Oh! and BTW...

  Monday, September 28, 2009 This is my grandfather, my Baba. And me as he patiently allowed me to help him shave. He used to live in old brownstone in downtown Salt Lake City. I have memories of my Nana drinking her one martini on New Years Eve; The smell of Thanksgiving smacking you in the face when you opened the massive front door to the apartment building. The dusty smell of the carpet. The rows and rows of mailboxes just inside the door. I remember laying and listening, entranced by the sound of the traffic going by at night before my parents finally were ready to go home. I remember my Baba telling me that the hole in the floor in the hall with open pipe sticking out was where I could yell down at the devil. And I did tentatively hoping he wouldn't answer back. I remember delicious smells of T-bone steaks being cooked in my Nana's kitchen, to which she would yell at us all "get out of my kitchen!" while she finished making food for the Gods. I remember one time...

She is a force to be reckoned with. Several years ago, she wanted to play at Tree Fort. It didn't happen and she was bummed. I told her that if the band could stay together and play at as many shows as they could so their band name, Bone Haus, becomes identifiable then the rest will take care of itself. Several times that year I reminded her it was her turn. And when she found out the band had been invited I saw a change, albeit subtle, in the way she carried herself. Confident, excited and focused. I love being a parent because we get glimpses of our children when they realize something about themselves that they never knew. I love you Rainy Day.   Photography by Louder Than Light

  APRIL 21, 2016   /  LEAVE A COMMENT   /  EDIT Honestly, I think Jesus and Harvey are sitting some place talking about their careers on earth. They both talk about what they set out to do, tried to do and then were tortured and killed for trying. I think they both appreciate each other and understand and have wonderful conversations. Jesus sips His coffee and says,  “Remember the time I said all homosexuals were pedophiles and were banned from my grace and eternal life and love?” and Harvey will say, “No actually I don’t Jesus…” Jesus will say, “That is because I never said it. Someone else made it up.” and they will smile and continue sipping their coffee… Harvey will say, “Remember the time that I said, “I am Harvey Milk and I am here to recruit you?  The people in the movement understood my humor but the others thought I was some how going to actually make people gay?” Jesus will smile and say, “No one has understood good word play since Shakespear...

I have found myself in the 6th decade of my life. My blogging days started 20 years ago. It became my savior and social life. Then as fast as it appeared I felt as if I was bleeding out. My sense of humor, my ability to tell stories, and a heart that was broken in so many places it was impossible to count. I tried several times to relaunch my voice but it just hurt too much to continue life support measures. During that time in my life, I had several blogs going for different situations. My diary, my family, my photos, etc. As my kids have grown up they have used my stories and diaries to help them better understand what and why their lives were so confusing and abusive. To this day they are my biggest fans. And of course I am eternally greatful to have all 4 of them in my life. This blog is an experiment to see if I can balance old posts and new posts. Its been awhile.. Closer to Fine was my blog that helped me put thoughts into the universe. It was my soft opening....

 My 15 year old son is the pickiest hair person in the world. From day one he had to have his hair perfect.  So what did my son with the perfect hair do?  Went to Hair Masters and had his head shaved in  support of his step mom.   Lisa found herself sick, once the diagnostics  were done she  had cancer.  It blindsided everyone.  She has cared for the kids for so long. She treated them as if they were her own kids. How does a young mother get cancer?  Life changed for everyone.

  We all have them. Some of us are given them at birth. Some of us acquire them along the way. Some come from no fault of our own, some come from choices we make. Some are given to us by others, accidentally or unfortunately, on purpose. But eventually we all become one of the walking wounded. This is not a sad soliloquy that follows. This is an affirmation that we carry our scars, our imperfections for a reason. God, Goddess, Higher Power, or Collective Humanity. Whichever you subscribe to, assigns no shame on where you are or where you have been. You have a story and that is what is important. You have insight, that is what is important. You have advice, that is what is important. Your imperfections, your scars are a gift. Some of us can just roll up our sleeves and it is obvious from the cigarette burns, razor slashes or track marks. Our stories are easier seen. Some of us need to unzip our bodies to show the scars on our psyche, our hearts, our souls in order to assure those ar...