Not So Good Things. . .

I am a positive person. It’s in my blood. It’s always half-full and things are always great and can only go downhill if I allow them to. It happens sometimes.

Sometimes, I just want to lift my middle finger high in the air for all to see, just so they know I feel, how cranky I am that my life isn’t as sunny as I’d like it to be.

But here’s the rub. Beyond the middle finger, sometimes I am so perplexed by human behaviour that it makes me want to cry – because there is nothing I can do about it.

What can I do about the high school kids that think so little of life that a gun and death to others are the only answer? What can I do or say to the parents that don’t know their kids at all – that can let their kids go so far into the dark that they would take their own lives?

What can I do when this happens again and again through history?

What can we do?

What can I do about the tornadoes that take lives? What can I do about toddlers ripped from their mother's arms only to die, cold and broken miles away?

What can I do when the whole nation mourns Whitney Houston (as I did), but doesn’t mourn the domestic violence in our world, the poverty, the war, the genocide and starvation?

How can I get through to the people that hate a president but won’t give him a chance to make the change the U.S. so desperately needs?

Monday blues, that’s what it is. I am weeping for a world I feel helpless to change, yet my corner of the planet is a wonderful, blessed life where my biggest complaint is that there is  nothing good on television.

What can we do?

 

Technorati Tags: Whitney Houston,Obama,High School Shooting,Tornadoes

Oh Yeah, You Know You Love It. . .

Holy Wow, Aging Has Finally Caught Me!

 

Okay – so I’m going to be 45 this year. Forty-freakin’-five.

A couple of weeks ago, I was primping in front of the mirror when a noticeably lighter hair popped up and said hello. Blonde? Nope. Gray. Gray gray gray.

My first reaction? Cool! I’ve finally earned these two badges of honour. Yes, only two, but obviously they’ve talked and have decided to colonize.

I stepped back. Then I stepped closer to the mirror. I tried to separate the grays from the herd of healthy brunette strands but they are wily little creatures. I knew not to pluck them. Someone told me once that if you pluck your gray hairs, the souls of the gray hairs to come get really angry and decide to move in to your scalp earlier, and in massive replacement numbers. So, no plucking.

But how did I feel about these hairs? I mean really, how do we feel when we notice our first gray hair?

One of my namesakes, Cousin Joy, had a beautiful head of amazing silver hair – just shiny and bountiful and a really striking colour – not gray or washed out – but singing with silver, you know what I mean? Her silver hair came in when she was younger, but it arrived on her head with a red carpet and some paparazzi for all to see and pay attention to those beautiful silver locks.

Nope. Don’t think that’s me.

I didn’t cover the gray – I actually went straight to my husband and said “Look what you’ve done to me!”

He then pointed to his sexily silvered temples and said “Would you care to explain how YOU did all this, then?”

Yes, I kissed him soundly and scampered out of the room before I started confessing.

So – gray hair. That was the beginning. Now I look down and I see my mom’s hands when she was my age. I can see where my laugh lines are laying their blueprints, and suddenly there’s a sparse moustache to contend with. Sigh. My muscles hurt when I do silly things. I can actually injure my back while petting the cat.

But here’s what I think about all this aging stuff (today anyway). We all seem to get better looking as we age – up to a point when you start resembling a great big grown-up, wrinkled baby – but more importantly - WE ALL AGE!

Go ahead and spend thousands on pretending to stop your aging – you could start as early as 23 like Heidi Montag – the idiot who ruined her already pretty face and body. IDIOT!

Or, be like me – use the stuff that keeps you healthy and feeling good. Tell yourself that your concealer is really working and that your pores are still as tiny as a baby’s. Put a little more colour in your hair and a little more lotion on your hands – and tell yourself that age is just a state of mind . . .

Keep repeating until you believe it.

Then, when you step away from the mirror, don’t move to fast or you might hurt your aging back.

If that doesn’t work – start hanging out with really old people and you will feel like that young hot thing that you still are. . . it’s just that you’ve been around the wine cellar once or twice, youknowwhatImean?

People are Funny

You know easy it is to get to road rage, right? You don’t have to own a particularly nasty temper or a short fuse – you just have to, oh – I don’t know. . . drive a car. . . eventually, it will happen.

Say you’re driving on a country road, no cars anywhere. There’s a utility truck pulled off the side of the road about 50 yards ahead and a stoplight about 20 yards past him. All told, a pretty nice drive.

Until the utility truck decides he needs to get ahead of me at that red light and whips a u-turn to shoot in front of me and slam on his brakes. My purse flies off the seat and I curse in Disney language.

Since I am somewhat polite, I don’t do the clichéd finger-flipping and name calling and honking. Instead I shake my head while he watches me in his side mirror. I hope I am channelling the what-on-earth-did-that-get-you-buddy-I-am-so-disappointed-and-your-momma-would-be-too look. I continue to shake my head as he lumbers forward at the green light. And you know he’s lumbering, because really, what good would it do for it to be a fast truck that was worried about getting behind a little ol’ Dodge?

Oh, and I might add that I could understand his urgency if there were a pile of cars behind me. Nobody can be blamed for wanting to beat a long line of traffic. But NO, there was no other traffic. Of course not.

So in my head, I am running the litany of complaints about general incompetence.

After several miles the road became two-lanes. There was a car in front of me. I was parallel to utility man. The light, about 50 yards away, was about to turn yellow.

Oh yes, I took my chance.

Butted right in front of him like he did to me and coasted to a smooth stop in front of him at the red light.

I see hand gestures in my rear-view mirror and know what he’s saying, though I don’t think it’s sign language.

And it made me laugh. He saw me laugh in the mirror, and it made him laugh.

I stuck my hand out the window and gave him the finger. Okay, not really – I gave him a thumbs up. He returned with a thumbs up as well, knowing I’d technically won that little round of road sarcasm.

If only we could take all of life’s little annoyances and turn them into laughter.

Writing Dilemma

 

So the editor of the newspaper I write for was laid off. Since her lay-off, the quality of the paper is really suffering. So I, as a weekly columnist *UNPAID* keep writing for the paper regardless of its reputation, or do I start to look for other ways to have my columns published?

I've had an almost 2.5 year run - weekly - so that's quite a portfolio of writing.

How do you know when its time to cut your ties?

Thoughts?

Riverside Jam 2008, Oh What a Weekend!

This column was published in The Mississippi Weekender on Friday, August 8, 2008.

Ironically, Peter had a story publish on the front page, and my stories and pictures from Riverside Jam are all through the paper. It's pretty cool. Copies are being sent to California VIPS, or I can send on upon request.

The Canadian Edition (front page story) garnered my first autograph request. Too funny, and oh-so-surreal.

Gotta love fame in a small town.

Enjoy! - Be sure to scroll down for more stories, posts and pictures. Leave me a comment, dammit! I know you're reading! What do you think? What do you want me to write about?

*************************************************

I could hardly believe my luck, but the evidence was laying around my neck.

Riverside Jam, 2008 All Access.

Sweet, fancy Moses, what fun I was going to have with my camera while I was backstage. Look out, country music stars, the paparazzi in Carleton Place is on the loose!

I’ve loved country music since I was a teenager (which, of course, wasn’t that long ago), so I was really looking forward to the 5^th annual music festival presented by the Diamond Foundation. The scheduled talent was phenomenal, and I couldn’t wait to scream and stomp my feet with the rest of the crowds as we swayed to the notes flowing from instruments played so many amazing musicians, including Gord Bamford, Tommy Cash, Lorrie Morgan and Mark Chesnutt.

Though the rain threatened at all times, garbage bag-wearing-umbrella-toting music lovers had already set their lawn chairs up in prime spots in front of the stage. Anticipation buzzed through the air.

Y101 introduced Ambush, and the Jam officially started.

There’s something about Ambush. They are so much fun to watch, to dance to. Maybe that’s why they’ve garnered a Canadian Country Music Association (CCMA) nod with an award nomination for Group or Duo of the year. And to most of us, they seem like friends.

Jason Blaine came after Ambush, a Pembroke man who has the recognition of his music peers as a talent on the rise. The only disappointment felt by most was that his handlers didn’t allow photos with the fans as they waited in line to meet him. However, Jason is cool. If you ever do get a chance to meet him, be sure to ask him how he came up with the song “My First Car”. It will remind you of your clutch-popping days for sure.

When I asked Blaine what his favourite part of playing a Riverside Jam type of venue was, he replied “Folks in small towns don’t just listen to country music, they live it. Those are my kind of people.” That’s why you’re our kind of people too, Mr. Blaine.

The skies opened up and the rain began falling hard and fast as Brad Johner took the stage. His pop-country sound revved the crowd until many were standing and dancing along with the music, rain be darned. Soon everyone was soaked.

Me? Of course I wasn’t prepared for any of it. My umbrella was too small, my camera bag NOT rain-proof. I forgot to charge the battery in the camera and I had no pen to take notes. Intrepid reporter, indeed.

Good thing the beer tent and the Mick Armitage band were close by to keep the good time going when the big stage was finished, or I might have been really angry with myself.

On Saturday, I asked a few concert-goers if the rain bothered them. Wiping a layer of wet off of the brim of his cowboy hat, one cowboy grinned and said “What rain?” Gotta love the constitution of country music lovers and rednecks.

Saturday night, after the supper break, my friend Tami Walls (who’d scored the other all-access pass because Peter was afraid all that country music would kill him) and I entered the back stage gate (because we could).

And who was standing right in front of us, waiting to start his show?

Gord Bamford.

So I walked right up and asked if I could have a few minutes after the show. He agreed with a big smile. Tami almost fainted.

Yeah, baby.

Gord Bamford and his band kicked up some high energy with their performance. The crowd was instantly involved and Gord was honoured with first standing ovation of the weekend. Gord and the band brought it to Lanark County and left the crowd dizzy from demanding more. Maybe that’s why they’ve garnered 15 CCMA award nominations this year.

As Lorrie played on, Bamford stayed after his show to meet his fans. The line was long and wound around the hundreds of lawn chairs back towards the beer tent. Gord stayed until he’d said hello to every last one of them and posed for as many pictures as his fans wanted.

Tami and I watched Lorrie Morgan take the stage and sing so many of our favourite songs in her sweet, sultry voice. But I kept my eye on the Y101 tent. The minute Gord said hello and goodbye to the last fan in line, it was my turn.

I was going to interview Gord Bamford.

Gulp.

Is it Possible to Take Too Many Pictures?

By no means is this all I have to say about Riverside Jam, but Sunday night was completely bewildering.

First, I ended up hanging out, watching Mark Chesnutt then meeting Mark and the band by myself, my pal happier to hang in the beer tent?

Hey, all access means beer tent too.

Second, for some reason, a couple of staff members backstage decided to make my night uncomfortable.

When I asked whom I should speak to about possibly getting a couple of minutes with Lorrie Morgan and Mark Chesnutt, I was told with much condescension that I should have contacted this guy three weeks ago.

Bummer. He said he couldn't promise anything but he would see what he could do.

I admit I wasn't very hopeful. I thanked him and left it at that, but he informed me that basically, my 'all access' pass meant nothing, and he could revoke it any time he wanted.

Huh? What'd I say that merited that from mister-too-big-for-his-responsibilities?

I was a little ticked off but knew that even though I'd missed Lorrie (apparently, not only did I have to check with him three weeks earlier - a volunteer with Riverside Jam and a very important engineer for the musical gigs) but I should have foregone my kick-ass interview with Gord Bamford to even hope for one minute with Lorrie Morgan.

Fast forward - tonight I take advantage of my pass and use it to continue (done the same Friday and Saturday) to take pictures in front of the stage, at interesting corner angles, etc.

Next thing I know I'm accused of being bitchy and being asked nicely, ONE time only to move from where I was, because really, how many pictures do I need for the paper?

WTF?

I was told it was a highly restricted area, to which I apologized profusely. I almost wasn't allowed to get my stuff from the fence line.

At the end of the show a group of women went into the 'highly restricted area' to dance.

When I pointed out to the volunteer complainer that his restricted area was being abused again, I thought his head would explode.

I have to admit, I would have enjoyed it immensely.