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 |   Nadanother blog...sheesh, I guess I DO blog. Completed. |
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I've had a rich past, yet am making a new one with plenty of life's experiences to draw from! I invite you to come along and see what trouble I get into. I'll blog about my life, present, past... whatever comes to mind at the time. I'll try not to be too serious most of the time, heck we get enough of that just living. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Happy New Year! For the mirroring blog series we do on Saturdays:
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I couldn't. Day 10 without water.  1. Did you know a gallon of water weighs EIGHT pounds? 2. It takes a minimum of three gallons of hot to one gallon of cold to make a nice shower? 3. You can boil three gallons of water (in two pasta pots) on the stovetop more quickly than one gallon in the microwave? 4. It takes two gallons of water to flush the toilet? More if you want some left in the bowl. 5. By Friday it will be in the mid-nineties here.  So in other topics...Friday Lance and I went to see an optometrist. One day, a few weeks ago, he casually mentioned he should have his eyes tested, his hearing tested , and a dental appointment. I called later that morning and scheduled the eye appointments, one for him and one for me. Then I scheduled the hearing test, one for each of us. I don't have the nerve to make the dentist appointments...yet.I sat in the room with him, as he went through all of the tests. The doctor is a really nice guy, jokingly saying , "Don't you memorize the eye charts." We all laughed, and I averted my eyes, mostly. I did chuckle a few times when he struggled with it. Then they dilated his eyes, took a few more tests and it was my turn. I was feeling pretty confident as I read the bottom line of the eye chart...with my left eye. Then he switched to my right eye. {i{Uh-oh. I knew then I was in trouble. Actually I didn’t do too badly, but I now understood how Lance could sound so...um...confident while guessing.  By the time he dilated my eyes I was very happy to have asked Cesar to drive us to and from the appointment. Lance seemed to think he’d be okay to drive...I suppose it is a feeling similar to being drunk and confident.  Men! Gawd, he did confess on the way home, even though it was dark, everything with light had halos around it. I’m sure it was not some angelic guidance though.I’ve spent much of the past week house hunting. Well, the field I looked at of about 16 houses narrowed to exactly two which had no steps. I took Lance to see them on Sunday. The first was small, but would work, if he wasn’t picky about having to spend the kind of money they asked, which was roughly double what it was worth in today’s housing market. No POOL either. Oh well, it was good for him to see what is available right now.The second house he hated. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word, but it was on a couple of acres, had a view of the mountains, but again no pool. The house was twice as big...but I admit it was hard to see the house itself beyond the incredibly poor decorating...we were told this man buys his furniture from the same man in Las Vegas as Michael Jackson. Need I say more? Anyway, it wasn’t for us, especially since it was only TWO houses from the last home we sold and moved back to the ranch from. Gawd. We did go look at a third house, one I had seen about June...when I ran into one of my former neighbors, from the old neighborhood, at the gym and she told me about the house being for sale. Well, it was a beautiful, brand new house then, and it still hasn’t sold, for the same reason...not one, but two approximately 10,000 square foot monstrosities are being build just beyond the back yard...on speculation. Both are looking squarely into the back yard, and into the house! The builder (of the comparatively small one we looked at) had not planted even one tree along the back, which would have been growing about five years since they broke ground. Go figure. The pool is gorgeous, the house is beautiful, but just lawn, two rosebushes and these two gargantuan homes looming in the back acre...a crime. Soooooo, here we are, without water and there sits a beautiful, overpriced home with running water in every bathroom. Maybe they would rent it for a few years? Oh yeah, we also found out on Friday that to fix the pump would only be $200 less than a brand new pump...and the soonest delivery of a new pump would be ..... FEBRUARY 2009. Just shoot me now. PS....I’m not complaining, merely stating the facts. Don’t cry for me...I’m Survivor Woman now. |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “This is It” Sung by Kenny Loggins-1980 Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7-e6Yhu5SU To ring in the New Year Lance and I saw the movie, ”All That Jazz”. We had gone to Newport Beach for the weekend. I had never been to Newport, and I saw why immediately; it was a bastion for the wealthy. The homes were enormous; the boats were not boats, but yachts. It was a world I had not grown up in. I was terribly uncomfortable there, if the truth be known. Most of Lance’s friends were men and women he knew from kindergarten on. Lifelong friends, something I never had. They also lived in Beverly Hills, a world which made me feel...inadequate about myself. I never felt like I was really accepted by them, instead, more of a girlfriend of the moment. The women were nice to my face, yet I knew behind my back they wondered what I was doing living among their kind; the rich, the spoiled. My clothing was never as good as theirs, my table manners meant I missed using some kind of fork or another, the male friends (mostly married) would walk closely behind me in a restaurant... I could feel their eyes. While we were waiting for a table, the one behind me would lean forward and whisper into my ear, “What are you doing with Lance?” Implying I could be with them. Ugh, they disgusted me. Of course putting down other people made others not notice their flaws and fake superiority. Picking on a man who had a physical disability, therefore not their equal, was contemptuous to me. I just smiled and made mental notes. I knew the kind of man I was with, but those poor other women. No wonder they eyed me with suspicion. Nobody trusted anyone. How sad. January also brought me closer to another court case. This time I would be testifying against the head of the Bay Area Restaurant and Bar Employees Union, *Ray Stone. I don’t know if it was coincidental or not, but I happened to be undergoing a root canal. Both procedures were equally uncomfortable. The lawsuit alleged that Mr. Stone. had used his power to influence young women to go on “junkets” with powerful allies to the union. He wanted them to have sex with these allies (men); his own form of paying dues. Since it was in Oakland, I could fly in and probably be done in a day, spend the night with a girlfriend and go home the following day. I arrived by cab about a half-hour late, court was already in session. Over the door was a sign saying WITNESSES NOT ALLOWED. Carrying an overnight bag, fumbling with my coat, all while trying to open the folded piece of paper I clutched. I saw the bailiff coming. I backed up from the door, when he got into the hallway I thrust the piece of paper at him. “Could you tell someone I’m here? My plane was late arriving.” The bailiff took the paper, studied it, and flatly asked, “Is this for the Stone case?” I nodded yes. “Wait here.” He disappeared back into the courtroom. In just a moment he was back. “You can go in now, they’re ready for you to take the stand.” “Now? I haven’t even spoken to the attorney.” The bailiff shrugged, apparently it was not his problem. He led me into the courtroom, to the witness stand, where I raised my right hand was sworn in by another bailiff. The judge seem distracted as I took my seat, he was absentmindedly turning his chair from side to side as the bailiff continued, “...to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you God?” “I do.” The bailiff motioned for me to sit down. “Take the stand please.” The female attorney for the plaintiff, a young woman who brought the lawsuit against Mr. Stone, was slightly smiling as she approached. “Can you remember where you worked nine years ago?” “Yes.” “Where was that?” “The King’s X.” “How do you remember that?” She turned to face the filled courtroom. “Because I was 22 at the time and it was my first job as a food waitress.” “Were you asked to join the Bartenders and Waitress’s Union, Local 28...while at that job?” “Yes I was.” “Did you ever have occasion to meet the Secretary-Treasurer of that same union?” “Yes, Mr. Ray Stone.” I could see Stone sitting at the table in front of me, his gaze steely, mildly frightening, so I looked back at the attorney, an attractive woman. “Tell us about the first time you met Mr. Stone.” She leaned against the witness stand railing in a more casual gesture. “It was at the restaurant. I’d been working there, oh...about a month, when Mr. Stone came in one afternoon. It was after our busy lunch hour. Supposedly he came there to tell me how to go about joining the union.” “ Supposedly. And did he?” “Sort of.” I shifted in the hard chair. The attorney leaned in toward me, capturing my gaze with her marble-blue eyes. “Please tell us what you mean by ‘sort of’ Sheila.” I took a deep breath. “He said, if I was going to continue to work as a waitress, I would have to go to the union hall and pay some dues.” “And just what were those dues Sheila?” She said, almost softly, while smiling at the jury. Looking for the most comfortable words possible, I was visibly squirming. I looked at Mr. Stone’s hard, line-drawn face. He was looking down at the table, both of his palms pushed against and rubbing hard up along the edge. “Entertaining some important men.” I stated confident I got the right words. Looking over at the judge I saw a slight nod, as though he expected it. I looked over at the many court spectators, seeing many of them nodding also. The attorney walked over to speak with her client, then strode confidently back to the area in front of me. “Were those his exact words?” “No. He said I would have to sleep with them.” Her face reddened almost imperceptibly. “Did he happen to say who these men were?” “Yes, Senators and Congressmen. Men high up in the government.” “Did Mr. Stone happen to say you had to sleep with him too?” Mr. Stone’s attorney leapt up angrily shouting, “OBJECTION your Honor...Council’s question is leading. The notion of sleeping with Mr. Stone has not been uttered by anyone but the Plaintiff’s own attorney herself." He was visibly angry. “Objection sustained.” The judge said. The sound of the court reporter’s typing could be heard in the accompanying silence. “Okay. Were there any other requirements to join the union, as required by Mr. Stone?” “Nothing except I could forget about joining the union and come to work for him instead. I could make a lot more money working for him than as a 'silly food waitress'...as he put it. He said he could send me on ‘junkets’ with these important men. I'd get paid really well for it.” “Did you know what a junket is?” “Yes. Free trips paid for by sponsors who wants something in return.” “Sheila, did he tell you where these junkets would go?” “Yes. He mentioned a private plane to Hawaii and a cruise to the Caribbean.” “”And what did you say in response to Mr. Stone?” “No thank you.” There were a couple of chuckles in the courtroom. The attorney smiled, “Was this the end of it?” “Yes. I ignored him and joined the union in the usual way.” “Did you tell anyone of this incident?” “Yes, my employers, Mr. and Mrs. Poulos. I asked them if this was a real necessity in order to work there.” Smiling, she asked, “And what did they tell you?” “They told me it was definitely not. No way. They also thanked me for telling them, and I should inform them if he ever did it again.” “So did he?” “No.” I shook my head. “Thank you Sheila. I have no more questions for this witness your Honor.” Then came the cross-examination. God, I dreaded this part, I had no clue how they would come at me, but I knew enough from Perry Mason to realize they could twist things to their advantage. For a moment I flashed back to the day I was supposed to face Ed, refuting the friends he had recruited to testify against me. I felt fear in the pit of my stomach. Then Mr. Stone’s well-dressed attorney strode up to the stand. Tall and confident he was almost puffing himself up to look even bigger. “Sheila, do you think you would recognize Mr. Stone if you saw him?” “Yes. He is sitting at your table, in the green tie.” “What is your present employment?” “I’m a counselor and lecturer.” “Who do you counsel?” I’m not sure anyone saw me flinch. “Former prostitutes.” The plaintiff’s attorney yelled out, “OBJECTION your Honor. The council’s question is irrelevant.” The imposing attorney spoke, “Your Honor, I expect to make my point with the next question. I believe then you will see the relevancy of my line of questioning.” The Judge sat forward. “Objection overruled. It had better be the next question counselor.” “Yes your Honor, it will be. Sheila, have you ever been a prostitute?” A deafening hush fell over the courtroom as I tried to muster the courage to answer. It didn’t get any easier to say. “Yes.” “No further questions your honor.” He turned to join his client, I was sure he had a smug smile on his face. “You may step down from the witness stand Miss Wilson.” As soon as I left the courtroom a reporter shoved a microphone in my face, “Where were you working as a prostitute?” I got angry, “Where? What difference does it make...I wasn’t a prostitute at the time. In fact, if you really want to know something, that waitress job was my first straight job I had, once I had left prostitution.” The bailiff interrupted, “Miss Wilson...” he touched my arm to get my attention, “Miss Wilson they want you to come back to court. They’re going to reopen the questioning, so you’re needed in the stand.” I went back in, somewhat relieved not to be hounded by the reporter, but now I had to answer more questions on the stand. The bailiff announced, “Ladies and Gentleman please remain seated, court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Irwin Bartlowe is presiding. The judge looked over at the plaintiff’s attorney, “Council, you want an opportunity for redirect examination?” She stood, “Yes your Honor. Sheila, at the time you were working at the King’s X, were you working also as a prostitute?” “No I wasn’t. I was proud to be working as a waitress, a straight job. I wanted a new beginning.” “I understand. Did Mr. Stone know of your past life when you met him that day?” “Oh no, nobody knew. I never worked as a prostitute in the state of California.” “Could someone else have told him?” I had to think, but back then ...”I don’t see how. We have no mutual friends and when I was working I didn't use my real name.” Smiling broadly, “I only have one more question for you Sheila... why are you here testifying today?” I looked at Mr. Stone, then out at the packed courtroom. There were mostly women, the friends of the woman who brought the lawsuit, other waitresses who didn't have courage to expose this slimeball, mothers, daughters, wives. I drew strength from their collective support. To speak for all of these women who couldn't was an honor. “First of, I was subpoenaed, but more importantly I am here in hopes other young women, who may find themselves in a similar situation, will be aware there are ways to deal with people like Mr. Stone. It was a painfully similar set of circumstances, the word games, that got me involved in prostitution so many years ago. I don’t feel any woman should have to deal with this kind of emotional blackmail. From anyone, especially men we are supposed to look up to for guidance and respect. Women have a tough enough time of it, prostitutes or not.” As I left the courtroom an elderly, white-haired woman reaches out and touches my arm. “That was a very brave thing you did in there.” I smiled, “Thank you.” Once back home it was time to find a job again. I went to work for a temp agency and held a variety of receptionist jobs, as the front desk for Filmways Studio, and as a copywriter for larger advertising agencies. Most jobs lasted about two weeks, I really enjoyed being able to see companies this way, and was offered a permanent job on nearly all of them. The job I finally accepted was as an editor for Apartment Homes and Condos Weekly. It paid a whole $5.00 an hour, but I got to write and have published an article a week. Never mind how dry it was writing about air conditioning unit comparisons. I was an editor of a real magazine, a published writer on a weekly basis! Lance finally began taking me to his parents’ home, on Elm Drive in Beverly Hills, for the weekly family dinners. Though it was a big home, his father worked did work out of the formal library/office office. There was a guesthouse across the yard where his fraternal grandmother, or Bubby, lived. They were a very close family, one I had come to love. His father was still able to get around with a walker. It had an elevator just like in a hotel, the metal grate you pulled shut, the buttons, including the alarm and a phone. Good grief, how fortunate to be able to have one. I loved riding it upstairs to see Lance’s childhood room. It was a real bachelor’s room, the one over his dad’s office in the lower bay window, with Hefner-esque or Bond-like touches. He had a view. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** I got along great with his mother and father. In fact, his mother had even read my book and attended the taping of a tv show I had done. His father was such a large personality, his mother so beautiful and giving. It was around the dinner table, in their kitchen, I discovered where Lance inherited his gentle nature and his brains. He had the best of both of his parents. Later in the year we flew to Alaska because Lance was his friend Henry’s best man. Here we are in Anchorage, at the wedding reception. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** On November 19th of that year I was invited to dinner at the exclusive Ma Maison French Restaurant by a young woman I had met through a friend. Susie Cooper was the assistant to her boss, the VP of Children’s Programming for CBS. Her husband was a newspaper writer, he wrote for the L.A. Times. Little did I know how this night would change the following couple of years for me. *Not his real name. |
| You may have noticed I have not been around since Saturday. Did you miss me? Apparently Murphy thought I missed him! It all started Saturday morning. I woke up to the awesome sound of Mother Nature, thunder. Then lightening bolts lit up our room. My eyes popped open immediately. The very first thought I had was: Water, water everywhere...oh my gawd, bet our water is off. It always seems to go off when; a) it’s the dead of summer when it is hotter than hades, or b) it is raining cats and dogs. No doubt about what type of weather was happening now. I got out of the cozy bed and went to turn on the coffeemaker, and flipped the faucet handle to the on position. “YIPEE!!” I was wrong, there was water. Lance and I were enjoying the change in weather, he was watching sports while I got busy editing my Saturday blog series entry. Scarlett   was a week ahead of us for daylight savings time, so I knew she would be online to post our stories at an hour later than usual. I was kind of glad, as the entry was over 2,000 words. Bless you who persevere to read them, I am a motor-mouth most weeks.About 2 PM the phone rang, I was expecting it to be yet another “robocall”, a pre-recorded, auto-dialed political person asking us to ...well, I don’t really know since I hear the recording say, “This is so and so .....” and I promptly reply, “IT IS NOT”, and hang up the phone. You know, even if it was a pre-recorded auto call from...Hubby I would hang up. If the person doesn’t have the time nor inclination to call me for real, then they should NOT be telling me how they want me to vote. Anyway...(sorry about the tangent) it was one of our neighbors, “The main water pump broke.” Ah-hah. This is one of those very rare instances I hate being right. So we were, and still are without water. Yes, I’ve been doing the “little house on the prairie” thing for days. I’m reduced to carrying 32 POUNDS of water into the kitchen. Then I pour it into large pots and heat it until hot on the stove. When that’s done I then pour the heated water into a large bucket, carry it (very carefully) into the bathroom, sink the battery operated pump into the bucket, and trying to get the suction-cup showerhead to stick on the wall, so my hubby can get a couple of minutes of a warm shower. Once he’s done, I get to do it all over again, for me! Wahoo! Once we both have showered, then I get to haul in pool water and flush the toilet. Talk about real fun! Oh, and did I mention that for three days I have been out scouring every single-story house in this town, in hopes of finding one we can move into for a few years while we rebuild? I have walked through more houses I was assured were without steps, only to discover either the sources never paid attention to this detail, or...they “forgot” there were three steps down to the living room, or two steps up to the bedroom wing, or two steps out to the garage, or.....sigh. If the house is without steps, the halls and doorways are so narrow a wheelchair could not maneuver. It’s very discouraging. I guess people who need to sell for one reason or another haven’t seen what’s happening in the economy either. I found two houses where all I would have to do is re-do the shower and ramp a few doorways ...one is asking $1, 299,000 the other, $1,600.00. What the hell? I still need to build a house while we live somewhere. I never thought I would be 60 years old and hauling water for weeks just to get by. But here I am. Never say never. Congratulation and good luck President-Elect Obama...now what? |
** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** “I Want You To Want Me” Sung by Cheap Trick-1979 Link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyzvU6OGr_U&feature=related Though still busy lecturing and working with C.A.T., I still believed I needed a job with a salary. The perfect job would give me some flexibility, as well as an opportunity to use my “sales skills”. I thought the perfect job was with an innovative furniture company about a forty-five minute drive, from my house. It paid a small hourly wage with the additional potential of a commission on each sale. As it turned out I was not a very good saleswoman for custom, upholstered furniture. There was a rotating sales crew, one or two of us working the floor, taking turns grabbing a customer when they came through the door. It felt like we were pouncing on them, and indeed we were. I quit the job when it became apparent I was not exactly proficient at the “in your face selling techniques” to sell couches to couples. I lasted a whole six weeks. It’s one thing to sell yourself with a wink or smile and a whole other thing to have to convince them they needed a new set of furniture. I dated on occasion, but having had several failed relationships, I was approaching the male species with a great deal of apprehension these days. In general, I was comfortable with myself; happy to be living alone and doing the things straight/normal people did. Life had calmed down to a happy place for me. Isn’t this always when the good things seem to fall into your lap? There I was, wondering what I would do for additional income, when I answered the phone and it was my dear friend Sully. “"Hey Pee-wee, you know I have that Safari camp in outback Australia called Nimrod Safaris?" "Sure, why?" "I know you’re a writer and I'd love to hire you write some brochures for it. Are you up for a trip to Australia? Might even hunt some Water Buffalo while we’re there. After, we can swing by Papua, New Guinea, then maybe over to Singapore. Probably all told, we’d be gone a few weeks. It would be pretty good pay for you." “How did you know I was looking for work? You amaze me again. I’d be thrilled to do this for you.” Little did I know what an adventure it would be, although I should have figured on it, because I'd been hunting with him before, in Alaska, and fishing in his fishing camp in Costa Rica. Going anywhere with Sully was a HUGE adventure. 1 The end result of the trip was I had not only gathered enough information to create a great brochure, but I also bagged a water buffalo. My finances were going to be just fine. From then on I would take jobs, with advertising agencies, as a copywriter. During this same timeframe, Los Angeles women were gripped with a fear for The Hillside Strangler. Young women, mostly from the streets, were being found near freeways strangled and nude. C.A.T. was working with the police to try and figure out who was killing these women, some of whom were known to us from our experiences on the streets. This struck particularly close to our hearts. On July 7, 1979 Lois and I had a meeting with the Police Chief of the San Fernando Valley, where we shared what we were hearing from the women on the streets. We were pleased to do anything resulting in help to end the senseless killings. After the meeting I was driving on Sunset Blvd. when I pulled up to the stoplight in front of the Beverly Hills Hotel. On the way over to Lois’ apartment, it was late, but my mind was occupied with how a killer would gain the trust of so many street-smart women. 2 I felt someone staring at me and glanced over to the left of me. This was the first time I saw Lance; sitting in a Rolls Royce, the streetlights were brightly illuminating his wide grin. He was flirting. An uneasy feeling swept over me even though the radiant smile could have melt any woman’s heart. He began to gesture me to follow him. Well, this was a first, so I was torn. He might well be the strangler. I decided to pull over, obeying my gut instincts, but to not be stupid about it. I pulled up behind him, stayed inside of my car; lights on, doors locked, window rolled down about two inches. I studied him as he got out of the Rolls Royce. He had a sweater casually knotted over his shoulders; his slight frame was silhouetted in the headlights. He certainly did not look menacing. After charmingly trying to convince me to come to his home, “Just to talk, I promise...” we exchanged business cards and I drove off, leaving him standing there. I supposed he would never call, so I pretty much forgot about it, especially since his card said he was an attorney. Two weeks later he called. “Want to come over for a swim at my house?” I agreed to, and he told me to walk around the side gate, he would be by the pool. This is exactly how I found him. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Apparently he thought I was pretty hot, as I noticed all afternoon a parade of good looking, male, single “friends” just happened to stop by to checked me out. I thought it was kind of cute; he seemed to be getting his friends’ approval. Later that afternoon I went home, changed and he came to pick me up for our official “first date.” He took me out to Mr. Chow’s Restaurant, in Beverly Hills. (It is still a hot spot for celebrities today.) One week later was his 28th birthday. I celebrated with him, and his closest dozen friends, at The Palm restaurant. Three weeks later (to the day) I turned 31. He invited me to go out and have my birthday dinner at the Palm to celebrate. I accepted, going to his house first. We never left his house that night. We were quite smitten with each other. I am sure we just feasted on each other. By now, we were seeing each other nearly every night, including weekends, sometimes hanging around his friend’s condo pool. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Spending time with him was wonderful. He was funny, smart and treated me like something precious. He told me he preferred to call me Sheila, something nobody had cared about before. What a rarity in life. I was not used to being wined and dined so much, so I did what I thought was what all women did; I invited him over for dinner. A dinner I would cook. I clearly remember cleaning my little house, reading one of the cookbooks I had, flipping through the cheap paper pages until I saw a recipe for pork tenderloin stuffed with cranberries, topped with a rosemary cream sauce. How perfect. I went to the small market and told the butcher what I needed and shopped for the rest of the ingredients and hurried home to assemble the dish. Of course I had a vegetable garden...but I would wait until the last moment to pick some. When Lance arrived (after climbing the 17 stairs to my front door) I greeted him with excitement and anticipation. The smell of a delicious (if untried) dinner filled the house, and the flowers he brought were perfect. I placed them into a vase, in the center of the mantle over my fireplace. Being a studio style house, the kitchen was open to the living/bedroom area. I had a lovely fireplace and a big bay window showing off the green hillside. The only separate room was the bathroom, a roomy well- appointed bungalow style. I had a U-shaped overstuffed crème and brown couch, a terrarium bottomed glass coffee table I lovingly made. The bed was set into the bay window, covered to blend in, not be a focal point. Behind the couch was a large picture window framing the Hollywood sign, and beneath it an antique dressing table-turned-desk. In the center of it sat my manual typewriter. I had used a Ficus Tree along with other plants to soften any corners. It looked like a tasteful, feminine, happy writer’s house, and it was. From the kitchen’s sliding door, you could see out to a small patio and a grassy area and garden. I had a chaise lounge on the grass, and small table with two lawn chairs on the patio. It was lovely enough to eat outside, instead of the breakfast bar that defined the kitchen area. Lance never really was a drinker, by then I wasn’t either, but this night we did share a bottle of wine. As I finished preparing our meal I knew he was watching me, but since I had cooked pretty much my whole life, it came easily and naturally. I was very comfortable around him, so much so I popped outside and picked our dinner vegetables, asking him ro help me wash them off. He wasn’t very experienced at it, but it gave us some laughs. The dinner turned out to be quite good, and he praised my ability, even as we laughed that I had been the first, to serve him, a Jewish boy, pork. What did I know of such things? Shortly after September 5th I got a big surprise in my mailbox, a subpoena commanding me to appear before the United States Tax Court, at the Federal Bldg. in Reno, Nevada. I was to testify on behalf of the Commissioner Of Internal Revenue in the case of Joe and Sally Conforte vs The Internal Revenue Service. I was told to report and to “bring all records, of whatever nature, including, but not limited to; forms W-2, pay-slips, timecards, work schedules, calendars, diaries, income tax returns, cancelled checks, bank statements, savings books, correspondence, workman’s compensation claims, or the like, relating to the income you earned while at the Mustang Bridge Ranch Brothel and/or from Joseph or Sally Conforte during the years 1971 through July 31, 1979, inclusive.” As you can imagine I was shocked. Lance did a great deal of comforting me about this, assuaging my fears by saying; “They want them, not you.” Arrangements to fly there, stay at a hotel and receive a per diem were made, and on Sept. 23 I flew to Reno, alone. The IRS attorney picked me up at the airport and took me to the hotel, for a briefing. I was told what to expect, and the kinds of questions I would be asked. He said what documentation I had was fine, and they would ask me about them. Actually, it was all pretty straightforward. I had come prepared with the few things I had to support my income, for the total eight months I worked there. A time/pay card, my tax returns, some letters from the customers and a few other things proving my time there. The next morning I was taken to the courthouse. Oddly enough though somewhat nervous, I was not afraid to face Joe and Sally. I knew all I had to do was be truthful. Besides it had been seven years since I worked for them. Sitting on the witness stand for hours, answering questions with Joe and Sally staring me down, managed to give me a final bit of closure to a period of my life I would now be able to take even more strength from. At the end of the trial, long after I returned home, Joe and Sally were convicted of income tax evasion. Joe Conforte fled to Brazil to avoid going to prison. (Where he is still is living in comfort today.) I resumed dating the man I was falling head over heels in love with, Lance. Life just kept getting better. Footnotes |
| Woke up this morning to a rare sight, rain. Actually, I saw the pavement was wet and I smelled the rain. That was a wonderful way to wake up. My dear hubby did not have such a great night’s sleep though. I think turning on the coffemaker and lights at 6:30 AM was a bit of a shocker for him. Oh well, it is Friday so he can catch up this weekend. It’s supposed to rain again tomorrow, and then we get to set the clocks back Sat. night. An extra hour of sleep is beneficial to the heart, in many ways.  Tomorrow marks the debut of the photo The Literary Penguin  chose...it also marks the continuation of the blog series. Big day for me. I’ve done both, but need to edit my piece...as best I can, which usually means not quite enough.Many of you are participating in NaNo, which is a much grander ambition than mine. If I had to rely on my imagination for 30 days or 50,000 words...well, I shudder to think what might escape. Oh to those of you who enjoy Halloween, Happy Halloween. We get no trick or treaters on the ranch, so all the candy I buy goes...nowhere! But, today is a special day at Nada’s...it is both Niles and Frasier’s 5th birthdays. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** Don’t they look like they are thrilled? I was holding up a treat to get their attention. I know, get this lady some grandkids. Okay, I’m going to quit while I am ahead. Ya’ll have a great night, and I’ll see you in November! |
| Well, maybe not the Year of the The Literary Penguin , but certainly November 2008 will be the month to celebrate his excellent choice of people to rescue. That would be me. In case you had forgotten, I offered the opportunity to tell me what to do direct my November Blog photo, to the person who was successful in rescuing me. In a spirited bidding war environment, The Literary Penguin managed to pull it off. Yes, he was the highest bidder. He must have wanted to tell me what to do direct this shoot awfully badly. Cool.He has assured me nothing would be asked of me that would embarrass Hubby...sigh. Of course I neglected to tell him I've been trying for years to but only found one thing that made him blush, and that shall forever remain a secret.Congratulations my friend, now put that imaginative brain of yours to work and let's see what you come up with! Thank all of you who bid.  Onward to other noteworthy news...maybe. After several lenghty emails and another four calls I managed to get my XM-Radio™ reconnected today at 11:10 AM. Gee, than only took five days, almost to the hour to achieve. *Note, that is far less time than my tested patience level of 76 days. I'm back to being a happy camper...although, since I was without the commercial free music, I did purchase an FM Transmitter thing so I could play my iPod over my radio. A rapid calculation says that cost me another $50...do you think I can bill XM for that? It was their fault I was going through comercial-free music withdrawl afterall. I think I'll save my blood pressure and just be happy I now have a choice; my iPod or XM. It is absolutely for sure, when my renewal comes due again, I'll be thinking long and hard about whether it is worth the aggravation, if I happen to have a spare $145...which the lady informed me I could save $2.00 on, if I don't get a paper bill anymore. Well, I happened to have documented everything on the paper bill this time...but I am all in favor of saving a tree. I do apologize for my last, graphic entry. Won't be mentioning the "S" word again. No, not SQUISH! So, in other news, just a reminder that this Saturday, Nov. 1, sees the resumption of Scarlett and my series. "I'll Second That Emotion". This Saturday we will be reminiscing about the year 1979, and the song choice is..."I Want You to Want Me", by Cheap Trick. Have a great night! |
| I guess I have a few itches that need scratching, but the most pressing involves...a spider bite. I swear Friday night was Revenge of the Spider night, at my house. Maybe it’s because I hate Halloween, or maybe it’s my karma for the extermination of any spider I see crawling on my bed. Seriously, ON MY BED. (Not to mention the two AM wakeup call by a couple of hundred eggs hatching overhead in a light fixture, raining baby spiders on top of us...a veritable nightmare come true, and the cause of my caution now.) I don’t kill every spider I see, honest. Just the ones who feel the necessity to walk across my bright white duvet cover (sheet), or....gasp...underneath it or between my sheets. I have this ritual now before I go to sleep; 1. Eyeball the duvets, even in the cracks. 2. Lift off the top sheet and scour with my eyes. 3. Fluff the comforter . 4. Pull bed away from the wall and inspect. 5. Spray citronella between the sheets. Never mind they say in a lifetime you probably eat hundreds of spiders in your sleep...so far I have yet to find even one spider leg in-between my teeth, so hey...whatever. (Okay, I was reading this to Hubby and he doubted this fact, so I researched it on The Straight Dope and found; “...and the odds are pretty astronomical of a spider randomly dropping into your mouth from the ceiling. Put it all together, and it would be a miracle for a spider to end up in anyone's mouth while they're sleeping, except for one rare circumstance--when a spider egg sac hatches indoors. At that point, you can have hundreds of microscopic spiders, a millimeter long or less, falling from the ceiling in a short time span (under an hour total) and trying to ride the air currents to freedom. “ Uh-huh Mr. Big Shot. But I have been sitting in bed, using my laptop and seen (out of the corner of my eye, movement) a big old brown or black spider scurry across the sheet. The ensuing moments have me leaping up, grabbing anything I can find, within reach, and slamming it down on top of the dreaded interloper. Of course the soft down comforter does not provide a hard enough surface to squish it, so it become a game of, “catch me if you can.” It’s not fun, hubby can’t get up fast enough, but has become adept at finding something useful to hand to me. He would not kill it...but request that I kindly carry the offender outside. IN YOUR DREAMS BUDDY!Apparently one has escaped my wrath and was sent back by the relatives of the others (according to Hubby) to exact revenge on me. Friday night was the appointed terrorist attack, and it wasn’t even like he had to go through with a suicide pact...I didn’t know what had happened until I began to scratch my shin, such a good stealth attack it was. “Hmmm. Something bit me.” I said to anyone or thing who might be listening. Of course nobody was and I kept on scratching. I looked down at my shin...saw a tiny red mark, almost a flea bite...but we have not had fleas since leaving LA, some 19 years ago. I got up and sprayed some medicine from the First Aid Kit...no help, tried alcohol the next time, then peroxide, then...well, I swallowed a sleeping pill, to be able to fall sleep so I could forget ignore it. Come Saturday morning, upon awakening to an itchy chin, I now had a four-inch by three-inch couple of angry, red blotches, slightly swollen, warm and still itching like crazy. That’s when Hubby decided to look it up on the computer, or, if he had to, drive me to the emergency room. About two hours later, he decided I had Eczema and that was that, period. Photos don’t lie. He proclaimed I'd live. I took an allergy tablet and some Advil, finally enabling me to be able to fall asleep. This morning all that remains, of the offending terrorist-spider’s revenge is a small, red bite. No more itching, or swelling and Hubby has minimized the incident saying, “You had a very mild bite of some sort, that’s all. What's for dinner?” I’d like to squish Hubby right now. |
| There I was, fuming away yesterday and then I hopped into my car, let the two pups come with me, and headed to my gym. Nope, I wasn't going to work out, but in some ways I ended up getting the same effect. You see, last night there was a "Ladies Night In" at our club. For weeks we have been building up to this night, our fundraiser for Breast Cancer Awareness! We have been encouraged to "adopt a bra" in the name of someone who has or had cancer, and then decorate it. I can say about forty-five bras were decorated and the women modeled them on our runway last night. Each woman or young lady (a few elementary-high school daughters too) strutted their stuff to the howls of laughter, thundering applause and genuine appreciation. It was inspiring in so many ways. Many of these women are survivors, and each one spoke of their personal cancer battles. Some women spoke of the day they found out they had cancer, how their entire world changed from that moment on. One woman told us, "Life was going along perfectly, my first grandchild was on the way..." then her life changed forever with the words, "You have breast cancer." She likened it to a peaceful canoe ride, then hitting a waterfall and descending free-fall. That was thirteen years ago, and she stood before us emotional and strong now. The women of my town, of my gym do any woman proud; talented, strong, and willing to help each lift each other up. I'm really fortunate to be a part of my community. They had a silent auction for some of the decorated bras, I just missed out on one by a local artist, darn...I was thinking of a couple of you when I bid on it, as it was called, "You don't Own Me", and was full of slogans, including some on the inside of the bra, like; "Not tonight honey, I'm bored". In fact the whole lot of them were so clever. Another was done by a woman who received the first reconstruction at our local hospital and her bra had copper/brown glitter scattered over it, and matchbox sized dump trucks glued to it with the words, "Construction Site". One young girl had glued candy all over her entry, in memory of her grandmother who died from the disease. She was wide-eyed as everyone clapped to acknowledge the sacrifice of this girl's shyness. in modeling it for us...and now overcome in a room of support women. (Everyone modeled it over a t-shirt...nothing embarrassing.)I felt so good by the time I left there I came home and wrote my Hubby a love letter, as he was out too. I placed it on his night stand with his mail, for when he came home. No, he didn't see it until this morning, but asked me if I knew what it was... Obviously he didn't have his readers on...so I said, "Yes, I wrote it." I'm sure he thought it was some blog I'd written. He refolded it and told me he was late for a meeting, he'd read it when he had a chance. He called me when he did get to read it. It's the little things, both good and bad that seem to make the most impact sometimes. I hope everyone has a wonderful weekend! |
| I like to think I'm a patient person. However today I found out just what my outer limits of patience might be is; 76 days. Yup, today I blew a gasket, and since I was only composed with a few hundred for my lifetime, I'm getting very low on my gasket count. I know, you're probably wondering what on earth pushed me to the abyss...was it politics? Nope. Was it something related to a man? Nope. Okay, I'll spill, with as little animosity as possible. First a tiny backstory...I was in a splendid mood today. I decided to go to the discount store and see if I could find an armband capable of holding my iPod while I was doing my workouts at the gym. I was told I could find them at a certain store. No problem. Tonight is the Breast Cancer Awareness bash at my gym, so I thought I'd work out and then be there for the start of it. I even donated a piece of jewelry as a raffle prize. (Heck, not selling it, may as well make somebody's night.) All was cool. I found what I was looking for and hopped into my car to come home and write for a few hours before I had to go. That is when the world as I knew it ceased to exist. My radio station kept saying, "To activate your XM-Radio account, call blah-blah." Hey, I paid my bill for the next year last August. In fact, I wanted to make sure they didn't cut it off, so I called them, got a confirmation number and was pleased to have accomplished it before the due date. I got an email from XM Radio three weeks later requesting I pay my bill. Huh? Then at the bottom of it I saw this; "If you have paid this bill please disregard this notice." Okay, honest mistake. But the truth is, it was bugging me, once before they had shut off my radio access because of a dealership error. It took a phone call, but it was resolved and all was right in my 70's music world again. I called them the end of August, just to make sure. Well, no, they had no record of a payment. HUH? For once, I had written down the exact time, date and confirmation number they gave me when I made the credit card payment by phone. I was feeling pretty dang smug after I recited that info to them. Big mistake. There is no confirmation number connected to my payment, and they had no record of anything, except my call. I had a mini-explosion, "Why on earth would the customer relation expert who took my card number give me a confirmation number then?" "I'm sorry mam, but it just tells me who you spoke with, not what about." The new Customer Relations Account Person said in her lilting sing-song voice. "Okay, let me pull up my credit card statement and see if they got the charge...hang on." "Yes mam." "Ohhh, here it is...transaction posted to XM-Radio on the same date I called it in. Furthermore they already received my payment at the credit card company." I sighed from relief. "Yes mam, but I show nothing paid. Can you give me your credit card number again?" "No. I already gave it to Confirmation Number 6784988. Where are you calling me from?" "The Caribbean mam." "Oh wonderful...." my disappointment escalated to anger, "I would like to speak to a supervisor, NOW." "I'm sorry mam, I am the supervisor. I'll have to investigate your claim, but I will not cut off your service. We will be in touch with you." FADE to today..... Oh yeah, they were in touch alright. I fumed all the way home, trying to calm myself down...it won't help to yell at whoever I get this time. Suffice it to say this time I reached a girl named "Georg, G-E-O-R-G mam, I'm in Asia." They are investigating my claim again. I now have two fax numbers to fax the copy of my paid credit card bill to, which they assure me will take care of it. Yeah right. I've decided I'll fight them tooth and nail to get this service restored, since when I spoke to my credit card company they essentially, "Too bad, not our problem, sorry." I guess a customer of 10 years who has never once been late on their payment, or has always paid the full balance upon receipt, holds no weight in today's world. The sound you hear is scissors to plastic...snip-snip...now where can I get an iPod adapter for my car? |
| I just unwrapped an Italian sandwich I picked up while marketing, to eat for lunch, while I tried to write a blog, when what do I spy in my mailbox? ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** So it appears not only am I being held hostage by my own muse lately, but now I'm being held for ransom. I've yet to figure out what the heck it means, except I'll be here for five days...I'm not even sure where here is, but my captors say this could be my last meal...well heck, if I would have know that I would have gotten something besides an oily, stale-breaded, limpy basil, and less-than-firm mozarrella cheese sandwich! So, now I'm down to a refilled plastic bottle of water, yet another of my brilliant cost-saving measures of late. My food budget is as shot as everyone else, and frankly, our town has higher prices on everything because (I surmise) we are not a pass through kind of town on the freeway, nope....you have to want to come here and turn off of the main freeway. And then travel twelve miles on a short freeway, only to hit the fringe towns which absolutely insist on you slowing to 35 MPH. Hey, people actually live on either side of the one, of two ways in or out of the valley...which is a single lane in, a single lane out. So while other cities are just a few minutes away, once you hit the freeway, enjoy gas below $3.00...nope, not us...when we see prices falling elsewhere we start to get gas envy. I've cut my trips to my mailbox to three times a week, the very same days I go to the gym, market or any other errands. It's a good thing I'm still working out, the piled up mail in my mailbox weighs a couple of pounds! It seems every politician is wasting paper to tell me why I should vote for them. Every store is having a huge sale...and the catalogues...forget about it. We are all hurting, and hearing the stock market went down so much today, makes me feel really stupid to have to ask someone to bid their hard earned GP's to get me out of here....but I have to, or ....well, I don't exactly know what will happen if nobody bids on me...but I can assure you the highest bidder, to get me out of this fix, will have me at their mercy... I tell you what, lest you feel you don't get anything for your GP's when you "spring me", I'll do something really stupid, for my November blog photo...as long as you don't ask me to strip nekkid, or do anything illegal or more embarrassing to my Hubby than he already has been. Fair? Probably not...but it is all I have at the moment. Here's your chance to NAME THE NADA NOVEMBER POSE...gawd. Why do I feel like I may regret this? |
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