Still Friends

This describes me:

Get outta the street!
What? Abandon my home?
Good or not so good
It's where life travels along

Get outta the street!
But I can’t hear you
My world is loud
Where I am most comfortable

Get outta the street!
And give up or in?
Let life flow by?
Without me in it?

Get outta the street!
Why?
Because I might get hurt?
Please...my blood already spilled.

Get outta the street!
You must be a Republican
Sidewalks are for Conservatives
Liberals live for the streets!

Get outta the street!
Don’t you see I can’t?
Life among the jams
Validation among chaos.

Get outta the street!
You must be kidding
The street is my life
I’ve mastered the skip and dodge

When I'm ready to give up
When stamina eludes me
When the mad dash is complete
I'll get outta the street!

This describes a dear friend:

She’s a Sidewalk Sitter
She’s quiet as she observes
She likes to play it safe
But she ain’t no quitter!

She’s a Sidewalk Sitter
She’s smart enough to know
The streets can be unforgiving
And set her heart a-twitter!

She’s a Sidewalk Sitter
She scoots back from the curb
Some say she’s running scared
But that don’t make her bitter!

She’s a Sidewalk Sitter
She smiles because she knows
Her life is good and calm
She ain’t lookin’ for no glitter

She’s a Sidewalk Sitter.

(read this one out loud in a very southern, cowboy-sort of accent and drag out the "side" in "Sidewalk" so that it sounds like "siiiiiiiide" Come on, try it.)

I like to have adventures; live a bit precariously, without much of a safety net.
My dear friend likes to read about my adventures and live a much calmer life.
She'll most definitely live longer than me.

LB, the Protestant Singer!

I had a great day yesterday on the movie set. The movies are based on a series of books called The Work and the Glory (http://www.workandtheglory.com/) and although fictional characters are used, it is the true history of Joseph Smith and the Mormon Church. Yesterday, I was one of seven extras who portrayed Protestant congregants who are coming to see this man they have heard of (Joseph Smith, played by Jonathan Scharfe) who can heal people. We're in 3 horse and buggies. We're traveling along to Kirtland, Ohio to see this great young man for ourselves and we're singing. We sang Holy Manna in four part harmony, acapella, and it really was very nice. They recorded the sound separately and will dub it in later. We were done with wardrobe, hair and makeup and on location at 7:00 a.m. We left the set for the day at 6:20 p.m. A long day. At the very end of up the day they wanted a shot of the congregants in their buggies going along the landscape, etc. It would be one of horse pulling MY buggy that decided he was ready to quit and go home. He pawed at the ground. He started trying to walk sideways. He started jerking his head. My seat mate was sufficiently spooked and saying, "I'm outta here" he jumped out of the buggy. I stayed put but only for about 10 seconds because when the horse appeared to be ready to start raring up the professional wrangler in the front seat turned around and said, "you might want to get out, now!" In my long dress and long cape, me and my bonnet jumped out! ha They ended up having to replace that horse with a "look-alike" horse. We finished shooting the scene and it was a wrap for the day. Even though there was a lot of down time for the singing extras.....I more than enjoyed standing and watching all the things that go into making a movie. Sam Hennings and Brenda Strong were also there for the scene. Brenda is the narrator for the show "Desperate Housewives" and she played such a desperate housewife that she shot herself in the head on the first episode (Mary Alice). Most recently, Sam Hennings had a small part in The Aviator. Everyone was very nice. I learned a very important thing, however. When food is brought out onto the set and passed around to the cast and crew.....don't attempt to reach for any. This is the good, warm snacks. Extras get "other" food (that's exactly what she said, "there's 'other' food for you all") which was cheap vanilla wafers and chocolate chip cookies! ha ha In the afternoon, the cast and crew received cute little sandwiches and apple wedges. What did we get? You guessed it. Some crackers and some cheeze-its. I kid you not. Such food inequity! :) However, I must say that the catered breakfast and lunch was wonderful.

Old News

When I told him, he said that he would support whatever I decided. Even though I knew he was lying, it was a nice fantasy for a short while. I told him I was going to have and keep my baby. He begged me to reconsider. I stood firm. He told me that no one would want to date me if I had a kid (I suppose dating was that important at 23). I told him I was keeping my baby. He told me he would not help me. He told me that my decision was going to make me a mother but it was not going to make him a father. Yeah, right.
Funny, though.
He was right.

I'd like to .......

1. Help make maple syrup at a farm in Vermont during the sugaring season.
2. Trek to base camp of Mt. Everest and talk with climbers, before and after.
3. Visit Stonehenge.
4. Eat noodles at a little road side food kiosk in Beijing, China.
5. Visit Rio de Janeiro.
6. Watch the annual trek of the red crabs on Christmas Island.
7. Watch the sun rise over the Grand Canyon.
8. Not be afraid to jump out of an airplane.
9. Play with a chimpanzee.
10. Go sea kayaking in Croatia

Water, Anyone?

Sometimes I find myself crying for the most insane reasons. Oh, sure. Moviewatchers became blubbering idiots at the Passion of the Christ. Understandable. That's one reason I didn't go see it. But when Chris got fired by Donald Trump last night and started crying and Donald told him, "Come here, son," well . . . are you gonna make me say it? I'm so lame.

Life Is Strange

Remember when I said (see April 4 entry "Off the Map and Into Reality") I thought I would have fit in nicely somewhere in the 1800s, before the invention of toilet paper (yeah, I got a little carried away). I was contacted today by a casting director who, after seeing my emailed photos to make sure I am white enough (you read me right), is going to use me as one of seven extras in a featured scene in a movie being shot near Knoxville. The movie is set in the 1830s. I will be dressed appropriately and I'll be up close and personal with a horse and wagon. And I will sing. And someone will pay me. This is where you hear the theme from the Twilight Zone. I wonder if there’ll be toilet paper on location . . . . .

I'm Just Saying....

I’ve been an organ donor as far back as I remember...since you could sign your driver’s license to donate. I've told my son, "tell them to take whatever they can use." Dust to dust, ashes to ashes. That is exactly how I feel. And it is, after all, my own personal body. I feel that my body (and all that’s housed inside it) is a shell, a mere residence, the means by which I exercise my soul. My soul journeys on, not my body. You can also imagine, then, that I want no money spent on some over-priced box, only to be put into another box, and have to pay to bury the 2 nested boxes in the ground. Donate my body to science, cremate me, I don't care. Just don't waste money on a coffin and a burial plot. Those are my instructions to my son. I can only hope he follows them. I have no problems with a religious ceremony but I want it to be a memorial service, and not at a funeral home. My gosh, aren't funeral homes the most depressing places ever? Throw some 8x10 glossies on a table with some loose daisies in a couple of vases. No bunches of over-priced flowers. I honestly believe that cemeteries are a waste of good land. Land that could be a park or greenway or just left in its natural state. Again, these are my personal opinions. It’s how I feel. I am who I am. My opinions, the way I think, are totally unique to me. I do recognize, however, that most folks don't feel like I do (including my mother, who will most likely insist on a coffin and proper ground burying for me if I precede her) and most folks need to have some place to continue to mourn and grieve and place fake flowers, etc. I don't want anyone I leave behind to think they need a that. I have visited my father's grave a couple of times but only because I took his second wife there. She was good about making sure he had nice, artificial flowers at his headstone. His life had much meaning to me. His grave site has little meaning to me. My mother thinks I'm awful for feeling this way. That's me. The radical thinker in the family.

All About Hair (or lack thereof)

My college-aged son informed me that he shaved his head!
Me:Bald?
Him: Yep.
Me: Was drinking involved?
Him: Drinking did not cause me to shave my head.
(my boy knows how to answer a question!)
Me: Do you look completely silly?
Him: No, I really like it!
Me: Hmmm. Send me a picture.
Him: Okay.
You see, I love long hair on a male. Love it. (yes, I'm a Democrat. So?) My son tells me that I am the only mother in the history of contemporary mothers who encourages her son to let his hair grow out long. I have asked him to consider letting his hair grow long many times. So sexy, long hair. Of course, I wouldn’t look at it as sexy on my son (give me a break) but I’d like it all the same.
If only I had encouraged him to shave his head instead! :)

Would That It Could

Wouldn't it be great if you really could die laughing?
Until Monday,
LB

Question 67 and 68

Recently, I connected a brand new turntable I’ve had for several years (came with a stereo I bought for my son). I brought out my boxes of vinyls that I’ve carefully moved from one residence to another for a couple of decades. Out came my Chicago album. Chicago Transit Authority, before legalities shortened it to just Chicago. Yeah. That double rookie album. Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (Does anybody really care?). The music whisked me back to the 70s and 80s in just a few notes. I love that about music. I wondered why I hadn’t connected this turntable much earlier. The albums sound great! I even discovered that I have a copy of the British version of a Beatles album. The Beatles. What if all four were alive and well. What if they got back together and produced an album. Would we call it a "comeback" album? :) I don’t think so. What if they only released it on vinyl? Turntable sales would go through the roof and other artists would follow suit. That’s just the way things happen. Okay. Time for some Dixie’s Midnight Runners. Or maybe the Stray Cats. Ooh, look! There’s Manhatten Transfer!

Inside the Coffeehouse on a Sunday Afternoon

sitting by the fire
enjoying soup and homemade bread
reading The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
pausing occasionally, observing

the young girl at the table in front of me
intent upon her spread of books of history

over by the wall to my left
a young bearded man
concentrating on chemistry
a crinkled brow of panic after too much partying

a young couple observes the displays
he touches her, moving his fingers along the
exposed skin between the top of her pants and bottom of her shirt
she moves to bend over the pastry display
away from his hand
it follows her and resumes touching
as if to reassure himself she’s real

the girl with the history books
puts on her jacket, slings her purse over her shoulder
she must be leaving
but she walks only a few feet to buy a fruit-filled pastry
returns to her table, removes her purse
now purse on her shoulder again, another few feet
to heat her pastry in the microwave
back to the table, purse off the shoulder
again, almost immediately
purse back to shoulder and shuffles over to the free re-fill coffee
filling her cup, returning to her table
there must be jewels and gold
in her small purse

two hours have passed
observations fading, soul relaxed
remembering a free concert being held
I walk out and up the street

One Day....One Chair

The first time I walked into the village of Neply, on the coast near Leogane, I did not know what to expect. I was slightly nervous, but a young American girl accompanied me who spoke Creole. I also carried a Polaroid camera to take photos of the Haitian children that they could keep. At one point, I must have had 20-30 children surrounding me, all talking excitedly, wanting to have their photo taken. I had a limited supply of film so I took group pictures and gave the photographs to the children. They jumped up and down, waving their photos and watching them develop. Just like American children. We walked into the middle of the village. There were naked children. Not naked due to lack of clothing. Naked because they were toddlers and it was just easier on mothers to let them run around naked than to constantly wash their clothing. Made sense. Word ran through the village quickly that a stranger was among them. We stopped and talked to villagers often, my friend interpreting for me. Where are you from? What do you do there? You have pretty hair. We reached one home and stopped. The home was a narrow, two room structure built with sticks, mud, then white-washed with a thatch roof. This house was unusual in that it had a concrete floor, not dirt, and there was a very small concrete pad extending from the narrow front door that constituted a porch. The lady of the house came out to talk with us. When she saw me, a visitor, she quickly went back inside and brought out an old, wooden, straight-backed chair and set it on the porch. She motioned for me to sit down. I looked at my friend. Everyone else is standing. Do I really need to sit down? Yes, she said. This is most likely her only chair and she has brought it to you to honor you as a guest at her home. Oh. Of course. I sat down and the villagers crowded around to stare and listen. We talked for a short while. Sitting in the lone chair and looking up at a small, standing crowd of beautiful people staring back at me, no words were necessary. Smiles, wide and bright. I felt they were genuinely glad I was there.

Off the Map and Into Reality

This past weekend I went to see Off the Map. The movie initially appealed to me because it was about a family in New Mexico that were living off the grid. I enjoyed the movie for many reasons. Although dramatic, the movie had many moments of comic relief. I want to be William, who leaves the corporate world behind and stays in New Mexico to paint. I’ll never be William. It’s a nice fantasy.
When I was a young girl, I loved watching the TV series, Little House on the Prairie. I read the books. I missed few of the series' shows. I was drawn to the series because, even at a young age, I felt I had been born too late; that I should have been born much sooner. What normal kid listens to big band music in her bed at night? I feel that to truly live in my element, I would have been born in the mid-1800s. Wouldn’t it be great to think of the invention of toilet paper (in 1879) as the ultimate in luxury? I know I would have survived well and flourished. I know this. Is it because I’ve already lived a life back then? Shirley MacLaine would undoubtedly say yes, but I don’t know much about reincarnation and don’t currently harbor any belief that we live our lives over and over and over again (a concept also explored in one of my recent reads, In the Land of Second Chances). I can only say that I have very strong feelings about living in the 1800s. I believe this is why I am drawn to the concept of voluntary simplicity. Although well-cushioned in my own material trappings, I fantasize about living with much less. I haven’t yet found a way to break free from all the trappings. For now, I read about simplicity, visit areas that utilize strawbale construction (such as Narrow Ridge Earth Literary Center, www.narrowridge.org) and other sustainable living elements, cut down on gift-giving (I’ve managed to just about make materialistic gift-buying at Christmas an obsolete practice), etc. What I want to do is get rid of tons of "stuff" that I own, live more responsibly in a smaller residence (I currently rent a big old house built in 1899 that is nowhere near energy efficient in the winter but stays remarkably cool in the summer), cut down television viewing to one hour per day or less, listen to more music and national public radio, read more, take walks more often to explore nature (whether urban or rural), and, well, you get the idea. I’d also like to make a quilt. Completely by hand. With all that fabric I have stored away. Big sigh. Someday. I hope there’s enough time left to break out, let go, and really live.

The Grapes of Wisdom

Another little tidbit from Steinbeck, spoken through Ma: "Learnin' it all a time, ever' day. If you're in trouble or hurt or need -- go to poor people. They're the only ones that'll help -- the only ones." Now, I'm not a huge fan of generalizations, but I believe studies have been conducted and articles have been written about the fact that, when it comes to charitable contributions, the middle and lower class give the most. I can say that when I have been responsible for collecting money at work for a needy family, the support staff gave far more than the professional staff. Interesting, really. Those who have the least, give the most. Perhaps it's because they are closer to knowing what it feels like to need. Maybe it's because they don't mind if they don't get a "tax break" for their contribution. I think Ma knew what she was talking about.

The Name Game

Lucy and Blue. When I was a child, growing up in Nashville, Tennessee, my mother used to call me "Lucy." I’m not sure I ever knew why she called me Lucy. My real name is not even close. Perhaps it was some sort of take on "Lucy Goosey," Who knows. I should ask her. It was a heck of a lot better than what we called my brother, which was "Bubba!" For a while, he called me "Sissy," but that was okay. It’s okay for big brothers to call their little sisters "Sissy." But Bubba? Bubba is the guy who’s bigger and taller than all the other kids his age, probably has freckles, wears overalls, and has a crewcut. Not to stereotype or anything. I wouldn’t do that. Now "Blue" I know a little more about. I have very blue eyes. My father is the one who called me Blue. The story is (and I distinctly remember those pajamas) that I had some blue silky pajamas that I absolutely loved. They were in the form of a sleeveless jumpsuit with a wavy frill around the armholes. I did love the color blue. I wore those pajamas every night that I possibly could. My favorite color as a child was blue. The carpet in my bedroom? Blue. The walls? Pale blue. Hence, the name Blue. Sometimes I think my real name actually escaped my father’s memory, he was so used to calling me "Blue." So that is why I’ve named this blog "Love, Lucy Blue." I was never called "Lucy Blue," using the two names together, but I think they sound good together. So you may call me Lucy Blue.

In the Beginning....

On a whim, I decided to create an online journal. Because I can't quite grasp how to approach this blog let me just say something along the lines of "and now for something completely different": I'm currently reading Steinbeck's The Grapes of Wrath. About 2/3's through. One of those novels I should have read in college (right?), but didn't. It's an interesting read. Steinbeck has a way of creating a film with words that plays right before your eyes. To date, the most vivid for me occurs when Ma is cooking stew and the very hungry children in the roadside camp are standing around. Silent. Hungry. Hoping. Steinbeck writes, "Ma talked quietly to a little girl who stood inside the lusting circle." The lusting circle. Three words. I've been giving those words thought since I read them today at lunch. The lusting circle.