Friday Jams: 50 Shades of Music

Posted on March 17, 2017 by tosabarbell

As few may have noticed, I haven’t posted on the blog for quite some time. Oh, I’ve written posts. Many. But when I go to publish them, I realize that nothing written can be more important than talking about my dear friend Shelly, and her suicide.

And to be honest (TBH), music isn’t either. But I’m trying. It’s been difficult. Oh sure, we’ve had travels and fun and every day stresses that we get through, but deep in my heart there’s always the fact that my friend was in such a bad place and I didn’t even know. In fact, no one knew. Again, I don’t feel guilty, just sad. But I’d like to move on even a little bit if only a blog post does the trick for today. So, Shelly, my lovely friend; I miss you. But today we’re going to talk about music and I think you’d approve.

It is officially Birthday week! No, I don’t really do a birthday week. In fact, this will kick off a fairly quiet week where I’m trying to keep my food on track post Savannah southern cooking and Pre-Boston seafood. The hubs is in town for a few days which means I can put him to work on the grill and keep the protein high and the carbs low. In theory. I just really want bread these days. Poor me.

However, to kick off birthday week, I thought about music and what it has meant to me in my life. See, music has seen me through dark days. It has brought more joy to happy days. It can quickly transport me to a past event and make me write down a current song that speaks to me. I love it. I’m very fortunate that I lived in a world where music was appreciated. Well, not all. Pastor John never was a fan of Prince. But that’s just, like, his opinion man.

1973

I was 6. My brother was 8 and this song was on the radio more times each day than the shortened version of Jane Says on Classic rock stations these days. It was my introduction into Rock. And to this day, it remains one of my favorite. Also, men were manly in the 70’s. Sucks to be you Millennials.

1978

I was 11 and Oooooooo, these girls could sing. See, this was the age where I realized I couldn’t. And if the good Lord came down and sat at my kitchen table right this moment and said, Well Jules what is the one thing you really want in life? I’d be hard pressed not to tell Him to give me the gift of song rather than, ya know, no more cancer or shit like that. I had the 45 of this song and outplayed it. Srsly. Kudos to mother Lynda for not imposing a Pointer Sisters embargo in the home. You can add Donna Summer, Olivia Newton-John, really any woman with a strong, kick ass voice. Those were my idols. Well, and Billie Jean King. Anyways.

Speaking of kick ass chicks…

1980

Who, other than Blondie, could make teenage girls across the country want to become platinum blonde Playboy centerfold punk rock singers? Especially us suburban girls. Give us a little edge and we’ll do the rest (I also went through a brief Chrissie Hynde stage in college. Tons of black eye shit and never combed my hair.) It was glorious. Still couldn’t sing though. That sucked.

1984

Basically, all things Prince. Look, I don’t know how this played out in other parts of the country but Prince was a Minneapolis boy; therefore; he was ours. Heh. He was talented A.F. and freaky and when his shit hit, it hit hard. Of course now the rest of the country (maybe even Pastor John) understands the depths of his talent but back then he changed music and brought my age group out of High School and into the college years; aka, adulthood (no, not adulting. Growing up is a noun, not a fucking verb. FOK!)

That’s it. My childhood in a nutshell. The first 18 years summed up with Rock; Soul; Punk, and Prince (yes, he gets his own distinction.) I’ve written enough about how I didn’t have the Disney childhood; but I tell ya what, looking back at it through music actually makes it pretty fucking cool. I’ll take it.

Nature give you the face you have at twenty; it is up to you to merit the face you have at fifty. 

Coco Chanel

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Friday Jams: Aloha Darkness

Posted on February 3, 2017 by tosabarbell

I lost a friend two weeks ago. Well, I didn’t lose her, she left. And I don’t understand why.

However; what I’m coming to realize is that I never will understand. I will never understand how she could leave her daughter, knowing how much she needed her. I will never understand how, while dedicating her life to helping those in mental health distress, she herself couldn’t reach out. I will never understand the depths of her hopelessness in the one moment that became too much.

I can just be sad. Sad for her (I am so very sad for her that she was living with this pain. Of all things, I am so sad for her); sad for her young daughter who is walking through a horrible nightmare and appears completely shell shocked; sad for her family, friends, and coworkers who so clearly love her. Sad for the police officer who now lives with the images of answering a well being check that day. But for my friend, I am most sad that the darkness was too thick to recognize a glimmer of light.

shelly

Shelly and I shared the ultimate bond; we were goalie moms. Even more, we were goalie moms in a small town where neither of us were part of the “click” and so our daughter’s were easy targets for opinions from people whose entire hockey knowledge came from their husbands or worse, those who played the game ‘back in high school.’ (Dude, you were an average player in an average town, let it go.) The head coach was your typical small town head coach which meant that he didn’t have a clue what to do with goalies so he’d berate them thinking the shame will be enough to step up. Other players did drills, goalies got shot on (uhhhh, there are goalie drills dude.) To this day, when I’m in town and run into him on Mai Tai night, he has the good grace to quickly look like a scared dipshit that he is and bolt for the door. Dipshit.

Anyways. Shelly’s daughter, Desi, started playing goalie a year or two after Zandra and I finally had friends. Shelly and her husband at the time, Jeff, adopted me somewhat into their fun loving, musical crowd and I rarely went a weekend without an invite to somewhere fun.

Shelly wanted good things for everyone around her. It drove her nuts that I was single. She was constantly on the lookout to find me a match, even though I was just fine. I dated a guy here and there from their crowd (one was this tall, skinny, weird looking guy who had this quirky Steve Buscemi quality about him. Can’t explain it. Didn’t last long but it is one of those things I look back on and ask myself ‘wtf were we doing there, Jules?’)

She would suggest guys here and there for me and I would ask if she were serious but at the end of the day, being with someone equated happiness and that’s what she wanted for me. We argued about it sometimes. Seriously. That seems silly now but I just didn’t understand why it was so important to her and she didn’t understand why it wasn’t important to me. Such is life. But at the end of the day, she wanted me to be good and to be happy. Isn’t it nice to have friends like that?

We laughed a lot together. There was one time when she and Jeff stopped by the house to pick up something later in the evening and I left it in our mailbox for them. Now, I’ve written before about how our mailbox was outside of an entry window and whenever the mailman came, she would be terrified of Preacher when he jumped in the window and tried to eat her (silly mailman.) Anyways, I heard them pull up and looked down from my bedroom window when two things happened at once; Preacher started barking his scary bark and I saw Shelly rear back in the passenger seat and start laughing hysterically. I guess Preacher scared the ever’living out of Jeff when he jumped in the window and Jeff flew back about 10 feet in utter fear. I can see it so vividly. Shelly laughing. She still laughed about it years later. Me too.

Since she was human, Shelly had struggles. We all do. We all have things that can be hurtful to those around us. We all have habits where we think we’re being helpful but actually aren’t listening to the needs of others. Some of us have struggles that we just can’t seem to put behind us. Scary struggles that only one or a few who are especially close to us recognize. There are even some struggles that are destructive enough where we begin to lose out on the joy of life. Where addictions take over and even when old friends come to town, they become more important than spending time together.

But I didn’t know how deeply she hurt and I am so sorry for that. While I wasn’t a fan of her new boyfriend, I respected her decision to spend time with him. As opinionated as I am, I don’t feel the need to share EVERY thought with people. But maybe I should have about him. He had a darkness to him. Bad aura. Nothing that stood out in a remarkable way, just not altogether right. And I can be a bit hyper-sensitive about other people’s energy. If it’s off putting for me, I stay away. And I stayed away. Now I’m so sorry that I did.

No, I don’t feel guilty. I just feel sad and so sorry. I told her that, this last time. Laying in her coffin, the horrible nightmare jolted into reality. I am so sorry Shelly. I’m sorry you were so sad and felt so hopeless. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry I didn’t push harder to make time for me when I came into town. I’m sorry I distanced myself on the Facebook. I’m sorry that I distanced myself at all. I’m sorry I didn’t help. I’m sorry that I didn’t know. I’m sorry.

all of a sudden. you were gone.

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Friday Jams: America

Posted on January 20, 2017 by tosabarbell

Well, here we go.

Today, we welcome a new President. Well, welcome is subjective I guess. Ronald Reagan said, “If we love our country, we should also love our countrymen.“

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I love America. I have loved it through Carter (gas lines); Reagan (tear down this wall!); Bush (no new taxes); Clinton (what the meaning of the word “is” is); Bush (mission accomplished), and Obama (hope and change.) Yes, I was around for LBJ; Nixon, and Ford but was too young to know anything other than what my parents thought of them. Honestly, the only thing I remember about my folks saying anything about those three was that LBJ would have Lone Star beer flown in to the White House from Texas. Lone Star. Ever have a Lone Star? Barf.

To all of the “Not my President” types: I feel your pain. I’ve been there. I’ve already mentioned it but I understand your fear of the direction our country will take. I’ve been there for 8 years and if today’s FB is any indication of where we’re at; well, we have a long way to go to love our countrymen. But I do. And I will continue to do so.

Also,yup, I’m nervous too. I voted for Trump. Partly because I could not in good conscious vote for Mrs. Clinton but also because I believed in part of his message. Not all, but enough that I cast my ballot. So ya, I want him to succeed. Because if he does, we do. That’s a good thing.

But this is America and if you don’t want to play nice, really, you have every right not to. People wanted me to give Obama a chance and really, at the end of the day, what choice do we have? I didn’t believe in his promises but I didn’t want him to fail, because if he fails, we fail. We didn’t want failure. This is like wanting your competition to fail just so you don’t have to step up and do your best. Not acceptable.

But we are divided. And there is a large portion of America who are choosing not to give Trump a chance and I fully embrace your right to do so. But I want to ask this: if Trump fails as President, how does that help you or your cause? If Trump fails, how does that help your neighborhood? If Trump fails, how does that help America? Are you willing to spend the next four to eight years angry and combative? Gawds I hope not. For your sake. For mine.

We can do this! Together. As long as we stay together (except for Fucknutt Francis next door. Screw him) we can do this.

We’re going to start right here. I first heard Audrey Rose Walker’s name on my near friends podcast: Fork Talk. She is a huge fan of Big Daddy and Hoss and was quite adorable when they did a field side interview with her and she called them out on a couple of items she disagreed with. OH! Audrey Rose was born without eyeballs and severe heart disease. Add to that: she’s amazing. I threw in a Masters group with her father, Jim Walker, in Pleasanton a couple of years ago and it was an absolute delight. Audrey Rose AND her siblings were entertaining and supportive of their dad throwing and I’m so fortunate to have had an opportunity to spend a little bit of my weekend with them.

This was also the first time I heard Audrey Rose sing. Ohhhhhhh, to sing like that! Something I will never do but have so much admiration for. She is so bold! I love that. She lives a bold life, one to admire and respect. And she sings. OH how she sings!

Here she is singing the National anthem this past fall at the San Francisco 49’rs game. She’s 9. You need to know that because once she opens her mouth, you’ll forget that she’s 9. No matter how you feel about what’s happening in Washington today, please love America. And don’t just love, be loving.

And be in awe of Audrey Rose. We can all do THAT together!

Let us never forget that government is ourselves and not an alien power over us. The ultimate rulers of our democracy are not a President and senators and congressman and government officials, but the voters of this country.

Franklin D. Roosevelt 

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Lessons Learned

Posted on January 11, 2017 by tosabarbell

lesson

I may be a bit excited about turning 50 this year. Honestly, I remember being in my 20’s and wondering if I would be young enough to still want to party on New Years in 1999 (I was pregnant with the Ozman and in bed by 10. I found it annoying as F! that Texans wanted to shoot off 30 minutes of fireworks when the clock turned to a new century. Didn’t they know I was sleeping???!!!) OH, also, this year we made it until 11 or so on New Year’s Eve. What I’ve learned is to be efficient when it comes to partying. Drink wine; get sleep. Done and done.

For some reason, 50 is special. Now, admittedly I have a couple of more months and shit could turn before then. If so, that sucks. But according to USAW, I’m a 50 so I get to behave as if I’m a 50. Suck it 40’s! So in the spirit of being a 50, here are some lessons learned in the last half century:

Learn: my Grandpa took painting lessons when he was long past retirement. I remember that being a cool thing. I have some of his paintings, they are treasured. Never stop learning. I know too many 30-somethings who think they have nothing to learn. They are among the stupidist people I know. I have worked among engineers long enough to know that they hate to admit when they don’t know something. In my opinion, it is their biggest weakness. Allowing yourself to learn is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself. If you have a low enough self esteem where you believe admitting you don’t know something makes you look bad, well, too late. You already look bad. If only to yourself. Never stop learning. Learning is cool.

Live with passion: find what you want to be passionate about and hit it hard. This is between you and the universe. Your passion and you answer to no one. I believe this is the biggest stumbling block when people want to follow a passion, they are afraid of what those close to them will think. Look (shit get’s serious when you say, ‘look’), I just saw an episode of House Hunters where the husband had about 9 boxes of board games because he writes a board games blog and needed one whole room just for his games. I thought it was stupid. But this is his passion so F! me. You go guy! There is a club full of people here in town called the Milwookies. Needless to say, they are a bit crazy for Star Wars. I thought they were morons, even if they are actually quite smart in various fields. But the whole Star Wars thing was a bit much. Guess what? Who cares what I think! This is something that brought a very eclectic group of people together to form a very strong friendship. Good on them (but I was still relieved when I didn’t have to go to their parties anymore. It was too much for me and their parties always had the shittiest food possible which would send me on a fat girl bender for about 2 weeks.) Go after your passions, F! the detractors. And on that note…

…Never allow others to disrespect what you’ve worked for. Ever. This one is personal. Years ago, when I decided to try to compete in weightlifting, I called it Olympic Weightlifting (now I say nothing unless asked what my next competition is. Just easier that way.) When my mom would ask what I’m doing and I would say, Olympic Weightlifting, she would snarkely (totally a word) say, “OH, are you going to the Olympics?” No, no I’m not. Ever. Unless it’s as a spectator. But guess what. There is a very large space of ‘watch what happens’ in between nothing and the Olympics. Maybe an America Master’s championship. Maybe a World Master’s silver medal.  Maybe just simply the respect of others in the field for working hard and being coach-able. Maybe training hard for a Master’s National Championship. If nothing else, I’ll step up on that platform. (There was a bit of fuel on the fire here for this one when both she and my dad would go on and on about how awesome my brother in law did in his softball beer league. They went to the games. Sometimes, even being a forgetful 50 doesn’t make you forget the hurtful stuff you’d like to;) Heh.

Be trustworthy: I have mentioned before and I guess I’ll say it again, when something is told to me in confidence, it goes to the grave. If someone else asks a direct question about it, I will look them directly in the eye and say I don’t know anything about it. Many things exist only between me and someone else. This makes it non-existent for others. You may call it a lie. Don’t care. I have been affected this year by people I trusted who shared personal information with others as gossip. I don’t know why. These were people I thought were safe. I was wrong. Lesson learned. It hurt a bit, but you know me, I bounce back.

Make your word count: this goes a bit to the above. When I give my word, I mean it. Others around me know that. The more you water down your word with half truths; non-action, and failing to follow through with things you’ve said you would do, the less your word means to those around you. Do your co-workers see your word as solid but those at home don’t? If so, you’re missing the point. This is probably colored slightly by the hypocrisy of living in a Pastor’s home, but it’s a good policy to be the same person in every situation. Do what you say and say what you do. Sounds simple, eh?

If people are shitty, they won’t change: move on. Fast. Even if people aren’t shitty but bring stress or frustration to your life, move on. We’ve learned a lot about this in 2016, mostly due to things we were going through here. What are the situations that brings more stress than we had realized into our home? Ya, avoid those. Even if, at times, they are fun. It’s okay to love people from afar, wish good things for them but understand exactly what the relationship brings to you and knowing when it’s not awesome. NOTE: strive for awesome.

Take time to heal: mentally and physically. Look, we live in a fast world with so many distractions to keep us far from being grounded that to take time to heal is almost looked at negatively. What the actual fuck is wrong with healing? One thing social media does is give us a birds eye view of when someone is on the path to crash and burn. People may have even seen it in my training the last few years (thank a lot for saying something. Dicks.) We’re athletes who believe in pushing hard to meet goals and especially as Master’s athletes, we know the clock is ticking on what we’ll be able to do while watching that performance line start a steady line downwards. Sucks. But we must take time to heal. From injury; overtraining; illness; a season of competition; bad coaching, to name a few. And that’s just physically. If needed, we must take time to heal our mind. Negative self-talk; painful personal situations; betrayal. Whatever it is, stop using the world to avoid healing. Heal. And then move on. Live a beautiful life. Stop living in your pain. What a shitty way to go through life, refusing to step away from your pain. Heal. It is very likely that you are loved. Live loved.

Invest in your tribe: I’ve written about this a lot lately. I can do better at this. I have some ideas, time will tell if I’m successful. We have an amazing tribe and in many ways, Matt and I are still walking the earth together because of them. That’s how vital they are to our world. I worry sometimes that I don’t give back enough to what they give me. I hope I do. But I can improve. I’ll let you know at 60 if I’ve been successful. Heh.

Take care of your home and your car: seriously. Maybe it’s because being homeless as a child and with children was a very real possibility at times in my life and/or maybe because I’ve only had three cars in my lifetime (my 2005 Tahoe only has 210,000 miles on it which means I have another 2-3 years with her. Matt took her to get the oil changed about a month ago because it was past due. The oil changer guy came in and said the oil actually looked good and didn’t really need a change. Matt told him to change it, that the reason everything looks good is because of the care I give my car. True story.) I remember when I moved here, I was talking to Matt’s mom and whined a bit that not one piece of furniture made the move without a nick or an actual chunk taken out of it. Her reply? “That’s okay, it’s just stuff.” Uhhhhhhh, no. It’s not okay. It’s MY stuff and I take care of my things. I didn’t grow up in a world where stuff was just shit that could be replaced constantly. If I broke my doll, I now had a broken doll. There was no clergy money tree out front. So I took care of my stuff because I knew that it’s all I had. Same goes with my car. Now, it does have bumps and bruises and probably dog hair all over the back of it. But she’s loved and I’m thankful for her steady performance. I’m also thankful for an amazing mechanic up the block who helps me take care of her. I once read an article where a potential boss would ask to take an interviewee to lunch if things were going well and then make that person drive to see what kind of condition their car was in. I liked that. If you treat your car like a garbage can and your home is falling apart around you while you sit and watch 5 hours of television a night, it speaks volumes to what kind of person you are. Barf. Don’t be that kind of person.

Live with romance: this has been a big one for me lately. One of the hardest things for this former single mom is to quiet the masculine side of my personality. I had to be mom and dad for many years and many of those years were tough. I had no time for frivolities and I kind of forgot how to even want those. And now I’m a 50 and married to a wonderful man. So I not only WANT to girly up, but I need to. However, I need help with that. So I’ve asked for more romance from the Bigg guy and he’s working on it. But I don’t want other women to wait until they’re 50. More Nora Roberts, less Stephen King. Heh. Not really, but kinda. Feminists want women to believe that they can do everything a man can do and then some. Well, sure. Whatever (rolls eyes.) Somewhere along the last 40+ years, no one came back and said hey wait a minute, I like being a woman who is taken care of by a man. I like being the weaker sex (sure I’m weaker to Matt but not to many other 50’s chicks in the world. heeeheeee.) I want to be nurtured and treated as if I’m something special. Why is that bad?  Probably because the feminazi’s would come back with YOU TRAITOR, HOW DARE YOU LET A MAN OPEN YOUR DOOR! Matt and I were at his favorite beer bar one winter night a couple of years ago. A couple around our ages (I’m horrid at guessing peoples ages) came in and the man helped the woman get her coat off. Yes, he also helped her get it back on when they left (yes, we stayed there a while.) It was very sweet and something I haven’t seen in quite a while. And for those living without a partner right now? Romance yourself. No, pervs, I don’t mean that. If you don’t have anyone buying your flowers, go buy some yourself. I love flowers, especially bedside flowers. Lily’s and tiny roses and carnations in a pretty vase on my nightstand gives me joy and makes me feel girly all day long. Don’t let anyone tell you that wanting to feel pretty is a silly thing. Hell I tell my beautiful friend, Victoria, every time I see her that I’d dress so much prettier if we lived closer. But we don’t, so tank tops and leggings it is. But I’m working on it.

Be authentic: I’ve written enough about this. Do it or don’t, but believe me, you’ll like yourself a lot better if you live with your shortcomings out there in the open rather than live in a bubble of bullshit. ‘Nuff said.

Lastly, but certainly not least (and don’t call me Shirley)…

…A good night’s sleep is everything. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not a good sleeper. Or at least, I wasn’t. 7-9 hours a night is standard for me now. Something I learned back in November when I backed way off of my training is that I was only sleeping about five hours a night but felt pretty refreshed. My body adjusted to a need for less sleep and I thought that was pretty cool. Once training started ramping back up, so did the need for more sleep. And I get it. Matt is looking into getting a sleep study done and hopefully finding more restful sleep. That would be good for him. Nothing good comes from being overtired. Nothing. Chronic fatigue poisons everything physically and mentally in your life. If you need a nap, go take a 10 minute nap (I adore 10 minute naps.) Value sleep. Give it the attention it needs. Your life will thank you.

OH! Here’s a few honorable mentions:

Eat right. If you don’t know what that means, find someone who does. Food is the biggest drug. It can kill you or it can cure you (to a point, obviously.) It can age you and it can help keep you “young.” It can make you feel like shit or like a Ferrari. Be a Ferrari.

Be loyal, but not to assholes. If you think your loyalty is wasted, take inventory on the situation. Could be that it is.

Let your children make mistakes. Being a bulldozer in front of them their whole childhood will make them fear life and will be your greatest failure. Trust your parenting. When they stumble, they may call for help. Help them without bailing them out (especially if they need bail.) Teach them how to walk the earth without you. And then be thankful when they can, but won’t want to.

Be proud of yourself. Yes, others being proud of you is good too. But others can feed you only so much. Feed yourself. Take pride in your life. If your life isn’t one to be proud of, fix it. Then be proud that you’ve adjusted.

Be nice. Even on the Facebook.

Try. You may fail, probably will along the way. That’s okay. Failing doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It just means you had the balls to try. Adjust, then try again.

There ya go. Words of a half centurion. They may mean something or may mean shit. But hey, I’m probably older than you so show tutu some respect! Heh.

I’m nearly 50. I’m past being photographed falling out of bars.

K.D. Lang

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