Old Prayers Die Hard

My religious upbringing was such a part of me for so many years that, even now, it is hard for me to separate it from my day to day life. I haven't believed in God in almost twelve years now, and I've been comfortable with not believing for the last seven of those years. But there are times that I still find myself talking to God, saying prayers, even though it's not in the way I used to when my Christian faith was strong. It still feels good, though, to unleash that positive energy out into the world or to release the negative energy from my own mind. My current spiritual beliefs (or lack of) lie somewhere among atheism, agnosticism, Buddhism, and Jesus-lover. I say the last not in jest because while I'm not sure I buy into the whole "Jesus was the son of God sent to die for all sinners," I do like a lot of his teachings, whether they're actually from one man or simply musings put together by a few authors of the New Testament. I could never go back to Christianity mainly because I hate the underlying theme of "you will never be good enough, but maybe you can get by if you follow these rules." I don't care for the way many modern Christians interpret the Bible so literally with no thought into cultural considerations of the time it was written. Also, the picking and choosing of causes really rubs me the wrong way. Why fight so hard against abortion when so many already-born children are suffering due to poverty, disease, and violence? Why fight so hard against homosexuality while ignoring the other outlined "abominations" in scripture? Why spend so much time focusing on negative issues when there's so much good left to be done in the world? I'm not saying that's the way all Christians are, but that is the overall image I have of the modern Christian church given my own experiences.

But this blog entry wasn't meant to be about religion. It's about prayer. I'm a novice Buddhist who has attempted meditation, though I'm not very good at it. And even though I'm not good at it, I will continue to practice because it gives me peace and because I think it's good for my mind. However, when something hits me hard, I find myself doing what I call praying, though it's really just more like a conversation with an invisible entity, who often changes. Sometimes I talk to God, whoever s/he is, sometimes I talk to my best friend Steve, and sometimes I talk to saints, even though I don't fully understand everything about who they are either. I can't tell you if there's anyone or anything out there listening, but I know it makes me feel better to do it.

So today, here's a prayer that I'm sending out to anyone who reads it and out into the universe. Just to clarify things, this is not about me nor is it about anyone any of you know. It is personal, so please don't ask me details. I just need to say it...

Today, I pray for you. A being whom I will never know, never hold, and never kiss. Whether or not you had a soul is beyond my understanding, for I am merely human. But to me, you were real because you were wanted and you were loved before you were even known. May your light fly into the cosmos and dissipate among the stars so that when we look into the night sky you can wink at us, the loved ones who never knew you. May part of you always be inside those who created you, a spot of warmth within their hearts to replace the emptiness. May your journey from here on out be one of learning and love, as your brief stop here was. I mourn you because I loved you, and love is the most important of all emotions--more than sadness, more than loss. Take our love with you and carry it with you, wherever your travels lead you. May whatever happens next be filled with as much joy, love, and hope, as your life here would have been. Right now, my eyes shed tears for you. My heart aches for you. But my dreams of you will live on forever.

Epiphanies of a Pseudo Author

I'll never be a real author. Every book I've ever read on writing talks about that desire to write every day. Daily writing seems to be as necessary as a cup of coffee in the morning to most real writers. It seems that to them, going through a day without writing would be like going through a day without using the bathroom.

That's not me.

I love writing. I love making up new worlds (more accurately, small towns, rather than entire worlds) full of quirky characters and interesting events that set the characters into motion. But I don't feel the desire to do it every day. I can go months without writing a single sentence, though during that time I will have read as many books as I can, taking note of how this author works her dialog or how another author describes a rainy day in his fictional city. I feel like I'm teaching myself to write, though I'm not putting down a single word on paper.

Just today, I started the notes for my next novel. The idea has been bouncing around in my head for well over a year now, but just today did I have an "A-HA!" moment that started turning the gears in my brain. I had the characters, I had the general idea of a plot, but both were floating around in a misty limbo because I just couldn't find a place to put them. For some reason, while munching on some hummus and pretzels this afternoon, the uniting force to just popped into my head, so I grabbed the notebook I'd bought specifically for this novel, and I started writing ideas down. It felt good.

Why am I bothering to work on this idea if I have no intentions of ever doing anything with it? I don't know. It's fun. It gives me a sense of accomplishment. Besides, I have this need to write another book, taking my time, and making it far more superior to my first (which, btw, I have decided not to even bother editing because I just don't feel it), which greatly lacked quality in the areas of mechanics and plot transitions. But it was a learning experience because it proved to me that I was capable of creating a full-length novel, no matter how bad it was. And the first one had some pretty great character development, if I do say so myself!

I'll never be a "real" author like Mame. That woman is a star that the publishing world's telescope just hasn't managed to focus on yet. I will probably never have the drive like she does to polish off a work and make it readable to the public. I don't think I'll ever find the courage to try to sell myself to agents in hopes someone likes what they see. Being a real writer is work, and it's a calling. I, on the other hand, am like the actor in the local little theater production or the softball player on his company's summer league. I do it for the fun, with no aspirations of making it to Broadway or MLB. I understand my limitations, but I also know that it doesn't hurt to practice, to have fun with my hobby, and to spend time inside my head pretending that I'm the next undiscovered phenomenon. Things like that are what keeps life fun, right?

Hello. My name is Daisy, and I'm a vampoholic.

You see this lady. She looks innocent. Sweet. Grandmotherly. Right?

Well BEWARE!!! She's a smack-pusher. A tease. And I gladly shell out $3-$6.99 for her junk (depending whether I can find it at the used bookstore or not).

For those of you who don't know her face, this is Charlaine Harris, author of the Southern Vampire Mysteries, aka Sookie Stackhouse Series, aka the books on which the HBO show True Blood was based.

I started out watching the show, as I am a lover of most things vampire: The Lost Boys, Buffy, Angel, and even Saturday the 14th. I say "most" because I still can't force myself to read the Twilight series, as my well-trusted book friends tell me that *I* personally would not enjoy the book due to the poor writing style of the author. I trust those friends (and Stephen King). But this blog isn't about Twilight, it's about Ms. Harris.

My friend Jen started reading the books before the show even came out. She told me I had to read them, as she knows my love for the supernatural. I made myself wait until the first season of the TV show was over before I started reading them. Of course, after that, much like everyone else I know, I devoured the entire set. I was sucked in by the supernatural world mixed with a mystery theme mixed with hot vampire sex. Think Buffy and Spike. THAT is how hot these vamp romps are. Okay, maybe not THAT hot, but pretty close. Just a word of advice, don't loan them to Grandma unless your grandma is Shel's Nana--haha!

Admittedly, these will never be classic works of literature. They are entertaining, easy to read, and tell a good story. Harris' writing isn't bad, it's just simple. I know people of all education levels who read these books and love them. She appeals to southerners because her portrayal of the characters and of the setting are accurate and might cause nostalgia in those who have ever lived in the South. She appeals to those who love the supernatural because she creates a thoroughly fascinating world of vampires... and shifters... and... oh, I don't want to ruin anything! She appeals to mystery fans because every story has a whodunnit aspect to it as well as not-so-easily predicted resolutions. I'm so glad I bought this series, as I can see myself reading it over and over again, just like I've already watched True Blood Season 1 a few times!

The only problem with this addiction is that the poor woman can only write so many books (though she's been putting them out since the mid-80's, as I just finished her debut novel). When I finished Sookie, I moved to Aurora Teagarden, and to Lily Bard, and soon to Harper Connelley (though I am afraid to read that last one as it seems similar to an idea of a book I want to pen myself!). But those weren't vampire books. I also found myself picking up I'm the Vampire, That's Why by Michele Bardsley, which is nothing more than a cliche romance novel that happens to take place in a fictional town in Oklahoma... but it's about vampires!!!

Who knows if my obsession will continue. Maybe one day I will get desperate enough to try to choke down the Twilight books, but I'm okay for now. After all, today I picked up the 8th Sookie Stackhouse book, which just came out in paperback.

P.S.
Among the Southern Vampire Mysteries Series readers, there seem to be two camps: Bill Lusters or Eric Lusters. I know our own Java is an Eric woman, as is my friend Jen. I, however, remain true to Bill. There's just something about a damaged man with a heart of gold, that is, if vampires are capable of having golden hearts. I also think it's because of the TV series. Stephen Moyer is SO much hotter than Alexander Skarsgard (sorry Jen!).

My Ziggens Life

My friend Aisi tagged me sometime for this meme, and it's too fun to pass up!

Using only song titles from ONE artist, cleverly answer these questions

It would be easy for me to go with Sublime, since they're my favorite band ever. However, I think my second favorite band, The Ziggens, would provide much more humorous answers.

1. Are you a male or female: Females

2. Describe yourself: Debutante

3. How do you feel about yourself: Beat to Pieces

4. Describe your ex boyfriend/girlfriend: High School Love

5. Describe your current boy/girl situation: Strange Way to Live

6. Describe your current location: Barefoot on Hot Cement

7. Describe where you want to be: Burpin' U.S.A.

9. Your favorite color is: Surfungus (I imagine it's a green/brown combo)

10. You know : "Big Salty Tears" or "It's Great to be Unemployed"

11. What’s the weather like: Goin' Richter

12. If your life was a television show what would it be called: "I Hit My Head (On the Corner of a Kitchen Cabinet)" or "I Took My Mom to the Prom" or "Goober Got a Girlfriend" or "I Hate Girls & Cars & Ice Cold Beer" or "Pizza by the Slice" or "All the Fun that We Missed" (sorry, I can't decide!)

13. What is life to you: I Love a Parade

14. What is the best advice you have to give: "I'm Eatin' to Shove My Feelings Down" or "Have a Bitchin' Summer"

15. If you could change your name what would you change it to: "Pistol Pete" or "Ed Gein" (Okay, just kidding on that last one, as I have no desire to wear the skin of corpses. The name would've been Pomona Lisa, but that was an album title, not a song.)

I tag everyone who reads this. It's like The Ring--you're affected even if you don't want to be!

A quick update...

I'm reading much more than I'm writing these days. I've finished 13 books so far this year, half of them being Charlaine Harris novels! That lady sure can write an addictive tale. I'm finished with her vamp books, now, though, so maybe I can move on to other things on my list.

Florida was wonderful. It was a nice, relaxing vacation full of fun, friends, and flip-flops. I am very sad that I'm still a month or two away from flip-flop weather here in Ar-Kansas. There were many wonderful pics taken, mostly of Little D, but as most of you know, I'm not a fan of posting a lot of personal pics online. The pics of me... sigh... They were an eye-opener. I've started eating right, again, and exercising, again, and have a 4 lb weight loss to show for it this week. I've got a long way to go, but maybe I can get there by the time our next vacation rolls around in August.

Still haven't edited a single word of my craptastic novel. The more I think about it, the more I don't like the story. But I may go ahead and clean it up a little, just for my friends.

No word on the transfer. The waiting game is a PITA!!! We pretty much know where we're going, but we have no idea WHEN. I'm so tired of being in limbo. I am ready to get out of Ar-Kansas, though I think living here has been a good experience for me, in a weird way. I'm ready to buy a house and start all over in a new town. I love change, I love moving, and I love fresh starts. Get me back to Oklahoma already!!!

I've been on a news hiatus. A republican friend who likes to give me hell said he couldn't believe it. He assumed I'd be hanging on Obama's every move. Nope. I have faith in Obama, so I'm taking a worry break for now. The news is too goddamn depressing, and I don't understand even the most basic economic principles, so I'm taking a break. Instead, I'm focusing on my home, my daughter, my husband, and me!

Writing all this so far, I'm realizing how utterly boring my life is. I'll be back with more thought-provoking entries one of these days, maybe after the flowers start blooming, the sun starts shining, and the world seems alive again!

If I had a million dollars...

...I'd buy a town!




I don't care that it's in Texas. It has 41 pecan trees and a bar!  I'd sell pecan pies during the day and booze at night. I'd force Mr. D to put together a honky tonk band to entertain the tourists who stop through.  I'd build an RV park and a small cafe that specializes in southern cooking.

The possibilities are endless!!!  Who wants to loan me $883K?

Don't Fear The Reaper, I Mean, Father Time

I'm reading Tuesdays with Morrie this weekend. I saw the movie a long time ago, but I had never read it. As most of you know, I put every book I own and have never read on a list, randomized it, and I'm now plowing through them in that order. This is why I am just now getting around to a book that was written in 1997. Anyway, back to the story...

The book chronicles the last meetings of a young man and his favorite college professor, seventeen years after the last day they saw each other. The young man, Mitch Albom, finds out that his beloved sociology/psychology professor, Morrie Schwartz, is suffering from ALS and has decided to take on the challenge of learning from his imminent death rather than merely "dealing" with it. Their conversations are prolific, profound, and emotional. More than once I've found myself tearing up as I'm reading, as geriatric psychology, the process of dying, and the range human emotion have always been fascinating to me.

I just ran across a passage that jumped out at me, and I wanted to share it as well as remember it. What better way to do that than blog it?

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Weren't you ever afraid to grow old, I asked?

"Mitch, I embrace aging."

Embrace it?

"It's very simple. As you grown, you learn more. If you stayed at twenty-two, you'd always be as ignorant as you were at twenty-two. Aging is not just decay, you know. It's growth. It's more than the negative that you're going to die, it's also the positive that you understand you're going to die, and that you live a better life because of it."

Yes, I said, but if aging were so valuable, why do people always say, "Oh if I were young again." You never hear people say, "I wish I were sixty-five."

He smiled. "You know what that reflects? Unsatisfied lives. Unfulfilled lives. Lives that haven't found meaning. Because if you've found meaning in your life, you don't want to go back. You want to go forward. You want to see more, do more. You can't wait until sixty-five."

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Now, from my December 2007 blog, 100 Things About Me, Part I:

25. I don't fear growing old because with age comes wisdom. I'm happier at 31 than I was at 21, and I'm guessing that my 60's are going to rock.

I'm not saying I have a satisfied, fulfilled, meaningful life. But I would like to think that every day I'm growing closer and closer to it. I've never been one of those people who longs to go back in time. I know people who say they'd love to relive high school, but as for me, I wouldn't do it for a gazillion dollars. There are things from my past I miss, like the first few years with Mr. D when everything was new and we were surrounded by friends and family. But it's the feelings I long for. I wouldn't try to build a time machine to go back. Instead, I appreciate everything I have now that I didn't have then: Little D, the increased intimacy and knowing in my marriage, all the joys and pain that come with motherhood, humility, patience (well, more than I had then), and ever-growing wisdom.

Maybe it's because I'm not a person who has ever depended on or put too much importance on my looks, but I've never focused too much on the physical "horrors" of aging. Yes, it pisses me off that my hips hurt when the weather changes (thank you softball and cheerleading!) and it really sucks not being able to have the metabolism of 17 year old Daisy, but not enough to curse the gods of time.

I love the knowledge I've gained over the years, through both experience and study. I have friends who are ten to twenty years older than I who always seem to have the best advice and the clearest perspective on things. I admire and envy the way their minds work. "Someday..." I tell myself, "I'll be the wiser slightly older woman giving out the good advice." My grandmas are [were] not the kind of women who dole out gems of wisdom to the younger generation. However, through their actions and incidental words, I have learned things that have taught me about motherhood, marriage, feminism, and life that I couldn't have picked up from any book. I've also noted ideas that I'm sure I won't fully understand until I'm their age.

I'm not saying I don't fear death. The unknown does scare the hell out of me. I've always been terrified of dying from a violent act. I fear not being able to raise my daughter and see her grow into her own person. I worry about not living out the dream of growing old with Mr. D and sitting on the porch holding hands while watching the sunset from our rocking chairs.

But aging? That's nothing. Aging is a gift we're lucky to receive, especially if one can keep his or her mental capacities throughout life. Call me strange, but I can't wait until sixty-five.