Saturday, September 23, 2006

Self Portrait


         Have no fear of perfection- you'll never reach it.
           ~Salvador Dali




I am a work in progress. I am constantly evolving. I have ebbs and flows. I learn everyday. I appreciate each and every experience- good or bad.


 I am a perennial planted in rich soil. Even the worst of winters can not keep me from coming back in the spring and blooming profusely in the summer. 


I am me. I am Dee. 

Monday, September 18, 2006

  “You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.”

 ~Kahlil Gibran

 My son was going to a sleepover in Gulf Breeze this weekend. We started on the road early and got breakfasts at a McDonald's. We were almost done eating when he got up and talked to a guy at a table nearby. When he came back to our table I asked him what was going on. He said, "I've been watching that guy for the past few minutes eating catsup off the packets. I thought he might be hungry so I gave him some money."  
He also chases butterflies, dragonflies, bees and birds with a net to set them free from our pool enclosure. We have a dog who likes to go out and frolic in the yard so we keep our enclosure door open. The first time I saw him net a butterfly, I asked him what he was doing. He said," I noticed a few dead ones floating on the pool. I think it is because there's no food for them in this enclosure and they do not know how to fly out of it."
He will stop and ask if there's anything he could do to help if he sees a car stopped on the side of the road. He will change tires if needed. He will hand his cell phone to a stranded traveler to call a spouse, a friend or a tow truck.
He gets out of the car to escort stray animals off the street. He stops for crossing ducks, deers, turtles and other critters. He once found a kitten, carried it around and asked everybody if they want it until he found a lady who was willing to take it home. 
He can get insane but he is so humane. 
He is my buddy and my hubby.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Guilty Pleasure#5

"OK, so... so... sometimes I lie. I mean, I'm weird, man. About random stuff too. I don't even know why I do it. It's like... It's like a tick, I mean sometimes I hear myself say something and think, 'Wow, that wasn't even remotely true.' "
                                     ~Natalie Portman as Sam, Garden State



 It was late August in Florida. The sun was warm on her skin. She was wearing a white cotton sundress and the huarache sandals she bought from the international market about a week ago.  By the electric pole’s shadow, she could tell that it was almost noon. She woke up this morning in her apartment which was approximately two hours away from where she was and drove without a destination in mind.


She grabbed her handbag to feel for an unsealed white envelop. It was not a regular one but bigger, wider, a made-for-card envelop. It wasaddressed and stamped. Inside the envelope was a postcard. A postcard she bought from a yard sale. The card caught her eye because it had a picture of a broken heart on it. It was very simple: a black background and a red broken heart with jagged edge where it was broken, probably a card that was bought but never sent. At that time, she did not know what she would do with it.


The card would serve a purpose today. It would set her free from the past.


Just a few minutes ago, she parked her car in a parking garage and set to walk around this quaint little town’s downtown area to look for a mailbox where she could drop the envelop.


She knew there was a bakery up ahead because she could smell the delicious heady scent of cinnamon buns and pungent aroma of fresh brewed coffee. She quickened her pace, passed by a used bookstore, made a mental note of checking if they have a copy of a book she wanted to reread, then spotted where the smell was coming from. It was a little glass fronted cafe, with inside and outside seating.  It had a contrived French atmosphere.  A couple of metal tuteurs- elaborate European trellises- draped in silk ivy look alike on equally elaborate urns, planked the entrance.  The daily offerings were written in French on a chalkboard above the long chest level glass display case filled with every imaginable cookies, cakes, and pastries which run the whole length of a wall facing the door. A short, low laminate topped counter held the espresso machine and a small cold beverage fridge. It covered the middle part of the right wall. The inside seating area was decorated with framed posters of Viktor Shvaiko’s Paris scenes. There were four sets of haphazardly scattered round tables and matching chairs covered with crisp red, white, and black checkered linen fabric. The outside sitting area consisted of four metal tables each with four chairs topped by umbrellas in French flag colors infront of the cafe.


She sat on a vacant table outside the cafe. A pimply teenage boy in blue polo shirt and khaki trousers appeared. She ordered an espresso and an almond cookie. While waiting for her order, she opened her handbag taking out the white envelop. She looked at the address on the envelop, peeked at the postcard inside then licked it shut.  She walked to a mailbox a few steps away from where she was sitting, looked all around her to see if someone was watching, then gingerly dropped the white envelop in it. Her heart felt lighter as she sat back to enjoy her coffee and cookie but she knew she would always feel guilty for what she did two years ago.


The envelop was addressed to PostSecret.  On the postcard inside, with the broken heart as a background were cut and pasted bold black words typed on white strips of paper.  The strips formed the phrase: He did not cheat on you. I lied. I am sorry but I cannot bring back the past and make it right for both of you."

*** This is a fictional story. I found the PostSecret website about a year ago when I clicked on a link off Susan's Favorite Sites sidebar. It quickly became one of my guilty pleasures because the siteis the perfect fodder for a  writer wannabe with a very active imagination. This year, on my birthday, my daughter gave me the published hardcover book. It is a great gift because I have since written about a dozen short stories based on made up characters I have woven from the postcards in that book. The one above is not my best piece but it is representative of my other PostSecret inspired short stories.
Special thanks goes to Sandi for critiquing my roughdraft. ***
"PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard."

Saturday, September 9, 2006


Whoa! Check this out!

"Annoying someone via the Internet is now a federal crime.

It's no joke. Last Thursday, President Bush signed into law a prohibition on posting annoying Web messages or sending annoying e-mail messages without disclosing your true identity.

In other words, it's OK to flame someone on a mailing list or in a blog as long as you do it under your real name. Thank Congress for small favors, I guess."

Go here to read the rest of the article:

Create an e-annoyance, go to jail | Perspectives | CNET

Thursday, September 7, 2006

The Rorschach Test

"I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry. "
~Cat Stevens
Full Circle
by Dee
Distant voice
Estranged by choice
A space needed
To grow, to breathe
To define who you are
Find who I am
We are lost
In dreams of past
Times long gone
Grasping straws
Would and could
Never should
Go with the flow
Find your Tao
Till the day
We can unravel
What went askew
With less ado
Many of my entries are meaningful to me.  A lot of them may read like the babblings of a madwoman to you. Babbling, I do. Madwoman? I can be. But a babbling madwoman?  I assure you that I am not multi-talented so I doubt I can pull that. 
I often feel that to write the details about my  entries will prove to be "too much information."  A lot of it is symbolic of my most intimate (non-biblical) thoughts.
This is an entry about the trials and tribulations of "raising adult children." I am a newbie in this area and I grapple with these issues constantly.
Mea culpa. I need to practice what I always preached: You're not letting them go. You're letting them grow.