiet; no reality TV; no extra cups of coffee for me, myself and I. All about him. Boo hoo.

I will say it for you: "This woman is mighty selfish." Yes, you are correct in your estimation. I don't mind giving but I don't like being played. I don't care for a person milking the situation for all its worth. He loved the attention. He loved being the baby of the family.

Today he actually got off the couch to go into his garage. Imagine my delight! I immediately used the carpet sweeper, spritzed Febreeze both on the couch and his makeshift bed. I cleaned the toilet and put his tootbrush away. I turned on my favorite radio station, lit a candle, and plucked my eyebrows before he came back to his perch.

I cannot wait until Tuesday when he goes back to work. I am not the kind of wife that enjoys being a Siamese twin. I'm the kind of woman that needs her personal space, and I feel much happier when I follow a schedule I've set for myself.

At least I'm honest about my selfishness. And that leads me to a blurb that I read last night (he was on the toilet so I managed to pick up a book myself). The paperback is Cleopatra, A Life by Stacy Schiff. Referring to the character Cicero is was written:

"He was a great writer, which is to say self-absorbed, with an outsize ego and a fanatical sensitivity to slights real and imagined."

The one sentence says it all. Its something I've always believed, but could never put into words. I think its a fine definition of writer. Do you agree?

Would love to hear your thoughts on the subject.

Heaven Calling

2012-01-07T18:19:00.007-07:00

I woke up at 5:30 the other morning and two words came to mind. Those words were "conch chowder." I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes and ran my hands through my short hair that stood up like a Halloween cat. I thought of the dream again and then the message came through clear as a bell. The conch chowder was enjoyed in the Bahamas when my friend Tamera Sue and I visited my Aunt Darlene. She had invited us to the island and wanted to share her favorite things with us. There was the beautiful turquoise water, the wonderful outdoor shopping kiosks, the fabulous hotel. There was room service, exotic coffee, beautiful jewelry, and a cafe next door that served conch chowder. My friend and I said no thanks, but Aunt Darlene insisted. Because she was such a lovely hostess and her eyes danced while pleading with us, we said yes. It was like seafood chowder, rich, yummy and full of pieces of conch meat. Now think of a large conch shell at the beach, or one in a local souvenir store. Inside that shell is the meat that makes the chowder. I have not thought of that meal for over 12 years, but the dream said it all.

Later that same day I was in Target and I looked up to see a tall, attractive woman with platinum blonde hair. Her posture was excellent, her smile was wide, and she looked too darn sophisticated to shop at this location. Her eyes were dancing and she reminded me oh-so-much of my Aunt Darlene.

Later that same night I was watching a reality TV show (Say Yes to the Dress) when I heard one of the ladies in the wedding party was Aunt Darlene. Oh yes. Now I get it. Oh yes. Now I see.

My aunt passed away last October due to brain cancer. I think of her each day when I say my prayers and believe she's in Heaven sitting with her Mama, Daddy and big sister Delores. On her lap is her beloved dog Maxx. I have that picture in my mind and no one will change my view.

But now I know, now I believe that there is life after death. The body is laid to rest, but the soul is free. She is with me, with us, in spirit and I enjoy knowing that she's thinking of me too. Call me an old fool, but I don't believe in coincidences and Aunt Dar spoke to me in her own way just the other day.

Writing Contests are Beckoning

2012-01-04T13:08:00.007-07:00

I've received numerous e-mail invitations to send an essay to an established author so they may consider it for a book THEY are writing. There is no monetary award (that sucks big time) but I would have the honor of receiving a free copy of their book. Did I forget to mention their novel has already been purchased by a chi-chi-foo-foo agency so this is some kind of fabulous offer. Forgive my rudeness, but I don't want a copy of THEIR book. I want to hold Volume I of my memoir in my hot little hands before the gift-sized novellas are set on the shelves at the local Whitefish book store.

I've been published [more than once] in magazines, and even a cook book published by KRMC here in the Flathead Valley. I've been published in two different newspapers and even wrote a piece about bass fishing for a hunting magazine. I even have an essay drafted about my experiences at the target range, and how I love the feel of a 9mm Glock in my hands. All published under my pen name so I can continue to maintain a low profile.

I'm going to start entering writing contests again. In the past, my book has taken two honorable mentions... so I know I'm on the right path. The first contest that caught my interest this month was Pacific Northwest Writers Association (www.pnwa.org)as each qualified entry receives two critiques, with those comments returned to you. Finalist entries will be read by agents and editors, therefore, I feel the $50 entry fee is something my pocketbook can handle.

So, keep your fingers crossed for my entry and I hope that your submission also makes it to Number #2, #3 or #4. In the meantime, if any of my followers would like to read the first 25 pages of my completed manuscript, send a note to me with MASCARA MEMOIR in the subject line. I'll be happy to e-mail you the copyrighted pages.

Let's hope 2012 will bring a book contract with a reputable publishing house.

Magazine Reprint - Author Approved

2011-12-31T19:00:00.004-07:00

As I get ready to watch the ball drop in N.Y.C. I'm going to take the easy way out and post a blog entry that was published in the January 2010 issue of MONTANA WOMAN MAGAZINE. I don't cheat often... but I really do want to watch the celebration on Channel 11 and say a fond farewell to 2011.

HERE IT IS THE NEW YEAR and I’ve made an important decision not to make a list of resolutions. Why set myself up for failure? I had the best of intentions: Eat less chocolate, drink less coffee, spend less time in office gossip. Spend more time reading, spend more time exercising, spend more quality time with the spouse. Read one book a month, watch one educational documentary a month, donate time to a person in need once a month. Say I love you to the hubby each day, praise the puppy each day, and remember that I have a cat!! I wanted to write every Saturday, pray every Sunday, and weigh less on the digital scale every Monday morning.

Now, do you get my drift? I became obsessed with setting goals and then would almost kill myself in reaching those goals. I put the gold ring out there and my 58-year old bones and muscles aren’t what they used to be and I injure myself trying to go for the gold. So, this New Year I have “settled” on trying to be kind, gentle and understanding to every man, woman and child. Oh yes, that’s much more realistic.

I AM A SELFISH WOMAN. There I’ve said it. I do better if I have 45 minutes in the morning to wash my hair, apply camouflage mineral make-up, have one cup of good coffee and say a quick prayer to the Lord. I am darn ugly if I don’t have this time to myself. Even if I have seven hours of solid sleep I still need a little time to myself in the morning. It sets the tone for the day.

I also need a little time to myself in the afternoon. Maybe a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream, a current issue of Writer’s Digest and country music low on the radio.

I also need a little time to myself in the evening. Perhaps one hour of a favorite reality TV show, perhaps one hour reading People Magazine cover-to-cover, and a hot bath full of perky bubbles.

I also need a little time to myself right before bed. Time to scrub my face, time to apply any number of magic moisturizers, and put a dab of Vaseline on my old lady upper lip (having just shaved it.)

Selfish am I – but honest too. I’m a better person with just a little time to myself. But that doesn’t mean I don’t aim to be kind, gentle and understanding towards everybody else in my world. Future articles will tell the tale.

Sgt. Michael T. Sutcliffe

2011-12-28T18:54:00.005-07:00

LETTING GO:
Long before I met my current husband, I was briefly engaged to be married to a Green Beret. He was tall, dark, handsome. He was strong, sensitive, sensual. He knew what I needed long before I did. He was protective, but never placed a leash and collar on me. He was well aware that I had a mind of my own, and he never (not once) spoke for me.

He respected my need to remain independent. He was proud of the fact that I was a single mom working 40 hours a week and juggling my dollars and cents. When he was away on duty he would call me in the middle of the night. I was warm in my 2-bedroom apartment, he was in another country under the stars, and we spoke like lovers that were in the same room together. Many times there would be a knock at my door and red roses would be delivered. I had no doubt that this man loved me and knew what was best for me. We had a connection.

His saying was, "Only time will tell." I bought him a guitar never guessing the man could sing... although he did look a lot like Randy Travis. He accepted my past and never held it against me.

I allowed distance to destroy this relationship. I allowed my selfish ways to step between us. I had a relationship with a cocaine sniffing telephone repairman and I thought I was in love. It was only lust.

One night the Green Beret called and asked me one simple question. What he said was this: "Do you want me to fight for you?" Without hesitation, without a second thought, without a brain in my head, I said no.

I have regretted that answer for over 23 years. My life may have been very different. I could now be living in Fayetteville, N.C. or Lake Isabella, CA. Maybe I would have remained in Bakersfield. I will never know how the story would have ended.

I think of the Green Beret often and remember the first real conversation we had. His remark to me was direct and from his heart. I could tell in his eyes that he was speaking the truth: "Sandi, you want to love and win." And he was so very right. And I was so very wrong.

Please forgive me.

I'm Not Fine, I'm Fat

2011-12-20T19:21:00.006-07:00

The buzz word this holiday starts with a "C" as in candy, cookies, cake and chips. I eat anything chocolate - I search the pantry for crackers - I drive to Burger King for a double cheeseburger. I've been bad, oh so very bad. There is no controlling myself (another great "C" word).

The holiday food is all around me. At work there are three types of candy on the reception desk. At home my husband baked 9 dozen cookies and laid them out all over the kitchen counter to cool. I thought I had died and gone to chocolate chip heaven.

My pants are tight. My chin now has a double. I scream in terror when I see the digital scale in the upstairs bathroom. I am afraid. I am very afraid to weigh myself and see the damage I've done to my 5'7" frame. No one twisted my arm, nor did they pry my mouth open and dump in fudge and divinity. Its the holiday season and somewhere along the line I gave myself license to eat anything in sight.

So I will drink a lot of water, ride the exercise bike another extra mile or two, find my size 10 pants and place the scale in the basement until the new year. I will wear Xmas ornament earrings until Santa is gone - all in an effort to keep folks focused on my ears and not my double chin.

HO-HO-HO and happy holidays to all.

Name that Blog

2011-12-10T19:44:00.004-07:00

I have come to the conclusion that I need to come up with a simply fabulous name for this blog. Because of my seven years as a columnist for Montana Woman Magazine, I thought I should maintain the by-line of "My Thoughts by Ja'Nee Newman." Then, some months later I called the blog Original Thoughts - then Thoughts of a Senior Citizen. You may also remember Memoir of a Middle-Aged Montana Bad Girl or Memoir for Sale. In all honesty, I now give up.

I realize the name of the blog should have key SEARCH words in it like mid-life, or baby boomer, or card carrying AARP member. Maybe I should call it Diary of a Mad Housewife but there's already a book and movie by the same name. I could call it Journal Entries of a German Shepherd Owner... but not all readers are pet parents. I could incorporate something about marriage, divorce, sex, drugs, rock and roll and reel in new readers.

I want my blog to tell the truth. I'd like my blog to hold your interest. I pray my blog brings you back once each week. So therefore, I'm going to keep it simple and want you to know I'm open to any and all suggestions.

Final thought for this evening:
"Go ahead and cry. Today's mascara can take anything."

Addicted

2011-12-03T19:33:00.003-07:00

At this stage in my life I have very few vices. I love cheese burgers, chocolate, cheese sticks, caramel mocha lattes and anything crunchy or with salt. However, now that I'm at my target weight I can no longer dig in. I love a glass of wine, but two give me an uncomfortable buzz and I fear I'll start drinking and never stop. The only cigarette I ever smoked was in 1968 and I almost choked to death. I haven't smoked dope in decades which means I have next-to-nothing to make me feel good. I've been married a long, long time and the passion seemed to sizzle some then burn out. So the next best thing to food, wine, cigarettes or sex is...yes, REALITY TV.

I'm addicted to Storage Wars, Pawn Stars, Kendra and Keeping Up with the Kardashians. I adore Sister Wives - I'm totally gaga over Toddlers and Tiaras, and I can't wait until Pit Boss comes back on TV. I watch Yes to the Dress while in bed with the dog. You may be asking why?

It gives me great pleasure. I laugh, I cry, I shake my head and wonder where do these people come from? This type of television serves as filler and fluff for me. I don't gain weight. I don't feel the room spin and get a headache. Its legal and I can do it in the privacy of my own home and don't have to share it with the husband.

It's a release for me. If I'm on the verge of screaming or crying or throwing in the towel, I can turn on the E Channel, or TLC or the Animal Channel. I can get caught up in the drama of their television script and temporarily forget the poop that is going on in my life as a middle-aged Montana bad girl.

Some folks eat until their buttons pop. Others drink until they fall down. Some make meth in their garage. Others have unprotected sex with strangers. Some hit their wife, kick the dog, toss the cat off the porch. Others place a white cross on the ground and pray for the women that have had abortions. There are ways to release anger, pain, disappointment, hurt, worry - all kinds of bad juju. When I'm not writing, I'm watching reality TV. And there it is in a nutshell.

Must run as Pit Bulls and Parolees is due to start in six minutes.

Wish Upon a Star

2011-11-26T10:46:00.005-07:00

Although I have a current Last Will and Testament, I have yet to give any thought to a "Bucket List." I believe this is now on my mind due to the recent passing of a favorite aunt, and also, the DVD is on sale at Target for $3.99.

Friends of ours went to the movie house to see this film. Wife (lets call her Martha) loved the movie. Husband (lets call him Terry) hated it. I've seen snippets of it on TV and found it somewhat charming and often humorous.

As a long-time writer, I know to expect at least seven revisions on something I've drafted on a yellow legal tablet. This will be my first shot at a proper Bucket List, and my wishes are not based on priority or level of interest:

Purchase a one-level ranch home on 5-10 acres
See my only child married and walking down an aisle of some sort
Take a ride in a glider (but not over water)
Have a sit-down holiday meal with my original family of four
Visit the Italian countryside
Take a cruise to Alaska
Publish Volume I of my memoir
See my former literary agent, Nancy Ellis-Bell eat crow
Complete Volume II of said memoir
Win at marriage, love, passion and forgiveness
Purchase a Jeep Commander
Reconnect with Michael S. and Melanie H.
Attend one Reseda High School reunion looking hot, hot, hot
Purchase a cemetery lot and a small bench to place there
Lose the antidepressant

To be continued...

Parting Ways

2011-11-20T20:04:00.007-07:00

It is not easy to live miles away from loved ones. No matter how hard you try to stay in touch sending emails, Hallmark cards and pictures of the children and/or pets, it doesn't move you any closer to those you left behind.

In some cases moving away from your home base, your comfort zone, is the first step in independence. It says to those around you "I can take care of myself" or "I can make a good life for myself" or "I need to leave so I can live a healthier and happier life."

When you're 55+ and a member of the sandwich generation the guilt may creep in. For those of you that haven't heard the term "sandwich" it designates a baby boomer that has children on one side - elderly parents on the other - and you're concerned about all of them. It's a balancing act.

I know in my heart that Montana is where I choose to live my life. I need the wide open spaces, the big sky, the fresh air, the wonderful wildlife. I love the folks at the local bowling alley, the post office, the supermarket and casino. For the last 12 years my husband and I have put down good strong roots. I am not going anywhere unless I win the Power Ball and can purchase a home with CA$H in Big Bear or Lake Tahoe. I cannot bear the thought of freeways, air pollution, crime, or unwarranted taxes. I cringe at crowds, and being in bumper-to-bumper traffic is not my idea of a good time. However, the family I left behind weighs heavy on my heart.

Throughout the year I carry different suitcases of guilt along with me. I beat myself up with: Why did I have that second donut? What made me purchase yet another pair of UGGS? Why did I turn my cheek when the hubby leaned in to kiss me good night? What made me fib to the person at the customer service desk? But the burden that kills my back, and breaks my heart, is being 1,700 miles away from family on the holidays.

The decision to relocate from Southern California to Northwest Montana was a long and well thought out process. My husband and I studied the pro/con list and said “Yes” to a Montana lifestyle. We were certain the move could strengthen a marriage; prolong our lives; eliminate job stress; and take us away from Big City grime and crime. We were right on all points! Some baby boomers dream about moving to Arizona; Colorado; Mexico, or New Hampshire. Few take the leap due to finances; fear; and family. In our case, living the good life while breathing in clean air was the best decision for us. But that doesn’t diminish the guilt.

I use to travel to California twice a year to see family and close friends. Then air fares went up; gasoline prices sky rocketed; deals on rental cars weren’t so budget friendly anymore. I now see family once a year, with five to ten days not time enough to catch up. After we relocated from Castaic (CA) to Whitefish (MT) we had numerous friends and family tell us we would never make it in a cold climate. And here we are, both with good jobs, good friends, vehicles that we can afford and we're able to meet all household expenses. At times it is a challenge, but our life in Montana is a good life. Therefore, it was the right decision.

So this holiday season I’ll send off Made-in-Montana gift items; include some pictures of eagles and elk and bear, oh my; and recent pix of our home and pets. I’ll slip in a photo of Grandma dressed in camouflage, wearing ear muffs, and seasoning a bird for our turkey canon.

Yes, my life is different. Yes, my zip code has changed. But that certainly doesn't mean I miss my family less. I love and appreciate them more each and every year! And I try hard to shake the guilt and know that my decision to fly the coop was the right decision for my happiness.

To my family in sunny California:
Know that you are loved;
Believe that you are missed;
Understand that you are cherished and always will be.

Book Agent Blues

2011-11-09T14:25:00.003-07:00

If you are one of the million writers that are attempting to land a book agent, I wish you the best. Rejection is hard to take, but when sending your query letter and writing credentials, you must always put your best foot forward. And I understand how you want to take that same foot and kick the prospective agent that pooh-poohed your email which was prepared with love and hope.

I keep an ongoing list of the agencies that rejected Volume I of my memoir. Keep in mind that certainly didn't prevent me from writing Volume II. Hey, a woman can dream.

What you see below is a PARTIAL list of the literary agents that rejected my book proposal. And worse yet, many of them asked for the first 100 pages, then had the audacity to say no thanks. Oh well. Life goes on - and there's a garden of agencies out there that just might pick me for their stable of writers.

In closing:
Ladies and gentlemen, I feel your pain. However, I must get back to my next revision and next batch of query letters. Move forward little soldiers, never give up the fight to see your book in print.

Becker, Laney
Bent, Jenny
Bijur, Vicky
Boyle, Katherine
Braun, Barbara
Carlisle, Michael
Choate, Mickey
Cirone, Paul
Collette, Ann
Concepcion, Cristina
Contardi, Bill
Cope, Eileen
Dawson, Liza
Donnaud, Janis
Dunham, Jenni
Epstein, Kate
Fairbank, Sorche Elizabeth
Finch, Dianna
Friedrich, Molly
Garrick, Kate
Geiger, Ellen
Gerwin, Karen
Ginsburg, Susan
Gluck, Suzanne
Kaplan, Elizabeth
Konner, Linda
Levine, Paul
Marsal, Jill
McCarthy, Jim
McClure, Cameron
McGowan, Matt
McKean, Kate
Megibow, Sara
Mervant, Christine
Nelson, Kristen
Palmer, Kristan
Ramer, Susan
Reid, Janet
Reiss, William
Rinaldi, Angela
Rostan, Stephanie Kip
Shannon, Denise
Skolnick, Irene
Somberg, Andrea
Stender, Uwe
Stoloff, Sam
Strothman, Wendy
Wales Lit Agency
Weinstein, Ted

Leaving on a Jet Plane

2011-11-02T13:33:00.006-06:00

For (23) years my husband and I have taken separate vacations, and perhaps that's why our marriage has lasted more than (72) days. He goes hunting and I'm at the Doubletree Hotel having room service. He attends a Martina McBride concert and I'm at home watching The Walking Dead while devouring popcorn (and not having to share).

I never wanted to be a Stepford Wife. I prefer not to be a Siamese twin wearing a matching wedding band. I have a dog that loves to be at my side, so I don't want a husband that has a velcro strip attached to my leg.

I need space. I demand order. I enjoy writing a "Honey Do List" and do it myself. I like to read a book with Storage Wars on the TV as background noise. I like to get up early and take a peek at the rising sun. I want to run the bath water as hot as I can and soak as long as I can stand it.

I am a difficult person to live with. My husband tries hard to please me, but sometimes even his best efforts fail to satisfy me. On the other hand, he can be a bear and will actually turn up the volume on the boob tube while I'm speaking to him. His favorite catch phrases are 1. I don't need another lecture and 2. I don't need another Mother. My tune is this: Make a list and make it happen.

Fat chance.

Any old way, he's returning from his 13-day vacation tomorrow and I fly out 11/11/11 for my trip. He will be fine. He may be quite relieved. He might even be jumping for joy. All I know is I'll soon be leaving on a jet plane and say a temporary bye-bye to the obligations and expectations of marriage. When I return, we will start over new and fresh again.

Organ Donation

2011-10-29T09:32:00.007-06:00

Friends and family think I'm half crazy to revise my Last Will & Testament on an annual basis. But circumstances change and I want to be certain my wishes are followed. I am a Virgo, and as you know, we want things to be in perfect order.

Although I'm now at a weight that would not embarrass me on a death certificate, and the wrinkle cream seems to be working above the neck, I feel quite fabulous and therefore, not ready to kiss the world goodbye. Hell, I'm just now coming into my own at age sixty. On the flip side, if I suddenly die I want to give life back. So, if you'd rather not read about organ donation, stop here and go somewhere else.

The blurb below was written by David J. Undis, the executive director of LifeSharers, of which I am a proud member:

There are now over 110,000 people on the National Transplant Waiting List, with over 50% of these people dying before they get a transplant. Most of these deaths are needless. Americans bury or cremate 20,000 transplantable organs every year.

There is a simple way to put a big dent in the organ shortage – give donated organs first to people who have agreed to donate their own organs when they die. Giving organs first to organ donors will convince more people to register as organ donors. It will also make the organ allocation system fairer.

Everyone who is willing to receive should be willing to give!

Anyone who wants to donate their organs to others who have agreed to donate theirs can join LifeSharers. LifeSharers is a non-profit network of organ donors who agree to offer their organs first to other organ donors when they die. Membership is free at www.lifesharers.org or by calling 1-888-ORGAN88. There is no age limit, parents can enroll their minor children, and no one is excluded due to any pre-existing medical condition. LifeSharers has over 14,600 members as of this writing, including 70 members in Montana effective 6.12.11.

Final note: If you decide to register please drop me a note so I may congratulate you on your admirable decision.

Kiss the World Goodbye

2011-10-26T17:03:00.007-06:00

I am still processing the death of my Aunt Darlene. Making myself busy with housework gives me some comfort, although I'd rather sit down and drink until I didn't feel my heart hurt. Dar would get a kick out of seeing me pour a couple glasses of wine and toast her arrival in H.E.A.V.E.N.

What gives me peace are lyrics from a song I heard the same afternoon she passed. Now keep in mind our radio stations are stuck on 106.3 country western music, and I have no idea how the channel surfed itself to a Christian platform. Nevertheless, it was something I needed to hear.

Weak and wounded sinner
Lost and left to die
O, raise your head, for love is passing by
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus
Come to Jesus and live!

Now your burden’s lifted
And carried far away
And precious blood has washed away the stain, so
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus
Sing to Jesus and live!

And like a newborn baby
Don’t be afraid to crawl
And remember when you walk
Sometimes we fall…so
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus
Fall on Jesus and live!

Sometimes the way is lonely
And steep and filled with pain
So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus
Cry to Jesus and live!

O, and when the love spills over
And music fills the night
And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus
Dance for Jesus and live!

And with your final heartbeat
Kiss the world goodbye
Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory’s side, and
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus
Fly to Jesus and live!

Untitled Hymm (Fly to Jesus) written by Chris Rice

Cancer Is Not Nice

2011-10-23T17:21:00.004-06:00

On 9.11.10 my aunt was told she had cancer and was given 3-4 months to live and love. She battled it with humor and strength. She told family she wanted to live to see her next birthday. She saw birthday #1 on 10.1.10 and just celebrated birthday #2 10.1.11. Darlene lost her battle yesterday afternoon, October 22, 2011 at 1:13 pm. She was at home, resting in bed, surrounded by her favorite books and no doubt watching football. The Cornhuskers (GO NEBRASKA) were playing on the tube.

No more pain - no more medications - no more tests, x-rays or empty promises. I like to picture that Darlene closed her eyes and when she woke up she saw the face of God, her parents, her big sister, her loving dog Maxx and all those that went before her.

In April of this year, I wrote a letter to my Aunt and mailed it to her. Its my understanding that her caregiver "Priscilla" read it to Dar more than once. You will find the tribute below. I take peace in knowing that Darlene Janice (Dau) Rice flew to Jesus and He was there with open arms:

Aunt Dar:
I need you to know how important you have been to me over the years. You were my first female role model. Open minded, articulate, strong, and focused. Enjoying family, friends, books and travel. You knew what was right in the workplace and you made it happen. You never apologized for your emotions, or your intelligence. A secure woman who knew how important photographs were to document a legacy. Mother, majorette, teacher, bookkeeper, swimmer, and so much more.

My earliest memories are having you stay at our home on Valerio Street in Reseda. You made model houses for Robb and me out of colored construction paper and those houses were so cool. You made me a hula skirt and bikini top out of white sheets, and a gypsy Halloween costume. The skirt was adorable and the vest had a rickrack border on it. That was the best costume ever and I held onto the vest for many, many years.

When I was engaged to Dennis you invited me to Colorado and I had my first Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza. You made a sheltered girl feel grown up and oh-so-sophisticated. When I married Dennis in November of 1970 you presented me with a lovely set of pearls, where the strand had been crocheted together. When I left this first marriage you were one of the few people supportive of my decision.

When you met the second husband you were open minded and kind. When you met a third husband you held good thoughts for this marriage. You seemed never to judge me; always to love me. You made me feel special.

Let’s not forget the trip I made to see your place in Oklahoma. The guest bedroom was fabulous and you served me eggs benedict for brunch. You surprised me with the Marilyn Monroe museum exhibit and we had lunch outside at the bikers bar. We drank and then we laughed until we cried. No topic of conversation was taboo, and I loved you for that.

The topping on the cake was my trip to the Caribbean with Tamera. You showed us such a fine time with great food, wonderful wine, and a room with a killer view. Let’s not forget that time at the Ventura beach restaurant where you convinced me to eat oysters on the ½ shell and drink the juice. OMG. And the last time when we visited my folks in Simi Valley, I gave you the bedroom while I took the sofa bed. Age before beauty (ha, ha). Remember lunch at the Reagan Library?

In addition to these trips, you offered me a shoulder to lean on. You listened to my early little girl babble and in later years you heard me wail, whimper and wonder why? You always sent me a birthday card and would mail little items you picked up on your many cruises. You supported my writing efforts, and always pumped up my ego with your words of encouragement and congratulations. You taught me many lessons over the years, and made me unafraid to speak up and go for the gusto.

You will always be my favorite Aunt, no matter that your hair and eyelashes fall out or you find yourself stumbling over words or thoughts. Darlene, you are very courageous and I thank you for showing me how to be as tough as nails, and to also maintain a good heart. You are a wonderful and warm human being.

When I think of your current situation I think of the film Dances with Wolves where I see you as the female character “Stand with Fists.” You remember that and fight back until your heart tells you to rest and go Home.

All my love and with many thanks,

Your Niece Sandra Lee

Shall We Dance?

2011-10-15T19:52:00.005-06:00

It has always been difficult to make new friends, due to the fact I've been burned more than once. Dating back to junior high school I've had true blue friends turn into women I no longer recognized. Debbie dropped me like a hot potato for Caroline who lived across the street from her. Sandy shut me out like a leper when she befriended a neighbor that could teach her sign language. Lisa pretended to be my friend only to be able to wear my clothes. Jackie was my roommate who decided my x-husband was the best thing since sliced bread. Not only was she my closest friend, she was my Maid of Honor and four years later married the x.

There was Melanie who always told me how beautiful I was when swimming and wet. When she realized she was not my type (so-to-speak) she wrote me a letter reporting she was dating one of her female students. Then there was Cyndi who made me bread and spent every Sunday at the Swap Meet with me in tow. She later hooked up with my second x and married him. They will celebrate 12 years of wedded bliss next month. Of all my friends, I remain closest to her. She is an Earth Mother of sorts - doesn't believe in BS of any type - and loves me just as much as she did in 1973.

So you can imagine my hesitation when an opportunity comes along to make a new friend. Shall I give up pieces of my life and private thoughts to have the juices squeezed out and the sponge left dry on the kitchen counter? I'm old enough now to realize I will get back what I put into a friendship. It must be equal - it has got to be real. No expectations, just honesty and laughter and a sounding board. And someone that enjoys a cool cocktail, cats and crystals. *This would be you Marty Margarita.

And if you want to marry my 3rd husband, be my guest. Only joking James.

Infinite Self: Bedside Reading

2011-10-12T20:26:00.004-06:00

I have a bad habit of either (a) turning down the page of a good book or (b) taking a yellow highlighter and marking my favorite passages. Here is what I have so far:

The secret to having enormous amounts of wealth is to not need it. Then it comes to you naturally.

Negativity kills you, never forget that. It's a weed that eventually chokes you to death.

Quiet time, serenity, and silence dis-empower the ego and make the inner you more special.

Unconditional love is complete acceptance. If I love you unconditionally, I accept you. If you love me unconditionally, you accept me.

People will tend to blame others. It's the Jewish people's fault. It's the blacks. Men are doing it to me. Of course, no one is doing it to you. The ego is doing it to you, and so you feel restricted.

Closing thoughts:
This book may be "heavy duty" for some and a few years back I would have thumbed through the pages and said no thanks. But spiritually speaking, I think I'm ready now to read, absorb and reflect.

Certainly can't hurt.

Libido (sexual content, beware)

2011-10-09T18:09:00.005-06:00

I've been lucky enough to publish many personal essays in assorted magazines and newspapers. Most of my articles will tickle your fancy - some of the essays will moisten your eyes - only a few of the pieces will come across as sarcastic.

I'm happy to share my thoughts on everything from working in the garden to losing weight to a battle of words with my mother-in-law. I'm happy to discuss my first two marriages, my first and only child, and losing a beloved pet. I'll tell you my favorite foods, my target weight, the vision of seeing my book on the shelf for your purchasing pleasure. I don't hold back about how I hate to see my face sag, my eyelids drooping, my arms flapping in the wind. I have nothing to hide.

Not the entire truth.

I don't write about sex after 55. I wouldn't dare jot down notes on sex after 60. Sexual activity is like a holiday at my house. It's like Halloween or Easter. You know it's sweet and if you partake you may regret it in the morning. It also comes around once a year.

My husband takes high blood pressure medication. I'm taking 20MG of a popular antidepressant every night before bed. This means neither of us have the interest or energy to even think about it. He fails to shave his neck and it's too much work to shave my legs. Its getting cold in NW Montana so I wear flannel Grandma Sandi pj's to bed and he puts on a pair of sweat pants that are meant for a 300 pound man. He's too tired to brush his teeth and I'm too exhausted to change the sheets on the bed (before or after the happy event.)

We talk about it. We plan for it. I select a black lace number to put on and he dusts off his cologne bottle and splashes it on his face. We put the dog out and chase the cat away. We turn the phone down and shut off all the lights. We have the best of intentions.

But the black lace number itches me like crazy and he believes his cologne has an expiration date and smells like an old shoe. The dog howls to get back in and the cat gets her tail too close to the candle. The message machine has (3) voice mails from his work and even with the lights out we realize we both need to work out.

We laugh - he goes upstairs to watch the History channel and I turn on House Hunters International. The cat and dog are perfectly happy and the hubby and I wait for the next holiday to come 'round.

This is sex after sixty. I could say welcome to my nightmare or laugh out loud at the entire episode. And for those of you that are saying that poor, poor couple:

This essay is tongue-in-cheek. Happy hunting.

Don't Be Selfish

2011-09-29T19:33:00.003-06:00

I, Sandra Smith-Bellissimo (aka Ja'Nee Newman), have registered my organ, eye, and tissue donation wishes. Please join me in saving and enhancing the lives of thousands of people in need of your help. It took me only a few minutes to sign up -- minutes that could mean years of life for someone else.

To sign up, please visit http://www.donatelifetoday.com

Camera Shy

2011-09-24T19:15:00.006-06:00

How many of you have a female friend or relative that has a distorted view of her looks? This woman will shun the camera, always making certain to leave the room when someone says “Smile”. Does your BFF go through the pictures first and destroy what she doesn’t like? Or you find out a day later that all the pix with your mother-daughter-sister-grandma-aunt, etc. have mysteriously disappeared into thin air?

I am a Woman Destroyer when it comes to pictures. If there are six shots of me, I’ll save (on a good day) one image that I tuck into my journal or the memoir I’m currently reading. Why you ask?

#1 photo shows my double chin
#2 highlights my chipmunk cheeks
#3 is focused on my sausage-like upper arms
#4 makes me look five months pregnant
#5 shows the world my bottom has fallen and can’t get up

The only photo I may rescue is the one with People magazine in front of my face, with only my eyes showing. I like my eyes (on a good day.) Could it be that I suffered early trauma when having to pose for a picture? Was it in the 1st grade when I had that terrible Pixie haircut - or 6th grade when I refused to smile due to new braces - or 11th grade where I looked like Cher because of a prominent nose? Could it be comments from friends that viewed my school photos, and called me “Olive Oyl” because I carried 115 pounds on a 5’8” frame.

Talk about poor self image! Nevertheless, all these years later it’s still difficult to have my picture taken. And then I look at my DL card and discover I look like a pumpkin head, and what’s worse, it’s in color!

The last time I had professional pictures taken was November 7, 1970. I was 19 years old and getting married at Chapel in the Canyon wearing white and carrying pink roses. Even then I liked only one of the bridal photos, and our wedding album had thirty 8’ x 10’s.

Back to a recent photo opportunity: I wore a simple blouse, a black choker by Avon (circa 1982), and had pictures taken in a charming basement studio, and outside sitting in a field of poppies. One week later I sat with the photographer to view the results.

There were more than forty shots - which became fourteen - dropped to eight - I settled on two - decided on one. In this prized final photo I was smiling: not phony, not staged, not fake. My eyes had a twinkle in them, and it wasn’t even Christmas morning or my birthday. I had placed a flower in my hair, and the look worked. My goodness, it was Ja’Nee looking happy and feeling grand. No filters, no tricks, smoke or mirrors. Just a simple picture that reflected my true essence as relaxed, thankful, carefree, and joyful. The photographer made magic that day when she captured the heart of me, the good in me, which I frequently forget. That one picture tells a story. It shouts that I’m not old; gray; overweight; stressed; unforgiving all the time. I’m ok on a good day.

There’s a wonderful childlike quality in each of us, and my advice to readers is this: Do not allow any one person to rain on your parade. Know that you are beautiful, and loved, and perfect, in every way. So next time someone asks to take your picture, stand your ground and welcome it. Smile and let your light shine through.

Click.

Married Good-Bad-Ugly

2011-09-18T13:13:00.007-06:00

From the outside, the blue and white house looks well maintained. There are pretty pots on the deck; a shiny BBQ; patio table and chairs; an American flag waving in the NW Montana sky. There's a raised flower garden; a vegetable garden; a dog playing in the yard; even the windows look clean.

But when you look closer you see the paint is chipped; some of the boards on the deck are sagging; there's a crack in the cement; and no one ever sits on the deck due to job pressures, time restraints or yellow jackets. All is not what it seems. This can also be said of marriage.

Outsiders tell the couple they are "so cute, so funny, so good together." Friends tell the couple "you complement one another" and "your marriage seems happy and strong." Little do they know! Yes, our paint is chipped, the pretty tarnish gone long ago. If our moods aren't sagging, our eye lids are. There are cracks in the relationship, holes in our memories. We say very little to one another due to job pressures, time restraints or the TV remote control. All is not what it seems.

Ann Landers will ask her readers: "Are you better off with him or without him?" Verdict is still out for the couple in the blue and white house.

Back Off

2011-09-15T16:48:00.007-06:00

My work space is shared. This means that any employee can take paper clips, pens, highlighters, stamps at any time during the day. It doesn't matter if I'm low on one particular item. They don't give a darn that I may be on the phone taking a social security number or list of medications. They do not give it a second thought. Like I said. My work space is shared.

Folks want to know why I don't bring in a picture frame, favorite coffee cup, a live plant or tablet with my initials on it. It's because it simply won't last. Someone in the building will take it and never look back.

It's sad, it's frustrating. It is rude, it is unprofessional. But that's the way it goes. At age 60 guess I'm just lucky to have a job.

What bothers me the most are colleagues that stand at my HIPPA approved counter and say this to me: "Put down what you're working on, I need you to do something for me." This is in spite of four patients in the lobby, two holding on the phone, and a fax for a medication refill sitting on my desk. They do not care. It's me first.

I smile. I put down my work. I smile. I ask "What can I do for you?" I smile and say "No problem" when I want to shake them or slap them silly. We work for a mental health facility. HELLO PEOPLE. Folks in our lobby need assistance. They should be our priority...not you, you little princess.

It's me first from my some of my colleagues. They don't see it that way.

I do. Hey, this post was better than therapy and much cheaper.

Never Forget 9/11

2011-09-11T19:30:00.006-06:00

Today we put out our American flag

Today we had silent prayers for the victims of September 11, 2001

Today we felt pride in our country because we stood up and dusted ourselves off

Today we had waves of sorrow and loss for all those that perished that day

Today we rang a bell for each of the loved ones lost forever

Today, they looked down and knew in their hearts they were not forgotten

May our country remain peaceful

May our country remain hopeful

May our country remain strong

Baby Boomers Love Animals

2011-09-04T18:37:00.004-06:00

I remember laughing when I realized my senior citizen parents had named a squirrel and blue jay at a park they frequent. I was amazed how they knew every dog and cat in their gated community...both the owner's name and the pet's! I was surprised that they gave a name to each of the feral cats they fed (3) times a week. I thought to myself: "I'm too damn young to do that. And besides, I have a life."

Guess what? I have a petite chipmunk in my yard that I call Chipper; a female turkey who answers to Hop-a-long; two large toms that look directly at me when I call out Tim and Jim. I know the dog across the alley is Brutus and the white bull dog that pulls his owner up the hill goes by the name of Bear. There is Easy; Misty; Dash, and Dakota in our neighborhood as well.

Much like my senior citizen parents, I will look out the window to see who pulled up to the house next door; did the husband remember it's trash day; will our mail lady be late and wearing shorts? Maybe I need a life.

Nevertheless, each time I see "my" chipmunk outside eating corn kernels; burying peanuts; drinking from the bird bath or jumping from the roof to a pine tree, I think: "Oh Chipper, please be good, please be careful."

I've come to the conclusion that when you become a certain age your priorities change. You might ignore a load of laundry because the sunflowers opened today. You may forget to dust the top of the television screen because it's 66 degrees outside and perfect for a walk. You could possibly delay taking the clean dishes out of the dishwasher because the robins are on the deck making small talk.

Yes, it's true I name wildlife. It's true I will brake for an animal. It's true I will bawl like a baby if I see a Montana family place a dog in the back of their truck and not inside with the rest of the clan. Maybe I need a life.

Or, just maybe, I already have a good one.

Silence is Golden

2011-08-28T19:24:00.002-06:00

I am surrounded by noise at the office. The window a/c unit hums; the coffee maker sputters; the phone rings incessantly; the fax beeps; the white noise machine drowns out the conversation between therapist and consumer. Doors open; cabinets slam; the pc shouts error messages throughout the day. The only way I find peace is to take my Chobani Greek yogurt into the unisex restroom so I can have some quiet.

Today I discovered a different type of noise right in my own front yard. The grasshopper making a clack-clack sound; the robins twittering; the chipmunk chattering away. Honey bees doing dive bombs with sound effects right next to my ear; wild turkeys clucking at their young; big fat woodpeckers knocking on the pine tree to my left and right. I believe I even heard the corn growing in our garden.

No dirt bikes today. No lawn mowers. No mail truck or the sound of the Fed X truck chugging up Primrose Lane. Just the simple sound of our rain-bird sprinkler and the background noise of NW Montana.

I took it all in. I welcomed it. I then realized I miss the quiet of a lazy Sunday afternoon. I smiled, rubbed some suntan lotion onto my 60-year old skin and said aloud:

Lord, I get Your message. Slow down and listen to the quiet.

I'm a Food Critic - Apparently

2011-08-20T19:27:00.002-06:00

Today my husband and I decided we wanted to eat BBQ and decided to try a new establishment near downtown Whitefish. We had heard great things about the chicken, ribs, and all the sides. The place is called The Shak and located in what use to be known as the local DQ.

When we walked inside we fell in love with the décor. It’s like a little piece of New Orleans right in the heart of NW Montana. There were crawfish signs, rooster statues, and a ceramic cow placed here and there. Montana license plates were placed prominently on the wall, along with saw blades, canoe paddles, and lanterns with Cajun/Creole music playing. The booths were decorated with a trim of cowboy boots and I thought eureka, this is the place.

My husband ordered a brisket sandwich with BBQ baked beans and fries. I love a great pulled pork sandwich, so I ordered that with a side of hushpuppies. I’m always on the lookout for good sweet potato fries and that was my 2nd side. The hostess was pleasant and had a sweet smile.

Our sandwiches were heavy with meat and savory seasonings. Although the plain hamburger bun may fool you, when you bite into it you know you have found a meal like your Mama use to make. The beans were fabulous – the hushpuppies divine – sweet potato fries light and crisp. My husband and I looked at one another and said, “No more making that drive to Famous Dave’s. Our new BBQ place is right in our own backyard.”

You see, we’ve lived in Whitefish for twelve years and have visited many restaurants in Kalispell, Columbia Falls, and Bigfork. We know good BBQ, and The Shak is the place. It felt like home, even down to the paper towel roll on the table. We were not offended; we were not concerned, we were actually tickled pink and can’t wait to go back next week.

Final note:
The owner of the restaurant came over to our table to introduce himself and we visited a bit. He asked how we liked the food and we told him we were delighted with the entire experience! He then excused himself, went back into the kitchen and brought out samples of his fried chicken and crawfish etouffee (pronounced A-Two-Fay). The chicken wing was tender inside and crispy on the outside. There was no grease, just a wonderful down-home flavor. It reminded me of the chicken my Grandma would fry in her kitchen in Chadron, Nebraska. It was wonderful. I have never tasted crawfish and was amazed at the etouffee. I won’t say much more than that – you must go in and try it yourself.

Wonderful eating, great personnel, charming environment and the food will knock your socks off. However, if you’re a stick in the mud and prefer not to use plastic table ware you need to go somewhere else. We loved the side table with sauces, napkins, condiments and elegant black plastic eating utensils.

Check Is In the Mail

2011-08-13T18:30:00.006-06:00

The other evening one of the late night talk show hosts reported that "Gasoline prices have gone down." There was a slight pause in his delivery and he next said this: "Now you can afford to drive by the house you lost to the bank, and drive by the office that let you go after 30 years of service." It was almost funny.

Then today on the front page of our local newspaper I read an article about the current economy and the blurb was this: "Consumers spent more on cars, furniture, electronics and other goods in July - and more in May and June than previously thought. This activity is encouraging because it shows Americans were willing to spend despite HIGH unemployment, SCANT pay raises, STEEP gas prices and DIMINISHED wealth."

Well, ain't that just grand?

And in the course of one day I discovered that a cashier at Safeway was declined her early retirement benefits at age 62 because she made too much money, and the waitress at the bowling alley gave notice because her meager tips placed her into a higher tax bracket. Her retirement check was cancelled.

Well, ain't that just wonderful?

When I turn the magic 62 (now just 24 months away) will I be able to quit working and get a nice little government check the first of every month?

Me thinks not.

So I save my quarters; I hoard my dollars; I wear clothes that are eleven years old. I no longer go to the hairdresser because $50-$75 for one cut and color will pay for a weeks' groceries. I don't take long drives to lakes, rivers, valleys or glaciers. I cannot afford the price of gasoline.

What breaks my heart is the fact I'm not alone. Thank goodness my significant other places $325 into a household account every Friday morning. When I get my monthly paycheck from a non-profit organization, the entire check goes to pay the mortgage and a car payment.

Well, ain't that just fabulous.

Think I'll open the one bottle of wine in the frig (purchased at Walgreens for less than $6) and have myself a little party.

Time will tell. Let's all hold onto our seats and our pennies.

Beware of Birthdays

2011-08-06T19:18:00.004-06:00

Although you can tell yourself that you don't mind turning another year older, there is a small voice that whispers the old gray mare ain't what she use to be.

Although you convince yourself that you look just as good as you did (5) years ago, the magnifying mirror tells a different story.

Although the women at work and the courtesy clerk at the local Safeway tell you the hair looks great and the jeans fit fine, you know you're carrying a spare tire.

Although the husband reports you look better than neighborhood women that are (10) years younger, you still think he's telling a little white lie.

Aging sucks, especially when your upper arms are soft as a goose feather pillow and your butt no longer sits high and proud. What is left of your butt is flat and gravity pulls it closer to the ground every day.

No matter what face cream you buy at Target, it does not work magic on crows feet. It fails to lift the brows or smooth out the deep lines on either side of your smile. And speaking of smile: no white strips make your teeth shine like the young actresses on Entertainment Tonight. Oh, that's right. I'm not young.

What I am is full of spirit, sass, spite. What I am is full of hope, happiness and hate. What I am is tough, terrific and tired.

I try to keep in balance. I take my vitamins every morning before coffee, and I pray before I drink that coffee. I stop to smell the flowers and eat a strawberry right out of the garden.

I may not be of tight body and smooth face. I may not be 5'8" and 118 pounds anymore. I may not be super sexy to men in their 30's and 40's but sometimes I catch an old cowboy in his 50's giving me the eye and it isn't the husband.

It's true I have lived in the 60's and I survived the 70's living on Haight Ave. I danced through the 80's with Pat Benatar and Madonna. In the 90's I made the decision to get married again and the last (10) years I have sometimes wondered why I made that decision. I do all right alone. I do all right with a partner. And no matter where I live and who shares that space with me, I will always be Sandra Lee and due to celebrate another birthday.

Fear & Worry

2011-07-23T19:15:00.005-06:00

I picked up my journal today and was shocked to see that the last time I put pen to paper was June 12. That is so unlike me. It's been my habit (for many, many years) to sit down and write 1-5 pages on blank paper each Sunday. Its therapy for me. I guess I've been afraid to write down the good, the bad, and the uncertain. The last few weeks have been butt-ugly and to coin a phrase from Chelsea Handler, I have been a HOT MESS. To be honest, I've been living in fear. Now, let me explain.

I am fearful that my paycheck will arrive late, and once in the bank, it will not cover the household bills that I post-dated. I am fearful that the new hire I'm training at work will not show compassion for the consumers we serve - individuals that are suffering from mental illness. I am fearful that the garden will die - the dog will throw up again, and the cat will dart out the door never to return. I am fearful that after 21 years of marriage I have nothing left to talk about - nothing left to give.

I am fearful that one day soon I will throw up my hands and give up. Fearful that I will drink one too many glasses of wine and speak my truth to the next person that steps on my toes. Fearful that I will say out loud I'm tired of taking care of you, and you, and you...and especially you. For once in my life I would like someone to take care of me. I want to love and win.

Boo-hoo baby and poor pitiful me.

So today, I walked out to the yard and sat down with my fear and worry. I watched the corn sway in the wind and followed the flight pattern of a butterfly. I approached the wild turkeys in the yard, beckoned to them with a "cluck-cluck" of all things, and they responded to me. For that they received bird seed and peanuts. I looked up at the Montana Big Sky and noticed that Alaska Air, and then Delta, were making their approach to Glacier Park International Airport. I stepped into the garden and picked fresh strawberries. I decided not to take them into the house for washing, nor to share with my significant other. I listened to the wind chimes, and the sounds of squirrels and chipmunks. I made eye contact with my dog, then told her how much I loved her.

I took time to breathe and appreciate this life of mine. And I realized that I was not alone in the world, just somewhat lonely. All I can do is try to shake it off the best way I can, and hope for a peaceful tomorrow.

The Last Best Place

2011-07-10T19:03:00.004-06:00

We moved to Montana to get away from smog, traffic, crime, stress of jobs and family obligations. We found a place with blue sky, no freeways, a low crime rate, little stress and left our family behind us. It was good for the first few years and then Home Depot, Lowe's, Target, Famous Dave's and Bed, Bath and Beyond showed up in the middle of the Flathead Valley. Lots of cars, bumper-to-bumper traffic at noon in the heart of Kalispell, and our police log became longer and much more graphic. Seemed like everybody in Texas, Arizona, Florida and Canada decided to load up a U-Haul and move in down the street.

Montana's millionth resident is coming soon. We will reach a major milestone later this year when the state tops 1 million residents for the first time. We are now the nation's fastest-growing region as reported by our local newspaper. People come here to vacation then decide to live here permanently so they can enjoy fly-fishing, boating, rafting, skiing, snow boarding, golf and the average morning commute of only 17 minutes.

2010 Census counted 994,416 Montanans, with the millionth Montanan projected to appear in November or December of this year. This means a sort of "closing of the frontier", and the next thing you know we will have yet another Super Walmart and another Starbucks.

To some this is normal and progressive and good for business. I find it sad and disappointing that wide open spaces will now be bulldozed down for single family homes and baseball diamonds. Although you will find plenty of trucks, dogs, guns and wild turkeys in NW Montana and everybody wears jeans, there is very little diversity here with regard to folks of other races. Montanans are 89.5% white, compared to a national average of 74.5%.

I don't want more traffic. I'd rather not have air pollution. I'd like people to come and visit, take their pictures, buy their t-shirt and then get out.

Some say to live in Montana you must be a "lifestyle warrior" meaning you are willing to accept less income to live and play in this state. So I'm keeping my fingers crossed that the 10 million tourists who visit the area each year will take a look-see and then go home.

Fair Warning

2011-07-02T19:20:00.006-06:00

I'm not a large woman, nor am I a tall woman. I stand 5'7" and 147 pounds and pretty much harmless for a middle-aged broad. Unless you piss me off and I bring out a pen that is quite capable of writing hurtful thoughts. It's not something I'm proud of.

On another note, I do have two things that bring me joy, pride, and comfort. One is a black German shepherd that adores me and weighs in over 100 pounds. She looks fierce to bystanders and I have no doubt she would take your arm off if she thought I was in danger. The other item I keep handy is a sweet, black, smooth, Glock 9mm weapon. And trust me I do know how to use it! It's handy living in a state that promotes self-protection and where you can see a variety of folks at the local shooting range.

My husband is a lover of guns, and treats them with reverence and respect. That's why he regularly takes me to a members only shooting range. He provides me with ear protection; safety glasses; a belt; holster, firearm and two “magazines.” Now these magazines resemble nothing like the People and Writer’s Digest I read at home. They are two black rectangular cylinders that hold numerous rounds of ammunition. He shows me how to tap and rack the magazines into place, and put a first round into the chamber. He places me in front of a target strategically placed 5’-7’ away. For the record, I told him I would not shoot a turkey or squirrel target, so he stapled up a large sheet of a menacing man. When he first handed me the gun I held it straight out ahead of me...like holding a dead fish. I wanted it to be very far away from my body. Just the look of a Glock; the texture of it; even the odor on my hands after handling it was something that made me feel small and afraid. With much patience and guidance from the hubby I began to relax my hands; hold the gun correctly; lean towards the target and not back away like a sissy-girl.

My husband repeats again and again: "Wrap your fingers around the pistol grip, and make sure your thumbs are down and to the left so the slide action doesn’t pinch you." He also tells me not to stop shooting after one round; asking me to fire 4-5 times in rapid succession, even to empty the barrel to get the feel of the 9mm and the heavier .45. At all times my significant other stresses safety and respect for the firearm.

Imagine seeing a fifty-nine year old grandmother wearing enormous ear protection; safety glasses; a holster; a belt that didn’t quite fit; holding what is commonly referred to as a dangerous weapon. Imagine this same women aggressively shooting at an ugly man-target. Now, ask me how I feel? I felt vindicated; in control; happy that I have a new skill.

Now, ask me what I would do if a person broke into my home? Would I shoot at their legs and call 911? Wrong answer. I would aim for the largest part of the body and empty the gun, providing the dog didn't take the S-O-B down first. Don't mess with this Montana Grandma.

My husband is teaching me to shoot with controlled breathing and a good form. He wants me to feel comfortable with a firearm, and to stay cool and keep smart. The least I can do is to show him I learned my lessons well.

Hot Mess

2011-06-26T19:08:00.006-06:00

Please don't tell me I cannot watch Toddlers & Tiaras. Please don't suggest that I not catch the season premier of Pit Boss. Please don't laugh when I let it slip that I enjoy House Hunters International. Sometimes I enjoy sitting on the couch resembling a cabbage head because I find it relaxing. I can let my guard down, and just slip away into TV land.

I am trying hard these days to run my life, instead of having life run me. I make many decisions at home and at work. So many decisions that the sides of my forehead feel like Frankenstein screws are being applied by an invisible man.

When writing out household bills I must decide if I pay the $140 electric bill first or the $59 cable... in spite of the due dates being the same. I must decide if I put meat down on the shopping list.. because .59 cans of tuna at Walgreens might be the better option this time 'round. I decide if my 1/8 of a tank of gasoline can get me 11 miles to work and 11 miles back. The answer to that is no. A sad story indeed!

I decide if our budget allows for heart worm medication for the dog or blood pressure pills for the husband. I decide if I can go another year without my teeth being cleaned because my medical deductible has yet to be met. I must decide if I cruise into early retirement by working two days a week as a legal assistant - or go back to work full time at the age of 59. I am tired of making everyday decisions. And yes, I'm going back to a 5-day work week.

Sometimes I just want to lay in bed with the dog and pretend there is rainbow and a pot of gold outside my window. Sometimes I wish I could take an antidepressant, (3) Advil, a giant glass of wine and just have my head go fuzzy with the joy of it all.

Then I realize that this is L.I.F.E. This is no dress rehearsal. I am strong. I am woman, hear me roar. I take a breath. I watch the chipmunk outside on the porch. I listen to the many wind chimes in the yard. I stop to smell the lavender. I pet the dog. I watch something on television that lets me learn or laugh out loud.

So, don't dare tell me I cannot watch Toddlers & Tiaras. Don't suggest that I not catch the season premier of Pit Boss. Don't laugh when I let it slip that I enjoy House Hunters on HGTV. Sometimes I enjoy sitting on the couch resembling a cabbage head because I can then let my guard down.

Old as Dirt

2011-06-18T19:00:00.009-06:00

Although I carry AARP identification and I happily read the newsletters and magazines they send to my attention, I have yet to pull the card out and use it for a discount of any kind. This, my dears, will soon change. If I am to retire in two years, I must start saving pennies right this minute. My goodness, coffee is $9.00 a can and gasoline $4.00 a gallon and I must have both to survive.

One of the retail shops in Kalispell offers 15% discounts to seniors on designated Wednesdays. I'm going to mark my calendar accordingly and make a list. I'm aware that they offer cookies and coffee at the door, and that motivates me to put on mascara and drive eight miles into town.

I carry an AARP card but I don't look like the seniors of yesteryear. Today I wear a black and white striped top, hoop earrings, size 8 jeans and my fragrance of choice is CK Summer One. I drive a hunter green Jeep, fire a 9m Glock at the range, and listen to Kid Rock. I do a little dance, make a little love and party on. You see, I never wanted to grow up to be the little old lady of Pasadena. I am young at heart and my hazel eyes still sparkle no matter the challenges in my life.

A real woman (in my opinion) has the ability to look into a magnifying mirror and simply disregard crow’s feet; parentheses around the mouth; sun freckles on the nose; age spots in the middle of the forehead. Let’s maximize the positive and ignore the obvious. Growing older sucks and I hate any phrase that has the following blurb in it: “Due to the aging process you can expect blah, blah and blah.”

I look good! I use magic potions on my face at night, and mineral powder in the daylight hours. Although my eyes may crinkle like Mrs. Clause on a good day, at least I have my own teeth. There’s makeup to camouflage dark circles under my eyes; support panties to keep my muffin-top in; Levi’s that offer a slimming panel for my caboose. I’m here to tell you that women over fifty have options.

I'm due to turn the big six zero and I’m just now starting to blossom. I part my hair on the side after years of spiking it up. I changed the style and color of my everyday eyeglasses. On occasion I’ll wear green eye shadow and liner in an effort to get away from my everyday lilac. I brush my eyebrows carefully so they stand at attention to give my face a youthful inquisitive look. I use a lip plumper on my sliver of a top lip, and a blush called Glee so I can look young and fresh again.

It’s called tricks - smoke - and mirrors. But I’m here to say I’m not going to give up, and I’m not going to throw the towel in. In the end it’s about attitude, hope, and acceptance. I think I ROCK as a baby boomer and I do feel attractive, though not secure enough to wear a hot pink t-shirt that shouts Sexy Grandma.

I hope I can continue to see the good in me; the wisdom of aging; and accept that I can never go back. But I must admit I enjoy looking at pictures of Ja’Nee at age 19 with a flat tummy; waist-length hair; smooth baby skin and eyes that had yet to see the world.

I’m a proud middle-aged woman with three grandchildren and a much younger husband. I laugh at myself and life-in-general, and if you promise me a caramel latte I’ll tell you how much I weigh. I'm here to say I can’t wait to see where my Montana journey takes me.

Not so bad for a woman who carries an AARP card and wears bifocals.

Don't Tell

2011-06-11T20:26:00.006-06:00

Women of a certain age know what to expect as they age. Or do they?

I knew all about crow's feet, turkey neck, tummy roll, sausage arms and leakage when you laugh. But I didn't know fine lines would appear around my upper lip, and that the skin on my arms would drop down to the wrists.

I knew that the hair on my head would thin, but never thought I would see actual bald spots where my beautiful brown hair use to be. And I was comfortable plucking a few stray hairs out of my chin, but was shocked to see hair(s) sprouting from my neck as well. The hair on my legs continues to grow (thank the Lord) but I no longer have a need to shave under my arms. Its as smooth as a baby's cheek.

There are obviously things that middle-age women don't discuss in daylight, unless they have two chardonnays under their belt.

I'm here to tell you the truth:

The eyebrows don't lift like they use to. The skin on the neck buckles. If you barely bump yourself you will have a huge bruise later that same day. The breasts drop; the tummy is cookie dough soft; your buttocks are no longer high and proud. No matter what shade of toe polish you wear, your feet are still ugly. You can color your eye lids and lips but that doesn't hide the fact that you only slept 4.5 hours the night before.

You hesitate wearing shorts when not on your own property. You threw out the two piece swimming suit. Those tight white shorts were given to a child that lives in your neighborhood. No more halter tops. No more dainty bras because you're too damn tired to place your boobs in them.

Things have changed - gravity is now taking its toll. You can cry about it. You can throw a fit - break a plate - slam the door - toss a chair. I choose to handle it a different way. I go outside with my hiking boots and a baseball bat. I then take aim. You fill in the blanks.

Happy trails to women of a certain age. I feel your pain. I really do.

Song in My Heart

2011-06-04T20:06:00.006-06:00

Music has always been important to me, and many song lyrics are threaded throughout my many journals. Sometimes what is in my heart just can't make in onto paper and I'll turn the radio on. And yes, it's country music. I will sit on the couch with a candle burning nearby and before you know it a song comes on and it offers up the perfect words, the perfect sentiment.

The first time I ever danced with a boy was a Friday night at a junior high school function. The song was "Sugar Shack" and these many years later that tune still brings a smile to my lips! The first time I thought I was "in love" was in high school. The boy drove me home and as "Brown Eyed Girl" played on the radio, he turned to look at me and smiled. The man I cared for in junior college convinced me to slow dance to "Little Surfer Girl" and I remember crying on his shoulder.

At my November 7, 1970 wedding Karen Carpenter's "We've Only Just Begun" was the song of choice. When I divorced the first husband and met the second one, he told me to listen to the song "I Don't Know How to Love you" from the play Jesus Christ Super Star. That's when I realized he was head over heels in love with me. When my daughter was born almost 35 years ago the song that said it all was Joe Cocker's "You Are So Beautiful to Me." And she still is. I love my daughter more than the world.

When I married Jim in the summer of 1990 our first dance was "Can't Help Falling in Love with You" by the wonderful Elvis Presley. We dance to it in our kitchen every July 28 while the pets sit and watch.

So many years, so many tears, so many songs. I might be driving home from work and "The Greatest Man I Never Knew" starts to play. I will tear up thinking about my father, and have pulled off the road more than once. Music moves me. Music reminds me. Sometimes it soothes me. Sometimes it lights a fire in me.

There is a song that's been playing on my radio station the last two weeks that can really choke me up. It's called "If Heaven Wasn't So Far Away" and this evening I thought I'd share some of the lyrics with you. And you don't have to be a Montana country chick to enjoy it:

Every day I drive to work across Flint River bridge
A hundred yards from the spot where me and grandpa fished
There's a piece of his old fruit stand on the side of Sawmill Road
He'd be there peelin' peaches if it was twenty years ago
And what I wouldn't give
To ride around in that old truck with him
If heaven wasn't so far away
I'd pack up the kids and go for the day
Introduce them to their grandpa
Watch 'em laugh at the way he talks
I'd find my long lost cousin John
The one we left back in Vietnam
Show him a picture of his daughter now
She's a doctor and he'd be proud
Then tell him we'd be back in a couple of days
In the rear view mirror we'd all watch 'em wave
Yeah, and losing them wouldn't be so hard to take
If heaven wasn't so far away
I'd hug all three of those girls we lost from the class of '99
And I'd find my bird dog Bo and take him huntin' one more time
I'd ask Hank why he took those pills back in '53
And Janis to sing the second verse of "Me and Bobby McGee"
Sit on a cloud and visit for a while
It'd do me good just to see them smile
If heaven wasn't so far away

Lyrics submitted by BURKUL4

Darlene Janice

2011-05-29T09:56:00.010-06:00

In the last two years cancer has touched many of my friends and family members. I try hard to keep the faith and send them positive thoughts and healing prayers.

Cyndi had her breast removed and successfully completed radiation and chemotherapy treatments. I saw her last summer and she was wearing a wonderful head scarf and a big smile. Bart's mom had brain cancer, and although she gave it a good fight she passed away right after her 60th wedding anniversary. Little Cecelia is fighting cancer in her cheek and has many followers on Twitter and Facebook. She is just a little girl that wants to play with her three sisters and pets. Dick has prostrate cancer and is tickled pink he still sports a head full of hair. His motto is Bring it On - Give It to Me. He is not taking cancer laying down - unless, of course he's taking a chemo treatment. My father-in-law, the wonderful and kind hearted Bob, is battling cancer and many of us are praying for him. He started treatment just last week. Stand strong Bob - you are the best.

And then there is my Aunt Darlene. She has two inoperable tumors behind her eyes, and is now at home with a care giver 24/7. I saw recent pictures of her and I was amazed at her smile and twinkling eyes - in spite of the fact that she has lost her hair. I pray for her each day and hope that she lives a long life so she can continue to read her books and spend time with her grandchildren. To sit and gaze at her many travel albums. To remain strong and hopeful and never take cancer lying down unless she absolutely has to.

Mrs. or Ms.

2011-05-22T18:53:00.005-06:00

One day I woke up, looked into the bathroom mirror and told myself I did not want to be fat; forty; alone; and living with cats. Soon after I said “yes” to a marriage proposal from a man I had dated only seven months. You may think it was naïve; you may think it was romantic; you may think what a huge mistake.

I had been married twice before, and left each husband. The first was my “first” if you get my drift. He was handsome; owned a car; played football; loved his mom; and slapped me silly if I lost a sock in the dryer. The second husband was the father of my only child. He wanted me to stay young forever; he the father figure; me the little girl looking for someone to save her.

I was a single parent for eight years when I met Jim. We worked for the same company; however, he was a night manager in a local supermarket, and I was upper management with a company car and expense account. His store bookkeeper asked us to go out with her and her significant other. Although I was too old to double date, I said sure. I loved the Red Lobster Restaurant, and that was my main reason for going. I didn’t need a man in my life! I had just purchased my own home; selected a new car; gifted my daughter with a pony; and looked darn good in a pair of tight jeans. I was secure; sassy; successful; and happily single.

Let’s cut to the chase. Jim was a good man, with a sensitive side and big heart. He loved football; snow skiing; fishing; playing pool; and big dogs. I hated most sports which included football/baseball/basketball; I was an excellent water skier; didn’t have the patience to fish; loved to swim in a pool; and despised any dog larger than a terrier. We had nothing in common. He fell in love first; I fell in love much later.

There was a big wedding with a punch waterfall, and tall cake with fresh flowers. His mother sent us to Maui on a ten-day honeymoon, and thought of me as a friend and not so much a daughter-in-law. Jim was, and is today, a romantic who wears his heart on his sleeve. Years into the marriage he invites me to travel to Whitefish, Montana where he and his buddies enjoy hunting and fishing. Jim loves the area and wants to transfer from the Southern Californian market he works at, to a sister store in Montana. I humor him (just like during the engagement scenario) and tag along.

I promptly fall in love with NW Montana; say goodbye to family; friends; neighbors and colleagues. I sell our lovely CALIF home; move the pets; tow the car and boat to our new surroundings. Now keep in mind, I had lived 49 years in sunny California where I enjoyed palm trees; warm weather during the holidays; long commutes and lots of stress plus drama. It was all I had known.

We landed in Whitefish on January 12, 2001. It was cold; it was white; it was lonely; it was far away from my parents; daughter; and three grandchildren. I had no job; no friends; no outlet. I started to pick at my food; I would sleep late into the morning, never wanting to look out the bedroom window. I felt myself slip into a deep depression. I thought about taking a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol; slipping into a pretty nightgown (no more flannel for me); and downing a bottle of cheap champagne purchased at the Conoco station. I wanted an easy way out.

Somehow; someway; my maternal Grandmother heard my SOS and gave me a call at home. She sitting at her dining room table in Nebraska… and I standing in my kitchen decorated with bear and deer. As I listened to her soft voice, I bit my lip and held back the tears. Her advice to me was this: “Don’t give up on Montana, and don’t give up on Jim. He’s a gem of a man.”

It has been many years since that early morning phone call, and I haven't divorced him yet. We have our ups and downs, but the bottom line is we have worked hard to make a home, and we have worked even harder to keep our marriage afloat when we see so many others hit the rocks and sink.

I stuck it out Grandma Dau, and want to thank you for putting some sense into this middle-aged Montana bad girl.

Skunk Bands

2011-05-14T18:04:00.007-06:00

Earlier today I had my hair cut and colored, just like I've done every eight weeks for the last eleven years. But today was different! Today was a leap of faith. I requested that my girl put less color on my hair. In fact, I did NOT want it dyed a pretty shade of light brown. I wanted just a half dozen dark streaks painted upon the natural silver white hair that continues to come in - no matter how hard I pray that it stop growing like a Chia Pet.

The process was short and sweet. Less color, less chemicals, less time sitting in the chair or under the dryer. And I saved $15 which was enough to purchase four gallons of gas. If you happen to stand behind me in the line at the grocery store, you will see a woman with short hair that is similar to salt & pepper - with a little more salt than the black stuff. If you look at me head-on you will see wide bands of light brown hair and pretty silver white coming in around the ears, the widow's peak and crown.

Speaking of widow: My husband does not realize the silver white is mine, all mine. He thinks I paid big buck$ for the bold striking splashes of color. If he knew my intention to go natural by the end of summer he would pack his bags and leave. Worse yet, he would put me on a train at the Whitefish Depot and send me home to my Mother.

Bottom line is this:
I saved time - I saved money - I saved face. The color is great and most of it is mine. I've been telling him for months that I will do something significant for my 60th birthday. I wanted to trade in my 2006 Jeep Liberty for a larger model. He vetoed that idea. I've been dying to get a tattoo on my ankle that reads M.A.I. which signifies "M" for Micah, "A" for Angelina, "I" for Isabel which happen to be my wonderful grandchildren. The hubby hit the roof and told me he didn't want to be married to trailer trash. I said okay, I will sign up for a liquid face lift utilizing the fabulous Botox and Restylane wrinkle fillers. He shook his head and a tear appeared. I finally told him in no uncertain terms, if he wouldn't "allow" the Jeep or the tattoo or the smooth face of a nineteen year old, then I would be going silver white. He laughed like a crazy hyena and placed his face into the TV guide.

I don't throw tantrums. I don't get mad. But I do get even.

Money Bag

2011-05-08T13:33:00.005-06:00

Is it true that some folks think that money is the root of all evil? I've read that celebrities report money does not buy happiness. I've listened to neighbors state that a big fat paycheck is not their #1 priority.

So hard to believe.

Today I'm happy as a pig in mud because my husband had $11.95 to purchase my brunch at the local bowling alley. Today I'm tickled pink that I'm wearing a new pair of panties due only to the 3 for $15 sale on Joe boxers at K-Mart. Today I feel like a queen because I'm wearing a leather choker and pendant that I purchased at 30% off the advertised price. And today I'm relieved to see that gasoline is only $2.68/gallon at the corner Conoco station and not $2.79/gallon like it was the other day.

Yes I count my pennies and I'm beside myself if I have five singles in my pocket after paying the household bills. It's the American way. Work hard, work smart and pay your bills on time.

So, yes, I love a bargain. The size 8 black jeans I'm wearing were $10 off one day only. And the movie my hubby bought was in a cardboard bin with a large sign that screamed $5.00 your choice. We buy bird seed on sale. We use coupons for frozen pizza and pot pies. My mascara is old in the tube but I dare not buy a new one because mascara is a luxury.. and maybe I want to get a can of coffee on sale instead.

Challenging times - but also satisfying times. We have learned to live with less. We are putting priorities in order. We no longer count sheep in order to fall asleep - we count coins and small bills.

So today I tip my hat to Moms of all ages, size and color. I think you women rock. You keep the home fires burning and learn to enjoy Hamburger Helper and mac & cheese. You keep the significant other in good spirits, you don't let the kids or neighbors in on the dirty secret of foreclosure. You pray, you laugh, you cry behind closed doors. But no matter the situation, you get it done.

I admire you. And because of you I will take a moment to pat myself on the back because we're all apparently in the same boat.

Bowl of Jelly

2011-04-30T18:57:00.006-06:00

I have stayed the same weight for four weeks now. To most women that would be encouraging, however, it makes me feel guilty and I want to put a bell around my neck and moo.

I weigh myself every Friday morning and love to see the digital numbers go low, lower and lowest ever!!! But with changes at the new job - my feeble attempt to balance the checkbook - the hubby suffering mid-life crisis, I'd really rather grab a Pepsi, a chocolate donut and a handful of salted peanuts. I love to eat junk but I pay a price for it, not to mention the inches on my waistline.

I am content to make a cranberry and vodka drink in a tall pretty glass and sit down with a snack tray. Yes, a snack tray. It's something both my Mom and Grandmother enjoyed and they passed it down to me.

A Snack Tray utilizes whatever you have in the frig and pantry. I purposely do not shop for this delightful noontime treat or sunset appetizer arrangement. I will pull out Ritz Crackers; light cream cheese; black olives. I then make canapés for myself and my dog. The treats will always be even in number due to my recognizable OCD. Two, four, six, eight. Who do we appreciate? Ja’Nee!

On another occasion, out comes the Triscuits; morsels of cheddar cheese; and green olives. Or it could be a day when I crave Wheat Thins; sliced ham and a dab of sweet mustard. The plate is always pretty, and I make certain to use a linen napkin. I feel like Queen-for-a Day and it costs me next to nothing.

My favorite Snack Tray items are the club sandwiches my mom made for our family picnics. These are a little more extravagant, but I’m certain you’ll have everything you need right under your nose. On white bread you will spread the following layers: margarine; regular cream cheese; canned deviled ham, and peanut butter. Top with another slice of white bread; leave crusts on; and cut into quarters. Voila… a meal! Of course we’re not going to give a second thought to cholesterol, as the sandwiches are always served with a jar of artichokes in oil.

I love a good Snack Tray because it makes me feel like a kid again. It’s quick and easy, and I have a selection of goodies right in the kitchen. My Grandma Dau served afternoon snacks when I visited her in Chadron, Nebraska. Grandma would pull out cold cuts; crackers; cheese; leftover vegetable medley, and make a meal that would equal Rachael Ray or Emeril Lagasse. We would sit at her small dining table and enjoy these “yum yums” as she would call them. This was topped off with Little Debbie’s and cold coffee. Those were the days! No chicken wraps; quesadillas; hot pockets; stuffed tater tots. If there comes a time you can’t afford a fast food frenzy, and you don’t want to spend an additional $4.00 on a gallon of gas, think Snack Tray instead.

Must run as I’m off to raid the cabinets! I’m thinking potato crisps; tuna; celery; and crunchy peanut butter. You see, I don't weigh in until next week so I can be bad if I want to.

Even the dog is wagging her tail - she knows what’s coming and it’s going to be good. It’s our little secret. But then, maybe not.

Original Thoughts: I See the Light

2011-04-23T18:34:00.005-06:00

Throughout my life I have searched for God in many different fashions. I've tried reading Bible chapters; chanting; meditation; and invited a female minister to make the sign of the cross on my forehead with holy water.

I have studied Christian Science; I have walked to the front of a church with my arms outstretched while saying forgive me, take me. I have sang gospel songs and swayed with the music banging a tamborine. I even attended a religious retreat where all the females wore short-shorts and could not understand why the men followed them around the yard like young white tailed bucks. Hypocrites. Crazies. Clueless.

I believe God is always with us.

He knows what is ahead and in many cases will steer us out of harm's way. In some instances, He will direct us right into the storm. But He knows how it will turn out - let us remember He wrote the script.

I pray; I give thanks; I hold onto hope. Each morning I ask that He guide and protect me. Each morning I ask that He forgive my sins and comfort me. I pray that He heal members of my family and to look down on friends, colleagues, acquaintances and in some cases, people I have never met. It's a tall order. But I believe in His glory.

I do not attend church. I once had a Bible, but mailed it back to my first husband as it had his mom and dad's wedding date written inside. I listen to songs of faith; I stop to enjoy an Easter lilly; I think of family and friends that have passed on and I know they try to guide me the best way they know how. But God is #1. He knows the good, the bad and the ugly and He loves me just the same.

I look forward to Easter Sunday morning when I can give glory to Him in the Heavens and thank Him for giving me so much. He didn't shout; He didn't push me to the left or to the right. He was there all the time - He never left me and never will. A little prayer won't hurt. Try it, you might like it.

I will now step down from the soap box.

Original Thoughts: Mean Woman

2011-04-17T09:54:00.007-06:00

At least once a week my husband will tell me I'm mean, and maybe he has a point.

In spite of a daily antidepressant; prayer; vitamins; hopefulness; music; and a tall margarita I find myself frustrated. At this juncture of my life I should be soaring with happiness. I work four days a week at a job I enjoy, the household bills are paid, the chores complete and hot food on the table at the dinner hour. The pets are healthy, and the husband puts $325 into the checking account every Friday.

I read, write, exercise, play with the dog, watch a movie. I share newsy e-mails with family and friends in an effort to feed the relationships. I laugh during the appropriate sitcom and cry during a sentimental TV advertisement. My weight is on target, I keep my eyebrows plucked in addition to any surprise chin hairs, and folks think I'm younger than the DOB on my drivers license. My husband tells me he loves me and he is faithful.

So what is my problem?

Could it be the re-organization and remodel of my workplace? Could it be the fact that any table scrap gives the dog loose stools? Might it be that once I get all the bills paid, several more appear in the mail box? Might it be that no matter how careful we are filling our tanks, the price of gasoline keep$ going?

A favorite phrase of mine is "I'm dancing as fast as I can." And you know what? I'm damn tired. I would love someone to take care of me for an hour, for a day. I crave a back-rub - a wonderful holiday dinner that someone else has prepared - bills that come in with a credit instead of a debit. I would love to sleep 6-7 hours without interruption and dream of having enough hot water to fill the tub.

However, another phrase that I enjoy is this: "Put your big girl panties on." And I guess it's time to go through my underwear drawer and find the largest panties I can and put them on...then shut the hell up.

Had to vent and too tired to write in my journal. Thanks for listening.

Original Thoughts: Spry

2011-04-09T18:54:00.004-06:00

I've been married and divorced, chunky and thin, blonde and brunette. I've been a career woman, a stay-at-home mom, a frustrated wife. I've been a good daughter, a forgiving sister, and a friend who listens.

I love my eyes, but not the wrinkles that appear like magic. I love my smile (the teeth are my own) but hate the fact that my upper lip gets thinner each month. I love my hair cut, but not the fact that the new growth is silver white.

I struggle, I pray, I maximize the positive. I give thanks to God, the universe, and the angel on my shoulder.

I carry an AARP card, I tell the truth when someone asks how old I am, but may fib about my shoe size. Baby boomers identify with me. Therefore, I need to make something perfectly clear...Aging is not a disease. It is a wonderful opportunity to grow, reflect, learn and share our lessons with others.

I tend to think of my emotions and experiences as leaves on a truly amazing oak tree. Some leaves wither away and drop to the ground, while others sprout green and fresh - then reach for the sun. We must bend.

I am strong. I am spry.

Original Thoughts: Under Construction

2011-04-03T10:11:00.004-06:00

I recently met with a former colleague and she spoke to me at length about my lack of visibility on the Internet. What do you mean little lady? Isn't it enough that I published over 90 essays for a popular magazine, and each of those articles were posted to the net? Is the blog that I happily maintain fall under the category of chopped liver? What more do you want out of me? I have yet to see the flick Social Network so I don't even know the Hollywood back story of Facebook. And Twitter has something to do with celebrities, a bird and X amount of characters you can type in describing mundane things in your life.

Apparently, I am wildly misinformed. Let us now cut to the chase.

This friend of mine has a business in Whitefish that assists companies and individuals set up social media on You Tube and Facebook. She went on to say how I could place pictures on my page, post journal entries, even advertise my Mission Statement in an effort to pull in folks who need a mentor with regard to writing. I thought it would be double work because I would need to update both the blog and Facebook page. But she tells me I can write a blurb and then post to both with little or no effort. We shall see.

I type 45-55 wpm depending on my mood. I run a defrag on the computer and empty the trash bin. I barely understand gadgets, and wish that spell check would save my butt each and every time without having to proofread. But Facebook and Twitter are different animals and I am intimidated to the 9th degree. Hence the title of this post.

It's going to happen soon. It's in the making. It's on the drawing board. Let us remember that it's tough for an Old Nag to absorb a new program. But with the guidance of my younger (age 50) and computer literate guru it may just go live. When it does, you'll be the first to know.

Signing off.

Ja'Nee Newman

Original Thoughts: Fingers Crossed

2011-03-31T11:05:00.005-06:00

I have just taken a huge leap of faith.

I put on big girl panties and submitted my book to a small publishing house. I read a nice little blurb about Kitsune Books in an issue of Writer's Digest Magazine some months back, and toyed with the idea for over ninety days.

I prepared the e-mail query, a one page book synopsis and attached my 229 page book and hit the SEND button to their acquisitions editor. The website states it may take 3-4 months to read the manuscript and get back to me. OMG. It is done and gone. My memoir is out there now for a complete stranger to read, diagnose and dissect.

Bottom line is it takes guts - it takes balls - it takes fearlessness to share your thoughts with someone you haven't had the pleasure to meet. I can only hope that the designated reader gets caught in the web of diary entries written over the course of 20 years (1964-1984) and my book is given an opportunity to fly.

I'd love to see the book in print, as it's the only legacy I have to offer at this point of my life. So, gentle readers, if you want to see Volume I of the memoir in print, please send a positive message into the universe for this middle aged Montana bad girl.

Happy trails.

Original Thoughts: Liz & Richard

2011-03-26T19:25:00.005-06:00

We lost a Hollywood legend earlier this week and all I can think about is Elizabeth in heaven with her beloved Richard and so many others that went before her. The next day I was listening to Kid Rock (I know that blows your mind) but the lyrics to his song Purple Sky really took on a different meaning.

We kept apart and connected by the same stretch of road
Neglected the truth and refused to grow old
It started a stream but then the levee fell
When the rainmaker had some extra sends to sell

I just wanna drink 'til I'm not thirsty
I just wanna sleep 'til I'm not tired
I just wanna drive 'til I run out of highway
Into the purple sky

Well, I just thought I'd call and see what's going on
Did the hills all flatten out since I've been gone?
Are the fields all painted up in red and blue?
Are you thinking of me the times I'm thinking of you?

I just wanna drink 'til I'm not thirsty
I just wanna sleep 'til I'm not tired
I just wanna drive 'til I run out of highway
Into the purple sky

But if I'm gonna live until I'm 50
I'm gonna need you by my side
Cuz I don't wanna dance without you with me
Into the purple sky

Livin' like a soul-less pirate somewhere lost at sea
Wondering if I ever make it home, will you come back to me
Could we dream up a reason for a rendezvous?
I'm back in town and I got nothing to do
We could drive all day with the top let down
We could stay in tonight or we could wreck this town

I just wanna drink 'til I'm not thirsty
I just wanna sleep 'til I'm not tired
I just wanna drive 'til I run out of highway
Into the purple sky

Original Thoughts: Wifey

2011-03-20T10:06:00.008-06:00

Yesterday afternoon I casually mentioned to the casino hostess what tasks I had completed before hitting the electronic poker machine. I had started a load of laundry, scrubbed the upstairs bathroom, wrote a shopping list with coupons of all sorts, emptied the trash and cleaned the coffee pot. I then described the fabulous breakfast casserole that I had made. Her remark to me was this: "You are such a good wife. From what I've seen you are the perfect couple."

If she only knew.

I'm the first one to report that I am not wife material. I am selfish; I need my space; my expectations are too high for any man to meet successfully. If I don't have an hour in the morning for that first cup of coffee, my vitamins and prayer time, I tend to lean towards a witch/bitch mode. I demand my personal space. I live for those times alone in the home with my thoughts, a candle, music, and some NW Montana sunshine streaming through the windows.

I cannot tell you why this marriage has worked! He gives more, he loves more, he needs me more than I need him. In my heart of hearts, I am an independent woman (hear me roar) and at times I feel I am not built for marriage.

Then I peel back the artichoke layers and find that building a life with him and having a home with two pets is the anchor that keeps me steady. Many times I either want to fight or take flight, but I've walked away from love two time before and I can't possibly take the chance of walking away a third time.

There are challenges, there are questions and concerns. There are dreams that neither of us can reach, and fences we've built that the other cannot jump over without a lot of energy and prayer. No one said it was going to be easy.

For better or worse, for richer or poorer, you know the drill. I only wish that communication and intimacy were a part of this marital agreement, and pray it will all come back to us after the dust has settled.

I am good wife - bad wife - and sad wife at times. Its important for this gal to remember that I am Sandra / Ja'Nee first and foremost. To make good things happen I must take care of self and believe that this Love Boat is going in the right direction.

Original Thoughts: Pad Up

2011-03-13T13:00:00.008-06:00

For the most part I choose not to wear a bra. It started back in the 70's and has nothing to do with women's liberation, Ms. Magazine, or the tune "I Am Woman." It was just far more comfortable going without an undergarment.

I am small breasted and pretty happy with it. And for the record, I do wear a bra when I'm at the office. It's the grocery store, clothes boutique, post office, bowling alley and casino where I go without. I always wear blouses with the type of dart that hides and no one knows the difference unless it's very cold in the building (get my drift, think pencil erasers.)

When I come home from the office I'm too lazy to hang the bra in the closet or place tenderly into my dresser drawer. I will actually hang it on a door knob. The husband never notices it; the dog thinks its a leash of some sort; and the cat will sit there staring for awhile and they slap it with a paw. It does look funny.. these two breasts of mine hanging on a door knob or draped over a hanger. It's two perfect boobs just hanging there with no person attached. One day they may be black - the next day a deep coral color - the next day a creamy beige. But again, we're looking at a slightly padded bra suspended in time. No woman to call its own.

Last week at the doctor's office, I folded my jeans neatly and placed them on the chair. I took my pretty red and black tunic off and gently hung it on a hook. I tossed my bra on the examination table - boobs up. As I sat there for 35 minutes waiting for my family physician to make an appearance, I took a good long look at those boo-bies and laughed so hard I was able to pee in the cup that the nurse had left for me.

Some things are hard to explain.

Original Thoughts: Doctor Me Up

2011-03-06T11:24:00.005-07:00

Now that our health insurance has kicked in and I've saved enough pennies to pay the $300 deductible, I'm actually having a physical exam tomorrow. I have a list of questions for the doctor; have completed a health survey for her; and jotted down the vitamins and medication I take.

I enjoy seeing my doctor. She's a nag at times, but always makes time for me and answers each and every question I ask. I can only imagine her delight when I request she write orders for a blood panel, mammogram, bone density test and much-anticipated colon check. As I approach the age of sixty, it is imperative I get all my parts checked as I want to be in good working order come August. And yes! I've scheduled a teeth cleaning and eye exam as well.

I take pride in my appearance and love-love-love it when folks guess my age to be 5-10 years younger than my birth certificate. Now if I could just find a magic potion for the face wrinkles that continue to appear around my eyes and mouth. Not to mention that the skin on both arms look like crepe paper and I'm forced to buy 3/4 quarter length sleeves for the remainder of my life. Oh well. The alternatives do not appeal to me. I could do surgery (nope) I could be sitting in an assisted living facility making the same observations (no thanks) or six feet under wearing a dress and clutching a rosary (again, no thanks).

So I keep moving forward, in spite of my face and breasts falling to our kitchen floor. But humor and prayer and a pot of firming face cream may be all that a woman needs.

Happy trails from one old Montana hag (not).

Original Thoughts: Big Brother

2011-02-27T13:37:00.005-07:00

Not too long ago I read an interesting blurb in Writer's Digest Magazine that urged folks to Google themselves on the Internet on a regular basis. The article went on to say there are really no secrets, and sins of the past will find themselves onto the net sooner, rather than later.

I took a gander at my pen name on the net, and was surprised to see there was an article written about me posted to WritersNet. I had to look twice when I saw the words "Published Book or Work by: Ja'Nee Newman and there it was...the title of my unpublished memoir there for the world to see. My properly copyrighted title. WTF.

Although the information is now incorrect (bulldog agent sold her projects and not my own, PLUS the fact that Maria Schneider is no longer with Writer's Digest) I didn't know whether to be offended or tickled pink. Nevertheless, here is what I read in the privacy of my own home:

http://www.writers.net/home/writersnet
Published Book or Work by: Ja'Nee Newman
I'm Tired and I'm Wearing Yesterday's Mascara

October 29, 2008
Writer’s Digest Magazine has awarded Sandra Bellissimo, a resident of Whitefish Montana, Honorable Mention for her memoir entitled, “I’m Tired and I’m Wearing Yesterday’s Mascara.” Two thousand words of the manuscript were submitted to the 77th Annual Writer’s Digest Writing Competition in May 2008. Magazine officials report they received over 17,000 contest entries and competition was formidable. Excerpts of Sandra’s manuscript were entered into the Memoirs/Personal Essay category. In addition to a Certificate of Achievement, Ms. Bellissimo received a personal letter of congratulations from Maria Schneider, the editor of Writer's Digest Magazine. Sandra Bellissimo is a columnist for Montana Woman Magazine under the pen name Ja’Nee Newman. She has written for the Kalispell (MT) publication for five years, and refers to the memoir in many articles. Sandra has also had an opportunity to write for 406 Woman Magazine using her given name. Ms. Bellissimo is a client of the Nancy Ellis Literary Agency (Nancy is known as "The Bulldog"). The Agency has produced award-winning and bestselling authors with 63 titles still in print. Traditionally, at least fifty percent of those authors have been debut launches; it was for this reason that Writer’s Digest named Nancy one of the top 25 agents in the country. Volume I of the manuscript is currently being presented to publishing houses in New York.

Original Thoughts: 59 and One Half

2011-02-26T18:29:00.005-07:00

Today I am 59 and one half years of age on the nose. All of my parts are original, in spite of the many times I've dreamed about fuller breasts and a chin implant. It is what it is.

I eat in moderation; I take vitamins on a daily basis; I bow my head and pray. I maximize the positive; I give thanks for the good things in my life and remember to welcome the tests and challenges.

I hope that I'll live to the ripe old age of 93 and look damn good while doing it. I don't want to be an old woman in stretch pants wearing socks and cheap tennis shoes while shopping at K-Mart. I want to be a vibrant woman in skinny jeans and UGGS sipping a chocolate caramel coffee at Borders while thumbing through the latest issue of W or Cosmo.

I don't mind getting older, I just don't want to look like a dried up prune and unable to think forward or backwards. I want to be able to keep up with my dog and my grandchildren. I'd prefer to take a bite out of life then have life eat me up and spit me out. I don't want to lay down and have life consume me. I want to enjoy what God has given me: Every hill, every valley, every dark cloud, every rainbow.

Now back to 59 and one half and the issue at hand. Do you realize the last time I had a flat tummy was in 1968? I’m smart enough to realize that maintaining a lean look is now out of my reach. My body has changed and as my female physician whispered to me "Sandi, it's called gravity." Again, it is what it is.

So what does a middle-aged woman do to look her best? Other than a straw hat; large circle sunglasses; and a frickin' veil there’s really not much you can do to look younger than your years. Alas, fair maidens - do not give up hope. Make certain to use sunscreen in addition to a deep wrinkle filler. Buy anything on the market that will firm up your skin and something that will whiten your teeth. Slather yourself in lotion after every bath; take handfuls of Vitamin B-12 to help put on a happy face; and read a daily meditation.

Pluck your eyebrows and shave your legs while you have the hair. Take a walk, ride a stationary bike or jog gently around a shopping mall. And always ALWAYS purchase relaxed fit jeans. Eat some fruit; consume only LITE ice cream and watch a lot of happy sitcoms. This is all to be done in the name of maintenance.

We cannot fight getting older. Let’s deal with aging gracefully and know our hearts have not changed, its simply the skin that sags a little more. In my opinion there are two important ingredients for maintenance: Good attitude and daily humor. So, let’s stand up – speak out – hold firm and shout BRING IT ON. In the meantime, we must continue to take care of our bodies and souls. To appreciate the simple things in life and believe that God has great things coming our way no matter our age.

Original Thoughts: Giving it Away for Free

2011-02-21T10:41:00.007-07:00

If you've been following my blog, or perhaps read my column in MONTANA WOMAN MAGAZINE, you're aware of how strongly I feel about journaling. Keeping an informal diary may someday lead to a full-blown published and popular memoir.

Memoirs are distinguished by their factual content. The writing style may be narrative or expository. Your topics may include subjects such as history, cookbooks, biography, science, or the humanities.

Memoir is typically a book length narrative nonfiction that describes the personal life history of the writer in such a way that the reader may be inspired, delighted, or informed, through empathy and recognition of universal elements of your life’s journey.

And that is why I'm inviting readers to send a short e-mail letting me know what I'm doing right and wrong with this on-line memoir. I'll narrow down the list to two lucky followers and mail them each a new leather or fabric (bound) journal for their enjoyment. There are no hidden costs. I'll mail it out via UPS to your home here in the USA - no strings attached. It is simply a way of saying thank you for reading... and hopefully the encouragement that leads you to pick up a pen and begin to write your story on the blank pages that I've provided you.

Send your suggestions to bellissimomont@centurytel.net with JA'NEE NEWMAN in the subject line. Now, let the contest begin!

Original Thoughts: Sleep Eludes Me

2011-02-20T13:51:00.006-07:00

I've come to the conclusion that I want to sleep like my dog does. She will stretch out on the couch or futon or dog bed or comforter, let out a long sigh, close her eyes and she's out for the duration. She sometimes runs in her sleep or lets out a little bark and I gently touch her and say,"Shania, it's okay. Mommy is right here."

I envy her. I do everything my doctor suggested, prior to putting my head down on the pillow. I eat early; I exercise even earlier; I don't drink soda nor eat chocolate before bed. I write my tasks down on a tablet near the bed, spritz my sheets with lavender spray and make certain the master bedroom is dark and comfortable. I take an over-the-counter sleep aid (at my doctors' suggestion) and I lay my head down with the full intention of sleeping uninterrupted throughout the night. DREAM ON. It's not going to happen to this old Montana gal.

I'm able to fall asleep for two hours then wake up 2-3 times a night, every night. My mind races, the list in my head goes into bold and underline. I hear noises upstairs, I hear noises outside and I turn to gaze at the alarm clock. I wake up in 1.5 hour intervals - many times just to lie there and watch the moon shine through the mini blinds. The entire time the dog is out for the count. I listen to her snore and although I find it comforting, endearing, and cute - I wonder why I can't sleep soundly?

And then while I'm watching ROYAL PAINS on television (a phony doctor) I hear him say: "If you have tingling in your arms and legs, blurry vision and racing thoughts it could possibly be withdrawal from anti-depressants." And I think OMG when I remember I made an executive decision to wean myself off of doctor prescribed meds. I didn't want to take a pill every day the rest of my life just so I could laugh more, think clearly and sleep like a baby bear. I might have made a terrible mistake!!!

Thank goodness I'm having a complete physical examination next month so I can re-visit the pros and cons of mood altering drugs. But until that time, I'll continue on with the hot baths, clean sheets, dark room, and my childhood prayer of Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep... while the 100-pound black German shepherd snores next to me.

Sweet Dreams

Original Thoughts: Reach Out

2011-02-12T18:22:00.003-07:00

Do you keep a journal of your thoughts, goals and disappointments? Do you wish you had a looking glass and could go back to view your slide show of a life? I believe I have a way with words and more than once I’ve been asked to teach a course on journaling and personal essay.

If you’re looking for someone to read your dusty long forgotten novel – send me an SOS. If you have an empty diary a friend gave to you at Christmas or four birthdays ago, and you want to fill it – contact me. If you have an idea for an article but the flow is wrong and the text flat, I’m just an e-mail “Send” button away.

The freedom of journaling is intoxicating. You can write down your jealous thoughts; you can scribble while jacked up on caffeine. Your words can range from optimism to oppression to outrageous. Pages in your handwriting can lead you to a better understanding of yourself and the people that thread your life. No matter your age or occupation you can write the ragged truth; see that you don’t repeat the same mistakes, and find your way to recovery. Writing may help you heal.

Keeping a notebook or diary is not a nuisance, but a delight. It helps you to never forget. You’re able to arrange your thoughts and, in some cases, these words become comical or dramatic essays that lead to your first published piece. A journal is lasting – it’s speaking your secrets – it’s a link to the past. And, it’s cheap therapy.

If you’re interested about my editing services send me an e-mail with JA’NEE NEWMAN in the subject line. It’s not necessary for you to travel to my home office, as I’m happy to meet you at a local coffee shop anywhere in the Flathead Valley. If you’re out of state we can work via phone; fax; e-mail or snail mail. I’ll bring the tools you need to get started and you decide if one hour is enough, or ten, or twenty.

Unlike my handsome editor who charges $75 an hour - I work on a sliding scale based on your personal circumstances. I’m not in the business to make money hand-over-fist; I’m simply trying to supplement a part time paycheck.

You’ll get good coffee; fine company; and advice from a writer with a proven track record. I am all that... and a bag of chips. As a writer of narrative non-fiction with a completed manuscript making the rounds of publishing houses, I believe I have a lot to offer you as a client. I am a writer, I am an author. I enjoy the pace and challenge of keeping a journal, and welcome new or experienced writers to do the same. My goal as your mentor is to guide you in the simple steps of creating and maintaining a satisfying personal record of your time on this earth.

On this note, I rest my case. I’m here if you need me.

Original Thoughts: Football Fools

2011-02-06T12:45:00.006-07:00

Today is Super Bowl Sunday and I could actually care less. I've never been a fan of football, in spite of the fact I served on my school drill team and was on the field every Friday night.

Too many rules; too many captains; too many coaches; too many flags. I wish I could say I love watching the players with their tight ends, but many of them are HUGE and not in a good way. I am not a fan of jelly bellies, dreadlocks, piling on a player or getting up in someone's face.

I do like half time. I sometimes like the commercials. I love having fun football food here in the privacy of my home. I like cheerleaders and the tricks of their trade. I even like a sports commentator here or there.

I know of Joe Montana and Jerry Rice. I remember the "Frig" and I know that Frank Gifford use to play. I know that Michael Vick is a very bad man... but apparently a very good player.

Football is not my game. Sitting on my butt and watching play-after-play is not my idea of a happy Sunday. But it keeps the husband plugged in so I can continue with quiet household chores or writing something new for the blog.

Perhaps when I'm old and gray (oh, I already am) then I might enjoy a good game of football. But at this point I have no idea what constitutes a good game. I know it's important to make a touch down, and even more critical to kick the ball over the goal post to get an extra point. The only part I do like is the chicken dance or turkey trot a player will do when he gets the point.

In other words, I know nothing of football. On another note, I look forward each year to the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet.

Original Thoughts: I Take the Blame

2011-01-30T19:00:00.004-07:00

I am driven to succeed. I will plan, push, pant to get my tasks done. I will clean the house - wash two loads of laundry - write out nine household bills - read the paper - clean the cat box - brush the dog - fry up a chicken. I would even bake a pie if I wasn't so darn tired.

I apparently cannot leave well enough alone. No one but me sees the dust. No one but me sorts, washes and folds the clothes. I'm the responsible one that pays the bills on time, reads the entire Sunday newspaper, cleans up after kitty and chases the dog with a hair brush. Cooking duties are shared in our home, but it's always the female (that would be me) that does the clean-up. And I'd be happy to bake a pie but the man-of-the-house only likes plain American apple with no frills.

Why is it that I can't sit still for 30-minutes and just breathe, listen to music or read one chapter of a book? I am always doing the multi-tasking mambo. I think I'll listen to a favorite CD then find myself with a duster in hand. I open a book that I discovered in the bargain bin at Borders, start on a chapter when the timer goes off meaning the clothes are now dry causing me to jump up and run to them like a long lost lover.

I am tired of trying to get it all done. I would love to unplug the phone, put the husband in the garage, the cat in the utility room and lock the dog in the master bedroom. I dream of lighting a candle and actually staying in the same room long enough to smell it. I'm like a long legged pony at the gate and wanting to be let out to run with the wind in h/her face.

Could it be I'm just older now and have less energy? Could it be I'm emotionally drained and cannot take one more drama in my life? I started my new job December 15th, is it already time for a vacation? I need a time out. I need room service. I need to throw the bills in the air and have someone else play pick-up.

Its times like these that I crave booze, a back rub, a good book and total silence from all directions. I've come to the conclusion that living life is tiring and full of responsibility. Is this what defines an adult? I'd rather be three and playing in the park.

Well, my ranting is complete. I will now run that bath, paste that vitamin C lotion on my face, light a candle, put on clean pajama's and get ready to watch Desperate Housewives. Maybe their hectic days and passionate nights will bring me some solace.

Original Thoughts: I Kid You Not

2011-01-23T10:08:00.005-07:00

One of the Christmas gifts I asked for was the new Kid Rock "Born Free" CD. I had heard the title song on a television awards show and was moved by the lyrics.

You may have a strong opinion of Kid Rock. Some might think he's a back-country red-necked hick. Others see him as a rapper wanna-be. The man on the street may say he's an ignorant SOB. Some might remember his duet with Sheryl Crowe that rocked their world, and that's all they remember.

I beg to differ. I saw Kid Rock on Larry King some time ago and was mesmerized by his humor, sensitivity, intellect and quick responses. He was believable, he is who he is. He gives thanks to his family and God for his personal challenges and success. I was moved by the one hour interview and thought OMG, much like the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, he really does have a brain.

When I leave for work in the morning, I slip the CD in and crank up the volume. Although his duet with Martina McBride is quite lovely, my favorite song is Born Free. Some of the lyrics are below and I beg you to read, to listen and see him for the good man he is:

"You can knock me down and watch me bleed
But you can’t keep no chains on me
Calm, facing danger
Lost, like an unknown stranger
Grateful for my time with no regrets

Close to my destination
Tired, frail and aching
Waiting patiently for the sun to set

And when its done, believe that I
will yell it from that mountain high
I was born free, born free

I will bow to the shining sea
And celebrate God's grace on thee"

There are other songs that speak of his spirituality as well. So, kind and gentle readers, the CD is well worth the price.

Original Thoughts: Out to Lunch

2011-01-20T12:39:00.003-07:00

Today I was sitting at the reception desk in an attorney's office and playing the part of legal assistant. At one point I started to feel sorry for myself as I'd much rather be at my new job - you know, the one with a future. The new job with the fabulous hours, great days, and superior benefits. However, during my lunch hour I discovered a little card that said this:

Working for God
Work hard and cheerfully at whatever you do, as though you were working for the Lord rather than for people.

Colossians 3:23, NLT

And that answers that.

Original Thoughts: Short Cuts

2011-01-16T13:35:00.010-07:00

Now that I'm back in the workforce five days a week, I see a lot of household tasks take a back seat - bite the dust - fall down to a low number on my list of things to accomplish.

For example: If I'm too tired to change the linens on the marital bed, I change the pillow cases, sprinkle baby powder on the sheets and hit the down comforter with a spritz of Febreeze. If I'm too pooped to vacuum a 2,000 sq. ft. home, I take a carpet sweeper and do the best job I can and try not to care that there are no perfect lines throughout the carpet piles. If I'm too stressed to clean the mirror in the guest bathroom, I blow hot air on the fingerprints, grab a nearby hand towel, rub lightly and call it a day. When I see cat hair on the floor, my first thought is to brush it under the rug. If I see a spider web on the hanging light, I decide to look out the window and watch the snow instead. I just can't deal with it at the moment.

In other words, household tasks I use to enjoy while I was unemployed, are no longer important to me. Let me rephrase. Household tasks remain important to me... but I'd rather sit down and read the paper when I get home from work and leave the mop, the broom, the vacuum cleaner, Pledge and Windex, somewhere out of sight.

Sometimes middle-aged women get bone tired. We smile, we meet and greet, we make the bacon/money and come home to fry it in the pan. No matter the vitamins I take; no matter the seven hours of sleep; no matter the prayer and the meditation; I must be realistic. I am no longer a 28 year old career woman. I'm not 38 and seeing my brown hair turn the color of silver white. I'm not 48 and planning for an early retirement. Gosh darn it, I'm a good looking 59 year old woman back in the saddle again, cashing a paycheck that wasn't sent to me by those good folks in the unemployment office.

So its a good thing. Its a sad thing. Its a realistic thing. Must work to pay bills. Must work to buy food. I'll let you know next week if I'm having fun yet.

Original Thoughts: She Gets It

2011-01-09T12:08:00.007-07:00

The Christmas card that I sent to my folks had two sweet puppies on the front and stated "For Two Wonderful Parents" - - so you can imagine my surprise when my very own daughter sent me the same card. Now keep in mind my relationship with my only child has never been an easy road. When she was growing up I was a single parent, heavily into myself and my Career. I left her father when she was just two and always tried to make it up with things - not always love, attention and affection. Like I said, it was never an easy road. I went on to remarry and suddenly she had a stepfather to compete against. I could go on and fill in the blanks, but then you wouldn't need to read my book. Yes "that" book that I'm still trying to sell on my own.

Let's get back to the subject at hand! Inside the card that my daughter mailed me, she wrote in her very best penmanship the following words:

"I'd like to say thank you to both of you - it isn't easy raising a kid -HA- I know that now. And dealing with one as difficult as I was, well, I'm surprised either of you had hair left. Even though I've gone through every bend in the road, and taken the long way to get here, I finally feel like I've grown into a good person, and I owe a lot of that to you. So, thank you for taking me fishing, and teaching me how to shoot, dragging me (ha, ha) to antique stores on Saturdays, making me get a job, teaching me how to drive, and forgiving my many mistakes. You both may be far away, but some of the lessons you've taught me I use everyday. I love you both. Thanks for being good parents."

It was one of the few times I was speechless - touched - amazed - grateful and crying all at the same time.

Daughter, I thank you for your words.

I continue to love you more than the world.

Original Thoughts: Hope in a Jar

2011-01-06T14:58:00.005-07:00

Have you ever noticed when something goes wrong with your car, everything goes wrong with your car? It starts with the power steering fluid running low, and then you realize the windshield wiper fluid is completely dry. It escalates to a small crack in the lower left of the windshield, and then a rock hits your passenger window and there goes another crater. You hear an annoying squeak, and the next time you’re flying down the highway the car begins to shake, rattle and roll. You notice a lipstick mark on your headliner that you meant to clean six months ago, and the glove box is stuffed full of fast food napkins and dog biscuits. There’s pine needles in the sunroof; bugs cremated on the grill; and the tires look flat. I realize my car and my person have a lot in common.

I try diligently to maintain my rock-hard abs (ha); my soft golden locks (double ha); my shapely thighs (triple ha); and my unlined face (quadruple ha). Maintaining a lean look is now out of my reach. The last time I had a flat tummy was 1968 when I wore a pretend black alligator two-piece and could see my hip bones while laying on Zuma Beach sand.

So what does a middle-aged woman do to look her best? Other than a large knit cap; circle sunglasses; and a black veil there’s really not much you can do to look younger than your years. Alas, fair maidens - do not give up hope. I use deep wrinkle filler; I buy anything on the market that states it will whiten my teeth. I slather myself in lotion after every bath; I take handfuls of Vitamin B-12 to help put on a happy face; I read a daily meditation. I pluck my eyebrows and chin hair every Tuesday night; I ride a stationary bike while watching Nancy Grace; and purchase only relaxed fit jeans. I force myself to eat fruit; eat only light ice cream (what a joke, I only eat more of it); and watch a lot of happy sitcoms. All in the name of maintenance.

I cannot fight getting older. I gaze into my magic mirror, looking long and hard for a sparkle in my eyes that says a young, sweet and fresh Ja’Nee is still in there. And in spite of the face in the reflection looking a lot like my mothers, I see the light and know that my hard work at appearing young and hip does work… some of the time.

Let’s deal with aging gracefully and know our hearts have not changed, it’s just that our skin sags a little more. It’s coming ladies – the years, the tears, the fine lines. I believe there are two important ingredients for maintenance and they are (1)a good attitude and (2) everyday laughter.

I’m going to stand up now and say to the universe “BRING IT ON.” In the meantime, I’ll continue to take care of my body and soul the best way I know. To appreciate simple things; maximize the positive; and believe that God has great things coming my way.

Original Thoughts: Putting 2010 to Rest

2010-12-30T19:18:00.006-07:00

I will be happy to put Year 2010 behind me. The challenges were immense; the roads were weary; the hills high and the valleys low. There were injuries to hearts and hamstrings. There were too many household bills to hold in my hot little hand, and the paycheck was never the dollar amount needed. At one point I had lost my faith... then reeled it back in. At another point I thought the worst was behind me, then my employer of five years fired me with a smile and a pat on the back.

I started taking antidepressants for weeks at a time - then stopped when I thought I might depend on them for the rest of my life. I had thoughts of nasty pangs of withdrawal. I would sleep well one night, then the next evening my thoughts would race and I'd toss and perspire and worry.

There were times I hated my husband, the dog and the cat. I didn't want to fight, I just wanted to take flight and go far, far away. On Monday I would think I looked great for my age - on Tuesday I obsessed about my chicken neck - on Wednesday I would weigh in and love seeing 150 lbs. on the scale - on Thursday I would overeat and want to live in sweat pants - on Friday I would work as a legal assistant trying to leap over buildings - on Saturday I prayed for room service and a bed without pet hair - on Sunday I would fall to my knees wondering if my life was going to be up and down for the remainder of my days.

What I learned this last year is no matter the twists and turns in the road, I can handle it. I move forward and believe that times will get better. I hope and pray that I can remain kind, gentle and understanding no matter what the next challenge may bring. I am living my middle-aged life the best way I know how. I want to trust my judgement and believe in a happy-ever-after.

This year ends on several high notes. I am happily employed! There is a small balance in the checking account. My husband and I will enjoy appetizers and Asti Spumante tomorrow evening, and go out in the snow to light fireworks. Good times are ahead and if they don't show up on my "internal schedule" I'll just take a deep breath, say a little prayer and know that I can take the rough waters.

Happy New Year and safe travels to you.

mtbadgirl51

Original Thoughts: Thinking of You

2010-12-24T12:02:00.005-07:00

I would like to take a moment to thank my followers. This free blog has readers in Belarus, Belize, Denmark, Germany, Malaysia, Netherlands, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Slovenia, United Kingdom, Ukraine and the good old U.S.A. I welcome you to contact me at bellissimomont@centurytel.net with JA'NEE NEWMAN in the subject line and I promise to reply.

The post for today: Last Sunday I caught the following blurb in the "Mallard Fillmore" comic strip and wanted to share it with you.

"It may be politically incorrect...but I'm not trying to offend anybody. I'm just offering to share the very best gift I've ever been given when I say... Merry Christmas. For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, so that whoever believes in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life."

If any of you are offended by this, please remember that Mallard Fillmore is a duck in a comic strip but I personally thought his few words spoke volumes.

Happy holidays from Whitefish, Montana 59937

Original Thoughts: Sweet Success

2010-12-19T12:27:00.005-07:00

On the front page of our local newspaper (The Daily Inter Lake) there was a blurb about the high unemployment rate here in the Flathead Valley. Last month it was 10.8% and now it is a full percent higher. OMG. That means there are approximately 5,000 folks here in the valley that are unemployed.

I no longer fall into that category.

Last Monday morning I was offered a job that I happily accepted. It's a dream job for the life I'm leading at this time. It's a generous pay rate with an automatic increase in 90 days - it's four days a week - I can participate in their 401(k) plan - I get a paid one week vacation at the end of my first year - and I receive 12 paid holidays throughout the year.

With my previous employment in a hospital setting I was one of the top candidates for the position. I pulled a 5-hour shift last Wednesday and it was the perfect fit (just as I had hoped). The office manager and I have a lot in common being punctual, personable, analytical, anal to an extent. She seems caring and considerate... and I hope she sees me in the same light.

I'll now have a paycheck for 20 hours each week at a mental health facility, in addition to my Girl Friday job as a legal assistant. It's a win-win for our little family and a boast to the checkbook. Also a boast to my ego. Statistics report that middle-aged people looking for employment search for approximately 58 weeks.

NOTE: The typical unemployment benefit checks cover a period of 28 weeks.

I was told I'd have great difficulty in finding a job because of my seasoned age. It was suggested to me that I retire early and just call it a day. But in my heart I knew I had much to offer to an employer. I'm a life long learner and I believe that with hard work and good notes, I can compete with any college Barbie doll in the workplace.

I must be honest and state here that prayer played a large part in my success.

I actually prayed over the envelope I mailed out November 16th that contained my cover letter, resume and two letters of reference. I prayed again while driving over to the interview. I said, "Lord, You have written my Book of Life and You know what path I should be on. I trust that You will place me where I need to be."

There never was a 2nd interview. I did not meet the staff. I was hired because I was RIGHT for the position. God knew it; the Site Supervisor knew it; I knew it. And to that one particular woman (back on August 12) who wished me good luck finding an employer that would offer paid vacations... I say NA-NER NA-NER, kiss my grits.

Original Thoughts: Tenacity

2010-12-12T11:18:00.003-07:00

It was four months ago today that my employer of five years PERMANENTLY laid me off. Since that time I've registered with a temp. agency; filed for unemployment; posted my resume to numerous internet job sites; scan employment ads each and every day; and put in an SOS to my Higher Power.

I've had a lot of intense interviews, great feedback and two job offers, but it just didn't come together as I had hoped. I prayed that a "good job, a great job" would find me. My Wish List for new employment looks something like this: 20-32 hours a week in a professional business office - paid vacation after one year - an occasional paid holiday - flexible days and hours - an employer that would respect me - colleagues that would appreciate me. And guess what?

I took an interview Friday afternoon and after a one-hour period with many questions and scenarios, the Supervisor looked me in the eye and said, "You're the one." At the same time I was telling myself, "This is the one." I don't want to jinx my chances...so I will not list the perks of the job...or anything else until I take my second interview with the staff next week. A call needs to be placed to their Polson headquarters and then a job offer will be presented.

I will say the folks at this Kalispell office are a family that believe in lifting up and forgiveness. They are low-key people persons looking for someone to organize them (i.e. excel spreadsheets, forms, presentations, taking minutes at staff meetings). What is so COOL is this new job opportunity would allow me to continue working Fridays as a legal assistant, so it's the best of both worlds.

Perhaps my dream will come true and I'll have that perfect job, that perfect fit. It's been a long four months of beating myself up and maybe now it will be over.

Keep your fingers crossed for this Montana bad girl.

Original Thoughts: Good Medicine

2010-12-08T12:58:00.002-07:00

Sometimes I get caught up in the drama that is my everyday life. I turn frantic like a bird in flight, and my arms flap and my head wants to turn around ala Linda Blair in the Exorcist. There are times I want to stay in bed, let my mascara run down my cheeks and watch the E channel until my eyeballs are due to fall out. Then I remember the best medicine is chicken soup, laughter, warm cookies and good thoughts. So on this snowy day in Whitefish (MT) I'll share with you some of the quips and quotes that make me feel better all over:

Take time to be thankful for your blessings.

Remind yourself that to change your life, you must change your thoughts.

Happy am I, Healthy am I, Holy am I.

It ain't no use putting up your umbrella till it rains.

I deserve all good things life has to offer.

Go ahead and cry. Today's mascara can take anything.

I am alive and natural and growing as God intended.

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than you love yourself.

I stand in the storm and adjust my sails.

Put your rear view mirror down and look forward.

Mind your own business and don't worry about other people so much.

If only we'd stop trying to be happy we could have a pretty good time.

And that, gentle readers, is the lesson for today.

Original Thoughts: I Believe

2010-12-05T11:05:00.003-07:00

Although you might not want to admit it, there will be a time in your life when you throw your hands up in the air and say, "Jesus, take the wheel." With the unemployment rate at a double digit and jobs hard to come by, these economic times are challenging. In my circle of friends, one woman is losing her home of 12 years and one young man had to make the decision to buy milk for the baby or a bundle of wood for the fireplace. It's difficult to put my arms around this.

I started in the workplace when I was still in high school. The only times I found myself without a weekly paycheck was (1) when I fled to San Francisco in 1970 and (2) when I took a year off to stay home with my daughter who appeared in June 1976. Since that time I've had the opportunity to work with some wonderful companies! Many of them offered me paid vacations, sick days, paid holidays, company car, expense account, or a quarterly bonus for perfect attendance. Ah, the times they are a-changing.

I've been working one day a week since mid-August and pulling a small unemployment check as I lost my primary employer due to lack of work. I'm happy to say that our household bills are paid, the refrigerator and coffin freezer full. We are able to make our monthly mortgage payment and pay the heating bill too. We are lucky...so very lucky.

I must give thanks to my Mom who has sent gift checks here and there to help us through the rough patches. But I'm too damn old to be cashing a check from my retired, fixed income parents. I would prefer to pay the Conoco gasoline bill on my own accord. I would rather pay for the new water heater out of our checking account, but you can't wish for green backs and have them magically appear in your check book. Times are tough - but I believe they will pass.

We need to adjust our way of thinking - need to downsize - need to spend less - need to love more. I may not believe in Santa, but I believe in God and this holiday season is the perfect time to stop, listen, and give thanks for what we have right now. Right this minute. Good will prevail.

We will smile again and give more than we take. We must believe that there is a purpose, a lesson to be learned in these hard times. Hold onto to the ones we love and the ones that love us back. Even learn to love the ones that have hatred in their hearts and much sadness in their eyes.

I believe that people are good and times will be better. Put a little love in your heart and believe all will be well, all will be good again.

My Thoughts: The 70's Are Real to Me

2010-11-26T13:03:00.004-07:00

In the course of the last two weeks I've had 38 New York agents reject my query letter, biography, writing credentials and pooh-poohed my one page synopsis. But I say, BRING IT ON. Trying to hook a reputable book agent is like fishing - it just takes one good bite; one good hook up and you're jumping up and down in the aluminum boat.

One agent was curious about my time in the ghetto. Let me rephrase...the agent wanted a sample of my writing while I was living on Haight Avenue. I sent her the diary entries you will see below. I wait now for the obligatory 6-8 weeks for a reply:

Living as a hippie is difficult yet empowering. Our four-room slum apartment has one window, a single mattress serving as a couch, and a hand-me-down Samsonite card table for eating. There is incense, candles, posters on the wall, and a black light in the bathroom for the day-glow paint on the footed tub. There are street drugs and plenty of suspicious characters walking the neighborhood. Some wear platform shoes, flowing capes, and flash rolls of cash on the street corner.

We're out of food and I go upstairs to my friend, Cyndi, for a loaf of her homemade bread. Although her apartment isn’t nearly as picked up as mine (she has a rabbit and a seagull living in the front room), her door is always open.

There are cockroaches in our apartment. I fill bowls of sugar and put them in the cupboards for these creepy-crunchy monsters. At least I know where to look for them each morning. The trash guys won’t come into our yard as we have two Dobermans, a German shepherd, and a basset hound.

We sell mescaline in the city for the rent. There is little food in the house and we eat mostly potatoes. Our neighbors, Jack and Liz, give us a small frying chicken and a pound of bacon. A shower curtain divides their kitchen from the living room, and Liz wears hot pants while she cooks. They are good people and poor like us.

I take LSD and the Dobermans turn into new wet colts. The surrounding apartments look 3-D and I’m frantic I’ll never be straight again. We keep the windowpane acid in the refrigerator. I’ve gained 15 pounds on potatoes and munchies, and William won’t take me anywhere when I’m stoned because he said I’m a huge bust. I’ll go on an ice cream diet to lose this bubble butt. I’m 5’8” and 133 pounds.

I have a birthday party for William and there are lots of drugs in the house. We take plastic bread wrappers, tie them together like a rope, and hang them from the ceiling. After I place a bucket of water under the rope, we set the plastic on fire. It lights up pretty fast and the sparks fall into the water. The colors and sounds are amazing. We live in an old Victorian house and have no fire extinguisher. If the ceiling catches fire, we’ll grab the drugs, the pets, and a few clothes.

We play dominoes, lie in the hall, and stare at black light posters. I’m tired and miss my parents. The cockroaches eat better than I do. William finally gets a job as a night clerk in a supermarket. I want out of this apartment and the slum I see every day. The houseplants die and there’s dog shit everywhere. I resent him smoking cigarettes, and the pot and acid and bennies I take are affecting my hair, complexion, and body fat.

Inge, the lady who runs the bakery, offers me the apartment over her garage. She feeds me lunch because she knows there’s no food at home. She calls William a dirty Chinaman although he’s English/Irish. I daydream about her offer but I don’t have enough money to make it on my own. I want to get pregnant so I flush my birth control pills down the toilet. We've lived together for eight months and I buy baby things at the local swap meets when he’s not looking.

At age 20, I find myself quite alone and lonely. I have only a high school diploma and no money to call my own. I'm in a forever fog. The drugs are bringing me down but are the only things that bring me pleasure and peace. We still have no couch and only the card table for dining in. There are candles and incense, but little money and no real food. I’d give anything for a macaroni and fish stick dinner, with lemon pudding cake for dessert.

I tell William to get me out of this Alameda hole. San Francisco is ten miles across the Bay and might as well be a hundred miles. I need more space and sun. The plants keep slowly dying. I am, too.

Original Thoughts: Blessings

2010-11-21T11:05:00.005-07:00

For those of you that follow this blog, you are well aware that although I don’t attend a specific church here in the Flathead Valley, I do believe in God. I consider myself as sitting on the fence between reborn Christian and the Lutheran teachings of my childhood. Bottom line is this: I believe there is a higher power and I depend on that same power to get me through any challenge that comes my way.

I am a strong believer in giving thanks. So this post will be similar to my daily prayer, with head bowed and fingers looking like a child’s church steeple.

Good morning Lord, good morning!
Thank you for this day of new beginnings, and thank you for my good health...
Help me to be kind, gentle and understanding...
Forgive me for my sins...
I know with your guidance all is possible, and love heals all.

I’d like you to look down today at my family, friends, neighbors, colleagues and acquaintances. And in some cases, people I’ve never met. Guide them; protect them; comfort them; heal them; forgive them.

Thank you for being a presence in my life...
Thank you for the tests, and let me learn my lessons...
Thank you for my home and family...
Thank you for food in the frig and money in the bank...
Thank you for our jobs and health benefits...
Thank you for the simple beauty that is Northwest Montana.

Help show me the way when I can’t see straight due to stress and worry...
Let me know that I am not alone.

In God’s name I trust, Amen.

Original Thoughts: Do You Juggle?

2010-11-14T19:13:00.004-07:00

At my current weight there is little that jiggles when I walk, except maybe my arm flaps. Although I do remember that I once wore a push-up bra with a sweater dress and when I walked in my pretty high heels my boobs would jiggle... slightly. That was the closest I got to a womanly jiggle. But boy, can this lady juggle.

I throw proverbial plates in the air every day and watch them spin high above my head. I throw them over my shoulder, and under a bent knee and sometimes keep my eyes closed.

My plates have titles: Wife, writer, mother, grandma, pet parent. Friend, temporary employee, housekeeper, cook, check signer. Far away daughter, absent sister, sounding board, prayer partner, frustrated housewife. So many plates to toss in the air and so little time.

I am tired of supporting people, places and things. I want to say yes to GAD [general anxiety order] and take the prescribed medication, then be done with it. I am tired of being strong and upbeat and light and fluffy. I want to say help to the person behind me and have her/him take the load off my shoulders and the pain out of my head.

I remain unemployed - and my husband came home today to announce they cut his hours at work because "things are tight." I made the November home equity loan and realized it was coupon #45 and we need to pay the $319.39 throughout year 2011. This is in addition to our monthly mortgage payment. Thank goodness we have never been late with a payment, have great credit scores and a roof over our head. Nevertheless, It's like a big ugly snake has finally caught up to you, grabbed you by the ankle and is taking you down nice and slow.

I keep smiling. I keep praying. I keep throwing my plates into the air and catch them the best I can. But one day soon I'm afraid I'll watch them all fall to the ground and just walk away. A middle-aged Montana bad girl can only take so much.

Times are hard and emotions can't always be in check. Guess I'm human after all.

My Thoughts: Camo Rules

2010-11-07T12:37:00.005-07:00

I walked out to the newspaper tube this morning, admiring the early morning fog and the gentle rain at 8:00 am mountain time. I took in a deep breath and gave thanks for a new day. The neighbor across the way saw me, waved big and then laughed out loud. I had no indication of what he found so darn funny.

I then looked down. I was wearing moose flannel pajama's, men's mud boots and an over sized camo jacket with the hood pulled up to cover my hair. [There was one wild streak of bright blond and gorgeous gray peeking out of the hood.] I then realized...yikes...I had no make-up on, which typically includes a cover-up stick that supposedly covers freckles, sun spots and raccoon eyes. It's camo for the face.

As Chelsea Handler would say: "I was a hot mess."

I wear camo because it's quiet; light; waterproof; windproof; breathable; durable; comfortable. Most important to me is camo SHOUTS Montana.

The jacket I wore this Sunday morn is not the only article of clothing I own in camo. My hobo bag is camo; my Jeep seat covers are camo; the ice scraper I have is enclosed in a soft mitten of (yes) camo and sheepskin. In the guest bedroom you will find a camo comforter and when the tabby cat lays down on it, you can't see her at all.

Yes, camo rocks my world and I wouldn't change that for the world.

Not-So-Original Thoughts: Gobble it Up

2010-10-31T11:08:00.003-06:00

The following essay ran two years ago and really spoke to women of all ages. With that disclaimer in mind I'm going to post it (slightly refreshed) today. Enjoy!

With the holidays looming before us, I find myself obsessing about food. In spite of prayer and daily meditation, I dream about Cajun turkey stuffed with celery and green apple; corn and oyster casserole; homemade crescent rolls; hot pecan pie with vanilla ice cream. If the weight scale doesn’t break my heart, the guilt will get me for sure.

Throughout the year I enjoy a low-fat breakfast bar each morning; yogurt with granola sprinkled on top for lunch; and attempt to prepare low-fat meals in the evening. I walk three days a week and ride a stationary bike seven miles each night. I'm so bored it hurts! I try to eat in moderation; drink lots of water; decline chocolate and yummy baked goods. Like I said: I'm so bored it hurts. However, I’m realistic and know that my colleagues and friends will soon sabotage my Richard Simmons way of living. I need to blame the holiday feed me/stuff me on anybody but myself.

Thanksgiving will certainly bring excess and gluttony to my neck of the woods. Neighbors may drop by with pies, cookie bars, fudge or decorated cupcakes. I’ll flash a smile and watch as my ladylike hand turns into a shovel of sorts. I’ll eat like there’s no tomorrow because January 2011 will mean tummy crunches, leg lifts, and hot pink hand weights coming out of the downstairs closet.

What I’ve decided to do this holiday season is place “food like” items on my body in an attempt to satisfy my cravings. Let’s start at the top: Strawberry shortcake shampoo and conditioner; eye gel that has the consistency of fresh whipped cream; and face lotion that reeks of cherry cobbler. Then I’ll reach for body lotion the color of baked salmon and elbow cream that peaks like mashed potatoes.

There’s a cream I’ll use for stretch marks, that not only looks like lemon yogurt, but smells like it too. And once a week I plan to treat myself to an avocado and broccoli mask in an effort to get my vegetables in. With all this talk about cream, I’m now craving a piece of pie or cup of hot cocoa, but I think I have a candle that smells like both. Excuse me while I go and light it.

Every jar I open; every bottle I squeeze; every tube I roll reminds me of food. My bathroom smells like a country kitchen on a Sunday morning. Even my bath toys resemble food, with a can of air spray that makes me believe I have something baking in the oven. Now if only there were pizza scented dryer sheets that would give my bathroom towels a faint odor of pepperoni and black olives. On Turkey Day don’t be surprised if you see me push myself away from the table. I plan to step into the upstairs powder room to get my fix of food. I can feed my senses and step on the weight scale with no fear.

Just breathe.

Original Thoughts: Celexa 10 MG

2010-10-24T10:41:00.008-06:00

I had another fitful night, tossing and turning, going through the different lists in my head. I woke up at 2:00a and fell back to sleep an hour later. I woke up again at 5:00a and fell back to sleep an hour later. I did not get out of bed happy, refreshed, hopeful for a new day. I was grumpy, I was angry, I was tired and couldn't blame the dog or the husband. I had even tried putting my concerns in a cardboard box and setting it on a conveyor belt and watch it go away. [This was an exercise I recently read about and I thought I'd give it a try. Didn't work for me, but you might want to try it.]

I have waves of concern. I have tons of guilt. I have loads of worry. I still have not landed a job and the (8) hours of work I get each week is barely enough to buy groceries. My husband puts all but $20 of his 40-hour paycheck into the bank to cover household bills. I miss going to work and bringing home a paycheck. I'm able to stretch the dollars far enough (think taffy candy) and I do manage to cover the mortgage, equity loan, car payment, utilities, credit card debt, etc. My Mom has also sent gift checks which paid our Conoco gasoline bill and bought us a new water heater. Thank goodness for that!

I'm concerned because I'm job searching at 59 years of age and competing with women that are 35 years younger. I feel guilty because I'm accepting a small unemployment check every two weeks. I worry that I won't find a position before my unemployment stipend runs out. No wonder I can't sleep and find myself thinking about the bottle of antidepressants in the cupboard over the stove. 'One pill makes you happy and one pill makes you small' is what Grace Slick use to sing. Don't get me wrong. I'm not thinking of taking the entire bottle and washing it down with a gin and tonic. I'm simply thinking of starting them again so I can sing during the day and sleep like a baby at night.

Earlier this year my doctor prescribed meds for me. I took them for 8-10 weeks and did, indeed, feel a difference. I felt stress melt off my back and caught myself singing little songs for no good reason. I never told my husband (he would freak out) but he did tell me I was more agreeable and he liked the new me. Go figure. I then started to analyze the whole antidepressant mule train and decided I did NOT want to stay on the wagon. I did NOT want to depend on a small pill to help me make it through another day. I did NOT want mood altering drugs in my system... although I would not have made that comment in Years 1970-1973.

I stopped the meds and started taking Gummie Bear Vitamins and extra B-12 during the day and Melatonin each night before bed. I exercised in the early evening for at least 20 minutes, and ate right and prayed each morning. Silly rabbit, I thought I had it all under control.

When I was let go-discharged-fired-terminated-cut loose on August 12 it seemed that my house of cards fell down. I was wounded and felt that my loyalty had been stomped on and my hard work was spit upon. I no longer felt independent and strong. I no longer felt that I had a voice and I knew I had no honest cash to call my own. On the flip side, I was relieved to be out of that particular work environment.

I do not wish to depend on a man or his paycheck. I wish to depend on myself, common sense and street smarts. How can I do that if I'm taking 10 MG of Celexa each evening before bed? Nevertheless, the bottle is still in cupboard and although I think it might just be the happy pill I need, I'm not going to go that route.

I will "Stand with Fists" and get back up for another round. With God's good grace and a nice hot bath, this Montana bad girl will make it. Don't you worry.

POSTSCRIPT:
For those of you wanting to know if the "old money" legal office hired me on, they are still discussing the candidates and will invite a lucky few back for Interview #2.

My Thoughts: Rejection

2010-10-17T18:50:00.003-06:00

I just realized that while I'm job interviewing left and right, I am also sending query letters out to prospective book agents. It's no wonder I hesitate to open my e-mail because I don't know what's coming. It could be "Thanks, But No Thanks" from a well respected New York literary agent, or a "Thanks, But No Thanks" from yet another professional office reporting that although I had great qualifications and outstanding references, the job position has been filled. No matter your age and situation... it is never easy to take a WE WILL PASS.

No doubt about it, I am learning what to say and what to hold back. You can't come on too strong and assertive or they think you're stuck up. You can't be a mouse and act all reserved when going after a bigger piece of the cheese. You don't want anyone to think you're a pushover! You'd like to sing your own praises, but the person reading your book synopsis [or resume] wants to make their own assessment. It's a high and narrow board for any person to walk.

In an interview last week two law firm partners asked me did I leave my last employer on good terms? I told them they could listen to the details of that fateful morning and then make their own decision. I was honest and held nothing back. I explained what went down while my hands rested in my lap, slightly perspiring. To make a long story short, they actually sympathized with me and thought I was the bigger person. But does that open the door to their Kalispell law office? We shall see.

Many times I struggle with my cover letter and polish my resume for the 100th time all in an effort to sound sincere and not too desperate to land a job or a book deal. But it's getting harder to turn the other cheek. It sometimes hurts when they shoot me down. I can be all that I can be and still not be good enough.

I know there's a job out there that will meet my needs. I know there's a book agent out there that will happily take me on as a client. It's a matter of believing in myself and trusting the pages in my Book of Life. I'm not getting any younger here.

I will find out late Tuesday if I land the 40-hour week permanent position with a very reputable law firm. We'll see if I said too much, said too little. Was my interview outfit and manicure good enough? Did I have the perfect shade of lip gloss and did my shoes look new? Was my handshake firm or flaccid? Did my natural gray streaks add interest or concern,i.e. how close to retirement age is she? Did my typing skills and dictation skills impress them? Did my customer service experience work to my advantage? Did they like my speaking voice and "get" my sense of humor? Oh so many questions and concerns.

I want to make an honest dollar. I want to sign with an honest agent. Once I do that I can let go of the rejection coming my way and get on with my life.

Original Thoughts: Feed Me

2010-10-10T13:48:00.003-06:00

The other evening I arrived home at 5:15 pm which is late for me and the pets. When I stepped out of the Jeep I could see one wild turkey on our deck waiting for a hand-out. She has been injured and limps on one foot, hence the title of Hop-a-Long that my husband calls her. [I prefer Little Lady myself]. I throw out a can of bird seed mixed with critter feed for her to enjoy.

I step into our home and the 13.5 pound house cat (name of Sam Marie) is staring me down and not too happy. I immediately open a can of cat food, skim off just 1/4 can per the vet's instruction, and she's now happy as a clam.

I go downstairs and open the basement door. My 95 pound German Shepherd is looking at me with head tilted, saying where the heck have you been Mom? She comes upstairs where I fix her a bowl of kibble, real bacon bits and warm water. Now three pets are happy while I still have my work clothes on. REMEMBER: I work one-day-a-week as a legal assistant while searching for permanent employment.

I realize I am good and hungry and tired. The hubby is out "with the boys" so I'm on my own for the dinner hour. I pour myself a Smirnoff Cranberry & Lime bottled drink and place a Safeway Select $1.69 meal in the microwave. I place the TV tray in front of (what else) the television and settle in for House Hunters. I know that once dinner is over I'll wait 60 minutes then get on my bike for an evening ride.

Life is good. It's all a matter of listening to your body and what YOU need. Once I brought in the mail, fed the animals, fed myself and read the Daily Inter Lake I knew I could settle in for the evening.

That means a good book; a nice hot bath; using Vitamin C toner and moisturizer on my pretty little face; plucking a few chin hairs; flossing my teeth like crazy; and watching Chelsea Lately at 9pm. I enjoy clean sheets on my bed and a night of uninterrupted sleep with the dog in an "S' curve right next to me.

I try diligently to take care of self. By this I mean I take care to keep positive, balanced, hopeful, and give thanks for the good things in my life. It could be a wonderful sunflower that the white tail took a nibble out of, or a sweet tomato that made it through the frost, or an editorial in the paper that made me stop and think, or a cartoon that caused me to laugh out loud.

I may be middle aged. I may be permanently laid off. I may have a few more face wrinkles than the model on the cover of AARP. But I have family, friends, pets, good responses to my cover letter and resume. My husband loves me without my paycheck and God loves me no matter my situation.

Feed yourself to keep sane in these trying 10.10.10 times.

My Thoughts: October-Feast

2010-10-03T10:25:00.003-06:00

As a former SO. CA. resident now living the good life in Whitefish, I see the many changes that have taken place in my life. I left behind family, close friends, a satisfying career, house near the lake and a fat weekly paycheck. Sounds ducky doesn’t it? What it actually brought me was turmoil, head games, stress, a long commute and higher tax bracket.

Living in Montana made me take notice not only of the changing seasons, but that life can take place on a much slower pace. Your neighbor is a friend, all you have to do is wave. The job market may be slow and pay only $11/hour, but your work environment is less stressful. You’re not pressed to keep up with the Joneses because “toys” can’t hold a candle to a happy home, healthy family and a dog lying by the hearth.

We have simple beauty in Montana - by simple I mean big sky, green trees, blue lakes, white snow. It’s back to basics here, and I give thanks each day for home, husband and health. I’m thriving in this second half of life and believe I’ll continue to blossom as a woman and a writer.

When I landed in Happy Valley ten years ago I went into a deep depression, where weight melted off with no effort on my part. I’d rather stay in our basement bedroom with shades down and lights off, then go outside and watch a bald-headed eagle glide by. Oh, the time I wasted feeling sorry for myself! To coin a phrase from my friend, I was a boo-hoo baby. I hated the cold and hated the white that was all around me. I wanted to head back to California as fast as my Mazda sedan would take me.

Over a period of months I made a couple of good friends and felt myself begin to thaw. My heart warmed and I opened my arms to the new environment. I find Whitefish to be peaceful, charming, and surprisingly pristine. Great people with generous hearts, and a beautiful array of critters right in my back yard.

October is my favorite month due to the changing colors of the trees and the smell of fall in the air. On any given morning you may find me outside to say my prayers and give thanks to God. I make certain to send blessings to family, friends, neighbors, and those I had a falling out with. I always give thanks for my journey, and welcome the new pages in my Book of Life. I look around and think if only my California family and friends could see me now!

I am at home with self and that is what I wish for you as well.

My Thoughts: Lillian Dickson

2010-09-27T10:22:00.002-06:00

A penny for your thoughts would buy you this today:

"Life is like a coin. You can spend it any way you wish, but you only spend it once."

Spoken by American missionary (1901-1983) Lillian Dickson

My Thoughts: Full of Emotion

2010-09-26T12:40:00.008-06:00

Family, friends and colleagues alike would not describe me as emotional. For years I have stood straight and tall and taken life "like a man." I turn the other cheek; I see the glass as 1/2 full; I make lemonade out of lemons; I try to see goodness in those that have been cruel.

At times I'm laughing and smiling in an attempt to cover sadness and worry. I'd rather not air my dirty laundry! I'd rather give my day a B+ then a D-. Sometimes we find ourselves living a lie. Sometimes our hearts are breaking as we're telling friends all is well. Denial is a game a lot of us play.

As I grow older I find that I don't want to play anymore. As my x-husband Michael would tell you "It is what it is." I cry reading a wonderful heartfelt passage in a book. I hurt when I see an animal that has been injured in even a small way. I watch Lifetime movies and find tears running down my cheek. I stroke my dog thinking what will I ever do if she is lost to me? Hills and valleys - highs and lows - the good, the bad, the ugly. I always maintained my composure.

When I was permanently laid off [lack of work] I made certain to stand, walk over to my employer and give her a hug. I wished her well and thanked her for the five year run. I did not cry; I did not beg; I did not flush red. I took it at face value. She had no further use for me. I took my small box of personal items and went to my car. Once I was around the corner, I pulled over and let the tears fall. I admired her and promoted her business to each and every neighbor, friend and colleague of mine. I represented her well to the public. And behind closed doors, she snapped her fingers and I happily jumped. In the end she shook me off like a chocolate lab coming out of the lake. Yes, I was hurt then, and yes I hurt now, but I would NOT admit it to your face. Good golly Miss Molly - that's not going to happen.

It didn't take me long to dry my tears and make a plan. I am a strong individual and although I may seem reserved I do have a tender heart. I hope to let all of my emotions come out of the closet some day then write them off to a "senior moment" and be done with it. However, some habits are hard to break and I think I'll do the majority of my crying in the tub as the water runs hot.

Drop me a line and let me know how YOU manage YOUR emotions.

My Thoughts: Peaceful Easy Feeling

2010-09-22T20:11:00.004-06:00

There is so much worry in the world today and I'd prefer not to jump on the band wagon. My thoughts race at times as I try to prioritize people, appointments, commitments, places, household bills and events. Then I must make the time to rest, reflect and give thanks.

I am not fighting cancer. I am not losing my home. The husband seems to like me, really like me. My parents are well and happy. There is enough money to pay our October mortgage and feed the pets. There are still items in the garden that didn't succumb to the recent Montana cold front.

Music plays in our home as dinner simmers on the oven. Wild turkeys come to our door. Neighbors wave and the mail arrives on time. My first unemployment check arrived and $200 went for the Jeep payment and $83 for food. I am blessed with good things as so many others are... but some folks seem to forget to say THANK YOU.

I said my prayers outside today in 45 degree weather. The sky was blue and the corn stood tall in the garden. I gave thanks for all the good things in my life. I gave thanks for the tests and trials that the Good Lord sends me. He/She keeps me on my toes and I know how important it is to listen and learn.

I am content in Montana. I am happy with my life in spite of our finances going up, then down again. There is a man that loves me and a roof over our heads. We have food in the freezer and a little money in the bank. We have our health, our families, our pets and good friends. A peaceful easy feeling to be sure.

My Thoughts: Bedside Reading

2010-09-09T10:52:00.002-06:00

I'm close to finishing A Wolf at the Table by one of my favorite authors, Augusten Burroughs. Although I find each page disturbing and offering little humor, I am propelled to race to the next page to find out what happens.

Yes, it has shades of Stephen King. Yes, it is chilling at times and heartbreaking at others simply because young Augusten is seeking unconditional love from a homicidal (genius) father and a mother who seems talented... but is ill just the same. Under one roof they are all lost to one another and the outside world.

Pets loved and lost - his brother absent most of the time - his mom typing her memories behind closed doors, and his father living in the basement watching TV and peeling his skin off in sheets. Not an easy read, but I find myself caught in the web of this memoir.

Once I finish this powerful book, I'll pick up The Federal Siege at Ruby Ridge by Randy and Sara Weaver. Little did I know that Sara lives here in the Flathead Valley and was recently featured in our local newspaper. She has not forgotten the drama, but readily forgives those involved and wants us to do the same. Interesting concept.

I love to read big, fat, heavy, hardcover books. Especially if located on the clearance table at Borders! People Magazine and Writer's Digest will satisfy me for one hour or less, then it's time to get to the good stuff. The meat and potatoes so to speak. Opening a book may open your eyes; expand your horizons; change your view; lead you to a better understanding of the world and its inhabitants.

Virginia Woolf said it best:
"Every secret of a writer's soul, every experience of his life, every quality of his mind, is written large in his works."

I rest my case.

My Thoughts: Congrats to Mom & Dad

2010-09-08T11:34:00.004-06:00

CELEBRATING 60 YEARS OF MARRIAGE TODAY

Bob and Donna Smith of Simi Valley met in March of 1950 in their home town of Chadron, Nebraska. They married six months later on September 8th, the day after Bob’s birthday, with the ceremony taking place in Rapid City, South Dakota. Both are retired: Bob from Rockwell International and Donna from Vons Grocery Company.

Bob and Donna moved to California in 1952 where they lived in Reseda for over 45 years. The Smiths then moved “over the hill” to a gated community in Simi Valley, where they enjoy visiting numerous parks and the Ronald Reagan Library. They have one cat by the name of KiKi and looking to adopt another.

They have two children: Sandra Bellissimo (aka writer Ja'Nee Newman) of Whitefish, MT and Robb Smith of Moorpark, CA. They are blessed with six granddaughters and three great grandchildren (one boy, two girls).

Their recipe for success: Always nod yes... even if you don’t mean it.

My Thoughts: I've Got What it Takes

2010-09-05T13:00:00.007-06:00

I watched the last two hours of Titanic last night and one phrase Jack & Rose said numerous times at the end of the film was "Never give up; never let go." At this time of my life those words lift me and make me stronger.

It was challenging to smile and welcome yet another birthday when I was permanently laid off just 14 days prior. It was difficult to tell the grandchildren no Made in Montana gifts this year due to my unemployment status. It was heartbreaking to have to open the mail box and see there was no unemployment insurance check there waiting for me. It was humbling to go on yet another job interview and know my cover letter and resume was battling it out with dozens of other women and men in the same darn boat. It was tough giving my husband a low dollar amount for groceries (no carte blanche) because I somehow disappointed my former employer and therefore lost $300/week before taxes.

On the flip side something else happened: I feel lighter - I feel better - I feel relieved - I am more relaxed these days because I AM DONE with that part of my work history. It was a good run, but actually time to move forward. I know a good job... no, a great job... is just around the corner. An employer that will knock my socks off and give me enough space to show them my stuff. I will give my new employer undivided attention, loyalty, humor, gusto and a bunch of other feel-good things. All in addition to my job description duties and obligations.

In the meantime, I will watch the corn grow and the blue jays play dive bombers. I will feed wild turkeys and put bread out for the chipmunks. I'll play ball with the dog and scratch the cat behind her ears. I will dust the house a little more often and read my book outside in the meditation garden. I will love my husband and give thanks for a roof over our head. I will move forward and know that something better, perhaps grander, is on the horizon.

So bottom line is this:
This Montana woman (unemployed but not unattractive) will never give up; will never let go. I will let God gently guide me to where I'm suppose to be at this crossroad in my life. No matter my mature age, I continue to grow and learn. So can you!

My Thoughts: Practice Makes Perfect

2010-08-29T11:18:00.003-06:00

If you’re a woman that prefers not to handle a firearm, skip this posting.

Today I wanted to share my shooting range experience, simply to let you know that you, too, can learn to fire a gun and like it. A newspaper caption caught my eye some months back. It proclaimed: “Armed 85-year-old Woman Makes Intruder Call Cops” and I say, you go girl. I want to be like that woman when I grow up! I do not keep a gun at my bedside, but if I did I would be the first person to wave it in front of any person that’s in my house without permission. If the dog doesn’t get you first, I’ll be right behind her. Please note that I won’t be using a .22-caliber revolver like the little old lady, but a 9 mm Glock or the .45 that I use at the range.

My husband has taught me to treat guns with reverence and respect. Before we were married he asked that I go out to the California Mojave desert with him and learn to shoot a .22 and a .38 handgun. Because I was trying to make a good first impression, I said sure, no problem. However, I wasn’t prepared for the weight of the gun; nor the sounds reverberating back from the canyon and boulders. I was told to aim at a bottlebrush plant of some sort, and no matter how hard I tried, and how large the plant, I couldn’t hit it for the life of me. I thought to myself, why am I out here making believe I can shoot a gun? Me with the pretty manicure; gold stud earrings; designer boots; and size 10 Levis. What was I trying to prove? Guess I was attempting to make the new man see me as the outdoorsy type.

Now lets move forward 23 years where you find Ja’Nee living in Whitefish, and going to a members only shooting range. My husband has provided me with ear protection; safety glasses; a belt; holster, 9 mm firearm and two magazines. Now these magazines resemble nothing like the People and Writer’s Digest I read at home! They are two black rectangular cylinders that hold numerous rounds of ammunition. He shows me how to “tap and rack” the magazines into place, and put a first round into the chamber. He places me in front of a target strategically placed 5’-7’ away. [For the record, I told him I would not shoot a turkey or squirrel paper target, so he stapled up a large sheet of a menacing man.] When he first handed me the gun I held it straight out ahead of me...like I was holding a dead fish. I wanted it to be very far away from my body. Just the look of a Glock; the texture of it; even the odor on my hands after handling it was something that made me feel small and afraid. With much patience and guidance from the hubby I began to relax my hands; hold the gun correctly; lean towards the target and not back away like a sissy-girl. I’ll admit that more than once a casing hit my cheek, and once it went down the front of my shirt. I'M NOT JOKING! This really happened, and that darn brass was warm to the touch. My husband had to repeat again and again; wrap your fingers around the pistol grip, and make sure your thumbs are down and to the left so the slide action doesn’t pinch you. He would also suggest that I not stop shooting after one round; asking me to fire 4-5 times in rapid succession, even to empty the barrel to get the feel of the 9 mm and .45. At all times he stressed safety and respect for the firearm and the surroundings.

At one point I stopped to take a mental photograph of this experience. Here was a fifty-nine year old grandmother wearing enormous ear protection; safety glasses; a holster; a belt that didn’t quite fit; holding what is commonly referred to as a dangerous weapon. I was aggressively shooting at an ugly man-target in the hills of Columbia Falls and I felt good. I felt vindicated; in control; happy that I had learned a new skill. Later that week a close friend asked me if a person broke into my home would I shoot at their legs and call 911? I told her, without hesitation, I would aim for the largest part of the body and empty the gun. My husband is teaching me to shoot with controlled breathing and a good form. He wants me to feel comfortable with a firearm, and to stay cool and keep smart. I learned my lessons well.

So go ahead and shoot...don't be afraid. Cowgirl up or get out of town.

My Thoughts: Idle Hands

2010-08-22T11:22:00.005-06:00

Now that I've joined the ranks of the Flathead Valley unemployed brigade, I have extra time on my hands. I am not one to sit on the couch, plug into the Lifetime channel, and blow my nose like a big blubber boo-hoo baby. Oh no! I come up with one little project a day. I need to believe I have an important task to complete and hold onto the fact that I have somewhere to go. This could be what some shrinks call identity crisis.

Nevertheless, I have organized the pantry - the linen closet - the spices on the lazy susan. I have turned the mattress over - washed the kitchen floor with Ajax liquid - then as it dried I trimmed back the primrose bushes outside the door. I have balanced the checkbook daily - emptied the trash whether it needed it or not - and ran a load of laundry. Busy mind and busy hands.

I was invited to interview for a medical receptionist position and should hear back early next week. My only concern is the young physician that did the initial interview said I reminded him of someone's mother. OPPS! If you're over the age of (40) you never want to hear that phrase but, instead, want to run for the hills.

I work one day a week as a legal assistant and the money goes for our groceries. Thank goodness I have something coming in. Although the spouse always crows that he wants to be the primary bread winner, now that its in our face he's beginning to feel the stress. I told him no matter what happens, please don't double up on his blood pressure medication. It will all work out.

I am positive something good is coming my way. In the meantime I'll continue to enjoy a cup of coffee on the front deck in the early morning, and a highball every-other-evening as I sit outside and watch the corn grow.

My former employer might have taken the air out of my balloon but I am resilient and believe that when God closes a door, He opens a window. I spend a lot of time near the window waiting for the opportunity to jump into a new career. All I want is an employer that VALUES me; lets me accrue earned vacation time; and pays me an occasional holiday like everybody else in the office. My former boss remains in my daily prayers and I continue to wish her health and happiness. Truly, I do.

Must publish this post then empty the desk in the den - pull out drawers in the bedroom dresser - go through the basement chasing down my winter clothes because there's a chill in the air and our NW Montana sun is going down a lot earlier than before.

Ja'Nee remains hopeful and enthusiastic. I believe a grand opportunity will soon appear. Fingers crossed.

My Thoughts: The Wisdom of Willie

2010-08-19T11:52:00.005-06:00

Once each year I update my informal Last Will and Testament. I do this just in case I go down with the plane and I'm not the one who makes it out with her luggage and signs a deal with People for that all-important Interview with Crash Survivor.

I am not fearful of death, but would love to publish my book before I bite the big one. More specifically, publish both Volume I and II. Recently I read a quote in Parade Magazine from the marvelous Willie Nelson on the subject. Here is what the great man had to say:

"Death is not the ending of anything. I believe all of us are only energy that becomes matter. When the matter goes away, the energy still exists. You can't destroy it. It never dies. It manifests itself somewhere else. We are never alone. Even by ourselves, we are not alone. Death is just a door opening to somewhere else. Someday we'll know what that door opens to."

His final thought in the article: "I believe that," he affirms. "I really do."

And Willie, so do I.

My Thoughts: Woof Woof

2010-08-15T18:43:00.004-06:00

If you've been following my blog you know I read memoirs of all kinds. I have an envelope full of wish list titles and author blurbs that I review every week or so.

Fiction does not interest me - utter the word "novel" and suddenly I am deaf to you. Pretend does not grab and lead me. Pretend doesn't move me - cannot hold me.

Memoir is my juice - my mojo - it takes me into other people's lives so I can say OMG I'm not the only one who stuffed pink toilet paper into her bra at age 14.

I've read memoirs since my early 20's and I'm not about to change now. However, not too long ago I found myself looking at paperback books at Target without my glasses.

I picked up a paperback book; read the reviews on the back; took a long look at the picture on the front; then bought the darn thing. Lo and behold, a novel.

I am impressed - I am in love with author Merrill Markoe who called her treat walking in circles before lying down (she choose not to use CAPS).

I finished page 60 just today and the book has wormed its way into my heart. I have a dog - she's my very own pet - she loves me best. She completes me.

The message here is old dogs (I'll be 59 on August 26) can learn new tricks. Oh, and speaking of new tricks - I am officially unemployed as of August 12th at 9:33 AM.

Yes, be careful what you pray for. Please refer to my personal essay posted on August 8th wishing and praying for a new life. Well it's here and it's live.

Gentle readers: I will not play the part of dead dog, I'll land on my padded feet in a new job where my efforts and loyalty and shiny coat will be loved and respected.

Good dog. Sit Ja'Nee. Stay. To contact this you're nothing but a hound dog author please use new primary e-mail address bellissimomont@centurytel.net.

Happy tails. No... I meant happy trails!

My Thoughts: Stress

2010-08-08T07:48:00.004-06:00

I've come to the conclusion that if I didn't work outside of the home, I would certainly have less stress in my life. At home I know the routine and can change it at whim. I'm in control, or if I'm feeling like a young pretty blonde, I can hand the reins over to the husband (no offense Barbie dolls). The only moods I have to suffer through are my own; the dogs; the cats; and occasionally the spouse will have a mini melt-down and I'm there to pump up his moral.

If I could put in a day at the office, come home and sit in a hot tub with a tall gin and tonic,I think I'd be okay. But that's not about to happen unless my Montana Cash scratch-off ticket is a winner. So what I do is this:

I step out to my meditation garden, take a seat and watch our corn grow. The garden is a nice little spot that hubby carved out between two mature trees. He then poured pebbles, set up three wind chimes and made a little table out of a tree trunk. While sitting there you're hidden from the road and any foot traffic going down the alley.

The corn; tomatoes; sunflowers; and phony plastic owl are directly in front of me. I can listen to the tripod sprinkler doing its thing, watch the crows fly, enjoy the blue jays screech at one another, listen to the chipmunk on top of the garage, or enjoy the wild turkeys that visit our yard every day. I can think; I can breathe; I can dream. I can pray; I can cry; I can close my eyes.

It's a wonderful place - yes, it's a wonderful life! Living in NW Montana, owning a home in Whitefish; enjoying the pace of the Flathead Valley; sitting quietly in Happy Valley and giving thanks for all that God has given me. I can say aloud: This too will pass... I will weather the storm. (Phrases I learned at my mother's knee).

So I continue to dream about taking an early retirement in February 2011, but in the real world I realize I must continue to work and earn an honest dollar. But if I've had a trying day at the real estate office, or if playing legal assistant has me dog-tired you know where you can find me.

Watching the corn crow. Guess you can take the girl out of Nebraska but you can't extract the cornhusker out of the girl.

My Thoughts: Perfume of Skunk

2010-07-31T10:47:00.006-06:00

My husband and I go through a lot of air fresheners in our two bathrooms. I can blame the cat; I can blame the chili; I can blame the Chinese food; or even the scrambled eggs I had that morning. It’s always important that I have a can of “fresh air” for my upstairs lavatory.

However, I have recently noticed that the product names tend to have the word “explosion” in the description. Today the aerosol can reads "Fruit Explosion" and only God knows why. I am somewhat familiar with the produce section at our local Safeway and this air spray smells like no fruit on display.

Why not call it Field of Daisies; Cherry Blossom Time; Vanilla Wafers; Apple Pie; Orange Delight; Caramel Coffee; or Fresh Baked Cookies. I would rather the restroom reek of something light and wonderful than Explosion of Coconut. I realize that house guests may be confused when smelling chocolate chip scones coming out of the can they just used to freshen the air. They might ponder “Is this the powder room or kitchen?" Nevertheless, Fruit Explosion doesn’t work for me or the cat.

My Thoughts: I'm Like a Fine Wine

2010-07-25T13:37:00.003-06:00

Birthdays scare women into doing the unimaginable. Becoming another year older may cause an honest woman to lie about her age or marital status. She might fib about her weight, or have a senior moment and forget she has three grandchildren. Females of a certain age try to put a Thelma & Louise distance between Year 2010 and the year they graduated from high school. A real woman has the ability to look into a magnifying mirror and disregard crow’s feet; parentheses around the mouth; sun spots on the nose; brown patches in the middle of her forehead. This middle-aged Montana bad girl says let’s maximize the positive and ignore the obvious. Growing older sucks and I hate any phrase that has the following blurb in it: “Due to the aging process you can expect blah.” I don’t want to hear it - heck, I’m living it.

I may be a baby boomer past her prime, but I look damn fine! I weigh twenty pounds less than I did on my wedding day twenty years ago! I eat in moderation throughout the week; weigh myself every Friday morning before coffee; and then eat what I desire over the weekend. This system works well for me. At the dignified age of 58 (soon to be another year older) I am 5’6’ and weigh a fabulous 151 pounds. A perfect size 10 but please be aware that this didn’t happen without a real struggle.

I use magic potions on my face at night and mineral powder in the daylight hours. Although my eyes may crinkle like Mrs. Claus on a good day, at least I have my own teeth. There’s makeup to camouflage dark circles under my eyes; support panties to keep my cookie-dough tummy in; Levi’s that offer a slimming panel for my caboose. I’m here to tell you that women over fifty have options if they open their minds and (sometimes) their pocketbooks.

I was born August 26, 1951 and graduated from high school in the summer of ’69. At the time I was close to 5’8” and weighed 118 pounds with natural brunette hair that came to my waist. However, at my present age I’m beginning to blossom, and sometimes feel like I’m in the midst of an important transformation. I part my short boy hair cut on the side after years of spiking it up. It’s full of wide silver white streaks, some artificial and some my very own. I changed the style and color of my everyday eyeglasses. On occasion I’ll wear green eye shadow and liner in an effort to get away from my favorite lilac color. I brush my eyebrows carefully so they stand at attention to give my face a youthful inquisitive look. I use a lip plumper on my sliver of a top lip, and a blush called Glee so I can look young and fresh again. It’s called tricks - smoke - and mirrors and I’m here to say I’m not going to give up. I’m here to say I’m not going to throw in the towel. In the end it’s about attitude, hope, and acceptance. I think I ROCK and I certainly feel attractive, though not secure enough to wear a hot pink t-shirt that shouts Sexy Grandma. I hope I can continue to see the good in me; the wisdom of aging; and accept that I can never go back. But I do enjoy looking at pictures of Ja’Nee/Sandra Lee at age 19 with a flat tummy, smooth skin and hazel eyes that had yet to see the world.

I choose not to lie about my age! I’m a proud middle-aged woman with grandchildren and a much younger husband. I laugh at myself and life-in-general, and if you promise me a caramel latte and a cinnamon roll I’ll tell you all my secrets. I give thanks daily to a Higher Power for the opportunity to be living in this moment. And to be honest with you, I can’t wait to see where my Montana journey takes me.

Not so bad for a woman who carries an AARP card and wears bifocals for reading.

My Thoughts: 7.28.90 to 7.28.10

2010-07-18T11:35:00.004-06:00

Husband #3 and I are due to celebrate 20 years of marriage. I must admit I was the first one in line shaking my head and saying IT WILL NEVER LAST.

I am a perfectionist; I am an order freak; I border on being the Mistress of Control. Many times his best efforts do not meet my high expectations. I can be a bitch; a baby; a bummer; a beast. It’s not easy living with a middle-aged woman who was born under the Virgo moon.

Sometimes I do chores better – quicker – sharper than the Mister. It’s simply smarter to do it myself. Like take out the trash before the can is too heavy; wipe down the kitchen countertops before/during/after the meal; wipe the dust off the TV screen; skip the junk mail; pay the bills one week before the due date.

I label myself “E”fficient. There are times when my husband means well, but he fails to take action quickly enough to satisfy me. Sometimes it gets done – most times not. It’s called procrastination and it’s a slice of the marriage pie.

I’m what they call a "Type A" personality meaning I push myself to succeed at any task. After 23 years of togetherness, my hubby is well aware of this… plus the fact he can’t change me. Trust me, you don’t want to live with a baby-boomer perfectionist that might have forgotten to take her soy hormone replacement pill.

I feel my husband’s pain, I really do. But there are some days I wish he’d take notice of the little things I do. I’m like a magical elf. The coffee pot is set-up the night before; his clothes washed, folded and put away every Sunday; household bills with the appropriate amount of postage; a new roll of bathroom tissue; his ice tea glass full. The list goes on and on and on. I also tend to exaggerate.

Ah yes, the magic of marriage. Trying to read minds – anticipate our partner’s needs – our many efforts to fulfill their every wish. Marriage is not an easy task. It’s a lot like an off-road jeep ride. There are sharp turns, sudden stops, hills, streams, rocks, a boulder or two. You just need to brush yourself off; wipe the grime from your face; keep the tank full and have a general direction of your final destination. Don’t forget your seat belt, as many folks bail out before the road trip is over.

In closing let me say this:If you happen to be driving down a back alley in Happy Valley on July 28th and you see a couple dancing in the kitchen with pretty silver goblets, that would be me and the much younger husband. In spite of his comment the other day [“What does a zipper and your mouth have in common? You can’t close either one”] I love this man, and want to thank him for sticking with me in good times and bad.

My Thoughts: Need Agent

2010-07-13T19:20:00.005-06:00

I have given much thought to what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be a published book author. It is not enough that I've published 90 personal essays in a wonderful magazine, and it is not enough that 4,000 words of my memoir have received two honorable mentions from well respected publications.

I want an agent that believes in my product! I want an editor that steers me in the right direction. I want a publishing house that will ship out copies of my book to all the hip stores and those many nondescript ones.

I want to edit over and over and over again. I want to assist in the selection of the font style, size, color and book jacket. I want to make road trips in my 2006 Jeep Liberty and visit NW Montana book stores. I want to sign copies of my book for interested parties (praying that if I write it, they will come.)

My former agent insisted she tried to sell my memoir for close to four years. My former agent insisted there was little interest in the diary, but couldn't provide me with a list of the N.Y. movers and shakers that said no thanks. Funny that my former agent sold two of her own books while never bothering to read the many revisions in my manuscript. Revisions she suggested I pay someone to do for me. I'm long over it.

I'm back to revising my query letter for the 110th time. I'm researching the websites of several agencies in an attempt to find a reputable literary agent I feel I have a connection with. I want the agent to read the completed manuscript and think OMG, this is great material and we need Ja'Nee Newman for our stable of writers. Quick-like-a-bunny, send her an e-mail with our offer of representation.

Its not the money. Its not the prestige. In my heart of hearts I know that I am a book author. I believe I was born to write and to share and to help.

It is now time for me to take the wool mittens off and get serious. Just because one bad apple rained rotting seeds on my parade, doesn't mean there's not a peach of a agent that's just itching to sign a author with a great voice and a firm platform.

A blurb I recently read said this: If you've got one foot in yesterday and one foot in tomorrow, you're straddling today - pissing all over it rather than living in it.

I need to get on with it and will keep you posted.

My Thoughts: Fireworks

2010-07-04T09:33:00.002-06:00

A friend recently told me that she doesn't know how to communicate with her husband. She doesn't want to scream; she doesn't want to yell; she doesn't want to threaten; she doesn't want to talk. I guess she thinks it will just go away and one day she and hubby will freely communicate and all will be well. She is so very wrong, but I write it off to her age and due to the fact she's been married less than a year.

In my opinion, if you have no communication with your partner and there is no intimacy in your marriage, I don't believe it will last without a tremendous amount of resentment. It's the elephant in the room. You know the relationship is suffering a flat line on the register; conversation is sporadic yet civil; you step on eggshells around your spouse; you know all their stories; you air kiss them goodnight; and the only time the marital bed squeaks is when the dog climbs in.

So why does someone stay in an unhappy marriage? I believe it's because two people have built a home together; have history that no one else can understand; have hope that this too shall pass. In the scheme of things, one year of sad marriage doesn't blow out the other nine or nineteen years.

But, still, sometimes a Mr/Mrs will miss the fireworks of a passionate union.

My Thoughts: Quick Reference

2010-06-27T08:45:00.002-06:00

Dear Kind & Gentle Readers:

I have recently added a "Gadget" to my blog. It's a new search box which I've titled SEARCH MY THOUGHTS. It's a great addition and will help get you to where you want to go. Simply type in a topic that you want to read My Thoughts on, and one or more personal essays will appear. I love anything that cuts to the chase, and I know you will too.

If I have yet to write on a particular subject, go ahead and send me an e-mail with your request. I'm happy to write something and will dedicate it to you on the blog.

No topic is off-limits - hey, a woman likes a good challenge. Or she should!

My Thoughts: Tough Times

2010-06-25T08:45:00.002-06:00

Step #11 - Page 109 - Publication The Infinite Self:

Believing is vital - believing in the miraculous, believing in the righteousness and sacred nature of your journey. Notice the abundance. Notice the beauty. Move constantly to where there is serenity, where the God Force dwells, and away from discord and ugliness.

My Thoughts: Self-Medication

2010-06-17T12:14:00.006-06:00

I will be the first person to tell a stranger that I have an addictive personality. I must stop at one glass of wine or I'll have two more and make a complete fool of myself. That will lead to a severe headache the next morning and I take this as God's punishment for me feeling a little buzz. In the good old days (say, when I was in my late 20's) I would have hard liquor wherever I could find it. It would be a tequila sunrise at the bowling alley at 11:00 am; a bloody mary at the local hamburger joint at 4:00 pm; a night cap of Kahlua and cream on my front porch at 9:00 pm after my little girl went to bed. If I missed the booze at night, I'd throw it in my coffee the next morning. At one time I could tell the time without wearing a watch, due to the fact that my body was screaming for alcohol.
Then I switched to food.

My weight went from 145 to 180 in no time at all. I ate everything sitting directly in front of me and whatever was left on my girlfriend's plate. I would have candy in the morning with my coffee; greasy chips for a snack before lunch; a big sandwich and cookies for the noon hour; lots of red meat and cheese for dinner; then end my night with caramel popcorn. No booze for me...but I was a tub-of-lard.
Then I switched to anti-depressants.

The doctor said it would calm me, help me to sleep, make me more "agreeable" to work colleagues, friends and family. What he failed to say was the meds would run through by body like electricity and make me laugh at the wrong moments and make me cry out of control for no good reason.
Then I switched to religion.

I tried Christian Science. I tried New Age. I tried Lutheran. I tried Baptist. But in my heart, no amount of song, prayer, hand-clapping, speaking in tongue, or putting the blood of Christ on my front door was helping my mood or situation.
Then I switched to sex. It's in the book.

After struggling through my 30's and 40's I learned something called "moderation" in my 50's. I don't say no to booze, I just sip one glass for a very long time and call it a day. I don't say no to fatty food, I just have 2-3 bites of the bad choice item, then take the dish to the sink. I try to exercise 15-30 minutes five days a week to keep in shape. I do, however, say absolutely no to mood-enhancing drugs. I want to take everything in and cope with it the best I can.

I'm still open to therapy but at this point, writing in my journal helps and I hope to post more personal thoughts on the blog regarding the hills and valleys of my life.

So if you're reading this now and feel hopeless that you cannot stop drinking, gorging yourself, taking mood-altering drugs, or your knees hurt from all the time you spend kneeling on the floor in prayer - - trust me. It all balances out in the end.

My Thoughts: Truth

2010-06-13T09:18:00.002-06:00

When I opened my e-mail this morning I found a note from my favorite mother-in-law and it made me chuckle. I cannot turn back time no matter what Cher says, and although I try hard to soften the lines around my eyes and mouth, the truth is AGING is here and I can't shake it off. So I open my arms, open my mind, and give thanks for another day in sunny Whitefish MT and laugh while I read the nuggets below:

~ You and your teeth don't sleep together.

~ Your back goes out, but you stay home.

~ You wake up looking like your driver's license picture.

~ It takes two tries to get up from the couch.

~ Your idea of a night out is sitting on the patio.

~ Happy hour is a nap.

~ It takes longer to rest than it did to get tired.

~ Your memory is shorter and your complaining is longer.

~ Your address book has mostly names that start with DR.

~ The pharmacist has become you new best friend.

~ Getting lucky means you found your car in the parking lot.

~ It takes twice as long to look half as good.

~ Everything hurts, and what doesn't hurt, doesn't work.

~ You look for your glasses for a half an hour, and then find that they were on your head all the time.

~ You sink your teeth into a steak --- and they stay there.

~ You get two invitations to go out on the same night, and you pick the one that gets you home the earliest.

~ You give up all your bad habits and you still don't feel good.

~ You confuse having a clear conscience with having a bad memory.

My Thoughts: Say Good Night

2010-06-11T08:09:00.004-06:00

My maternal Grandmother lived to be 100 years old and was well aware of her accomplishment. She called me from Chadron (Nebraska) the morning of her birthday to report she was having not one, but two, birthday parties that very same day. One party would be held by staff at her assisted living facility; the other party would be immediate family coming over for cake and punch. She asked me, "Sandra, do you know how old I am today?" I replied, "Yes, Grandma you're 100." She laughed and said, "No, honey, I'm just nineteen" followed by sweet laughter. Her last words to me were, "Sweetie, I love you." Grandma passed away one week later.

Many of us believe she held on for that milestone birthday. It was a wonderful wrap-up to a wonderful life. I miss her voice, her cards and short letters, her homemade fudge, her fried fish, and seeing her in the family swimming pool. But I know she's with her husband "Slim" and all the family and friends that went to Heaven ahead of her to pave the way.

When I step out onto our deck, gaze up at the Montana flag waving in the northwest wind, I think of my Grandma Dau every June. Heck, I think of her every day.

Much love to you and Grandpa.

My Thoughts: War

2010-05-30T10:57:00.006-06:00

I am not strong on government nor history, and could have been quietly filing my nails or writing love notes while the good teacher stood at the head of class and gave the speech of her/his life. My father was not currently serving his country; my new boyfriend told me he'd run to Canada if drafted; and my brother would rather make model cars then think about signing up with any branch of the military. However, in May 1968 I must have given it some thought as I wrote an essay about Vietnam. In today's unrest and obvious lack of world peace, you can exchange "Nam" for Afghanistan or Iraq and the message remains the same. What follows below is my contribution to Memorial Day 2010:

I see the child peacefully sleep
I hear the young widow silently weep
Her husband died in a senseless war
Can Uncle Sam ask for more?

Men may fight and men may die
Young widows will forever cry
Men are crippled and men are blind
Will the war in Vietnam
Help us find...PEACE?

The day is dark and overcast
Curious folks watch a procession pass
The soldier is buried in the earth, damp and cold
This is the reward for being so bold.

He never saw his son’s bright eyes
Or heard his laughter or his cries
“Daddy will be home soon,” Mommy would say
She didn’t say he’d look this way.

Daddy was cold, and still, and dead
Mommy bent down and kissed his forehead
The people filed silently out, whispering
Is this what the war is about?

The baby grew up into a man
And still he can’t quite understand
Why men must fight a useless war
And Uncle Sam keeps asking for more.

Men may fight and men may die
Young widows will forever cry
Men are crippled and men are blind
Will the war in Vietnam
Help us find...PEACE?