Booty, Beauty, Butterflies and Ugly Betty!

Yes, my alliteration is out of control this week. And I'm blissin' out on joy, which is not as easy as it sounds since I'm having a difficult week. Stomach and health issues, plus my dad just went into the hospital and may have cancer, and I can't seem to switch off the "monkey mind," as the Buddhists call it.

So last night I finally got around to watching the series finale of "Ugly Betty," and it was great. I will definitely miss this gem of a show. As the last scene faded, a song played that I had never heard before--and I instantly recognized the voice as that of Macy Gray. But the lyrics--at once funny and inspiring--stuck in my head. The song is "Beauty in the World," and it was the perfect ending for "Ugly Betty," and it's the perfect song for me to hear right now.

In the song, Macy sings about seeing the beauty of the world in spite of all the bad news, about noticing things like butterflies, for example. How fitting that the promos for the last season of "Ugly Betty" included butterflies, a symbol of transformation!

Just some excerpts of the lyrics:

All they talk about is
What is going down?
What’s been messed up, for us?
When I look around,
I see blue skies,
I see butterflies,
for us.

Listen to the sound and lose it,
Its sweet music,
and dance with me.
There is beauty in the world,
So much beauty in the world,
Always beauty in the world.

And you gotta love a song that contains this line:

Shake your booty, boys and girls,
for the beauty in the world!

Booty, Beauty, Butterflies and Ugly Betty!

Yes, my alliteration is out of control this week. And I'm blissin' out on joy, which is not as easy as it sounds since I'm having a difficult week. Stomach and health issues, plus my dad just went into the hospital and may have cancer, and I can't seem to switch off the "monkey mind," as the Buddhists call it.

So last night I finally got around to watching the series finale of "Ugly Betty," and it was great. I will definitely miss this gem of a show. As the last scene faded, a song played that I had never heard before--and I instantly recognized the voice as that of Macy Gray. But the lyrics--at once funny and inspiring--stuck in my head. The song is "Beauty in the World," and it was the perfect ending for "Ugly Betty," and it's the perfect song for me to hear right now.

In the song, Macy sings about seeing the beauty of the world in spite of all the bad news, about noticing things like butterflies, for example. How fitting that the promos for the last season of "Ugly Betty" included butterflies, a symbol of transformation!

Just some excerpts of the lyrics:

All they talk about is
What is going down?
What’s been messed up, for us?
When I look around,
I see blue skies,
I see butterflies,
for us.

Listen to the sound and lose it,
Its sweet music,
and dance with me.
There is beauty in the world,
So much beauty in the world,
Always beauty in the world.

And you gotta love a song that contains this line:

Shake your booty, boys and girls,
for the beauty in the world!

My Great Grandfather Was a Dowser!

So maybe these shaman skills run in the family! Which is something I've always wondered. It's probably more common than anyone realizes or recognizes or admits, but I think sometimes spirit will keep skipping around in a family until someone raises their hand and says, "Pick me!"

Some families have all sorts of stories about "wacky" relatives, but not mine. Until now! It isn't much, but I'll take what I can get. Over Easter/Ostara weekend, I wanted to go in search of the cemetery where my maternal grandmother's family is buried. Through online census records, I uncovered the location of the church and the names. So my mom, my partner and I set off in the car, with GPS activated.

We found the rural Methodist church and its small cemetery just south of the county line. Thank goodness we didn't have hundreds of graves to search! There were several stones bearing my maternal grandmother's family name, and within just a minute or so we had found her parents and her paternal grandparents (theirs was one of the oldest graves, so they must have founded the church in the 19th century).

My mom then tells me that she remembers her mother's parents, Arthur and Ida, but they were already quite elderly at the time. Specifically, she remembers Arthur taking her and her siblings out into a field to show them how he found water with a dowsing rod. She said she remembers the stick moving around (she didn't say if they actually found water), but it certainly made an impression on her--and of course, it caught my attention!

Stories about old Southerners using a dowsing rod aren't all that odd, actually. Sure, maybe people were more superstitious back then, or it could be they were more open to things before science (and religion) educated the wonder right out of us. I wonder if great-grandpa Arthur had to keep it a secret from his Methodist brethren? But in the countryside, these sort of things were often tolerated as long as it didn't attract too much attention. Sometimes the dowser didn't even consider his "skill" all that special but more something fun to play around with and impress the children (like my mother).

Just one little story, but it's something!

My Great Grandfather Was a Dowser!

So maybe these shaman skills run in the family! Which is something I've always wondered. It's probably more common than anyone realizes or recognizes or admits, but I think sometimes spirit will keep skipping around in a family until someone raises their hand and says, "Pick me!"

Some families have all sorts of stories about "wacky" relatives, but not mine. Until now! It isn't much, but I'll take what I can get. Over Easter/Ostara weekend, I wanted to go in search of the cemetery where my maternal grandmother's family is buried. Through online census records, I uncovered the location of the church and the names. So my mom, my partner and I set off in the car, with GPS activated.

We found the rural Methodist church and its small cemetery just south of the county line. Thank goodness we didn't have hundreds of graves to search! There were several stones bearing my maternal grandmother's family name, and within just a minute or so we had found her parents and her paternal grandparents (theirs was one of the oldest graves, so they must have founded the church in the 19th century).

My mom then tells me that she remembers her mother's parents, Arthur and Ida, but they were already quite elderly at the time. Specifically, she remembers Arthur taking her and her siblings out into a field to show them how he found water with a dowsing rod. She said she remembers the stick moving around (she didn't say if they actually found water), but it certainly made an impression on her--and of course, it caught my attention!

Stories about old Southerners using a dowsing rod aren't all that odd, actually. Sure, maybe people were more superstitious back then, or it could be they were more open to things before science (and religion) educated the wonder right out of us. I wonder if great-grandpa Arthur had to keep it a secret from his Methodist brethren? But in the countryside, these sort of things were often tolerated as long as it didn't attract too much attention. Sometimes the dowser didn't even consider his "skill" all that special but more something fun to play around with and impress the children (like my mother).

Just one little story, but it's something!

My Mom's Valentines Day Card: Colorblindness or Alzheimers?

I know Valentines Day was last month, however, I only received a sweet card (shown) from my mom last weekend. Seems the postal service delivered my card to the wrong address, and then it was sent back to my mom, who finally hand-delivered it to me this past weekend when I visited. And she had the correct address, so looks like the mail carrier can't read, but whatever.

My mom is so sweet to still give me cards when I'm 42 years old. The message was basically, "I sometimes wish you could be a kid again, but I'm so proud of the adult you've become." Awwwww, thanks, mom! But the odd part was what was on the card, and this is where my concern comes in because I'm not quite sure how to take it.

Like most cards, this one had generic images of 2 kids and an adult, except--they're black! All of them. Clearly, this is a card marketed for black families. Now, I wasn't offended by any means; I just found it strange. And when I said something to my mom and pointed out the pictures, she gazed at the card and just laughed as if to say, "Oh well, silly me!" Again, sweet card, sweet mom--and gosh darn it, I thought, she doesn't even SEE race! Wow. If only we all lived in a world like that. And how lucky am I to have a mom that doesn't even notice skin color!

Except I wonder if there's more to it. She'll be 72 this year. My sister has confided in me that our mom is starting to forget things and drop random bits into conversations. Plus, I have 1 uncle and 1 aunt who already have Alzheimers! I'm not sure how to take it. I don't want to press too much and make her self-conscious and sound ungrateful, but I also don't want to ignore clear warning signs that something's wrong. Colorblind or Alzheimers--which do you think it is?

My Mom's Valentines Day Card: Colorblindness or Alzheimers?

I know Valentines Day was last month, however, I only received a sweet card (shown) from my mom last weekend. Seems the postal service delivered my card to the wrong address, and then it was sent back to my mom, who finally hand-delivered it to me this past weekend when I visited. And she had the correct address, so looks like the mail carrier can't read, but whatever.

My mom is so sweet to still give me cards when I'm 42 years old. The message was basically, "I sometimes wish you could be a kid again, but I'm so proud of the adult you've become." Awwwww, thanks, mom! But the odd part was what was on the card, and this is where my concern comes in because I'm not quite sure how to take it.

Like most cards, this one had generic images of 2 kids and an adult, except--they're black! All of them. Clearly, this is a card marketed for black families. Now, I wasn't offended by any means; I just found it strange. And when I said something to my mom and pointed out the pictures, she gazed at the card and just laughed as if to say, "Oh well, silly me!" Again, sweet card, sweet mom--and gosh darn it, I thought, she doesn't even SEE race! Wow. If only we all lived in a world like that. And how lucky am I to have a mom that doesn't even notice skin color!

Except I wonder if there's more to it. She'll be 72 this year. My sister has confided in me that our mom is starting to forget things and drop random bits into conversations. Plus, I have 1 uncle and 1 aunt who already have Alzheimers! I'm not sure how to take it. I don't want to press too much and make her self-conscious and sound ungrateful, but I also don't want to ignore clear warning signs that something's wrong. Colorblind or Alzheimers--which do you think it is?

"Ugly Betty" Cancelled---Now Even MORE Reasons for Me to Be Grumpy!

"Since when are we the last ones to know the juicy gossip?!"

Once again, one of my favorite shows is cancelled. I don't understand why people didn't watch "Ugly Betty." It was creative in so many ways, you never knew what was going to happen, the acting and writing were great; it was witty and smart, and it had REAL family values as opposed to other shows that supposedly promote such things but which are so screechingly awful that I want to poke my eyes out. What show incorporated so many actors of varying ages, from teens to senior adults? What show included such contemporary story lines without seeming preachy or contrived? Most of all, what show reveled in its overall gayness without being political about it?

This is worse than when Henry got that other girl pregnant!

 Some story lines had struggled recently, but I had hopes for this current season, which I thought was off to a very satisfying start. I mean, I almost literally cried when Matt and Betty broke up the other week! (I'm sure that didn't have anything to do with my own relationship, but whatever...)

Oh, you know Hilda is NOT happy about this! 

 "Ugly Betty" has always been a wonderful breath of fresh air. I love all the characters, which were so multi-dimensional, unlike so many other shows where the bad girl is always unrealistically bad and the good girl is always so mind-numbingly perfect. How dull. But on "Ugly Betty," you both love AND hate Wilhelmina. You cheer when Amanda is daffy AND when she's surprisingly smart. You love it when Marc is Queen Bitch and when he's Mr. Softie. Of course, you love it when Betty completely screws up and when she saves the day.

"I want to know who's responsible for this fiasco!" 

Meanwhile, complete crap like "The Biggest Loser" and "Jersey Shore" soar to ratings Heaven (I'm not even including links!). Sure, maybe "Loser" is inspirational for some, but it's all so voyeuristic. I fully support people getting healthy, but I don't consider it entertaining to watch it happen. In fact, I think a lot of people watch that show only so they can say, "Well, at least I'm not THAT fat." And that is sad.

And we were just getting to know the scrumptious Adam Rodriguez--damn! 

So--here's to "Ugly Betty!" I hope they pull out all the stops for this final season--and ABC will lose one more viewer...

"Ugly Betty" Cancelled---Now Even MORE Reasons for Me to Be Grumpy!

"Since when are we the last ones to know the juicy gossip?!"

Once again, one of my favorite shows is cancelled. I don't understand why people didn't watch "Ugly Betty." It was creative in so many ways, you never knew what was going to happen, the acting and writing were great; it was witty and smart, and it had REAL family values as opposed to other shows that supposedly promote such things but which are so screechingly awful that I want to poke my eyes out. What show incorporated so many actors of varying ages, from teens to senior adults? What show included such contemporary story lines without seeming preachy or contrived? Most of all, what show reveled in its overall gayness without being political about it?

This is worse than when Henry got that other girl pregnant!

 Some story lines had struggled recently, but I had hopes for this current season, which I thought was off to a very satisfying start. I mean, I almost literally cried when Matt and Betty broke up the other week! (I'm sure that didn't have anything to do with my own relationship, but whatever...)

Oh, you know Hilda is NOT happy about this! 

 "Ugly Betty" has always been a wonderful breath of fresh air. I love all the characters, which were so multi-dimensional, unlike so many other shows where the bad girl is always unrealistically bad and the good girl is always so mind-numbingly perfect. How dull. But on "Ugly Betty," you both love AND hate Wilhelmina. You cheer when Amanda is daffy AND when she's surprisingly smart. You love it when Marc is Queen Bitch and when he's Mr. Softie. Of course, you love it when Betty completely screws up and when she saves the day.

"I want to know who's responsible for this fiasco!" 

Meanwhile, complete crap like "The Biggest Loser" and "Jersey Shore" soar to ratings Heaven (I'm not even including links!). Sure, maybe "Loser" is inspirational for some, but it's all so voyeuristic. I fully support people getting healthy, but I don't consider it entertaining to watch it happen. In fact, I think a lot of people watch that show only so they can say, "Well, at least I'm not THAT fat." And that is sad.

And we were just getting to know the scrumptious Adam Rodriguez--damn! 

So--here's to "Ugly Betty!" I hope they pull out all the stops for this final season--and ABC will lose one more viewer...

My Quest to Join the Illuminati: Steps 5-8

Continuing with my quest, let's look at where I stand on steps 5-8 (of the 18 I mentioned in my last post).

5) Incorporate Illuminati symbolism into everything you do. 

Easy! See me giving the "all-seeing eye" above, and I've added one to the sidebar. Plus, I have the CD of that Illuminati puppet herself, Lady Gaga, in my pick-up.

6) Like anyone with ambitions of world domination, join the Masons. 

To be perfectly honest, I have wondered a lot lately about what it would be like to be a Mason, plus I do love ritual and fancy outfits. So, never say never!

7) Join any other occult group with a degree system like the Rosicrucians and work your way up the ladder. 

The Rosicrucians have always fascinated me--and they even have a park! That's right, in plain ol' San Jose, California. Did you know that the Rosicrucians originated in Germany? Which is were my mother's family is from--OMG! (And that isn't the only Germany connection...) Plus, I have just learned that an acquaintance of mine is the Grand Councilor for the state where I live! So yeah, this one will be easy.

8) Study mystery religions and occult practices.

Well, duh--shamanism! Done. That was easy--I'm well on my way to Illuminati prominence!

My Quest to Join the Illuminati: Steps 5-8

Continuing with my quest, let's look at where I stand on steps 5-8 (of the 18 I mentioned in my last post).

5) Incorporate Illuminati symbolism into everything you do. 

Easy! See me giving the "all-seeing eye" above, and I've added one to the sidebar. Plus, I have the CD of that Illuminati puppet herself, Lady Gaga, in my pick-up.

6) Like anyone with ambitions of world domination, join the Masons. 

To be perfectly honest, I have wondered a lot lately about what it would be like to be a Mason, plus I do love ritual and fancy outfits. So, never say never!

7) Join any other occult group with a degree system like the Rosicrucians and work your way up the ladder. 

The Rosicrucians have always fascinated me--and they even have a park! That's right, in plain ol' San Jose, California. Did you know that the Rosicrucians originated in Germany? Which is were my mother's family is from--OMG! (And that isn't the only Germany connection...) Plus, I have just learned that an acquaintance of mine is the Grand Councilor for the state where I live! So yeah, this one will be easy.

8) Study mystery religions and occult practices.

Well, duh--shamanism! Done. That was easy--I'm well on my way to Illuminati prominence!

Wise Words from Dolly: Rest in Peace, Michael

Leave it to Dolly Parton to cut to the chase and remind us all of what's really important. I think this woman really IS an angel.

Spending yesterday with my mom was nice, and turns out, my younger sister was off work, too. I'm so lucky to have a great family who listens and loves and doesn't judge and always supports me. I don't know that I've resolved anything that was worrying me, but I guess I'm getting there. I know there's a lesson in here somewhere, and I'm trying to learn!

Wise Words from Dolly: Rest in Peace, Michael

Leave it to Dolly Parton to cut to the chase and remind us all of what's really important. I think this woman really IS an angel.

Spending yesterday with my mom was nice, and turns out, my younger sister was off work, too. I'm so lucky to have a great family who listens and loves and doesn't judge and always supports me. I don't know that I've resolved anything that was worrying me, but I guess I'm getting there. I know there's a lesson in here somewhere, and I'm trying to learn!

Thousands Evacuated as Myrtle Beach Fires Spread!

I just heard that my partner's cousin was evacuated last night because of a spreading brush fire! She's safe but more than 15,000 acres have been burned and many houses destroyed. His cousin said a friend lost her home last night. No word yet on her own home, and the fires continue to burn!

Thousands Evacuated as Myrtle Beach Fires Spread!

I just heard that my partner's cousin was evacuated last night because of a spreading brush fire! She's safe but more than 15,000 acres have been burned and many houses destroyed. His cousin said a friend lost her home last night. No word yet on her own home, and the fires continue to burn!

Is My StepMonster Human and Do I Have to Hug Her Neck?

I'd rather throttle her neck but--[deep breath]--herein lies my spiritual dilemma of the day.

So I'm re-reading Caroline Myss' "Anatomy of the Spirit," an intriguing book which I disagree with on several points. But I'm finding that my opinions are shifting the further I stroll down this shaman/druid path (as I call it). Her basic premise, as I understand it, is that our own fears and how we treat others can manifest in our bodies as illness. Whether or not you believe that, Myss does have compelling things to say about how we are all connected as humans.

Which brings up the StepMonster, who I believe is evidence of reptilian life from another planet here to enslave us! But I digress (and no offense to Hillary Clinton, but the photo does illustrate my point!).

I don't even know where to begin. When I was 16, my dad had an affair, eventually divorcing my mom and marrying this woman. It took a while to get over it, but I tried to make peace for my dad--and to please Jesus. But every now and then, the StepMonster (she is NOT any sort of "mother" to me!) meddles in family affairs for no other apparent reason than to stir shit up for her own agenda. (She MUST be reptilian!)

So the latest episode occurred over Easter while visiting my dad. It's a long story, but basically they each have their own house. My niece goes to visit the StepMonster since she likes her and her family, the dogs--and they have a Wii (teens can't resist the Wii). Personally, I avoid the StepMonster if at all possible, ever since she lied and torpedoed plans for a surprise birthday party for my dad. Later my niece tells us all that the StepMonster told her all about how one of my brother's is not really my dad's son! And then she played a phone message--from this past Christmas--of my brother cussing out my dad over the phone!

Several things about this cause my blood to boil. First, I've only heard this rumor about my brother through the StepMonster. She claims someone who knows his mother (we have different moms--dad kept busy!) told her--yet my brother's mom denies all of it. No one can name this mysterious "real father" or provide any evidence. Second, why is she telling my 17-year-old niece and playing a 4-month old phone message?!

This brother has never had a good relationship with my dad. He also has some mental illness, and has never been able to provide well for himself or his family. My theory is that the StepMonster doesn't like the drama my brother can cause, and I can appreciate that. But I think she's latched on this with the hope that my brother will "disappear" from my father's life. Does she have any concern for my brother's welfare? Hell, no! She's been spreading this rumor for nearly 20 years! My dad, unfortunately, won't put a stop to it, but then again, he never has been the most "thoughtful" or "caring" dad around.

I, of course, had to set my niece straight. She barely knows my brother, by the way, but is being fed these rumors. Oh, and the StepMonster claims there's going to be a DNA test! Right. My brother lives another county away and never visits, and I know he will never submit to such a test. And my dad avoids doctors like the plague. You gotta have both sets to make a match! Plus, my brother is 54 and my dad is 82. Is there a point to all this?

So if we're all connected in the great web of humanity, what do I do? How do I react to the StepMonster? Although I don't worry about pleasing Jesus anymore, I guess I do believe that all our actions and reactions have consequences. And all that energy flows through us and bounces back in a spiritual echo of sorts. It is like Jesus said, "You reap what you sow." (He did say that, right? My Bible memory is fading!) I don't want to hate or even dislike this woman. Maybe she simply represents a challenge for me. But am I supposed to pretend that she isn't hurting my loved ones? Or is a little righteous anger ok? I've always struggled with that. Maybe it's just leftovers from a Christianity that pressures us all to be milquetoasts.

I'd like a pagan perspective on this. A shamanic perspective. Were the StepMonster and I embroiled in some dysfunctional relationship from a past life? Does her star chart collide in pointy ways with mine? Hmmm, I could always create a voodoo doll... No, no, no! Bad mojo!

Maybe it's just this: I can't control her behavior or make it stop. Maybe I have to realize this and, instead, focus on seeing these challenges as opportunities for spiritual growth. Ask myself, how do I respond--not as a Christian, but as someone who tries to see all of humanity connected on a deeper level? How can this spiritual path help me create harmony where there is none? How can truth and love win out over half-truths and selfishness? How can I rise above the StepMonster's petty drama?

And yes, I have to give credit to Demi Moore's character in "St. Elmo's Fire" for the "StepMonster" moniker (one of the best movies ever!).

Is My StepMonster Human and Do I Have to Hug Her Neck?

I'd rather throttle her neck but--[deep breath]--herein lies my spiritual dilemma of the day.

So I'm re-reading Caroline Myss' "Anatomy of the Spirit," an intriguing book which I disagree with on several points. But I'm finding that my opinions are shifting the further I stroll down this shaman/druid path (as I call it). Her basic premise, as I understand it, is that our own fears and how we treat others can manifest in our bodies as illness. Whether or not you believe that, Myss does have compelling things to say about how we are all connected as humans.

Which brings up the StepMonster, who I believe is evidence of reptilian life from another planet here to enslave us! But I digress (and no offense to Hillary Clinton, but the photo does illustrate my point!).

I don't even know where to begin. When I was 16, my dad had an affair, eventually divorcing my mom and marrying this woman. It took a while to get over it, but I tried to make peace for my dad--and to please Jesus. But every now and then, the StepMonster (she is NOT any sort of "mother" to me!) meddles in family affairs for no other apparent reason than to stir shit up for her own agenda. (She MUST be reptilian!)

So the latest episode occurred over Easter while visiting my dad. It's a long story, but basically they each have their own house. My niece goes to visit the StepMonster since she likes her and her family, the dogs--and they have a Wii (teens can't resist the Wii). Personally, I avoid the StepMonster if at all possible, ever since she lied and torpedoed plans for a surprise birthday party for my dad. Later my niece tells us all that the StepMonster told her all about how one of my brother's is not really my dad's son! And then she played a phone message--from this past Christmas--of my brother cussing out my dad over the phone!

Several things about this cause my blood to boil. First, I've only heard this rumor about my brother through the StepMonster. She claims someone who knows his mother (we have different moms--dad kept busy!) told her--yet my brother's mom denies all of it. No one can name this mysterious "real father" or provide any evidence. Second, why is she telling my 17-year-old niece and playing a 4-month old phone message?!

This brother has never had a good relationship with my dad. He also has some mental illness, and has never been able to provide well for himself or his family. My theory is that the StepMonster doesn't like the drama my brother can cause, and I can appreciate that. But I think she's latched on this with the hope that my brother will "disappear" from my father's life. Does she have any concern for my brother's welfare? Hell, no! She's been spreading this rumor for nearly 20 years! My dad, unfortunately, won't put a stop to it, but then again, he never has been the most "thoughtful" or "caring" dad around.

I, of course, had to set my niece straight. She barely knows my brother, by the way, but is being fed these rumors. Oh, and the StepMonster claims there's going to be a DNA test! Right. My brother lives another county away and never visits, and I know he will never submit to such a test. And my dad avoids doctors like the plague. You gotta have both sets to make a match! Plus, my brother is 54 and my dad is 82. Is there a point to all this?

So if we're all connected in the great web of humanity, what do I do? How do I react to the StepMonster? Although I don't worry about pleasing Jesus anymore, I guess I do believe that all our actions and reactions have consequences. And all that energy flows through us and bounces back in a spiritual echo of sorts. It is like Jesus said, "You reap what you sow." (He did say that, right? My Bible memory is fading!) I don't want to hate or even dislike this woman. Maybe she simply represents a challenge for me. But am I supposed to pretend that she isn't hurting my loved ones? Or is a little righteous anger ok? I've always struggled with that. Maybe it's just leftovers from a Christianity that pressures us all to be milquetoasts.

I'd like a pagan perspective on this. A shamanic perspective. Were the StepMonster and I embroiled in some dysfunctional relationship from a past life? Does her star chart collide in pointy ways with mine? Hmmm, I could always create a voodoo doll... No, no, no! Bad mojo!

Maybe it's just this: I can't control her behavior or make it stop. Maybe I have to realize this and, instead, focus on seeing these challenges as opportunities for spiritual growth. Ask myself, how do I respond--not as a Christian, but as someone who tries to see all of humanity connected on a deeper level? How can this spiritual path help me create harmony where there is none? How can truth and love win out over half-truths and selfishness? How can I rise above the StepMonster's petty drama?

And yes, I have to give credit to Demi Moore's character in "St. Elmo's Fire" for the "StepMonster" moniker (one of the best movies ever!).

Are You Ready to Die?

Have you made your funeral plans? Decided what do with your earthly remains? Not exactly a cocktail conversation, but it's something we all must--or should--think about before we actually kick the bucket. Otherwise, it's left to our family, and they'll put you in that dress you absolutely hated or bury you in some tacky, gilt coffin in a bleak cemetery next to a six-lane highway!

Not that you can do anything about it. You're dead, after all. You probably wouldn't even care, right? Nonetheless, these things do matter to us humans, at least while we're still alive and kicking.

So I've been thinking about my own demise and trying to make plans that reflect who I am and what I consider my values. I do believe that how we bury or otherwise dispose of ourselves accurately reflects what we think about life (and death) and shows what kind of person we were. Just ask any archaeologist.

I plan to walk you through my own decisions and thoughts as I go through this process, and I hope to make it a little humorous, whenever possible. Feel free to share if you've made plans--or why you haven't.

'Tis the Season to Visit the Cemetery
What set all this in motion was a visit with my dad over Christmas. We had an afternoon and nothing planned, so we decided to visit some nearby relatives---except they were all either sick or not home. So we're driving around the countryside trying to decide what to do next when my dad asks if he's ever shown me where his burial plot is. He hadn't, so we headed to the cemetery, which was close by (a disclaimer: the photo in this post is of a peaceful-looking cemetery in Dallas, Texas).

I thought it would be odd to go see where my dad will eventually end up, but it wasn't. It was actually comforting. He knew right where the plot was. We drove into the cemetery and right up to it. He explained that he had 2 plots, one for himself and one for his wife (although I'd be happy shooting her ashes out of a cannon, but that's another story!). He's had the plot for years, and it's paid for except the fees to open and close the plot. And the fees! Dying can be expensive, and I'll get to that.

Standing there looking at the plot was humbling, however, and a little sad. The plot is right next to a driveway through the cemetary and a sidewalk, so it was like condensing my dad's life into this small, nondescript square of earth. But the cemetery is rural, quiet and peaceful, and while he won't really care once he's in the ground, I think it would be a comforting place to revisit and remember him.

Dad wanted to stop by the cemetery office to check on his remaining payments, so off we went across the main street. The office was small but cheerfully decorated for the holiday with a Christmas tree and several red, leafy poinsettias. We spoke to a friendly woman who went through all the records with us. I took her business card so I'd have contact info. Dad seems healthy as a horse but he is in his early 80s now, so the truth is, his time on this earth is running out, and it's good to be prepared.

Everything checked out, and we left. It was helpful to see dad so relatively jovial about all this (I think he passed some of that on to me). And it got me to thinking about my own final resting place. Where did I want to be buried? Which cemetery? Did I want burial or cremation? A cremation plot or a columbarium? And what about a funeral or memorial service? And who would pay for all of this? I quickly realized that I had specific opinions about all of these questions, and also realized that I didn't want to leave it all to the whims of my relatives or just assume it would be paid for by the magic cash fairy.

Next time: Made up like Madame Tussaud's or oven-baked?

Are You Ready to Die?

Have you made your funeral plans? Decided what do with your earthly remains? Not exactly a cocktail conversation, but it's something we all must--or should--think about before we actually kick the bucket. Otherwise, it's left to our family, and they'll put you in that dress you absolutely hated or bury you in some tacky, gilt coffin in a bleak cemetery next to a six-lane highway!

Not that you can do anything about it. You're dead, after all. You probably wouldn't even care, right? Nonetheless, these things do matter to us humans, at least while we're still alive and kicking.

So I've been thinking about my own demise and trying to make plans that reflect who I am and what I consider my values. I do believe that how we bury or otherwise dispose of ourselves accurately reflects what we think about life (and death) and shows what kind of person we were. Just ask any archaeologist.

I plan to walk you through my own decisions and thoughts as I go through this process, and I hope to make it a little humorous, whenever possible. Feel free to share if you've made plans--or why you haven't.

'Tis the Season to Visit the Cemetery
What set all this in motion was a visit with my dad over Christmas. We had an afternoon and nothing planned, so we decided to visit some nearby relatives---except they were all either sick or not home. So we're driving around the countryside trying to decide what to do next when my dad asks if he's ever shown me where his burial plot is. He hadn't, so we headed to the cemetery, which was close by (a disclaimer: the photo in this post is of a peaceful-looking cemetery in Dallas, Texas).

I thought it would be odd to go see where my dad will eventually end up, but it wasn't. It was actually comforting. He knew right where the plot was. We drove into the cemetery and right up to it. He explained that he had 2 plots, one for himself and one for his wife (although I'd be happy shooting her ashes out of a cannon, but that's another story!). He's had the plot for years, and it's paid for except the fees to open and close the plot. And the fees! Dying can be expensive, and I'll get to that.

Standing there looking at the plot was humbling, however, and a little sad. The plot is right next to a driveway through the cemetary and a sidewalk, so it was like condensing my dad's life into this small, nondescript square of earth. But the cemetery is rural, quiet and peaceful, and while he won't really care once he's in the ground, I think it would be a comforting place to revisit and remember him.

Dad wanted to stop by the cemetery office to check on his remaining payments, so off we went across the main street. The office was small but cheerfully decorated for the holiday with a Christmas tree and several red, leafy poinsettias. We spoke to a friendly woman who went through all the records with us. I took her business card so I'd have contact info. Dad seems healthy as a horse but he is in his early 80s now, so the truth is, his time on this earth is running out, and it's good to be prepared.

Everything checked out, and we left. It was helpful to see dad so relatively jovial about all this (I think he passed some of that on to me). And it got me to thinking about my own final resting place. Where did I want to be buried? Which cemetery? Did I want burial or cremation? A cremation plot or a columbarium? And what about a funeral or memorial service? And who would pay for all of this? I quickly realized that I had specific opinions about all of these questions, and also realized that I didn't want to leave it all to the whims of my relatives or just assume it would be paid for by the magic cash fairy.

Next time: Made up like Madame Tussaud's or oven-baked?

A Racial Sit-In at the IHOP?

Ever find yourself in unwanted situations with parents, situations that you try desperately to avoid but nevertheless seem to seek you out? It's as if the Universe has a twisted sense of humor and is conspiring against you. Maybe there's a lesson here ... and maybe my skull is too thick to get it?

I stayed at my father's house overnight, and this morning I decided we should go to a pancake house for breakfast. See, my dad never keeps any food in his house. He is married, however, his wife lives 2 doors down in her deceased mother's house. Long story. Anyway, he usually eats at the other house or goes out. But even when I come to visit, he never has any food.

That's why I travel with my own food! I brought bagels to eat, since I knew I would be lucky to get breakfast. But the previous day at my younger sister's house, I had had a bagel--because she seems to share my father's preference for never planning for houseguests. (I must be adopted!)

Tired of bagels and warmed holiday leftovers, I suggested a pancake house. My dad agreed. He knew his wife liked one particular place, so he called her to ask for directions. It turned out to be just another International House of Pancakes (IHOP). Fine with me. Except here's where the Universe gets cheeky.

We're seated in a section that was enclosed in its own little room. And this truly was an "international" house of pancakes day. At two nearby tables were seated Hispanic families, all speaking Spanish. Another family came in right behind us. A family of Asian ethnicity was also seated nearby. Add to the mix at least four squealing toddlers.

The loud children bother me a tad, but I can deal. My father, however, cannot. But the children were the least of my problem. All you could hear was Spanish--and my dad is not known for his appreciation for diversity. Yes, he's your stereotypical white cracker who wants all non-English speakers shipped back to their home country. He blames immigrants for everything that's wrong in the U.S.

At least there were no African Americans in the room nor any mixed-race couples. (He once walked out of a restaurant because a young black man and white woman were seated next to us.)

He didn't say anything, but I could literally feel the tension coming from him. I tried to ignore it, to "deflect" his energy. I waited for the inevitable outburst. And I wondered why in the hell the Universe was doing this to me. Couldn't we simply enjoy pancakes without an incident? Why did we have to pick the most diverse IHOP in town?

The tipping point came when a large family was seated next to us. "Thank God they're white!" I thought. But, oh no, not that simple. They had a 8- or 9-year-old son with some degree of mental retardation, and the boy kept shouting, "Pancakes! Pancakes!" And when he wasn't bouncing in his seat and fidgeting, he was scribbling frantically on the placemat with a crayon.

I couldn't breathe. And I don't know if it was my own rising stress level, but it seemed the noise in the room was growing louder and louder. I finally let out a big sigh and mentioned the noise to dad. Fortunately, we were almost done eating. I chuckled a bit, trying to break the unbearable tension. Dad chuckled, too, and shook his head. He looked up at me, raised his brow and only said, "I ain't gonna say anything."

At least we had an understanding. I snatched the check and we went to pay--only to reach the cashier and see that the entrance was FULL of people waiting to be seated. You may be thinking, "why is that a problem?" Well, for most people, it wouldn't be. But, gentle reader, everyone waiting happened to be black.

It was as if my dad was cornered! He turned, headed for the door and said, "I'll be outside!"

It didn't end there. I knew he had been uncomfortable, so I tried to play it off with humor. I guess it worked somewhat. But still I had to listen to how the Hispanics (or "Spanians" as he says--WTF?) are taking over the city, taking "our" jobs and so on. And he said he wasn't ever going back to that IHOP again! Not because of the food but only because of who ate there. And he had to tell his wife later (she didn't say very much).

Guess I should've stuck with the damn bagels.

I'm angry and frustrated because my father's world is so small and so full of fears of his own making. But he's 82 and isn't going to change. He knows I feel differently but it doesn't stop him from making insensitive and boneheaded comments. And I have other friends and family who are intolerant and bigoted. Part of me wants to avoid them. Part of me wants to leave this lily-white corner of the planet and move to a much more diverse place. And part of me would love to piss everyone off my shacking up with a black or Hispanic lover!

It makes me ashamed of who I am and where I come from. It makes me want to do whatever I can to fight intolerance and bigotry. But how? My dad isn't going to change. Why do people have to be so ignorant, so fearful, so small-minded? And it's everywhere--in our politics, our churches, workplaces, bookstores, colleges, cities and the Internet.

Sure, I'm happy with how I handled this one little situation, but what good does it really do? If nothing else, thank goodness those people in IHOP were clueless about my dad's hatred; there were all able to enjoy their pancakes. I was not.

A Racial Sit-In at the IHOP?

Ever find yourself in unwanted situations with parents, situations that you try desperately to avoid but nevertheless seem to seek you out? It's as if the Universe has a twisted sense of humor and is conspiring against you. Maybe there's a lesson here ... and maybe my skull is too thick to get it?

I stayed at my father's house overnight, and this morning I decided we should go to a pancake house for breakfast. See, my dad never keeps any food in his house. He is married, however, his wife lives 2 doors down in her deceased mother's house. Long story. Anyway, he usually eats at the other house or goes out. But even when I come to visit, he never has any food.

That's why I travel with my own food! I brought bagels to eat, since I knew I would be lucky to get breakfast. But the previous day at my younger sister's house, I had had a bagel--because she seems to share my father's preference for never planning for houseguests. (I must be adopted!)

Tired of bagels and warmed holiday leftovers, I suggested a pancake house. My dad agreed. He knew his wife liked one particular place, so he called her to ask for directions. It turned out to be just another International House of Pancakes (IHOP). Fine with me. Except here's where the Universe gets cheeky.

We're seated in a section that was enclosed in its own little room. And this truly was an "international" house of pancakes day. At two nearby tables were seated Hispanic families, all speaking Spanish. Another family came in right behind us. A family of Asian ethnicity was also seated nearby. Add to the mix at least four squealing toddlers.

The loud children bother me a tad, but I can deal. My father, however, cannot. But the children were the least of my problem. All you could hear was Spanish--and my dad is not known for his appreciation for diversity. Yes, he's your stereotypical white cracker who wants all non-English speakers shipped back to their home country. He blames immigrants for everything that's wrong in the U.S.

At least there were no African Americans in the room nor any mixed-race couples. (He once walked out of a restaurant because a young black man and white woman were seated next to us.)

He didn't say anything, but I could literally feel the tension coming from him. I tried to ignore it, to "deflect" his energy. I waited for the inevitable outburst. And I wondered why in the hell the Universe was doing this to me. Couldn't we simply enjoy pancakes without an incident? Why did we have to pick the most diverse IHOP in town?

The tipping point came when a large family was seated next to us. "Thank God they're white!" I thought. But, oh no, not that simple. They had a 8- or 9-year-old son with some degree of mental retardation, and the boy kept shouting, "Pancakes! Pancakes!" And when he wasn't bouncing in his seat and fidgeting, he was scribbling frantically on the placemat with a crayon.

I couldn't breathe. And I don't know if it was my own rising stress level, but it seemed the noise in the room was growing louder and louder. I finally let out a big sigh and mentioned the noise to dad. Fortunately, we were almost done eating. I chuckled a bit, trying to break the unbearable tension. Dad chuckled, too, and shook his head. He looked up at me, raised his brow and only said, "I ain't gonna say anything."

At least we had an understanding. I snatched the check and we went to pay--only to reach the cashier and see that the entrance was FULL of people waiting to be seated. You may be thinking, "why is that a problem?" Well, for most people, it wouldn't be. But, gentle reader, everyone waiting happened to be black.

It was as if my dad was cornered! He turned, headed for the door and said, "I'll be outside!"

It didn't end there. I knew he had been uncomfortable, so I tried to play it off with humor. I guess it worked somewhat. But still I had to listen to how the Hispanics (or "Spanians" as he says--WTF?) are taking over the city, taking "our" jobs and so on. And he said he wasn't ever going back to that IHOP again! Not because of the food but only because of who ate there. And he had to tell his wife later (she didn't say very much).

Guess I should've stuck with the damn bagels.

I'm angry and frustrated because my father's world is so small and so full of fears of his own making. But he's 82 and isn't going to change. He knows I feel differently but it doesn't stop him from making insensitive and boneheaded comments. And I have other friends and family who are intolerant and bigoted. Part of me wants to avoid them. Part of me wants to leave this lily-white corner of the planet and move to a much more diverse place. And part of me would love to piss everyone off my shacking up with a black or Hispanic lover!

It makes me ashamed of who I am and where I come from. It makes me want to do whatever I can to fight intolerance and bigotry. But how? My dad isn't going to change. Why do people have to be so ignorant, so fearful, so small-minded? And it's everywhere--in our politics, our churches, workplaces, bookstores, colleges, cities and the Internet.

Sure, I'm happy with how I handled this one little situation, but what good does it really do? If nothing else, thank goodness those people in IHOP were clueless about my dad's hatred; there were all able to enjoy their pancakes. I was not.