Onions & Roses

It's a summer morning, and suddenly, I'm a kid again, wearing my brown leather clogs, and my white and red checked dress with matching bloomers--yes the one of the many dresses my mom had made me that summer, and suddenly I realize it's 1976. My hair is in two thick braids and is tied at the bottom with red ribbons. I'm walking down a dirt road towards my aunt's house. It's not a very far walk, but the dirt of the road is getting in between my feet and my clogs. I stop for a moment, and lean against one of the white washed walls, and take my clog off to shake the dirt and wipe the dirt away from my foot. I notice quickly that now my hand is full of white dust from the white washed house I was leaning on. Oh dear, I think, is my dress dirty too? Sure enough, I see some white dust on my bloomers, and I shake it off quickly, and proceed on my way to my aunt's house.

I usually don't make this walk alone, because walking to my aunt's house involves walking through the main road of the village, and I'm too shy when it comes to people I will surely meet on my way. I usually make this walk with my sister, who is more of a talkative person, and I can usually get away with just a smile. But today, I am alone and feeling quite brave. I see a few women in the village plaza, on the paved and cobblestone street, in front of my cousin Maria's house. They are waiting for the bus, and they are looking in my direction. I also see a man in a hat using the phone to call a taxi. An older woman is approaching me, all dressed in black, with a scarf tighly tied under her chin, holding a plastic bag of groceries. She looks up at me with tired looking blue eyes and acknowledges me with a nod.

"Bom dia menina."

I smile and nod back. I'm much too shy to say anything.

I suddenly remember why I need to get to my aunt's house so early that morning. My mother needs an onion, and she is waiting for me at home, so I need to get to my aunt's house as quickly as possible, so I begin walking at a quicker pace. As I make my way through the praca, I feel like someone is there watching me, and as I look up, I notice two women on the other side of the street looking down at me from their windows. They look like sisters, one at each window, side by side, wearing glasses. I smile, and pass them, and they stare down at me and continue talking. I hear their conversation as I pass. They are commenting on how fast I'm walking, and speculating on where I'm going. They are also saying that I am a big girl for my age, and that I have my mother's face.

I'm making my way near the cinema, and I hear the sound of men talking amongst themselves. I am feeling apprehensive now, I'm not quite sure why, but I do. I decide to just walk past as quickly as possible so not to draw attention to myself. There are two men in particular talking very loudly. Perhaps they won't notice me. I just want to get to my aunt's house and get an onion. May be I can convince my cousin Adelaide to come back home with me. I make my way past the cinema, and suddenly the men stop talking. It's silent. I can hear my clogs on the cobblestones, it's that quiet, when suddenly I hear my name being called out:

"Ah Julia, aonde tu vas?!"

I look up and I see my Primo Carlos calling out me from the top of the stairs at the cinema. He is asking me where I am going. He knows that it is unusual for me to be walking alone anywhere. I can feel my face turn red, and I hestitate, but call out to him to tell him I'm going to my aunt's house to get an onion. My response brings an unexpected uproar of laughter from the other men sitting above near the cinema door. I wave goodbye to Primo Carlos, as I hurry off as fast as I can, pass Lucia's store, and towards the hill towards Canada do Boquierao.

As I make my way up the road, I see a familiar face at the window of another house. It's Prima Fatima. She is at the window looking at me approach closer, as if she had known of my arrival for hours. She is smiling down at me, waving. My heart leaps, as she motions me to come and visit her. I tell her that my mom needs an onion, and that I was on my way to my Tia Aidinha's house. She laughs and tells me that she has plenty of onions, and motions me to come inside. I go to her front gate, and open the creaky wooden door, and ascend the steps up to her house. I've been there many times before, and as I reach the top of the stairs, I'm struck by the wave of the many beautiful scents from the roses that meet me there. I used to play there as a child. Prima meets me at her front door, and gives me a tight squeezed hug. I look into her eyes, and her eyes are welled with tears, but she is smiling. A tear falls from my cheek from out of nowhere.

I follow her to the backyard, through the garden past the wash house my sister and I used to climb on top of and sing from. Those were happy times I think to myself. I follow Prima to the little cellar in the back, through the green door. There on the floor is a large burlap bag full of onions. She hands me a white plastic bag, and she proceeds to fill the bag with onion after onion. Oh my mother will be so happy I think to myself. She will have enough onions to last her the whole summer now!

I thank Prima Fatima for all the onions, but before I leave, out of nowhere, she hands me a bouquet of white and pink roses. I've never seen a more beautiful bouquet of roses in my life. I bring the roses up to my nose and smell them. The intoixcating smell of the roses surprises me. I never smelled anything so wonderful before. Prima tells me that they are for me and my mother because one can never have enough roses are onions. I kiss her goodbye, my hands full of smelly onions and fragrant roses. I make my way down the stairs. I'm back on the road again, I turn around, and say my last goodbyes to Prima who watches from her window.

I'm walking slowly now. I proudly carry my onions and roses. I am happy and I find myself singing to myself. I exchange hellos with the people that pass me by with no hestitation. Everyone I see is smiling. A man tips his hat to me as I pass the cinema. I see a plane flying by overhead. As I approach the mouth of the plaza, from a distance I hear the church bells ring. Why are they ringing? They keep ringing, and ringing...they are trying to wake me up, but I'm not ready! I still have to get home and show my mom the roses and the onions! The church bells continue to ring until everyone and everything stops. I stop..

I wake up.

Then, suddenly I realize it's 2011, and I smell roses.

Time To Re-Boot!

Okay, thank God Blogger still remembers me, because frankly I'm not sure if I remember my password. It's been a long time since I've made an entry, so I'm doing a meme to try and "re-boot" my brain. Feel free to play along. I copied this from someone else--I hope they don't mind.. :)





From my camera: This is Nicholas at the San Francisco Zoo in the tarantula room. He had a lot of fun at the zoo last week. We went there and met three of my cousins: Susan, Kathleen & Tom. They live in San Francisco and Pacifica, and they all have children around Nicholas' age. Nicholas had a lot of fun with the kids and I really had a good time re-connecting with the cousins-it's a shame we don't see each other more often, but I plan to see them again real soon. :)

Outside my window...is a swimming pool glistening under a bright and sunny early evening. Through the vertical blinds I can barely see it because of the numerous bathing suits and random beach towels and clothing hanging on the deck railing set out to dry, but I know it's there--somewhere. It's been a busy place lately, but right now all is quiet, and all is good.

I am thinking...about the weekend. Should I go to the grocery store now, or should I go tomorrow? Right now I'm doing nothing--perhaps it would better to go now-after all, best not to put off things that can be done today for tomorrow. Still I'm not in the mood. My body doesn't want to do it. I need a break--I think I deserve a break... Why do I worry so much? I always gets it done eventually..

I am thankful for...so much. Where do I begin? I am thankful for my supportive and loving husband who has never asked me to change-other than NOT TO make any more big dinners during the week. See, I can't complain. Yes, I am thankful. :)


I am wearing...a skirt, and a t-shirt, and barefoot. My hair is still wet from swimming in the pool today. As you can guess I'm not expecting the Queen of England to visit me today!

In the office...I wish I remembered where I put that Paulo Coelho book I was reading! I had it outside with me last week, and I haven't seen it since. I was missing it at work the other day. I needed to take a break at my desk, and I was completely bored out of my mind. I took a walk instead. Perhaps that was a better idea; I had a good walk and crossed paths with some interesting people. I wasn't at work today, so I'm guessing, it's dark and empty right now. The green glow of my digital clock radio is the only light in the room. I didn't miss that place today, although for some insane reason I checked my work email. WHY do I do that?!? People at work are going to think I don't have a life.

I am remembering...all the cool party stuff I bought at the Dollar Store the other day. Gee, I saved a lot of money on Hawaiian themed paper plates and napkins--oh and don't forget the paper tiki totem men and pink flamingos decorations! I may even go back tomorrow! Exciting stuff.

I am going... to spend more time with my cousins Susan and Kathleen next week--I'm looking forward to it. We are going to Gilroy Gardens with the kids--I'm looking forward to riding the white swan again with Nicholas. He loves that place.

I am currently reading...as mentioned before, IF I CAN FIND IT, Paulo Coelho's "Veronika Decides To Die"... So far I'm liking it. I hope I find it again...urrrr...


I am hoping...I'm not coming down with a cold. I noticed my nose is a little runny, I have a dull headache, and my throat feels a little sore. Oh I hope I'm not coming down with a cold!

On my mind...the party on Sunday, getting my son settled in a new school this fall, my work schedule, upcoming trips, my husband's company moving to another building....mostly all good stuff, so counting my blessings..

Noticing that...I enjoy working 10 hour days at work when it means I don't have to drive my commute more than 3 times a week...

Pondering these words..."I just miss real people..." I overheard this while walking downtown the other day. I passed a man talking on his cell phone saying these words, and it stayed with me for some reason. Perhaps it was the tone of his voice as he spoke these words. He sounded helpless, and defeated. Sadly sometimes I wonder myself where the real people are---they certainly aren't on T.V.

From the kitchen... nothing is cooking today at the moment. The boys are out and about with their girlfriends. Lizzy is at the mall working until 11 pm, and Nicholas had an early dinner. I had a bowl of cereal, I think Rich just ate some chips...

Around the house...just Nick in the back room playing video games, and Rich and I in the living room. All is quiet and content and somewhat clean--no clutter is allowed--it makes me nervous. I'm not kidding.

One of my favorite things is....lately, it has been sleep. I wish I was kidding.

Note: As you may have noticed, I changed the picture of my blog. It's from a wedding in Vila Nova, Terceira, Azores. My mom is the young girl second to the left. Her cousin, and childhood friend, is the second young lady at the end to the right. This blog for this month is in memory of her. She passed away last month on Mother's Day. Gone now but forever in our hearts, RIP Prima Fatima. My memories of Vila Nova will never be the same without you.

Landlady Chronicles, Part I

When I was a landlady, years ago, I met an array of different people. I had some good tenants that the neighbors hated, and tenants that the neighbors loved, but were hard to deal with. I could go on and about the lady who bounced her checks almost monthly, or the guy who was married to a young Columbian woman who later had an affair with another neighbor, or I can tell you about the lady that almost was my first tenant.

Names have been changed to protect the innocent..or not so innocent.

Her name was Ophelia. Ophelia was the first person who answered my rental ad. She made an appointment to see my condo one afternoon and she seemed to be a really nice, down to earth person. We were in a hurry to rent the condo, and I was still pretty new to all this landlord stuff. I hadn’t had a clue of really what to look for; and I was just anxious to move out, rent my condo, and move into the home we were planning to buy. Ophelia, I thought seemed to be a really nice lady with good intentions of keeping the condo nice and clean.

Well Ophelia liked my condo so much, she asked to come by the next day and have her “boyfriend” come look at it. Ophelia walked her boyfriend through the condo excitedly. We'll call the boyfriend, Anthony. Anthony seemed to be a nice enough guy. He seemed really interested in some of pictures, and other things around the house that screamed: “I’m PORTUGUESE!” Was it the statue of Maria de Fatima, or was it my little souvenir dolls? I’m not quite sure. Anthony finally asked me if my family was from the Azores, and it wasn't long before we went on to talking, and then learned that his mom was also from the islands. He seemed to be a nice Portuguese guy with good intentions, so I thought.

I pretty much made up by mind by then that Ophelia was going to be a good tenant, and I was ready to call her with the good news, but later that day, there was a knock on the door, and who should be standing there, alone at my door, was Ophelia’s boyfriend, Anthony. I was a little surprised, to see him there.

“Hello Julie, I know this is kind of strange, but I feel the need to tell you something about my girlfriend, Ophelia.”

In short, Anthony went on to explain that his “girlfriend” was a nut case. Lovely. He went on and on to tell me in detail all the reasons why Ophelia would not be a good tenant. Not only was she messy, but she could not pay rent, and he had some documented incidents of her going off the deep end, where the police had been called. One incident involved her throwing a brick at his windshield, and then there was Christmas dinner at his mother's house. Apparently, Ophelia had flung the Christmas ham across his mother's dining room table in a fit of rage.

“Julie, you seem like a very nice person, and I can tell you have a very nice Portuguese family. I would feel badly if I didn’t tell you what a mess Ophelia really is. She will wreck this nice place up."

I was saddened to realize that my search for a tenant was not over like I had hoped, but I was appreciative of Anthony's warning. I went on to explain to Anthony that I was glad he had come by because I was just about to call his girlfriend and offer the place to her.

“Just tell her you ran a credit background check on her, and you won’t have to explain a thing to her.”

Good advice. Duh.. I didn’t even think of running a credit check before offering her the condo. I told you I was all new to all of this.

Well, I thanked Anthony again for his warning. I felt like he did me a great service. I guess he thought he owed me one because both of our moms were from the Azores. My Portuguese souvenirs and the statue of Our Lady pulled through once again. I did still feel very badly when I called Ophelia telling her that the condo was no longer available, but at the same time I thought her boyfriend did me a favor. I didn't want anyone to tear my place apart, nor did I want someone so impulsive and looney toon the way her boyfriend described her. Why they were still together still didn't make sense to me though.

Months went by, and while at work, I ran across Anthony's name. This is not good. I mean, I work for a county agency for Probation, so whenever a name “pops up” for someone, it’s not usually for good reasons. No, Anthony was not as good as he seemed, and then I felt badly for his nice girlfriend. I wondered if they were still together. That was all but years and years ago, but today, his file is back on my desk. Without getting into specifics, let us just say this guy is a criminal who lies so very well. So, now I don’t know if Ophelia was in fact a nut case who threw the Christmas ham across the poor Portuguese mother’s dining room table. It all could have been just another bunch of lies, but WHY he wanted to “protect me” from the “nutso” who he called his “girlfriend” still boggles my mind. May be he just didn't want her to move.

Soul Expressed

This entry is about my son, Andrew. The kid never ceases to amaze me. He started writing poetry when he was 13 or was it 14? I couldn't really tell you when to tell you for sure. It started with him and a few friends meeting after school during his Jr. High days at a friend's house, listening to beats, and playing with rhymes. I had no idea what was going to become of it. At the time I remember, sitting in the car waiting for Andrew to finish practicing beats, usually he was late getting out of his friend's house, and usually, I was quite irritated about it. Nicholas, who was a baby at the time did not like sitting in the car, and usually he was quite fussy in a hot car waiting. Who was I to know it was the start of something special. I had no clue. But, this hobby did not stop there. Soon it turned into all night sessions in his grandma's closet, with a microphone hanging from the ceiling. Who knew my mother's sweaters would provide just the right sound. Studio sessions are now mainly at home in his walk in closet. Who knew, my little, shy, cautious, skinny little boy would write poems, and perform on stage so naturally, from open mike sessions or on his high school stage. Who knew really!?

Years before, a "psychic" told me of what my kids would become in adulthood. She mentioned great things for both of my children. She went on to say my daughter would accomplish many things, and that my son would turn to music and become very successful in that field. I was glad to hear all these predictions, but I wasn't quite ready to take this woman's predictions seriously. I never really saw my son Andrew, who was 5 at the time gravitate to music, or pick up a musical instrument. Sponge Bob Square Pants was his musical favorite, and he loved to recite the songs from that cartoon, but other than that he didn't seem very interested in music. I bought him a toy piano for Christmas anyway. He hardly used the thing.

He won the poetry slam last Thursday night, and the following poem was the one he recited on stage. I wish I could attach the video to this entry, but alas, me, Mom, obviously does not know how to use a camera correctly. I'm hoping one of his friends will share the video so I can one day share. He usually performs with music, but he didn't need it. He expresses himself so well...he amazes me every time. I may sound like any mother who is proud of her son, and yes I am. I say that proudly. This might be the start of something bigger, or not--but I'm his biggest fan of course.





I wanna spit something so great and find a way to escape.

Someone help me out this mess cause I've been twisted by my fate

I speak emotion pronouncing punch lines till my mind is weak from this poetic potion

So make a motion to express

Show devotion cause nothing less will shift my ocean

I'm more than just a kid man I've proved myself up off these battle grounds

Sometimes I break down cause my attitude is different now

Different how?

My will is passionate

Ration this then my life will end, not quit

I spit until my lungs give out like heart attacks I'll clog you out

Rush the ink inside my veins

My pain is simple yet sustained

See advice from the wise keeps my eyes open wide so I can understand this life and find a better way to survive

Feel a thrive to show whats inside I stride to glide across the sky

An out to the universe

But surely you'll break apart an cry

Cause the one you love will scar your heart and die

My soul is petrified beyond the rhyme rhythm and whats left of time

Watching the one you love the most drifting away in the distance becoming possibly a ghost

Literally or figuratively either way it won't make sense

No ones parallel to my prison cell so to you this won't make sense

I'm tense drenched by reality and reflected by fatality

Tears dripped off my cheek writing this its actuality

Something real!

Something true!

Something for just me an you!

Glance upon this fairy tale like the story is ya point of view....(silence)

Then I flew away from all this pain an death

My breath is kept whispering the meaning of life

An that whisper I might never hear

Some fear that its the end for them

But I'm happy in this atmosphere

Even though bliss may not be it

My path will surely balance it

Life attacks the soul strong an its up to you to challenge it....



So challenge it

Diminish the evil inside your heart and grasp the essence of whats pure

Cause no matter what you say or do we probably won't ever find a cure..

Just a way to escape from it all

An me

I've found a way to be free from it all

What I speak right now

What I write there and then

To liberate my soul within

Is Simply Soul Expressin



- Sincerely Soul Expressed Copyright @ US ADMINISTRATION OF COPYRIGHT

Courtesy Flush

I once took a picture of someone that I didn’t really much care for, ripped it up in tiny pieces, and flushed it down the toilet. Wouldn’t you know there was a piece with the entire face of this person still in tact, and as I watched the smiling face whirl in the toilet water I felt a feeling of utter satisfaction mixed in with a pinch of silliness and guilt.

I told myself I was going to try and give up that feeling of guilt this year. Why do I find myself worrying constantly about whether I did or did not do the right thing? I’ve been constantly told that I “worry too much” or “care too much” or “I’m too nice”. I guess I like to treat people the way I would like to be treated, but I can honestly say, it makes me expect too much from people. I must stop expecting people will do the “right thing” because, the majority of the time they don’t. It makes me second guess myself. I mean, do I really know what is the “right thing?” Apparently, my right thing, isn’t everybody’s right thing.

Does this make sense?

It might not. I realize this. Flushing the picture of that person down the toilet may not have been the right thing. Believe me, silly as it may seem, I felt guilty afterwards. It almost felt like I actually flushed this person down the toilet whole, and I felt guilt that I plunged this person into their watery grave. The smile on the face still haunts me.

What purpose did it serve to flush the picture down the toilet? True, I don’t have to see the picture pop up anywhere unexpectedly. Perhaps that it is why it was upsetting to find, although I didn’t do it right away-I thought about it. There was a thought process involved. It wasn’t done in the heat of the moment-it was not passion driven. Why did it cause me to feel so uncomfortable, just knowing it was around? Am I really that insecure? Perhaps it shows weakness—yes, that is probably why it still bothers me.

After I met my boyfriend (now husband), I gathered all the paperwork and evidence from my previous, messy divorce in a pile and burned each and every scrap in my gas fireplace. I don’t regret doing this. Every piece of “evidence”, every hurtful and tearful fact of betrayal that I kept in file was destroyed. I wanted to close that chapter in my life completely, and, I must say it was very therapeutic. It made me happy, and it made my boyfriend happy; I was ready to get over it, and lead a new life. The negativity was behind me. Sure, I cut a few pictures, but only a few, but I never flushed my ex-husband’s face down the toilet. I did burn the love letters to his married Canadian lover that I did find on the computer, but I didn’t burn any of his pictures. Sure he proved to be a major disappointment, but I certainly don’t wish him ill. I hope he lives a happy, long, lovely life, far away from me.

Last night I found myself going through old, filed away documents, for someone and I came across hundreds and hundreds of pay stubs from garnished wages child support checks. I saved every single stub thinking that some day I would need them. I found myself gathering them all up, and throwing them all in the recycle bin. Funny how things can change from being important one day, to worthless the next—or should I say, 15 years later.

I guess I’m just human. I will continue to treat people the way I like to be treated, but I’m not going to expect anything in return-no matter how disappointing. So sorry for the flush---I slip sometimes.

Haunted Disney

As mentioned before, I took the kids out to southern California last month, and went to Disneyland. I usually go every summer, but last summer we didn't go because we had a lot of other things planned, not to mention a wedding, and a trip to the Azores. When I was a kid, my parents never took us to Disneyland, but don't feel too sorry for us. Instead of Disneyland, we went to either Pismo Beach, or we went to the Azores, and we lived in Santa Cruz, a coastal town known for its beaches, and boardwalk with roller coasters and rides. We weren't deprived in no means, and I don't regret any one of those trips to the Azores whatsoever, but I always wondered why we never got to go to Disneyland as children. So, at the first opportunity as an adult I went, and I've gone ever since.

We usually go in the summer or spring, and this was the first time we actually went in February. It was less expensive to go this time of year, and it was a little rainy and colder, but it all mean't less people and shorter lines. On the first day we were there, we got on every ride with a minimal line wait of 5 to 7 minutes if that. As it got later in the day and darker(and wetter) the lines were pretty much non-existent. As we approached one of the last rides of the evening, the Haunted Mansion, it was easy to see why my youngest, Nicholas was not going to have anything to do with the place. I had to admit, the mansion did look more daunting than usual. The tall mansion, in the rain, lighted only by the dim lights and a full moon in the middle of darkness truly looked like a haunted mansion. So, while Liz and Andrew ventured inside, Nicholas and I stayed away in search of a drinking fountain.

I've heard many stories about the Haunted Mansion, including the disbursement of human ashes inside the ride. Stories of people actually bringing the ashes of their loved ones to the ride fulfilling their last wishes of forever to be in the "happiest place on earth." Here's a link to a related article:

http://travel.latimes.com/articles/la-trw-disney14nov14

It's a little unsettling, isn't it? I guess some Disneyland enthusiasts would love the idea of having their remains forever locked in the Haunted Mansion, or live with the mechanical pirates on the Pirates of the Caribbean. I don't know about you, but if I had to make a choice of what ride to be "scattered" in, I would pick a happy ride, where I could see smiling faces of children each day, like the Peter Pan ride, or the Dumbo Ride. Oh, and yes, It's A Small World is a very happy ride, if you can handle hearing that song over and over again---it might be just a living hell.

The next day I went on the Haunted Mansion ride with my older son Andrew. It certainly wasn't the first time I've been on this ride, but I wanted to pay closer attention to it. I was determined to find something that I had never noticed before. The ride, in the beginning proved to be pretty uneventful, familiar and predictable, until of course it stopped three times right in the middle of the graveyard, and by the knocking, and vibrating doors that sounded like heartbeats. Lovely.

You know, when you are gliding by through the ride, and it's "spooky" little scenario scenes, it really isn't very frightening, until your buggy gets stuck right there in the middle of it. I have to admit I was feeling a little uncomfortable sitting there in my buggy in the middle of the graveyard, admid the singing and flying ghosts. I found myself wondering, gee, may be there are real spirits of people in this ride having a little fun. Then suddenly, from the ride you hear the narrator's voice go on the loud speaker to announce that the "spirtis" were disrupting the ride again, and that ride would resume once the "spirts" have "moved on." Lovely. Finally, after what seemed like several minutes, the buggy started up again proceeded its way towards the end of the ride.

Right when the buggy starting moving, I heard a small knock on the side of my buggy. I was a little startled by it. I waited to hear Andrew tell me he had heard the same knock, but apparently, he didn't. I didn't want to frighten the boy, but I was left to wonder about this knock throughout the rest of the ride. It didn't help that I was thinking of all the potential scatterings of ashes that may have been lurking inside the ride right before I actually heard this "unexplained knock" that I only heard. And, of course, I did not want to mention this knock to Andrew because I didn't want him to get scared or anything. I still haven't told him about it, because I'm still questioning it myself. I have wondered perhaps if it was the people in the buggy behind us who knocked on our buggy, but I don't think that would be possible, or perhaps it was someone walking around the ride that did it. I've heard that there are actual people who run the ride that dress in costume with the sole purpose of frightening ride goers, but I did not see anyone. Let's just say I left the ride wondering about it. Apparently, I still am. The little ghost doll at the end of the ride, with the mocking voice who said goodbye to us didn't help matters either.

The mysterious knock on my buggy wasn't the only freaky experience that happened during my Disneyland visit.

We stayed at the Paradise Pier Hotel near the park, and I ended up having to buy a new pair of sunglasses at their gift shop. You see, we had gone on the Indiana Jones ride earlier that afternoon, and I apparently looked into the eyes of the Goddess Medusa, which prompted my sunglasses to fly off my head, only to be lost in a river of lava for all eternity. I went to the hotel's gift shop in search of a new pair, when I encountered the most strangest woman. I don't know if I looked any more suspicious than the average customer, I mean, I don't think I fit a profile of someone who would likely steal or commit a crime. When shopping a lot of people think I actually work at the stores I shop in. (It has happened to me for years, and I don't really understand why.)

This woman was working at the register and I could definitely feel she was staring at me. I was not the only person in the store, but I could tell she was very intent to watch me as I shopped around the carousel of sunglasses . There wasn't much to choose from as it was, but this woman made me feel so uneasy, that I ended up buying any pair just to get out of the place. When I finally made it to the cash register, she started talking to me, and was pleasant enough, but she still had that weird look in her eyes. It wasn't her appearance, but it was in the way she looked at me, like she knew me for some place or somewhere. She had a sort of blankness in her eyes, and when I explained why I needed glasses (she made a comment about the glasses), she responded with a very serious tone of voice, and went on to say that she always wanted to work on that ride because of all the lost items that are thrown off and lost, but, she then said that my glasses were probably somewhere broken by now with a concerned look on her face. I wanted to tell her that I could care less because they were a cheap pair of $10 sunglasses, but I just wanted to get out of there and not invite more conversation with this weird woman.

I'll have to remember to put my sunglasses in the net in front me on the ride next time, and not look into the eyes of Medusa. This woman at the gift shop wasn't really rude, she just reminded me of a zombie from that movie, the Night of The Living Dead. Her eyes were missing a certain brightness and soul to them. She was just plain spooky. "Come back again!" she called out. I don't think so...

Doris

(This entry has nothing to do with the lovely Doris Day, but if my GPS system was personified, she would be a lot like her....so may be this entry has a lot to do with Doris Day...you to decide...)

Driving home from L.A. in afternoon traffic, a black convertible sports car whizzed past, blasting Madonna's "Material Girl." The driver of car was a bald African American male, with large sunglasses talking loudly on his blue tooth. His license plate read: 1FunGuy I tried to get past him in traffic to take his picture, but the traffic did not allow it. He must have turned off at an exit, never too be seen again.

I should have known better to leave Disneyland after 2 pm, but I was hoping that a holiday Monday would be lighter in traffic, but of course I was wrong. It seemed that everyone had the day off, and that everyone was either enjoying the dry weather, or on their way home from the long weekend like we were.

"Extreme traffic ahead, recalculating..." my GPS woman exclaimed this almost every 5 miles throughout our journey out of the city. Can you say irritating? Nothing would shut that .itch up..

Let's call GPS woman, Doris.

I have a love/hate relationship with Doris. Sometimes she gets me to where I need to be, and I am very thankful for her company, but there are often times where Doris directs me to places that I shouldn't be, or don't want to be, and places that I never knew existed.

While in Marina Del Rey, Doris took us to a non-existent movie theatre, located in the middle of a lovely condominium duplex, one wrong exit, and a closed restaurant. There was a moment there where I was very tempted to throw Doris out of the window, but I didn't. I think Doris needs to be updated--it really isn't her fault. She does take me to the right place most of the time, but there was a moment there when she directed me off of Hwy 5, to an exit in L.A., looking over the city, where I seriously feared for the lives of myself and my innocent children. It was like being in an episode of Southland. I expected to see gun shots exchanged, or a high speed police chase happen in front of me. AND, still there was that exit Doris directed me to take because of more "extreme traffic" warnings, where she directed me away from Hwy 5 yet again, to avoid the Grapevine, where I found myself driving through Palmdale, onto Hwy 138--Avenue D.


Lovely Avenue D

Avenue D - Highway 138 proved to be a stretch of 38 miles through the middle of nowhere. It's a lovely road of nothing on both sides, only road kill, abandoned vehicles and little more. True there were a few ranch homes there, and some lovely hills in the background, but nothing else. In my daughter's words, "It's a place you are brought to be shot and left for dead." It was also a place where people apparently had abandoned many vehicles. We counted quite a few and we drove past. Who knows what or who was inside of them.. If it wasn't for the fact that I did have a full tank of gas, and had my vehicle fixed and checked beforehand, this place would make me very, very nervous. It's not a place you want your car to break down on.

Highway 138, Avenue D (D for Dead or D for Doris?) is a two lane highway, with slow trucks. One must pass the trucks to go faster---and, yes, I did. I passed 4 trucks, and I swear one of those trucks sped up when I was trying to pass it. Luckily, it was still daylight out, and I was not alone. Seemed like other vehicles with corrupt GPS systems, such as Doris, had directed other motorists in the same direction. It made me feel better while I was dodging trucks to know that I was not alone. I didn't know later that this stretch of highway had nicknames like "blood alley" but I could understand why. After finally getting off of Avenue D, back to Hwy 5, I was very tempted to throw Doris out the window so she could meet her own demise, but I don't throw expensive toys out the window, and it's the only thing that saved her.