Living Italian

The second time I was considered to be a teen run away, I was actually placed in another home for two weeks by the Police for suspected child abuse.

My father had gotten very angry at me for not taking out the trash one day and found me sitting in the family room with my feet up on the coffee table watching the Simpson's, much as I'm doing right this very second. He tucked the toe of his boot under my knee and shoved hard. Some would say he had kicked me. At the time, I said he had kicked me. He honestly didn't. Then he picked me up off of the couch by my ponytail. He then threw me to the floor by it, not intending for me to land on the rock mantle of the fireplace, but indeed that is where I collapsed.

My knee was swollen the following day. I sat in my English class massaging it during the teachers lecture. The girl that sat next to me in class asked me what was wrong. I'd never talked to her before other than asking her once what the teacher had said about hyperbolas for my notes. For some odd reason I decided to tell her everything. I even embellished a bit to make the story more interesting. The next thing I knew, I was being rushed to Tirzah Tolman's house that day after school and the Police had taken a full report on everything.

It was only a week before my 17th birthday when all of this happened. Without planning, without warning, I was suddenly thrust into another home, all because I told the Police that I didn't want to leave home. They took it as a sign that I was afraid of my parents. When I told them my Father didn't hurt me, that I had been stupid and kicked a post the day before trying to show off my martial arts training, they didn't believe me. My leg had been fully extended before I made contact with the post and I felt a pain screaming through my leg, radiating out from my knee like thousands of needles covered in acid and fire. That night when my father pushed my legs off of the coffee table with the toe of his boot, he had no idea that I was already in severe pain. I had done it to myself. The Police thought I was singing the familiar tune of a tumble down the stairs when I told them all about it. I was looked at by them like a kid that had told a story of walking into a door handle with his eye.

Tirzah's family was amazing. She had two sisters that just adored me right off the bat. Both of her parents were teachers and were under the same impression as the Police. I decided just to not talk about what had happened. I was tired of people looking at me with sympathy like I was a pathetic child afraid of the world and all it had to offer. I finally just shut up about it all together and stopped trying to defend my family.

I was given a list of chores. The bathroom downstairs was my responsibility to clean twice a week from top to bottom and spot clean every day. I would sweep the floor in the kitchen on the even days, and on the odd days I would vacuum the living room. Tirzah and I traded off for these chores, while her two little sisters, still in grade school, had the simple chores of cleaning their rooms, clearing off the dinner table, and sweeping the front porch daily. Everyone in the family pitched in. We even gathered each night to read a passage of the Bible. For the first time in two years, I felt like I was a part of something, like I was a part of a family.

When my birthday came, every member in the family had gifts for me. Tirzah gave me a beautiful purse / backpack in black faux leather. I fell in love with it the second I saw it. Her sister Rebecca gave me a candle. It was a Cinnamon Apple candle to be more precise. To this day a Cinnamon Apple candle reminds me of that birthday and of Tirzah's family. I was there such a short time and truly grew to love every one of them.

The Police came by only a few days later and told me that they were sending me home. Their investigation had turned up no results. They told the Tolman family that I had "made everything up" and I needed to go home. They actually apologized to the Tolman's, telling them that it was a shame they had to put up with me for so long over something that I had clearly made up. Tirzah never spoke to me again - but for two weeks, I didn't just have a sister, but three sisters and a real family.

I often think about Tirzah and wonder where she is. I hope her sisters lived up to their brilliant potential. I wish Tirzah all the good things life has to offer. She was such a kind girl to take in a relative stranger when she thought I was in trouble. May she never loose that divine spark and the desire to help others. She, and her entire family, were wonderful.

My Greatest Addiction

There are many things that the human race has been addicted to since the beginning of time. Probably one of the first and most primal addictions was adrenaline. The cave man knew not why he enjoyed the hunt so much other than the feeling of accomplishment once the kill was on its way home to feed his fellow tribesman and woman. What he didn't realize was that a catecholamine secreted by the adrenal medulla in response to stress was stimulating an autonomic nerve action; in other words, an adrenaline rush. A day in the life of a Neanderthal wasn't overly exciting, I imagine. Suddenly, during the thrill of a chase, the danger of the kill, he felt alive. He felt new and refreshed, like there was a reason he was alive. His body tingled with the very sensation. His hearing was more keen, his sight more honed in, and his nose far more sensitive. He could feel every breath of air that swept past his bare arms.


Man has had the grand misfortune of finding many more highly addictive substances over the past couple of million years, some of which we've discovered how to fabricate for ourselves. The number of drug and alcohol addictions in this country is staggering!


One must wonder who it was who discovered that this horrible, tiny, hard, bitter bean would be wonderfully pungent and delicious once ground into dust and hot water was filtered through it. Did you know that Americans use more than 2.3 billion pounds of coffee beans each year? We are addicted to caffeine!


But my addiction is none of these. My addiction is something much more serious, and taken with a much more lighthearted attitude. My addiction is love. Some of you may sneer, jeer, jest, heckle, and just plain roll your eyes at this. Others may say that I'm either crazy or headed that way. Maybe so! All I know is that I love to be loved. I enjoy that feeling. I crave it! And I know that when I cant get the love I crave from the source I so desperately want it from, I become a very sad person. Its a horrible addiction, and one that I feel I am on the road to recovering from. I do not wish to live for that feeling. I don't want be depressed, sad, or lonely when I feel I don't get the attention I want. There will be times in my life when I wont be able to have that attention and I must learn to live with that. Just knowing that the one I've decided to give my own heart to loves me should be enough but I crave that interaction between two hearts and souls; that beautiful moment when nothing else in the world matters but the two in love.


I have known many that said they loved me, far less that meant it, and far fewer than that whom I have ever loved in return. Still, I let those who loved me believe that the feeling was mutual so as not to loose their love. Was that bad? Was it wrong? I believe it was, and yet I could not help myself for so long. Every time I had the opportunity to let one of those people I did not love fade off into the background, I seemed to pull them back in and dangle that carrot just out of reach once more.


It took so long to grow into the person I've become. I know now what I want in life, I know how to let go of those I do not and can not love, while at the same time holding tightly to those I do. I know finally what real love feels like. I know it's waiting for me - just patiently waiting. He's right there. Maybe he's waiting for an email or a text message from me... but he's out there. Very soon now, I'll be looking into his eyes as he looks deep into mine, soul mates seprated too long ago and forced into strange lives we were never meant to live appart.

Night Thoughts

The Beep beep beep as a truck backs up somewhere in the distance...
The rumble of the motor when it finally stops, purring somewhere in the darkness...
The sounds of the passing cars on the street...
A truck revs its motor at a stop light, ready to roar off into the night...

I hear it all from my bedroom on the third floor.
I see it all clearly from the window.
These things that would annoy or pester most everyone I know are the things that lull me to sleep at night when I'm laying here alone.

It's nights like this I miss having someone there with me the most. He's out there, and I can only pray he's thinking of me right now, too... waiting for me, wishing for me... wanting me...

I close my eyes and let the slight dizziness from complete exhaustion take over me for a moment. When I open my eyes again, dawn will have broken and the world will be waking up again. I will have made it through another lonely night.

Someday ...
Someday it wont be like this.
When that someday comes, it will never be like this again.

Sleep, take me now. Guide me into sweet thoughts and dreams. Let me see, if only for a few hours with my eyes closed, exactly the way I imagine life should be.

First Date

I've had a lot of first dates in my history, most of which didn't make it to a second date. It's hard to find a stable, drama free guy.


One guy ended up seeing me for a while, constantly charming me, flirting, teasing, dancing and dining. When finally after many months we took it to the next level he made a disastrous comment immediately after kissing me.


"I think you like me more than I like you," he said calmly. He was cool - no, strike that. He was cold. The whole thing had been a game for him. When I laughed at him, it really blew him away. He didn't know how to take it. He thought I was angry at him. Had I been angry, there would have been no doubt - I would have torn his head off. It upset him greatly that I wasn't actually angry at him I think. I laugh it off as one of the all time biggest relationship failures.


I once had a man propose to me on a first date. With my history of first dates, I knew he had a screw loose and played it off as a joke. I gave him an easy way out that way, and yet he didn't take it. He insisted that he was serious. He claimed that I was the "perfect woman" and he already knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me. At the conclusion of that date, I gave the wrong address and walked a full three blocks home from where I had told him I lived.

Another first date once took me to a buffet style dinner where he proceeded to gorge himself in the most ungentlemanly fashion imaginable. By the end of the date, there was a full meal splayed down the front of his shirt. At that point I had already learned my lesson about meeting somewhere rather than riding together.

In High School, one of the popular boys asked me out on a date one night. I had been working at Wendy's in Roy, Utah at the time and he had apparently admired me from afar. He didn't know that I didn't fit the mold of what his family deemed a proper girl to him (mainly due to my religion unfortunately) and we had a glorious time anyway. We played miniature golf, watched an old Disney movie with a group of people where I fell asleep, and then he drove me home. I kissed him on the cheek before I got out of the car, and floated on air all the way to bed. The next day at school, he wouldn't even say hello to me. Someone had told him about my religion. He never spoke to me again.

I've had first dates that would go down in the record books as being some of the most horrible. One openly gawked at a passing woman with a large chest. One tried to slip a drug into my iced tea. One actually tried to put a drop of acid in his mouth and then kiss me without my knowing about it. He almost didn't survive the night.

I've had some very nice first dates as well. One guy showed up with a dozen red roses and a pencil drawing he did of me from a photo. It was sweet and romantic - and I eventually married him. Another took me dancing, also a very romantic move. Unfortunately he didn't really know how to dance and ended up sending me home with bruised feet. We were together for 2 years. Yet another took me to a beautiful restaurant in Beverly Hills called Vibrato and got a seat reserved right near the Jazz band where we dined on incredible steaks accompanied by dirty martini's, just the way I like it.

With all of these First Dates under my belt, one would think I would be an expert in the field - but there are those who have still taken me by surprise.

One first date in particular stands out in my mind above all others for some reason... A noisy restaurant isn't exactly the best place for a first date, but the food was good and the view was spectacular. Afterward we decided to go for a stroll. Walking along the beach in the dark, 10:00 at night just talking with someone I hardly knew turned out to be a wonderful night and an evening to remember. It's the little things I remember most; the sand between my toes, the ocean waves lapping at the shore, talking about surfing, going to Hawaii, being burried in the sand, odd family members and just life in general made that night the most successful first date in my history. There was nobody stomping on my feet or a Jazz band to shout over. There weren't any buffet lines, hidden drugs, sneaky idiots or marriage proposals. It was what I had always wanted - a NORMAL first date with a wonderful person.

There are many events that have happened in my life that I can swear I will never forget for as long as I live. I've forgotten most of the horrible first dates, and I remember most of the good ones. There are those that will live in infamy within the recesses of my mind though that will always make me smile, just with the mere thought of them. And as you all know, I do love to share my fond memories.

Purpose

I was awe struck as I walked into my little appartment last night. I had just climbed out of the shower and was going to settle into bed to read for a while before drifting off to strange and erratic dreams when I heard a noise below. The cats were settling in to bed. The lights outside filtered through the wooden slats covering the window, eluminating the room with a pleasant, faint glow. I couldn't help but to smile, remembering fondly the wonderful memories I've already made in that room with my own friends and lovely little pets.

I climbed down from the loft to fetch myself a bottle of water. I walked through my very own living room and saw the computer on the desk still open to a project for work. I had managed to feel highly successful yesterday in the mid-year meeting and was ready to attack my job with a new sense of purpose and determination. My smile grew for reasons I couldn't yet share. Oliver jumped down from his carpeted tree and nuzzled my bare leg.


I've been in some hard spots, and I've had a really hard time trying to find my place in this world. Even now it's a daily struggle for me, but I know where I'm meant to be. I know what I want to do for my career, and getting there has been a challenge, it's one I'm eager to face every day when I wake up. I look forward to going in to work. Even now that path isn't guaranteed, but I know that I'm well on my way and I have a support system greater than any I've ever known. And yet, as I walked through the appartment last night, I realized something that maybe I had known all along and just hadn't realized.

I have my home. It's the first time I've felt like I belonged somewhere and had my own place in my entire life. I belong here. This is my sanity, my safety, and my savior. My career has just begun and I have great plans for my direction, but I have everything in my life that I've ever really searched for - stability, self-sufficiency and confidence.

This was an eye opening walk through my own place. I found something in the past year I guess I never really lost - my inspiration and my soul. They've just been waiting for me to realize that all I had to do was reach out for them, held captive in the recesses of my own mind. If not for people like my boss, friends and co-workers who have stood by me in this most difficult time, I may never have taken this walk to the kitchen on this warm and humid night in my house coat and slippers and seen the magic of my own home around me. I wouldn't have that glorious appartment. I wouldn't have my two cats, warm and friendly, loving and giving. I wouldn't be where I am in this world, with dreams, desires and determination to not only succeed, but to conquer.

Yes, I am still me. I am that vibrant, energetic little girl I knew growing up. I'm that sassy, somewhat crazy redhead I knew in my teens. I'm that young, ambitious adult I knew in my early 20's who saw the world as nothing but a game to win. I'M BACK, and nothing can stop me this time.

My job has opened new doors to meeting new people and trying new things. I've become more empowered than ever before, and after so many years of searching and never knowning, I've found my niche. I've found where I belong.

I've finally found my purpose.

The Horrible Success

In January of 2007, I planned a dinner party for several people. It was the first I had ever fully planned, and it was my way of saying thanks to the couple who invited us over the week before to share their dinner with them.


At their house, dinner was a buffet style. They had made tacos, and this way everyone could choose what they wanted to put in them. I loaded up my taco with a little of everything, topped it off with salsa and homemade guacamole from avocados I had brought over, and I watched my date do the same. When we sat down to eat, I asked him if he noticed anything was missing.


"No," he replied. "What do you mean?"


Feeling that it was a remarkably unobservant remark for a veteran Police Officer of 13 years, I pointed out the one obvious fact he had failed to notice.


"There's no meat."


"What?!" Incredulous, Pete looked at me, down at his taco, and back at me. I could see him thinking for a second. "You're right!"


"I think they're vegetarians," I said quietly. George and Rachel were still putting together their tacos, so that moment of privacy was the only moment I would be able to point out my simple observation without incurring an uncomfortable silence.


"So," Pete said in a much less tactful way when they sat down near us, "you're vegetarians, huh?"


"Oh," George and Rachel proclaimed. "We forgot to tell you. Yes, we've lived a Vegan lifestyle for the past 3 years now," Rachel explained to us, "but I was a Vegan long before that. It just took me a while to convince George." She kissed him sweetly on the cheek while his mouth was wrapped in a big bite around his taco. He smiled a bit.


"Yeah," he concluded after chewing his bite and clearing his mouth. "I wasn't easy to convince."


Before I realized it, the night was nearly over and we were headed home. I couldn't seem to stop myself from speaking when I invited them over for dinner the following week. I'd never cooked a Vegan meal in my life.


I started cooking that Saturday at 9:00 am. It had taken me all week to decide on a menu, and then I discovered that there were so many options that I couldn't decide between them. The final decisions were left to Pete. The dinner party had grown from 4 people to 5 couples, so I knew that no matter the menu, I would have something for everyone. Still, the majority of food was to be Vegan by design.


The first thing I worked on were the appetizers. I chopped the stems and crumbled the bread crumbs for the stuffed mushrooms, wrapped the brie rounds in the Phillo dough with walnuts and Jalapeno Pepper Jelly, and sent Pete to the store for more pears. The baked brie was to be served with apple and pear slices along side a variety of crackers.


Then I got to work on the salad. What Pete's sister described as a "California Salad" is precisely what I made. I started out with the fancy lettuce variety – arugula, baby spinach – the like. Then I tossed on some chopped walnuts (left over from the baked brie) some Feta, also to be used in the lasagna, some sweet yellow peppers, later to be cooked in with the vegetarian lasagna, and some raspberry vinaigrette dressing. It was wonderful! I served this to the guests as soon as they stopped chowing down on the appetizers and chit chatting over the days events, a good half hour after the first couple arrived. They also turned out to be the last couple to arrive. The rest of the group except Rodney (minus the girlfriend) cancelled at the last minute.


Then I made the HAND ROLLED lasagna – two different kinds. I had the traditional meat and tomato, but also the spinach and cheese. It was very good, I'll admit. I had only made it once before. While the guests worked on their salads, the Lasagna was baking in the oven, making the whole house smell wonderful. Noses turned to the air, sniffing wildly as George mopped up the last bit of Raspberry Vinaigrette with a baby spinach leaf.


Next I tossed the ingredients together for my own Cherry Cobbler Cake – a whopping 4 ingredients. This cake is simple, fast, and always a party favorite. I threw that in the oven just as the Lasagna came out and the guests were setting down their salad bowls. Each piece of lasagna came out as a beautiful presentation, and having previous experience as a food server, it was nothing for me to carry three plates at once. Pete carried ours. Ever the polite hostess, I even offered choices.


I had plated two servings of the vegetarian lasagna for George and Rachel, knowing full well from the previous week that they had been Vegan for years. The chances of that changing in less than one week were slim to none.

"Would you like the Spinach lasagna, or the traditional?"


George and Rachel exchanged quick glances. Rachel spoke up first.


"We'll try the traditional."


Agog, I had Pete hand the two plates of traditional lasagna to our guests, while the third I handed to Rodney. The two plates of Spinach lasagna went to Pete and myself. Our confusion was obvious, I guess. George offered an explanation.


"We went to a friend's house on Wednesday. He had been cooking ribs all day long and it had been so long since I had ribs. I said I would take a bite of one just to see how they tasted. All Rachel had to do was taste the BBQ sauce on the ribs and we were both hooked. I suppose I should have told you guys sooner, but it slipped my mind. We're not vegetarians anymore, by the way." His fork cut into his lasagna and he removed a bite sized piece. "Sorry." He emptied the contents into his mouth and his face lit up. "But if I hadn't gone back to meat on Wednesday, I would have now! This is incredible!"


"It is," Rachel agreed after swallowing her first bite. "I've GOT to get this recipe from you! I've never seen Lasagna look like this before. It's so... well, pretty!"


Before everyone finished eating their lasagna, I claimed to have some errand in the kitchen I needed to attend to. The smell of the Cherry Cobbler Cake wafted through the house when I turned off the oven and opened the door to allow it to cool.


The final touch was the Poached Pears. I'd never had poached pears before and I knew it sounded good, so I was curious. I threw together the ingredients in a sauce pot and got it boiling. While waiting, I collected the empty and polished lasagna plates. Had they been any more spotless I would have accused them of licking the plates clean. Then I returned to the kitchen where I peeled, cored, and boiled the pears, but while they were boiling, I garnished the desert plates.


The desert plates were garnished with Raspberry Syrup and Chocolate Syrup swirled in one corner around an orange slice and a raw apple slice. The cake went in another corner, the poached pear next to that. A single scoop of Vanilla Ice Cream finished the presentation, and it came out looking like a miniature work of art. When the desert was served, I got the biggest compliment of the evening.


"This is the best desert I've had in so many years," Rachael proclaimed.


"Everything has been so wonderful!" Pete said.


"Wow, Amanda – you've outdone yourself here. Wonderful." Rodney thanked me.


"I'm so full I feel like I cant swallow any more, and yet I cant stop eating!" George cut a slice of pear off with his spoon and tasted it gingerly. "Oh Wow," he said in a hushed tone. "This is the best desert I've ever tasted." George smiled up at me and then looked at Rachel. "Why don't you ever cook like this?"



Rachel's face fell in embarrassment and she refused to look at me for the rest of the night. She didn't say much after that, and it was clear that she was extremely hurt by what George had said. While I was openly embarrassed for her, inwardly I was stunned that my food had garnished such a compliment.


It was a crowning achievement; a great and horrible success, and an overall wonderful moment for me while also being a most humiliating moment for Rachel. If only the 8 people invited had showed up rather than just the three that did, maybe the comment would have been lost in random conversation.

There were certainly PLENTY of leftovers. To this day I've not made another batch of Vegetarian lasagna though. I know I probably wouldn't eat it if I did. It was good- very good. I just got rather burned out on it.


George and Rachel never came over again, and we never were invited to their house for dinner after that. We rarely saw them at all, and the few times we did, it was clear that Rachel still had rather hurt feelings. She hardly spoke to me.


Part of me wonders if she thought my purpose was to out-do her taco dinner we had at their house, but I know that wasn't the point at all. My only purpose was to make something I would enjoy making and that people would enjoy eating. I wanted to be creative and I saw my moment to try something new.


It was, in the end, a horribly successful dinner party that I'll never forget. I've got money on the fact that Rachel won't forget it anytime soon, either. I still feel bad for that one.

Rodney, Myself and George.

Ode to the Cinedome, Riverdale UT

When we first moved to Utah, I remember coming over the hill and hitting Riverdale road. Off to the right of the main road was a theater we instantly nicknamed the Dolly Parton theater. Cars were parked around its perimeter for a Sunday afternoon showing of Aladdin that November. Snow was visible on the mountains in the distance, and it was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen.


I was only 12 years old the first time I saw the Cinedome. I knew instantly that I would eventually see a movie there, and the following year Jurassic Park was released. We went as a family. It was the first time we had all seen a movie together in many years. I'll never forget seeing the teeth of T-Rex closing in around me on the curved screen. I jumped a little and grabbed my mothers arm as she sat next to me. I remember her smiling and almost chiding me a bit.


"Oh Honey, it's just a movie," she said. This came from the woman who knew Gremlins gave me nightmares for weeks when I was younger. I was tough for her though. I didn't let her know it scared me as much as it did. I tried to keep the incident with Frankenstein in mind whenever I was scared. I knew it was "just a movie" and kept my startled jumpiness to a minimum.


I always thought I would end up going to the Cinedome on a date, but sadly that never happened. My parents didn't like the idea of me dating really, and the only guy they ever approved of was 8 years older than me when I was 16 years old. To their credit, Eric had lied and told them he was only 5 years older than I was, the exact age difference between my Mom and Dad.

Eric wasn't much of a "going out" person. His idea of a good time was riding a bull named Yellow Dog and drinking Coors Light at home. Eric gave me my first full beer. It was horrible, but I drank it because I didn't want him to think I was just a little girl. I hated it.


There was a house over behind the Cinedome where a photographer lived. He used to do the portraits for all the High School seniors in the area. He had the most amazing lawn I think I had ever seen, but his view was of the back side of the Cinedome. I can't imagine he ever had any true love for the place.


Behind his house though was a hillside covered in lush trees that led down a sewage drain we all called "the creek" and straight to a park. I spent about 80% of my free time at the park, climbing the hill up behind the Cinedome and pretending to climb the bricks that jutted out from the joints of the building.


I remember once I had a couple of friends come over to 'hang out' with me, since we were getting to old to 'play' outside. I had been grounded for something; it seems like I rarely had any free time because I spent most of my time being grounded. Mom told them I couldn't come outside, but she said it was ok for me to tell them that myself. I went out and told them to meet me at the park, I would be there shortly.


"No," Trent said, "You'll get in trouble, won't you?"


"Who cares," was my response. "I'm always in trouble anyway. What does it matter anymore? I don't care. What else can they do to me at this point?"


"Are you sure," Doug asked.


"Yeah, I'm fine."


"Ok," they said in unison, sounding doubtful.


"See you later," I shouted loudly for my mother's benefit.


They headed straight for the park and I headed straight for the back door. They weren't 200 yards away when I caught up to them. We walked straight to the park.


We were sitting on a bench when I saw a familiar little blue Dodge car turn the corner. My mother had known instinctively where to look for me. I darted into the nearby woods and started to make my way up the creek. The boys were right behind me.


"Hey," my mother shouted. "Where's Manda?"


"I don't know," Trent said from the other side of the tree where I was hiding. "You said she couldn't come out."


"Don't you lie to me," she shouted back at him. He stood defiantly looking at her. I could feel the tension in the air. He knew we were in trouble. We had been found. Trent turned to look at Doug who stood a few feet away. Doug looked at Trent. Audible swallows of salivating mouths could be heard. They gulped in unison. Trent looked back at my mother. Finally, knowing she wasn't going to get anywhere with them, she pulled away and drove off around the corner.


The boys and I made a mad dash up the hill, running over the muddy bank as quickly as we could. We had planned on finding refuge inside the Cinedome. The boys both had money and were going to take me to a movie. I couldn't wait! We came over the top and burst through the foliage straight into my mothers waiting car. I knew I was in trouble.


I got into the passenger seat after facing her grinding teeth and icy glare. As we pulled away she let fly with one of her physical tantrums all over the top of my head. At one point she popped me in the nose and it began to spew blood profusely. She didn't even slow down. She just aimed at the top of my head and my stomach again. The boys, having seen this from the back view, called the cops as soon as they got home.


We got a visit from the cops that night. I had been grounded even more severely and was being forced to go to bed at 8:30 that night. I was dressed for bed and ready to hit the sack when the doorbell rang. My Dad answered the door and shouted down to me.

"Manda!" he called out. He sounded amused. "You have a visitor."

I walked the steps up to the front door, puzzled. Dad had NEVER let me have a visitor if I was in trouble before, and even if I wasn't in trouble I couldn't have visitors after dark - even at 16 years old. I peeked around the door and saw two uniformed Officers standing there.

"Young lady, are you ok?" One of them asked me. "You have a couple of concerned friends out there who were afraid you were in trouble."

"Tell them what you did," my Dad urged me.

"I snuck out of the house when I was grounded," I told them quietly.

"But you look ok."

"Yeah, I'm ok. But I'm even more grounded now."

"You'd be worse than that if you were my kid," he answered. My father gathered a deep-down belly laugh at that. They said good night and closed the door. Nothing more came of the incident.

I never did end up going to the Cinedome with Trent or Doug, or indeed anyone but my own family that one time to see Jurassic Park. I always wanted to have that chance, but collectively since I moved away at 18 years old, I've only been back for a total of 2.5 months in the past 13 years.

Now the curtain closes for the Cinedome for the last time. They plan to tear it down soon. I know that I don't have as many memories there as so many other people, but the fact that it was one of the few constants in my life durring my time in Utah has always stood out like a beacon, reminding me that some things are solid enough to stick around forever.

It's unfortunate that it won't be around forever though. Then again, nothing really is.

Cinedome, you will be missed.

Why I Write

oday I was astounded that I had more than 50 views on my blog before lunchtime. I set forth a goal, telling everyone that if I had over 100 views on my blog in a single day, I would post two more today as a treat. Well, we accomplished that by 10:54pm, with 107 views. By midnight, I estimate somewhere around 130 views, clearly a hundred more than an average day. For all the hard work and effort that went into this, I've decided to write two blogs AFTER this one. Perhaps by the end of this one you will understand why.

I was told in a private tweet earlier today by a first time reader of my blog that I was a very interesting woman. When I asked what it was that made me so interesting, the response was "it's interesting reading someone's story and like that, you're putting it all out there." It started my thinking process. I wondered for a flash of an instant why it is I write and "put it all out there" for everyone to see.

I have some friends who believe I should do video blogs. I've thought about it, but I hesitate only because I know that writing permits me the time to think carefully about my words, how they form and how they paint a picture. It affords me the opportunity to be far more descriptive than I would be on camera. Yes, I have a presence on camera - and maybe one of these days I'll do a video reading, but just to tell a story on a video, I find I say the typical space fillers far too often. I can't get through three sentences without using "um" or "ahh" a couple of times.

But why would I need to choose between writing and video blogging? What is so important that I want to tell the world?

When people tell us that we should live like we mean it, spend what we have, because we can't take it with us - they're right. We don't take our homes or money or cars with us when we die. Ladies don't take their shoes or handbags. Men don't take their fishing boats or entertainment systems. We don't even take our names with us. They're handed on to other children. I'm certainly not the only Amanda I've ever known.

In the end, our stories are the only things we take with us. If they aren't shared with others, what good has it done us to survive the trials and tribulations we must endure throughout our lifetimes? Is there a possibility that others can learn from the lessons we've had to figure out the hard way?

I guess in a way it's a selfish reason I have for writing. I don't want the stories I have to die with me when my time on Earth is done. Then again, it's completely unselfish. I've known several people I can name off hand who say my stories and determination have inspired them to strive for a better life. One time someone contacted me on Myspace to tell me that something I had written had changed their mind on the fatal mistake of committing suicide. Another long time friend confessed to me that they had been trapped in a horrible relationship with someone they no longer loved but didn't have the strength to get out of it for fear of not ever finding something better. That person has since moved on and seems happier than ever with their decisions. It's always a struggle starting over, but it's all worth it for the chance to be happy in life. He found that guidance through me somehow - through my stories.

These are our lives we are taking for granted. They were meant to be lived and enjoyed. They were meant to be filled with experiences and memories that will last forever. How waisted is the life spent in misery!!

I have learned through times of being abused, abandoned, kidnapped, loved, adored and honored, never to take a single moment for granted. I have stories to share with anyone who will listen - and you proved to me yesterday that not only are you listening, but you're sharing! There could be few gifts in this world greater than the gift of being appreciated for my words of adventure, wisdom, stupidity and silliness. It's a great accomplishment to me when someone tells me that my stories have inspired them, or that they look forward to my next installment.

So, I guess that's why I write.

I write because people appreciate it.

I write because it helps me to cope with issues.

I write because it helps others to cope with drama.

I write because YOU enjoy it.

I write because you tell me it inspires you.

I write because of you.

Thank you - each of you - for caring enough to come back day after day.

This blog, and indeed all of my blogs, are for you.

.

The Roach with Soul

On January 30th of 2007, Pete and I went to a blues club in a shady neighborhood with one of his old friends from college. The evening was warm and light for being January, and I instantly liked his old friend Heath. Heath was a funny guy constantly cracking jokes and pushing the envelope. Finally the hostess seated us at the only available table in the place, a small table so close to the band that the snare drum reverberated in my head. I couldn't help but smile. I was already having a glorious night.

We hadn't been sitting even five minutes when I frightened Pete with the look of pure panic on my face. That smile I couldn’t get rid of was gone.

I was sitting next to Pete’s right side when I saw it out of the corner of my eye…

Crawling on his shoulder was one of the largest roaches I’ve ever seen in my life. The thing was monstrous. It was no thinner than my large toe, and the length was around that of my thumb! Horrified, all of the color drained from my face. Pete turned to look at me just then and grew very sober, seeing the look on my face and the ghostly complexion I knew was visible to anyone within sight.

“What’s wrong?” I stood there, watching the roach crawl up his arm towards his neck. It changed direction and went over the bak of his shoulder instead. Hoping it would find its way to the back of the seat, I said nothing. “What is it? What’s the matter?” He kept prompting me. Stalling for time, I began to stutter slightly. Finally, the roach reared its ugly head on the other shoulder and began working its way down towards the suit pocket on his left pectoral. That’s when I squealed.

At this point, Pete’s prompting me had gotten the attention of Heath and his lady friend Brook, as well as some of the neighboring tables. Heath didn’t see what I had seen and thought instead the look on my face was one of complete rage. He said later on that it looked like I had it in my mind to kill Pete – or at least severely maim him. At my tiny squeaky squeal, Brook followed my gaze and saw the ugly bug. Her face widened in alarm and she began to squeal as well. Finally I spoke up.

“Pete,” I said calmly and slowly, “You need to remove your jacket,” I paused, and then shouted “NOW!” I finished quite a bit more forcibly. Understanding a situation of urgency from my expression, Pete shed his jacket faster than I’ve ever seen him remove any article of clothing. He danced a bit, trying to shake off his invisible attacker. I shuddered when I didn’t see it on his jacket anymore and immediately picked up my feet from the floor. For the rest of the night I sat on top of my feet, not caring that I was in a dress.

Heath got a big kick out of me squealing at a bug like that, so Pete jumped to my rescue.

“I never told you,” Pete started. “You’ll never believe it – she found a spider in my room once. Ya know what she did with it? It was a big, ugly, hairy Wolf spider.”

“What DID she do? Scream?” Heath chuckled to himself.

“No,” Pete sat up straight and proud. “She scooped it up in her hand and carried it outside to let it go.”

I earned new respect that day...


(Photo taken at work around that same time, me blownig kisses to Martha the Chilean Fire Spider, the Office Mascott)

LA Weather Report

As with all things in life, there are drawbacks and positives to warm and cold weather. I prefer to see things in a positive light, however.

Yesterday the weather was perfect - sunny and warm, I drove home at 5pm with the top down on my bright red 1995 Honda Del Sol. The slight breeze in my hair, the wind on my face, I felt warm and comfortable in short sleeves. Here it is March, when the rest of the world is huddling close to their fireplaces to keep warm, and I'm driving home with the top down.

On the days like yesterday I know there is no possibility of going to bed early, though I also knew that was exactly what I needed. I had been up far too late the night before, knowing full well that I had to wake up at 6am to go to work. Going on about 3 hours of sleep, having the top down on my drive home was merely a trick to keep myself awake for the hour drive. Even that failed to work in the end. I nearly fell asleep as I pulled into my own street.

I have only one window in my tiny, upstairs apartment. Nothing separates my bed in the loft from the hot roof of the building but about 2 inches of painted white wood and 2 feet of air. When I climb up into the loft, I have to sit on the edge of the bed and roll onto it's soft surface. I have to be careful not to sit bolt upright in the middle of the night for fear of knocking myself unconscious with a support beam across the ceiling. So, on the very warm days such as yesterday was, I could easily gauge the temperature in my bedroom as being up near 100 degrees, while downstairs was much nearer to 78.

This morning the weather report was something else entirely. People here in Southern California are bundled up in sweaters and coats. They are cranking up the heaters in their cars with the remote buttons as they watch the wind tousle the trees from the safety of their warm homes. I've come to the conclusion that Californians are a spoiled people. While they "suffer" at 58 degrees this morning with a slight marine mist blowing in from the clear ocean views surrounding us, the people in a small town between Glasgow and Edinburgh are freezing away, watching the snow as they walk to the grocery store.

It's a crisp, breath taking 37 degrees over there right now. People are huddled up with their families in front of those fireplaces. The girls are learning to braid by practicing on one anothers hair and positioning flowers here and there amongst the strands. The small boy is sitting in his room reading a good book, warm and safe under the covers his mother so carefully flattened over his bed when he left for school this morning. His father, a big man known the town over as John, wanders into his son's room and speaks to him in a lyrical tune of a voice most Americans wouldn't understand. Then, he picks his boy up, tosses him over his shoulder, and carries him down to the dinner table. The boy giggles the entire way. His sister squeals when she sees the sport and begs to join in, beating her Daddy on the arm as any protective big sister would. The children take their father to the ground, giggling and squealing the whole way. He plays with them like a big Labrador retriever as his lovely flaxen haired bride watches on from the kitchen doorway, smiling to herself.

"Now John, you be easy on them," she says from the doorway.

"Now Louise," he scolds "If you'd like to stick up for them, you can't very well do it from there, can you?!" He grins a wide, mischievous smile at her, and she knows that if she doesn't disappear around the doorway, she would be next! Just as she ducks around the side, he jumps to his feet and begins chasing her through the house, threatening to tickle her until she pees her pants. She squeals louder than her children and heads straight for the stairs, swinging wildly behind her as she goes, hoping to make contact with his head or chest as he snarls.


I remember with fondness, those days I would play on the floor with my own father as my Mom would scold him from the kitchen for playing too rough with us. Dad didn't do it very often, but sometimes he would chase Mom round and round from the kitchen to the living room. Finally they would end up in a balled pile on top of the couch. They would kiss and my brother and I would both "Eww" ourselves out of the room.

What I wouldn't give to have that waiting for me when I went home tonight. I hate being tickled, but I would gladly give up the freedom of NOT being tickled in order to have the man I love being the one chasing me in the first place. He'd catch me half way up the stairs, we would fall in a heap, and he would make me laugh until I hurt. Finally, he would gently kiss me. He'd look deep into my eyes, and me into his, and I would know that I finally had my happy ending. Then - the cat would bite me on the toe as he so often does, wanting to play along.

116 days.

First Entry

Tonight, after watching Julie and Julia on Netflix, I finally decided to do something I've thought about for a very long time. I finally signed up for my very own blog.

Years ago I began writing and blogging in my Myspace account. I had so much information on there that when I went to find an old entry that I dearly loved, it no longer existed. I had put so much stuff on that blog that the older entries were swept away without my knowledge.

So here I sit in my living room floor, finally deciding to start an OFFICIAL blog.

Part of me wonders how this project will fare. I've made a few attempts at this sort of thing, but for some reason the only one I was ever able to complete from start to finish was an 850 page hand written book titled "For My Family" that was stolen last July as well as everything else in my uHaul. That's a story for another day...

So - my first entry will be a reply to a question I received in my Flickr mail from "Deb and Mike" (http://www.flickr.com/photos/48285538@N03/)

I saw your CD of "Ol' yellow eyes".

Is it really expensive now? I got mine at a mall in Kansas a bunch of years ago. I even kept the receipt for no real reason other than it was/is fun.

His voice wasn't bad.

I was at a party with lots of geeks (we were supposed to wear pocket protectors) and I showed up dressed decently and got a lot of "Geeze, you call yourself a geek?" comments. To which I simply puled that CD out of my pocket. I had a few folks bow down to it. We laughed and laughed and I refused to take it out of the case for fear it'd get damaged. :)

My response was just this....

Actually - I found it in a record shop called Amoeba in downtown Los Angeles. They told me they didn't have any left. I refused to take that as an answer and continued looking. Suddenly I spotted it staring me in the face from a locked glass case. When I saw the $80 price tag I nearly swallowed my tongue! Still, I took a deep breath, looked at the sales girl, and told her "I'll take it." It was well worth the investment.

I'll probably have one of his songs played at my wedding. At least one. And I'm not even engaged. I wonder what the fiancee will think of that...