Listen Globally...

An infinite beach of white sand melts into water of an unrealistic turquoise hue. The warm waters of the Arabian sea lay across the horizon, lulling me into a heavy and languid sleep. Sadness drips down the walls of my heart until it’s completely saturated. My soul swims in loneliness and struggles against the undercurrent. Tears fall heavily onto the sand before me…

Never have I fallen more deeply in love with a collective musical talent as I have with Pink Martini. Their music ensnares me until I’m a slave to their compositions. If their music were a flavor it would be the darkest chocolate paired with a glass of handmade basket-pressed cabernet. Then I listen again. My words fall flat. Its not simply listening to music. It is a completely encompassing experience. Not only does their music invoke vivid imagery in my mind, but deep and unexpected emotions. Loss, melancholy, like my experience above. Then, soul bursting happiness and joy.

Though Pink Martini originated in Portland they are not of this country musically. With them I have danced all night in a club in Greece, I’ve tangoed in a small bar in Spain, and cried tears over wasted time and heartache in Rio de Janeiro. I’ve felt the Siberian chill at my back while watching snow fall in Red Square. I’ve retreated to my room to smoke away my broken heart in Paris and I’ve looked for Yolanda throughout Mexico.

For me, the finest of these sensory decadent travels is when I spend Una Notte A Napoli… It is truly an out of body experience.

It is unlikely that I will ever have the opportunity to travel the most farthest and obscure places in the world.
…but to purchase the artful music of Pink Martini is to purchase a first-class ticket around the globe.
Photo by Adam Levey2007

Dan

For 42 years my dad has gotten out of bed at an ungodly hour, showered, dressed in uniform, and driven to work with coffee in hand. His days have been long in all weather conditions, besides mentally and physically demanding. He never ignored an opportunity to work overtime. Most of his weeks were 6 day weeks of at least 10 hours a day. He’s worked sick, injured, and I have no doubt there are days when he wished he would have been anywhere but in his mailroom, casing and sorting mail.

And still he showed up, my dad. With integrity and an iron work ethic.

My dad is a popular man. People are drawn to him for his kindness, generosity to a fault, and soul-warming laugh. He’s kind, considerate, and has a jovial nature. A great conversationalist and the heart of a child with everything still to learn.

I honor him for his wisdom. I respect him for his endurance. And most of all I thank him. Not only for being a provider of everything we could ever need and want, but for being an example of the person I will always strive to be.

Congratulations, dad. On your retirement and the beginning of your new future.

Thank you Veterans

Today I was watching a Story Corps animation short in honor of Veteran’s Day. It was about a man named Joseph Robertson who was a WWII veteran that served in the Battle of the Bulge, where over 40,000 lives were lost. Allied, German, and civilian. He spoke of a German soldier that he had to kill in self defense and how that memory haunted him for the rest of his life. Mr. Robertson lived until the ripe old age of 90, yet he would still awake in the middle of the night crying over the young German. He sacrificed his inner peace. I can’t imagine such a sacrifice.

http://storycorps.org/animation/germans-in-the-woods/

There are reasons I could never be a soldier. Number one being the fact that I couldn’t take the life of another. Even in self defense, as in Mr. Robertson’s case. Not because of religious convictions, and I sure don’t presume to have a higher moral standard than anyone else. I just don’t possess the strength.

I honor and admire those who fight for our country. I hope that Mr. Robertson finally rests in everlasting peace. I trust he was greeted in heaven by the lives he both saved and touched.

Do You Believe...?

One morning when I was getting dressed I reached for my deodorant. I use the stick kind. A twist on the bottom and it protrudes higher out the top. I’m careful not to extend it too far out. Just enough to glide a nice layer in a single use. I took off the top and noticed that the stick was extended about an inch and a half. I carefully reversed the dial and pushed it back down where it should be. I figured Lillian must have been playing with it and over twisted the dial. So I put it up on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet where Lil can’t reach it or even see it. I went about my day. The next morning I put on a nice fresh shirt and went to the medicine cabinet to retrieve my deodorant. I took off the cap. The deodorant was again, protruding about an inch and a half out the top. I paused for a moment to think. It was a small effort to get the deodorant back in. I thought perhaps that it loosened and slid out on its own. I shook it and tried to get it to extend. Nothing. I tried shaking it violently to produce the same result. Barely a centimeter. Is it physically possible to extend on its own while sitting completely still on the shelf? …or more interestingly, is it possible that we have a ghost that really cares about personal hygiene?

I think you either believe in paranormal activity or you don’t. But from my experience, most people have had some kind of interaction or know someone that has. I have many things that have happened to me that are beyond reasonable explanation. If I mentioned every story of mine, it may take you until Halloween 2011 to read it. So this includes some of mine and a smattering of others. I hope you enjoy. And eh.. you may want to read this when you’re not alone.

Cheesman Park
About 21 years ago, my brother Dan was entertaining a curiosity of the paranormal and checked out various books on the subject. He took the books with him to Cheesman Park, one of the most infamous parks in Denver. It was a chilly and grey autumn afternoon and Dan sat on a park bench to read. An old man approached him speaking gibberish. He looked down at the witchcraft book my brother was reading and reached forward to take it from his hands. He closed the book and pointed to the picture on the cover. “In a true book of witchcraft, every picture is a letter.“ The old man said.

There was an image of headstones in a cemetery and very distinct old trees. The old man held the book up and pointed to trees and landmarks very similar in the park. Of course Dan knew the history of Cheesman. But he hadn’t equated the library book to the park. Nothing in the title or content indicated any affiliation. The uncanny similarity gave Dan a creepy and uneasy feeling. So Dan told him he had to go and took the book and stuffed it back into his bag. He turned and started walking. The sky was growing dark and he was feeling alone in the open field. He walked about 40 feet and turned to see where the old man went. He was gone. Vanished from a vast open space.

If you are unfamiliar with the facts of Cheesman, click here:

http://www.legendsofamerica.com/co-cheesmanpark.html



The Spitz-Harlton
Two years ago I worked security for a luxury hotel in downtown Denver that shall remain nameless. (It rhymes with Spitz Harlton.) The hotel was new, but the building it occupies is not. The guest floors extend from floors 3 through 14. Floors 15-19 were reserved for exclusive and expensive residences. These were still under construction and only one unit on the 15th floor was occupied. The floors above 19 were apartments unaffiliated with the hotel.

I worked the overnight shift from 10:30 PM to 7:00 AM with an older gentleman named Paul. We would take turns completing a patrol of the entire property including the unoccupied floors. It wasn’t long before Paul and I both noticed strange happenings on the 16th floor. One night Paul returned from completing a round. He was visibly nervous and agitated. He placed his radio on the desk and cleared his throat. He took off his jacket and sat in his chair and fidgeted. We barely knew each other at the time and he was a little uncomfortable telling me what happened. “Have you been to the 16th floor tonight?” Paul asked. Of course I had. We had to complete a foot patrol of each and every floor, using the electronic wand to register our presence at a pre-determined point. “Well, something isn’t right up there. When I stepped out of the stairwell I heard music playing. So I rounded the corner and found one of the construction worker’s radios plugged in and on. I unplugged it and moved it out of the hall. I walked a bit and still heard music. So I walked all of the units and didn’t find anybody. At the other end of the hall another radio was on.” Paul could see the concern on my face.

“Paul, I was up there about 1:00 AM and there was no radio on anywhere.” We tried to come up with possibilities to explain it. There were only 6 employees on staff overnight. Two security, one front desk, one bellman, one housekeeper, and one chef. The housekeeper and bellman were keeping the front desk agent company. We could see them in the cameras. The chef was making our lunch. It wasn’t possible for any guest or unauthorized person to reach that floor without card access. The following night we both patrolled the floor as usual. On the next patrol, Paul found a large wrench in the middle of the hall that had not been there before.

Time passed and we completed our rounds. I always walked briskly through the 16th floor. Never stopping to enjoy the incredible view from the windows, but simply walking and touching the electronic contact with the wand. One night I descended the stairs from 17 and reached for the door leading to the 16th floor. I turned the handle and pulled. The door did not open and I felt a distinct resistance from the other side. I pulled harder and felt an equal amount of pressure behind. Finally the door gave and opened. I stepped through and no one was there. I yelled out to whomever was playing a trick on me. No answer. I walked the entire floor and found no one. I forgot the rest of the patrol and went down to the security office. I turned to Paul. “Paul, about the 16th floor…” before I could finish, Paul blurted out, “Does it feel like someone is pulling on the door??” “YES!” I shouted. Over the next few months we grew somewhat accustomed to the odd happenings. Mostly on that floor, but on other’s as well. In the wee hours one morning Starr was tapped on the shoulder with no one there. That was caught on camera and was actually funnier than hell. I left there shortly after. The strange occurrences did not push me away, but lack of daylight did.

Barbies, Pin-Art, and Serial Killers… OH MY!


Many years ago I was a manager for mall-based toy store. It was about 3 days after Christmas and I was completing an over-nighter with a co-worker named Shannon. We had to tear apart the store front and re-set the fixtures with new promo merchandise. Each fixture had to be taken completely apart and re-assembled for the new layout. At about 2 AM we had toys everywhere, and fixture pieces strewn all over.

Our conversation about ghosts and the paranormal was keeping us alert and the topic then changed to serial killers. I told Shannon about my family’s experience with an escaped Ted Bundy in 1977. As we spoke about this and other scary happenings, we heard something fall in the Barbie aisle. We immediately stopped talking and went to investigate. A doll had toppled onto the floor. We picked it up and agreed to end our creepy discussion.

As we stood in that aisle, we heard a crash up front and ran up there. In the center of the floor, with nothing around it, was a pin-art toy. The plastic packaging was crushed on the corner from the landing. But landing from what? There were no fixtures nearby that this toy could have fallen from. The nearest rack was 15 feet away. I picked it up and placed it on the register counter with my heart pounding. We were locked in the store alone. I immediately conducted a search of the entire store. We were definitely alone. After this, we both had to go to the bathroom which was in the backroom. Not wanting to go alone, we went together. We were not prepared for what we found when we came back to the store front. The pin-art toy was not on the register counter where I left it. It was standing on top of a fixture in the store front. It had the familiar crushed corner of plastic.

We didn’t get killed that night, or anything that dramatic. But it did bring to mind the possibility that perhaps if you speak of ghosts, or evil spirits, you are inviting these things into your immediate world in some sense.

My cousin Amanda lives alone in a 2 story townhouse and sleeps in her upstairs bedroom. She was awakened one night at 3 AM with a large crash from downstairs. Her cat Oreo was lying next to her and sat up just as startled. Amanda didn’t feel brave enough to go down and investigate and instead talked herself into falling back to sleep. When she got up for work in the morning a large and heavy mirror she had on the mantle was laying on the floor with a crack through it. But something wasn’t quite right. The decorative items that sat in front of the mirror were undisturbed.

Shining?

Like Amanda, I haven‘t seen anyone that I knew to be a ghost. But some people have seen them, spoken to them, and interacted with them. Some people have a ‘gift’ for seeing, communicating and interacting with spirits. Perhaps even attracting them?

My cousin Rose has seen many, and in multiple locations. They’ve occupied each of her homes. Never following her and her family to a new home. Just a different set at each one. She spoke to me of a baby presence that left small handprints on the steamed glass of the bathroom mirror. Rose works from home. Her office is in the basement and she works well into the night. When she sees them and they won‘t leave her alone, she stops for the night and heads upstairs. She’s much braver than I.

Not to worry, she’s only imaginary

Is it possible that like animals, children have the ability to see and interact with ghosts? Who’s to say that Imaginary Friends aren’t spirits among us? When I was a child mine was a young girl named Jodi. She was around my age, about 5 or 6 years old and I can still picture her like it was yesterday. She wore round plastic framed glasses and had frizzy hair that was held back in a ponytail. She always wore the same clothes, corduroy pants and a striped cotton shirt with quarter-length sleeves. Jodi lived in the heating vent behind the front door. We played together many times.


In the Suazo household, the ‘imaginary’ friend was a Little Blue Man. Aaron saw him as a child in his bedroom, but only saw a blue head. Eventually, Bev would take over the same bedroom and see the Little Blue Man for the first time when she was just two. She saw him several times after that, walking about in a hurry through the closet. Many years passed and my Auntie Irene never thought the Little Blue Man existed, until just a couple of years ago. She was lying in bed and saw him leave out the window in his trench coat and derby hat. He hasn’t been seen since.

I believe that no one alive will ever know the exact truth about spirits, ghosts, or anything considered paranormal. If we did, if some ghost hunter was to unmistakably prove beyond any doubt that they either exist or don’t exist… wouldn’t that spoil the fun? Wouldn’t that just ruin every October 31st?

Golden...

I started this entry to draw attention to unfriendly people. You know the ones. The lady who took your place in the check stand that opened up to help YOU. The asshole that parked his huge SUV in the FIRE LANE in front of the store, causing every car to unsafely drive around him in the crosswalk. Thinking of these selfish individuals made me start to feel a little bitter. And I’m already heavy enough without carrying the weight of bitterness around with me. So instead, I decided to share some of my own personal experiences with genuinely kind people. Those whose simple acts brightened my day and warmed my heart.

…I hope these people warm yours too.

My parents are now seniors. Sometimes it takes them longer to do things, they don’t move at break-neck speed anymore and they shouldn’t have to. Thankfully there is a man at Wal-Mart who understands this. He’s a checker named Paul who’s friendly to everyone. He took time ringing out my mom, paying attention to her needs and keeping a conversation with her despite the line behind us. He was never impatient or rude and not once was he condescending. His job can’t be easy and is probably unpleasant a lot of the time, so I find this particularly kind. Wouldn’t it be something if everyone looked out for our parents this way?

Many years ago I was driving down Alameda late at night. I stopped at the red light on Santa Fe Drive. When I looked in my rear view mirror, I saw a large ugly green car barreling towards me without braking. I heard myself scream before impact and my car was projected into 5 lanes of oncoming traffic. Thankfully none of them hit me. When I gathered my senses, I saw a man waving me into a gas station on the corner. I pulled into the lot and stepped out on shaky legs. I was immediately surrounded by at least a dozen people. I saw concerned faces who stopped their cars at midnight to check my well being. 20 years later and I will not forget it.

In Colorado we enjoy more sunshine than most states. We also enjoy our fair share of blizzards too. I used to drive a red Ford Ranger. While it was good to climb through the deep snow, it was light-weight and had difficulty gaining traction on steep hills. One morning I was driving on south Broadway in Littleton. The world was waking up wrapped in several inches of powder that covered sheets of ice. I had a daunting hill in front of me but I had 4 large sandbags in the bed of my truck so I attempted to climb it. Less than half-way up my momentum slowed. I was stuck on the hill and had no way to reverse because of the traffic behind me. My wheels spun on the ice. I felt alone and a little panicked. My anxiety vanished like smoke in the wind when a tow truck came out of nowhere and stopped beside me. He asked “What’s the problem?” and I told him “No traction.” The man nodded and pulled in front of me. He got out grabbed the big tow chain from his truck and hooked it under mine. He put it in gear and in seconds whisked me over the top of the hill. The man stopped, retrieved his chain and left before I could even thank him. On his way to rescue someone else.

Recently, we went to eat at Red Lobster at Belmar. When we were seated, I noticed a very elderly lady dining alone at a table near ours. Our waiter was prompt attentive and friendly. He could carry many plates despite a physical disability. He is missing part of his right arm. During our salads I overheard a conversation he was having with the elderly lady at the next table. Our waiter noticed that she was not eating her fish. The filet was overcooked and the waiter offered to replace it immediately. The lady didn’t want to create a fuss and said she would eat it anyway but he insisted that a replacement would be there shortly. She was very grateful. I was impressed at his service. A minute or two later the manager came over and spoke to her. She apologized for the quality of the fish and told her that her entire meal was on the house. The lady told her it wasn’t necessary to do that but the manager, who knew this lady’s name, thanked her for her continued business and insisted that the restaurant take care of her. This nearly brought me to tears. I rarely see that kind of service, but I was more impressed by the sincere kindness displayed by the waiter and the manager.

The golden rule is taught to children of every faith. We hear it. We even understand it. If you are paying attention, you will see people living it.

Christianity
Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Matthew 7:12, Matthew 22:39, Luke 6:31

Judaism
That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole Torah; the rest is the explanation; go and learn."
—Talmud, Shabbat 31a

Islam
No one of you is a believer until he desires for his brother that which he desires for himself.
Sunnah

Taoism
Regard your neighbor's gain as your own gain, and your neighbor's loss as your own loss.
—T'ai Shang Kan Ying P'ien

Buddhism
Hurt not others in ways that you yourself would find hurtful.
Udana-Varga 5,1

Hinduism
This is the sum of duty; do naught onto others what you would not have them do unto you.
Mahabharata 5,1517

Back to School

Over the past few days we have gone shopping for clothes, shoes, a backpack and school supplies. We have struggled through crowds, and we didn’t even shop on the weekend. Forty million moms and their kids crawling over the notebooks and glue sticks. Don’t even THINK about taking your buggy down that aisle.

I think I’m more eager than Lil to get this year started. Not for the reasons you’d think. Oh I’m sure at some point like any parent I’ll be glad to send her away for a few hours, if only for some quiet time to read. But right now I want to be along side her walking into the classroom and learning new things. Simple things. Solid things. Like 4+6. I loved the smell of the chalk, the smell of new crayons. The new sounds- the pencil sharpener, the teacher’s voice. And the clear sound of the school bell.

My favorite visual in the classroom when I was in elementary was the bulletin board. Delicate and detailed, the colorful corrugated borders. The carefully cut letters and meticulously pinned shapes and pictures. Autumn leaves, Halloween witches, holiday cheer. The sum of which equals a melting pot of learning and creativity.



This morning over coffee and Farmville, Lillian was playing “school” with the dry erase board. She went right to work on writing words. This was promising. Sheena and I smiled at each other. Finally a glint of eagerness for the coming school year. Lil wrote one word on the board. Duck. I was impressed. I asked her to try and write Luck. She did! Now Lillian was the teacher and Sheena and I the students. We took turns raising our hands to suggest other words that rhyme with Duck. We went through several. Luck.. Truck.. Muck… Buck… it was Lil’s turn. I waited and watched with curiosity. I had run out of words. There it was. She started with the first letter F. Followed by a U… and a C… I whispered to Sheena. “This one is all you.” By the time she finished the K, she was asking, “What does this say?” Sheena was quick with the firm correction and appropriate discussion about that word. I was trying to keep a serious and straight face.

Yes. It is definitely time to go back to school.

Benji's Junk: Gonads Gone

Benjamin Peter is my eldest son. Just over one year old and quite a good boy. He’s very loving and affectionate with his two moms, he has impeccable hygiene for a boy, and he likes to style his hair every morning. Benji will climb into the bathroom sink and hold his head under the trickle of water. When his head is adequately wet he uses his paws to spike the hair.

Like males of any species, Benji’s most prized possession is his junk. He likes to walk in front of you and of course, turn around so you can get a nice, un-hindered view. It must get very dirty because several times a day he must clean his junk. Benji must have the cleanest junk on our block.

This Friday last, after much deliberation and finally the decision based on what’s good for my dear son, we had Benjamin neutered. It broke my heart to take away his manhood. Would he be the same Benji? Will he still love his girlfriend Tinkerbell? Will he be resentful toward his moms? Sheena and I weighed these things carefully. It was time. We talked to him every night and explained the procedure. We readied his kennel with his favorite Lion King blanket.

That morning Sheena kissed him and placed him in his kennel. He was being very brave. Lillian and I loaded him in the car and down the road we went. The office was decent and clean. The man behind the desk was very warm and friendly and obviously loved animals. I felt better already. We filled out the paperwork and I knew this was a place that I could leave my son for surgery. I was fine until he took Benji to the back and we walked out the door. We got into the car and I lost it. Uncontrollable tears fell into my lap. What if he thought we left him there? What if he’s scared? What if he thinks we don’t love him anymore?

I would have to wait 7 hours to see him again and comfort him. Lillian tried to make me feel better. “Are you crying? It’s ok. Benji will be ok.” I felt silly that a 5 year old was telling me it will be ok. I sucked it up and stopped crying.

For the next several hours I kept busy. I went shopping with my sister for Sheena’s shampoo. I wrote. I cleaned the house. I deep and detail cleaned the bathroom. That wasn’t enough so I shampooed the carpets. Benji may be in pain and uncomfortable when he gets out, but he would come home to a spotless house.

It was 3:00. Time to go pick up my son. I cleaned the litter box one more time and we left. It was hot outside. They brought his kennel out to me and they said he did really well. The girl gave me some post-op instructions and I asked if he would need a cone. She said, “Only if he’s licking.” I told her that Benji is definitely a licker of his junk and I bought a cone. The ride home was long and hot, but Benji was relaxed and calm. He didn’t seem at all traumatized or resentful about the experience.



When we brought him home he was famished. The instructions said not to feed him dry food until the next day. But Benji didn’t want wet food. Ick. None of our cats enjoy canned food. A shared can of tuna is an occasional treat, but NO wet cat food. He was appalled at the suggestion. He also did not want his food in moderation. This boy was starved. He devoured his Royal Canin with delight. After eating he started to lick what was left of his junk. I tried to stop him, but he kept licking. So out came the new plastic cone. We placed it on him and he flipped about for a bit like an upstream salmon, then he flopped over on his side and looked as though he’d lost all will to live. He also discovered that eating was not as simple as before. Possible, but not simple. I took off the cone when I realized he couldn’t drink water in that thing.

Three days later Benji is the same boy, thankfully. He’s a little more affectionate, no complaints there. He likes to snuggle under blankets now. And he’s constantly eating. I can’t wait until he puts on a little weight and turns into our fat and lazy tom cat.

Benji still styles his hair each day. And best of all, he is still proud of his junk. He keeps it clean and if you let him, he might just show it to you.

A New Breed of Homemaker

This morning I went to Safeway with Lillian to buy a few things. I like- No. Scratch that. I ENJOY shopping at Safeway, especially the store by our house. The store is not just clean, its Eileen clean. For those of you that know my mother, you know what I mean. It smells nice, the product is full and faced. The produce section is a fresh rainbow of juicy goodness.

For a peaceful shopping experience I go in the morning between 8:30 and 9:00. There are few customers at this time and I don’t like crowds. The employees on the floor are genuine and sincere. When they ask how you’re doing it really feels like they mean it. Today I spoke with a pharmacist and didn’t even need to. She offered to help me and stayed to chat when I told her I didn’t need assistance. Some people go to the mall for relaxation. I go get groceries. Its like a spa visit for me. I don’t need a sea-weed wrap. Just a copy of Time from the magazine aisle and a Starbucks from the counter up front.

I almost always go prepared with a list. Most times by this point I’ve already chosen our dinner menu and I’m supplementing what we already have on hand at home. A spice here, an ingredient there. I take my time and carefully choose what I will be feeding my family. I’m careful not to run out of the things Sheena likes. Coffeemate creamer, wasabi-soy flavored almonds, and Ben & Jerry’s ice-cream. Lillian likes her sandwiches on Sara Lee wheat bread. If there are some kind of chips in the house, I’m happy.

I suppose I’m the new breed of homemaker. Not the June Cleaver of the 50’s waiting for her husband to come home, all the while ironing the sheets in her crisp butter cream dress. I keep the house clean, the laundry washed, the bills paid, help Lillian with her reading, make dinner and write. …and wait for my sweet girl, with hope and love in my heart.

The Sounds of Summer

According to Amanda, nothing says summer like back-yard barbeques, the roar of motorcycle engines, and sizzling weenies. I would also like to add the aroma of freshly mowed lawns, over-sugared kids with ADD, a slow and savory novel, and the crackle of ice when fresh lemonade meets glass.

As kids, the summers stretched on forever. Each day a smorgasbord of popsicles, running through the hose, picnics in the front yard, and scraped knees. Who can forget those late night hide-and-seek games? I remember Mrs. Martinez scolding me from her bedroom window as I hid below in her lilac bush. The pennies and nickels I collected were never wasted. A bike ride around the corner and I could buy chocolate footballs, Sixlets, and if I saved up enough, the holy grail: a Fun Dip complete with 2 sugar Lik-em sticks.

Like most Hispanic families, relatives were in abundance and never far away. Each weekend was a camping trip, a softball game, a birthday party, or a backyard barbeque. Cousins to play with! My mom and aunties cooked delicious dishes. My dad and uncles drank beer and played horseshoes.

At grilling time, my dad packed the Weber with Kingsford charcoal briquettes and doused it with starter fluid, which my uncle Bill called ‘poker juice’. On one occasion dad struck the match and tossed it in. WHOOSH! Every hair on his face was white. 20+ years later, my best friend Theresa still won’t let him forget it.

I hope everyone is enjoying their summer. I hope you take the time to slow down and pour the lemonade. Take the glass outside and feel the cool grass in your toes. Even though your grill is most likely gas, throw on some weenies and listen to them sizzle!

Welcome to My Heart and Mind

Hi everyone! If you are reading this you know who I am in some context. I’m known as Veronica, Ronnie, V, Vron, V-Dawg, and sometimes hey-you. I’ve been a writer my entire life, but for some reason have never started my own blog. Hmmm. I have no idea why.

My idea for this blog is to use it as a vehicle to share some of my thoughts with you. (but then why else would I invite you to read it) I don’t plan to post anything too deep or controversial. No political views, no agendas. Just my simple musings on day to day life. I think life is complicated enough. If you want someone to debate or argue with, create your own blog. I'll even visit! If you want something fun, light-hearted, and hopefully a little humorous, then please. Visit often and read on…