Not the last page after all!

Biography part two. Here's what you've been waiting for all afternoon.

Continued from earlier today...

My girlfriends and I would meet at the movies on a Friday night but instead of going in we would walk around town singing Bette Midler and Carole King songs. Sometimes we would get picked up by boys we liked and ride around with them for awhile.

When there was no way to get away from the trailer, I would roam the hills behind our house. I obviously was traversing the moors looking for my true love. Of course that love wasn't a wild eyed count galloping on a white horse with his cape flying; he was more likely to be a stoned teenager wearing a suede fringe jacket, driving his dad's car.

Now in my middle age, I think of those days with a bit of nostalgia. I survived the teenage angst. At the time though I just knew that if only I wasn't stuck in that little valley, where it seemed time didn't go anywhere, my talent would be discovered. The poetry I wrote would be made into songs played on KFRC. I would write a best selling novel that would be made into a movie with Ally McGraw in the lead.

I look at the words I've placed onto this virtual paper and sigh a little about that life. I write now about a graying man who became my soulmate and about a boy, now grown who survived me as his mother. Thinking back now, I wouldn't change a minute of it. Well maybe just a little...

Last day of November, last page maybe not...

I've been having such a great time putting up my post for Chapo-Wrimo over my birthday month I might just have to continue through the Xmas and New year holidays. Now for everything you ever wanted to know about me real or made up. You'll just have to keep reading.

A Creative Biography, part one

We moved to a mobile home on two acres the summer before I was going to start high school. In my teenage opinion it was a rough life. The television didn't get cable, the air conditioning didn't work right and then there was also the occasional rattlesnake. Did I mention it was seven miles out of town and I didn't drive yet.

The Sears catalog soon became dog eared and torn from hours of searching for just the right decor for my room. The single bed was covered with a red and white chenille bedspread. A  Tree of Life batik was hung with hippie flair. Every inch of my walls were covered with stationary, wrapping paper, album covers and posters torn from Tiger Beat magazine.

That room was my sanctuary. I could close the door, light a strawberry scented candle and moon over rock stars, write poetry, keep a journal. Dude the cat and I would listen to records and pretend we were somewhere other than in a trailer at the end of a dirt driveway on a hillside in Mendocino County.

I read and wrote voraciously, daydreaming of when I would move to a big, magnificent city like New York or Barcelona. I would change my name to something more dramatic, after some tragic fictional heroine like Scarlet or Daisy. Or if I decided to keep my name I would just use my first name and on all my publications it would be spelled in lowercase letters, "The author sensation, mona!"

Sometimes when I was bored to tears I would steal a cigarette out of my dad's pack of L and M's and go down towards the road. Sitting in on of the fruit trees at the bottom of the property, I pictured myself being a tour guide at the U.N. or teaching children to read as a Peace Corp volunteer in Africa.

To be continued...

Not quite the last page of The Fridge Magnet Chronicles

I led a kind of sheltered life in my old hometown but once I graduated from high school, oh boy didn't let any moss grow on me. I even made it south of the border when I was 18.

TIJUANA 1974

Boyfriend tugs me
Along the dusty streets
Food stand, jewelry vendors
I yank money from my pocket
I'm gawking and pointing
Mexican huaraches for me
"Twenty dollars" the man says
Boyfriend pulls me away
"You must barter" he says
Being shy I walk past
Next a silver ring
Boyfriend says "you want one?"
He points, shows dollars
I watch him shake his head
Vendor nods taking money
My finger has shiny band
"Come on now you try"
Boyfriend pulls me to sandals
"How much" I ask
"Twenty dollars" in broken English
"Ten" I say
"Fifteen" he smiles
I hand over my money
Fearless, enlightened
A cold beer sounds good
On this night in Tijuana

Loved ones and Home...

Over time since sailor kid has been in the Navy, we've missed having holidays with him in his childhood home. There have been a few calls on Thanksgiving and Christmas from halfway around the world but now at least Dan is stateside so I can at least imagine him in his home with Kimberly and Carson. This story kind of give you an idea of how I've felt about that.

Home Is Where The Heart Is

I'll begin by giving you a little history about my homes. First there's my old hometown, where I kissed boys, wrote poetry and hung out with girls who promised our friendships would last for eternity.

Then there's our summer home, the cabin in the forest visited by the multi-generations of our family who have had many heartfelt times living and laughing there for decades.

And of course there's my house in the burbs' that I get to share with hubby who every so often even after 30+ years still makes my heart pitter patter.

But when I really learned home is where the heart is was when I watched my only child graduate from boot camp and then be assigned to a base on the other side of the country.

There's a quote I heard once that goes something like this; "When you have a child it's like your heart has left your body and is out walking around in the world."

That means my home is on the USS Harry S. Truman, a huge aircraft carrier that I've never seen except in photos. I say this because my heart, Petty Officer Mechling is on deployment for the next 9 months thousand of miles away in an exotic place called The Arabian Sea.

Yes home is where the heart is and for now that's wherever sailor son might be.

Birthday post, finally!

Yeah I know you've all been waiting for it, the birthday post! I woke up today and had a pain in my hip, a pain in my tailbone and a pain in my knee. What the hell I wondered. Oh that's right, today I turn 58. Need to start that yoga class again. I got lots of happy birthday's on fb, thanks from me to all of you. It was a very nice day with the icing on the cake so to speak being a vm from my sweet 4 year old grandson who lives 3000 miles away.

So now seriously, I want to let you know that I'm dedicating this post to 3 wonderful women who won't be having any more birthdays, I kind of thought we would all grow old together. All passing in the last year, taken from this earth too soon. I raise my glass in toasting Karen, Linda and Stephanie, here's my poem.

Talk Show Crone

I hope I will soon
Be an old lady
I’ll move to Manhattan
Or some other island
I’ll open a shop
Call it bell, book and candle
I’ll wear antique jewelry
And hats found at goodwill
I’ll cut pretty roses
From other folk’s gardens
I’ll keep writing poetry
And read for the talk shows
I’ll be all the rage
For invites to parties
Oh yes me, a 21st century
Muse for the masses

Gift request

Hey do you think I'll get a trip to Spain for my birthday tomorrow? Yeah that's what I thought too. HAHA! Well doesn't hurt to ask.

I'M STILL WAITING FOR...

I'm still waiting for my trip to Spain. I know I will go there someday. My job making shakes and fries at McDonalds during my senior year of high of high school put about $300 in my bank account, not enough to go to Europe with the Spanish teacher's tour group.

I still vowed to leave California after graduation, getting as far as that money could get me. Three weeks in Chicago as nanny for two little girls was better than nothing. I got to tour the amazing Museum of Modern Art, awed by paintings by famous Spanish artist Pablo Picasso, did that count?

So I have continued into adulthood pining away for Spain and now I had added Gibraltar and Morocco to my fantasy itinerary. In my dreams I see the travels of Don Quixote and his entourage mixed with the walking pilgrimage Shirley McClain made on the El Camino.

I envision the Pyreness off in the distance as I stand on the veranda of a beautiful casita that will be my temporary home where I'm picked up by a handsome Spanish driver who will make me swoon with his accent as we tour the amazing countryside.

Only 40 birthdays have passed since I first knew I was destined for Barcelona, I'm still waiting...

A friend's November birthday

I have a high school friend who's birthday is tomorrow and since I'm always late sending cards I'll post a story from those old days when we were inseparable and pretty much always skirting trouble.

Rocky Racoon

"Rocky Racoon checked into his room, only to find Gideon's bible..."

About a block from the park we heard singing. The day was balmy and clear, in the midst of Indian Summer. Lisa and I had cut school to attend a local peace rally and were giddy after a contact high from the pot smoking crowd.

Sitting on the rock wall that surrounded the park we saw a long haired young man playing his guitar. His name was Dan, he said he had come up from San Francisco checking out communes in the country that he was considering re-locating to. Lisa and I wondered if he might be a draft dodger. Lisa grinned at me and asked him if we could hang out, we both had a thing for musicians.

For the next week we kept cutting class to spend time with our guitar man at the park. We would kick back on the grass while Dan serenaded us. I had the feeling that he knew we were just a couple kids from the high school, jail bait. He would bring Boones Farm strawberry wine which we would pass around and just watch the sky roll by.

Dan didn't talk much. He mainly just played songs we would request of him. He showed us how to play a few chords which was pretty hard on his 12 string guitar. But it got him to sit close to me which was the ultimate goal. In my teenage mind I actually thought he might get around to choosing one of us to have for his girl.

One day trying to leave campus we got busted by the dean of girls. A few weeks later when we couldn't stand the thought of not seeing Dan we ditched again. We ran all the way, arriving out of breath. The leaves were beginning to fall and the only sound we heard were birds chirping. There was no sign of the park troubadour.

As time passed Lisa and I sang that Beatles song and assumed that Dan, sort of like the lyrics had checked out. At least from our lives. "...Gideon checked out and he left it no doubt, to help with good Rocky's revival."