For Stacy

I had meant to post this earlier today but as soon as I arrived at work, the power went out. For something like five hours. But we're the folks who people call when the weather is bad so I started calling the customers instead from my work cellphone to schedule work. It's been insane to say the least. I am not really looking forward to the drive home. At least I don't have to go to Marin County where I hear that 101 is closed. I've also heard that a at least one bridge is closed as well. So the evening commute is probably going to suck. So let's think about happier things...

What happens when you start cleaning and organizing? You rediscover stuff.


In the height of my partygirl days, I loved these shoes. I loved them so much that I actually used to wear them to work. Yes, they are four inches in height. And no, I did not throw them out. Because I might wear them again some day soon.


I just might not wear them with this item in the future. Yes, it's a skort. And yes, it covers my butt. When I wore it, I also wore black opaque tights. Because it's wool.

And fitting with the mood I give you this.



I was a little flat at the end but overall I was rather impressed with myself. I usually do not sing in public because, in my mind, I sound absolutely horrid. What a surpise. Yes, I was no longer a mezzo soprano thanks to years of smoking cigarettes. And somehow I thought that because of this, my voice would be much lower than it actually is. No, instead hearing my voice on tape has given me a new faith. A belief that I'm not as bad as I thought I was in my head. (But I won't be playing it for my mother who will analyze it beyond belief.)

I grew up with a woman who has perfect pitch. I can hear when a song is off but I can't hear it in myself. So I have lived most of my life just believing the worst -- I am always off pitch. And this as a counter to the woman with perfect pitch who told me that I had a decent voice that just needed training. For some reason, I chose not to believe her. Maybe it had something to do with how often she called me a "bitch." Out of anger. Actually the real term was "manipulative bitch." And yes, I can be that person exceedingly well these days. I learned it and have become a pro at it.

So when my mother throws out those occasional positive pearls, it's hard to believe when one has been subjected to so much negativity. But the voice thing? I've heard it from other folks. Well, the most recent gave the proclamation that I was fearless. (Funny but my drawing instructor said the same. Something about how I wasn't afraid to be wrong but would go back to correct my mistakes. In really broad strokes, all around. Watch yourself next time that you are drawing. Most folks are timid with their strokes.) And maybe that whole drawing thing is really me. Because most of the time when I'm really me, I'm not afraid to step out there and to be different. And I'm always the first to admit when I have fucked up. And suddenly I feel a rant coming up in me. One that says that the arts must preserved in schools. Because how can kids like me find their way otherswise? Or at the very least, they need someone who truly believes in them. That they trust.