The breakfast language of champions.

I have been laying in bed the past couple of nights, tossing around ideas for this weekends blog. Last night I remembered the gist of it and then woke not remembering what the dang idea was AGAIN. It lays on the outskirts of my memory, and last night as I was falling to sleep; I told myself  "Now remember this, you doorknob this is your idea for tomorrow." Perhaps I need to write this at night for a change of pace. I even had a title and how everything would be tied together.

This Saturday morning I'm at my sisters, I woke hearing this click clack that I could not place and it slowly drove me out of bed with the irritation of my counting the timing between clicks and clacks and thus keeping me awake. I climbed the lit stairs to find my sister up as well, I turned the water pot on for tea and we sat at the kitchen island sipping our morning drinks and chatting. The island itself an island; as it was still dark out and the windows all around us dark and spotlighting us as an oasis of light. My Dad joined us, and just the three of us sat there for some time talking until dawn took us out of the spotlight. But one of those moments that you take a picture of for your memory, just us having our Dad to ourselves, surrounded by the dark blue shadows of overcast skies and predawn.

Now I have to help my FLS cook breakfast. We are having at Steve's request; a frittata similar to the one on Thanksgiving that I made. Served with hash browns, sausage and bacon. Suddenly and presently my Dad is speaking in a fake language to my niece and I remembered one of the ideas I had and wanted to research; speaking in tongues.

Then life interrupted and suddenly it is after the solstice. Meaning I started writing this last weekend was interrupted by life and now making the time to finish it. Of course I have lost the thread of my ideas and who knows where this will go. It was a busy week; again the solstice, a lunar eclipse, work and driving back over the pass for the second round of holiday festivities.

The gift of tongues is speaking in a language a person does not know in order to minister to someone who does speak that language. Xenoglossia. So now I have done a little research on one of my topics. Sadly disappointed on the research of it, because it really did not pertain to what I was thinking of using it for, but... well.... that is the way it goes sometimes. Also I have been interrupted yet again by life and another weekend has passed and I have yet to finish this original blog.

On a super happy note I did invest in a knew laptop and shall be back in action more comfortably for any future ideas. To pull it all together, the new laptop underlines the words I misspell along the way, so that my writing does not come out looking like I'm writing in tongue. My Mothers sadly did not have this feature, her laptop similar to a dinosaur were you have to hit the button to spell check.

Came the time

Came the time when the two travellers knew night would catch them, and shelter must be found.

The first line of the new book I'm reading called 'Speaks the Nightbird' by Robert McCammon. Something about that line intrigued me from the get go. The placement of words and the thoughts it invokes.

Yesterday afternoon my Mother and I headed to Ellensburg to meet #61 for his birthday, he will be seventeen in a matter of days. So we spoiled him for hours, then he was ready to go hang with his friends and my Mother and I faced the decision of what to do now. Light was retreating and we needed a place to stay. Mickey blue eyes also had his own plans and it came to us that we were not needed anymore. As a parent and Mother some times it is shocking to realize my own guilt need not be so deep. I reflect back in my mind to those days when I was the same age, and what I can remember is that you only want your parents around when you need them. That your life with your friends was the most important part of you. You being the key word. You, yourself want to hang with your friends and enjoy the simple pleasures of that feeling that you belong to a clan of sorts. Having grown apart so much from your parents, into your own self with wants and desires for a life apart from them. That is what seventeen is all about, the precipice to adulthood and breaking away. The key is to know, as a parent when to let go and when you are needed.

So my Mother and I thought about what we wanted to do and opted for the comforts of our own beds and lives with a little sashay side trip to Barnes and Noble. Friday night at Barnes in Noble in the mall adjacent next to the Movie Theater? The place was filled with teenagers, many of them seventeen year old boys loitering about with their friends and girlfriends. I wandered through the rows to my favorite section and came upon three teens, two girls and a boy. All were tall and thin, with skinny jeans and hair cut with that shag cut, that makes me think of the Bay City Rollers on the cover of their album, era's ago, perhaps the only difference was the amount of piercings between generations. They were hovered close together and one was reading from a book to the other two. So I smiled to myself, and eavesdropped. When she finished reading they went on to discuss the book and life in general. But what I felt myself was, the sweetness of the moment in their freedom to be out enjoying themselves on a Friday night without their parents. I moved on and around the bookstore exploring my favorite haunts; bargain books, various display tables and the journal section.

I can hear the hoards of teenagers around me hollering intermittently as they move to different plans, I mused over a new journal; two of them catching my eyes, the first with a ornate metal owl embedded in the cover, my name means 'little wise owl', but after looking at the price not so enamored of it, perhaps later with a gift card I think. The second etched with embroidery and the paper folded in a way, to resemble an old notebook. I sigh, however I'm not ready yet to commit to the purchase of a new one and decide to wait to the new year or my birthday and the books I'm carrying are weighing heavy in my arms.

Heading up to the counter to pay for my two new books, the clerk asking the usual questions and one specific to another book I had selected. Suddenly a loud whoop filled our air, and we both turned to look as lanky boys filed out the door. She shook her head, smiled and said "teenagers."

The G-Unit fades into that dark night

1956, G-unit is forty and on the left.

My Men

Richard Stultz passed away peacefully on the morning of December 6th 2010 at the ripe old age of 93. He was born on March 21, 1917 and was my birthday buddy my entire life since I was born on March 22nd. I was the one birthday he never forgot of all his Grandkids. Today the man in my life texted me after I let him know that my beloved Grandpa had passed away. Saying something to me in a text that made my heart melt. That possibly he had come into my life to replace the G-Unit as the birthday buddy. His birthday is March 21st and I cannot put into words what it means to me.

Tonight I grabbed my Grandpa's plaque off his wall in his room. It say's "If the term 'legendary' applies to any Lake Stevens High School coach, it applies first and most indelibly to Dick Stultz, who while famously teaching English and literature, coached football at the "Pink Palace" during the fifties, sixties and seventies. His genius and memory still walk these halls. Between 1964 and 1966 he recruited players from study hall and coached with only one or two assistants. Coach Stultz's Vikings beat Monroe and Stanwood both undefeated and top-ranked winning 36 consecutive games, and outscored their ten opponents 405 to 37. Those 1966 Vikings earned First Team All League honors in 18 of 22 positions and the State Championship vote. Dick was voted Man of the Year in Sports three times; 1960, 1962 and 1965. He was coach of the year in 1966 and was elected to the Washington State Football Coaches Hall of Fame in 1981. Said by many to have the best football mind of any coach they have ever known, the Lake Stevens football tradition owes much to the legacy of Dick Stultz."

That is the part of his life he is most famous for besides his love of the game. He loved sports and women and was full of life, piss and vinegar.

He taught me how to shoot a basketball and throw a football. He taught me the love of football, baseball and basketball, crosswords, reading and fishing. So many fishing, hunting trips and parties. He was married three times. Bettye Pandolofo, Sue and his last wife who also preceded him in death Earline "Sparky" Stultz. Bettye was my Mom's Mom and the Mother of his children she was wonderful, beautiful  and creative. Sue was the one I remember the least, but had a Mother of her own that lived on Lake Stevens. Grandma Vega; what a character, Swedish pancakes and fishing on the lake. So many buried memories. The first time I met Earline, I was in the sixth grade and just returning home from Camp Wooten. It turned out to be a historical weekend, May 18, 1980 Mount Saint Helens erupted and we never did return to the sixth grade. His woman were as colorful as he was. He was the last of my Grandparents.

Holy Moly! As he would say, and what a ride!

Children
Richard Stultz
Michael Stultz
Rozan Meacham
Jeffrey Stultz

Step-Children
Erica, Krissy, Tom and Jackie

Grandchildren
Mark Stultz
Darren Stultz
Brian Stultz
Shannon Johansen
Kerry Meacham
Michael Stultz
David Stultz
Keely Finn

 and numerous Great Grand children...

Draw me a map

Draw me a map, that leads me back to you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zFGPYR5mdFM

This is one of those songs that I will love for my lifetime. Something about the music and the words just make me yearn and at the same time happy. I wasn't planning on writing today, but I just spent much of the morning reflecting deeply on the whys and how's of what I think deep in my soul and saying them out loud. As I finished writing it all down in an email and hit send. I could hear this song in the background coming from the living room, my Dad loves this radio show on Sunday mornings with Ed Dailey, "Legends of Country." It is a ritual with him and one of my favorites now too. But after it is over the new country comes on and they always play this, and I love Dierks Bentley and this is my all time favorite of his. So one of my favorite quirks in life is how the little things tie everything together and viola I have to write this idea down.

Another of the things my Dad and I have in common is that we can spend hours studying maps and are never lost because we always know where we are. But in the same breath the words to this song make my kind of sense. "Help me find the road your on, I just need directions home." Sometimes I feel lost and restless and this morning I found the answer is an anchor. The freedom to travel in my mind, create write and be lost for hours in another world and then have an anchor back to reality where it's home. Home.
The answers are not always far away sometimes they are right in front of you.

The email I wrote is the answer to the question of why I want to be traveling and living in other places but not really. And on the other hand shouldn't life come with a soundtrack. I think that would be the coolest, the song in your head that you hear should always be playing in the background. The life soundtrack. So that would be the perfect trip for me, the right soundtrack, person and a map back home.

Since I'm in a music and writing mood this morning, thinking about the songs that would be on my soundtrack of life. I'm going with the first three that would be on it. My all time favorite song in the entire history of the world. That would be number one on my soundtrack of life. 'Feels so right' by Alabama. How can you not love a song that begins with the words. "Whisper to me softly, breathe words upon my skin."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I0hQmC_8yi4&feature=related

and the third and final song that give me chills. every. single. time. since the first time I ever heard it. 'Shadow on the sun'. It's sexy, slow, dark and hard just like life sometimes and the line that starts. "Those inside my head, bolted from within".... just makes my kind of sense.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2zhSRNFeQpM

My Boudoir

"Historically, the boudoir formed part of the private suite of rooms of a lady, for bathing and dressing, adjacent to her bedchamber, being the female equivalent of the male cabinet. In later periods, the boudoir was used as a private drawing room, and was used for other activities, such as embroidery or spending time with one's romantic partner."

This past month I have not had much time to write for myself other than the blog. Life intrudes in the usual ways; the unexpected and the sad but true. My G-unit is slowly fading out of his life and worsens more everyday so I stay close to help my weary parents. I have three jobs and balancing those consume me; and then the simple pleasures of friends, balanced with the joy of my children, combined... all these things pull me away from my stories that are put on hold for the moment. Another thing that has me sidetracked, is a romantic life. One of the best parts of it, is the writing involved. We email long notes, and last night on the phone we were discussing bedrooms.

When I first started thinking about this blog this morning; I seriously thought I would write it about sex, since that is what I woke up with on my mind. Sex, pure pleasurable sex. I need some bad. But the more I laid in bed thinking about sex, my mind kept moving onto other things that revolve around it. The bedroom, the boudoir. One of my favorite places to be. Bedrooms are my retreat; an oasis of comfort, warmth and all my favorite things. A great man, a great book, soft warm sheets and perhaps a bath and the best thing that it always ends with....sleep. It is my favorite place to write. And at this exact moment in time while I'm writing this I'm laying in my bed, laptop on my lap, feet tucked into warmed sheets and blankets. Thoughts exploding out of my head, fighting to get out so that at some point I can take a nap.

My fantasy bedroom, would be like above in the definition of boudoir, a suite of sorts. Maybe the top floor of a house or just a large space with smaller rooms. It would have great light and my favorite color on the walls. Soft butter. The bed firm and covered in very expensive cotton sheets. That is one of those things in life you learn along the way. Good sheets are the shit, and the more you wash them the better they get. I would like a window seat and a living room in my bedroom, a fireplace and library. A claw foot tub that is deep and long. A separate shower with heated floors and perhaps a heated bench seat in it since it is my fantasy after all. The bedroom should encourage sex in all its nooks and crannies and I'm thinking a bench in a shower would have many benefits and how could it be wrong to have the damn thing heated? Especially when I imagine it in porcelain tile. A towel warmer...and sumptuous rugs with the sumptuous moving into carpet of the same on the bedroom floor. A closet that is organized with shelves and drawers. Sexy, heavy, warm curtains for cold nights maybe in Scarlet.