Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

When I celebrated a certain number, I succumbed to a particular national organization which offers discounts on everything to hotel rooms and auto insurance. Boy, have I saved bunches on insurance alone, making my subscription pretty worthwhile. The Magazine gives the appearance of becoming more oriented toward us Boomers, too. And so comes my gripe.

The March/April 2006 edition featured Goldie Hawn on the cover with the bold tagline: Goldie--Sexy, Sixty, and Speaking Out. The photo was so heavily airbrushed that one could easily assume that Goldie is still playing that undead character in Death Becomes Her. She had a five page feather-weight piece, mostly fantasy retrospective photos, about how she wants to "make movies for grownups."

Featured in a small sidebar on the same cover was: How to Be Happy--The Dalai Lama's Big Idea. Inside, the photo of the Dalai Lama was real and unedited (I like to believe.) He also sagely advised, "Trying to look or act younger than you are is silly, very silly."

The May/June 2006 issue just arrived with Paul McCartney on the cover looking every bit his 64 years, complete with deep lines, grey at the temples and a receding hairline. He gets the same massaged spread about his career and marriages.

And what's my problem with this? In order for a sixty year old celebrity woman to appear on the cover of a magazine devoted to retired people, she must not appear to age past 30. One cannot help but get the overt and subliminal messages here--to be cover (or attention) worthy, women absolutely must not look like the female demographic the organization serves, while celebrity men are allowed, for the most part, to look real.

As the man said, silly, very silly.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

Isn't the web a fascinating place. You can make stuff up and press a button, sending it out to the world. And there will be a lot of folks who will believe every word of your e-fiction. I got this study today and really appreciate it on many levels. And just who says it's fiction? And does it matter? See for yourself.

A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle.

For example: If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and
masculine features. However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with scissors lodged in his temple and duct tape over his mouth while he is on fire.

No further studies are expected

Hoooooohaaaaa! MMMMMMMMMMmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

Most of us don't think we're intuitive or have any special extrasensory gifts, but I believe we all do have them to whatever degree we allow. The phone rings and you know who's calling before you pick it up, or something's come in the mail and you know because you've been suddenly thinking about it.

Interpretation is the problem.

You get those feelings or think those thoughts and don't really know what they mean. If you're a sensitive receiver you're getting stuff all the time, often as your own thoughts or feelings. And it sometimes takes years or a lifetime to sort out which is your own stuff from others. Then there's the problem of getting whatever message loud and clear, but projecting your own fears on it thus distorting it. Yar!

They say practice makes perfect. Great. I've got years of practice at this and I'm still getting it wrong if I allow my own stuff to color the information. If I'm emotionally invested in the outcome of whatever, then I misinterpret or overlay the information with my own wants and desires or fears. Case in point, I was at a national convention sitting with a friend who was up for two awards in a competition. There were many categories of awards and as the evening wore on just before the winner was announced I was able to name the winner in all but one case. In that particular instance I didn't think that individual deserved to win. Of course that person won. When my friend's categories came up, I was hopeful she'd win, but as the pictures of the nominees came on the screen, I said "Uh oh!" My friend freaked. I told her that she wasn't the winner and named the winner. And so it happened. She further freaked and almost yelled, "How are you doing this???" I was relaxed and in the flow, receiving. She won her final category. Of course I knew she was going to.

Since I've looked through a listing of nominees for a particular award and often picked the winner. And I let them know that I think they're going to win. And they do. And how do I do it? It's just a feeling, something different about a particular name or picture, I don't know exactly. When I'm successful in receiving, it's because I don't overthink it or rationalize. I go with the first impression. That's the trick.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

I know the nicest people. My mail always brings me some great surprises. The latest bit of good news is from Paty Jager, president of the Mid-Willamette Valley RWA chapter in Oregon. I'm a proud member of the chapter and really thrilled to hear that the chapter has donated a copy of my second book in The Eternal Trust trilogy, Breach of Trust to the Salem Public Library. What a lovely thing to do and I so appreciate it!

We had a great weekend here at Casa Haynes. To celebrate the first weekend in spring, I bought two dozen red roses and a beautiful vase. Wow, they are so fabulous. I've always thought live plants in a home are essential, and thankfully, my plants agree and thrive here. I have considered fresh cut flowers a bit of a luxury, but you know, I now believe they are another essential that I shall treat us to every week.

I have to kick the latest proposal out the door by Friday, and then my new online course starts on April 1. Wishing you a happy, productive last week of March 2006.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

The sun has disappeared and the rain returned. Ugh!

Like any writer today with a website, I get email from people wanting to tell their stories, but not write them. They want another writer to do it because they believe they can't write due to lack of talent or not knowing the mechanics of writing or they don't want to spend the time at it. And writing does take a bit of time.

I received another email from one wanting to tell the story through a real writer. I thought the story put forth in the email had real potential and was very interesting, but I don't have the time or the desire to write someone else's story. I see the creative expression of writing as a sort of therapy. As I'm writing on a particular story, I have all sorts of ah ha experiences because I may be working on my own stuff that I create for the hero and heroine to work through. So when someone approaches me to write their story for them, I always suggest that they might not want to miss the opportunity to learn more about themselves by writing the story themselves. At least just jot down the bones of the story that come to you as memories, impressions and feelings. Don't worry about format or mechanics, just write for as long as it flows for you. And the more you do it, the more the story will flow. Pretty soon you'll have a story down on paper, perhaps not in a perfect format or correctly punctuated, but you'll have written a story. And learned a lot.

That's my story and I'm sticking to it!

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

Every vernal equinox, aka Spring, the DH does his recitation:
Spring has sprung
The flowers riz
The bird is on the wing
How absurd, I'd always heard, the wing was on the bird.

Now, the DH attributes this bit of nonsensical verse to his favorite poet, Ogden Nash. Yet when I searched Ogden Nash, this poem was not to be found. If you can document the attribution, please let me know so I can climb down off the DH's back and my high horse . . .

Just wait until April 18, when he does his Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, another famous relative of his fam. When we lived in England, the DH strolled around British Airways on April 18 reciting that bit of stirring verse, then told them that we once had a king here in America but made him redundant . . . oh my. Yes, we actually did have some British friends.

It's gloriously sunny and cloudless here in Seattle today, a perfect first day of spring. The DH even decided it was a Red Therapy day, though I doubt he went topless as there's actually frost on the rooftops. It will be in the 60s this afternoon, however. Or so say the weatherguessers. And they better get it right as the DH threatens to cane them, as I've mentioned before.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

Faith and be flora--a four leaf clover would be the appropriate choice--it's St. Paddy's Day.

I just sent friends and fam one of those fabulous Jacqui Lawson e-cards of Chudleigh the retriever digging up a pint of Guinness to celebrate the Irish holiday. No doubt the ginger-haired son of MMMMMM is enjoying the real thing even in the land of Sapporo beer. The DH tried to sneak out this morning in a green shirt and tie, but we held a wardrobe intervention in the nick o'time. Aye, me people are more than a wee bit Irish, too, but I couldn't let the DH wear that tie with that shirt with that sportcoat. Everyone would think he'd been bewitched by leprechauns.

Speaking of magic . . .
The DH gets lots of video from his aviation pals. One he sent me yesterday is called Crosswind--footage of 777 flight test in Brazil. Holy moly! The superhuman pilot crabbed that enormous airplane safely onto the field in what looked like a ninety degree angle. If you'd like to see the clip, email me and I'll forward it. I tried to upload it to Blogger, but not happening.

Ciao, ciao and top o'the day to you!
mmmmmmmmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

We're an aviation family. Most of my novels contain pilots flying hot planes on adventures in the wild blue yonder. The DH exchanges a lot of interesting emails with his aviation buddies and the following is one that's too good not to share . . .

OUR FAVORITE PILOT

A man was flying from Seattle to San Francisco. Unexpectedly, the plane
stopped in Sacramento along the way. The flight attendant explained
that there would be a delay, and if the passengers wanted to get off
the aircraft, the plane would re-board in 50 minutes.

Everybody got off the plane except one gentleman who was blind. The man
had noticed him as he walked by and could tell the gentleman was blind
because his Seeing Eye dog lay quietly underneath the seats in front of
him throughout the entire flight. He could also tell he had flown this
very flight before because the pilot approached him, and calling him by
name, said, "Keith, we're in Sacramento for almost an hour. Would you
like to get off and stretch your legs?"

The blind man replied, "No thanks, but maybe my dog would like to stretch his legs."

Picture this:

All the people in the gate area came to a complete standstill when they
looked up and saw the pilot walk off the plane with a Seeing Eye dog!
The pilot was even wearing sunglasses. People scattered. They not only
tried to change planes, but they were trying to change airlines!

True story.... Have a great day and remember...
THINGS AREN'T ALWAYS AS THEY APPEAR

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMMMelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

I got the following from one Dan Harshberger and it's so fun that I have to share!
-----------
The Washington Post's Mensa Invitational once again asked readers to take any word from the dictionary, alter it by adding, subtracting, or changing one letter, and supply a new definition.

And the 2005 Winners are:

1. Intaxication: Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

2. Reintarnation: Coming back to life as a hillbilly.

3. Bozone (n.): The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas from penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

4. Foreploy: Any misrepresentation about yourself for the purpose of getting laid.

5. Cashtration (n.): The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

6. Giraffiti: Vandalism spray-painted very, very high.

7. Sarchasm: The gulf between the author of sarcastic wit and the person who doesn't get it.

8. Inoculatte: To take coffee intravenously when you are running late.

9. Hipatitis: Terminal coolness.

10. Osteopornosis: A degenerate disease. (This one got extra credit.)

11. Karmageddon: It's like, when everybody is sending off all these really bad vibes, right? And then, like, the Earth explodes and it's like, a serious bummer.

12. Decafalon (n.): The grueling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

13. Glibido: All talk and no action.

14. Dopeler effect: The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when they come at you rapidly.

15. Arachnoleptic fit (n.): The frantic dance performed just after you've accidentally walked through a spider web.

16. Beelzebug (n.): Satan in the form of a mosquito, that gets into your bedroom at three in the morning and cannot be cast out.

17. Caterpallor (n.): The color you turn after finding half a worm in the fruit you're eating.

And the pick of the literature:
18. Ignoranus: A person who's both stupid and an a**hole.

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

I always have a wonderful time with my fellow writers at Eastside RWA. We meet once a month at the Community Room at Factoria Mall in Bellevue, WA. I was the speaker last night so had an even better time talking about Theme: Your Story's Heart and Soul.

My notion about creating is that whatever it is--painting, writing or playing music, poetry, novels or any art form--there are themes or what the piece is representing or about on a deeper level. I believe a creative piece's theme can be a mirror for our own issues and "stuff" that we're working on. As Carl Jung wrote: "But if you have nothing at all to create, then perhaps you create yourself."

Amen.

Ciao, ciao, Mmmmmmmmmmmmelinda--recreating herself.

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

As you might imagine my Inbox is often full of surprises. Through this site, I get lots of interesting emails from readers, fans, seekers and skeptics. I read each with interest. If I wait a heartbeat or two it seems the Universe will respond to a particular question or comment. I've just received the following "question" and an "answer" . . .

Melinda, I read your website. Interesting how the human brain works. I don't believe in miracles, the existence of a soul, life after death, heaven, hell, or prior lifes. There is, of course, no demonstrable proof that any of this ever existed. The human brain is magnificent in its ability to conjure up things. So what is to be done for someone like myself? I'm 65 years old, went through a Ph.D. in history at Harvard, got a J.D. from Harvard, and am essentially an agnostic. I suppose that I am simply beyond the pale. Some people seem simply to be doomed to being rational naturalists.

Then the following from the mystic RUMI hit my Inbox forwarded by Franci Prowse, a gifted healer:

This place is a dream.
Only a sleeper considers it real.

Then death comes like dawn,
and you wake up laughing
at what you thought was your grief.

But there's a difference with this dream.
Everything cruel and unconscious
done in the illusion of the present world,
all that does not fade away at the death-waking.

It stays,
and it must be interpreted.

All the mean laughing,
all the quick, sexual wanting,
those torn coats of Joseph,
they change into powerful wolves
that you must face.

The retaliation that sometimes comes now,
the swift payback hit, is just a boy's game
to what the other will be.

You know about circumcision here.
It's full castration there!

And this groggy time we live,
this is what it's like: A man goes to sleep in the town
where he has always lived, and he dreams he's living
in another town.

In the dream, he doesn't remember
the town he's sleeping in his bed in. He believes
the reality of the dream town.

The world is that kind of sleep.

The dust of many crumbled cities
settles over us like a forgetful doze,
but we are older than those cities.

We began as a mineral.
We emerged into plant life and into the animal state,
and then into being human and always we have forgotten our former
states, except in early spring when we slightly recall
being green again.
Thats how a young person turns toward a teacher.
That's how a baby leans toward the breast,
without knowing the secret
of its desire, yet turning instinctively.

Humankind is being led along an evolving course,
through this migration of intelligences,
and though we seem to be sleeping,
there is an inner wakefulness
that directs the dream
and that will eventually startle us back to the truth of who we are.
~~~RUMI

Ciao, ciao, Mmmmmmmmmmelinda, dreaming . . .

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

I got the jump on the Kansas Heckler and am updating the MMMLOG before I get dinged. I see it's been several very busy days since I last posted.

First, I've been invited to present the Sunday end-o-conference rah rah at Writer's Weekend (June 22-25) at the Sheraton Hotel in Bellevue, WA June 25. That should be good fun. Karen Junker knows how to put on a great conference!

The Airedale has been "vetted" and is okay for now. It's possible that she's older than was supposed as she's exhibiting the old dog signs of stiffness and cloudy eyes. So we're doing the antioxidants and glucosamine. Her poopy behavior was probably due to a "positioning" problem, says the vet. If it hurts the old hips and back to go, she's gonna wait until she can't. Then if she's given something that churns up her insides such as chicken grease, parts, etc, she's in dire straits. Is that band still around? I sure did like them, but I digress. We're keeping an eye on the Airedale and she's had no problems since.

Today I got another "Your Immediate Action Is Required" supposedly from my internet provider to update the DNS codes. I'd sent the first one to the provider and they told me they couldn't deny or confirm unless I sent them the complete email codes which I'd have to get from the sender. So that didn't happen. I just deleted this second message as bogus, too. If the email goes down, I'll go to live chat and get it fixed. They are super good about doing that!

It's raining again, or still. I'd love to send it to you out there in Arizona and Kansas, Oklahoma who really need the moisture. My brother, the flying wildland firefighter, is back in Oklahoma again flying lead air attack as it's still very dry there. Best and wettest wishes to all as you need.

Ciao, ciao, mmmmmmmmmmmmmmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

The Airedale is sick, apparently. And we just thought she was pissed off, or insane--that would be the DH who thinks that. She's been pooping inside. The DH had to clean the carpet on Sunday four hours before he took off for Sydney. Not good.

I count among my friends some very gifted intuitives, one of whom does animal readings and communication. When she came to my house with the critique group last night for our usual Wednesday meeting, I asked if she'd have a read of the Airedale who I'd made stay in the garage with the door open to the yard as she'd blessed the carpet that morning about thirty minutes after I'd put her outside. Grrrrrr.

Marcella said that the Airedale's behavior may indicate that she's trying to show me that she's sick as dogs don't like to poop where they live. She also thought that there might be some intestinal inflammation going on. So I've made a vet appointment for this afternoon for the Airedale. Now I just have to follow her around the yard to collect a fresh sample. Oh. My. However, chances are I'll have to do is just go downstairs in a few minutes and she'll have accommodated me.

Yes, I do realize that this MMMLOG has been all about poop. But sometimes life's like that.

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMMMMMmelinda

Hi ho, MMMLogerinos!

The DH was out of town and I had to find the brother of MMMM a very late birthday prezzie. I had shopped all the stores then went to Costco to pick up some other necessaries. I found some great stuff, threw it in the basket and was cruising around the book tables out in the middle of the store, which proved to be the very best place to be, save outside of the store.

At 10:54 a.m. February 28, 2001, the 6.8 Nisqually earthquake hit south of Olympia. There in Costco I felt the first roll and looked quizzically at a woman across the table from me. She dropped her books and ran like hell. I gazed up as the bumping roll shuddered through the place and watched those huge hanging lights swing in a big arc. Another woman knelt beside the low book table, eyes closed as if in prayer. It was then, when it stopped rolling that I bailed for the front door, pushing my cart, if you please. They made me leave it and yes, there were still those checker people at the door. I hurried out into the parking lot filled with people standing ten feet from the doors, staring at the late exiting folks. Everyone wore the same wide-eyed expression and they were stone silent. Then the cell phones came out as people hustled for their cars. I joined the long line of traffic snaking out of the lot and onto the street where the lights didn't work. It all went pretty smoothly with people driving sensibly and courteously. The biggest hold up in my five mile drive home was people weren't taking the freeway and clogging the side streets. Yet there were many over passes to get under and folks weren't about to stop under them. So it was one by one stop outside of the over pass, zip under it to the other side, stop then go in turn. Took me a couple of hours to get home. My cell phone still didn't work, but the land line at home did. I determined that if I were caught out of my home in a quake again, I'd think quickly and bail for the door. That is my plan.

Yesterday, February 28, 2006, the DH was out of town. I had to go to Costco to return some stuff and left the house early go I could get there when the doors opened. I arrived too early as it didn't open until 10:00 so went to Starbucks for a mocha. Back to Costco where I sat in Gold Victory, drank coffee, wrote and listened to the radio. In the store at 10:00 sharp, goods returned and I cruised about the place.

I really enjoy Costco because of the vast variety of good stuff on all those aisles and shelves stacked twenty feet high to the roof. The patio furniture and garden supplies are a special favorite and I can spend a bunch of time there, and did. I think I was standing in the tool aisle and looked way up top of those loaded shelves for some reason. And that horrible feeling hit me--Run! There was no reason. Nothing shaking, rolling or moving. I didn't hear a P-wave. I just felt the need to get out of there and made for the checkout, paid and hit the lot. The clock in the car read 10:59 when I got in. The radio said that today, February 28, was the five year anniversary of the Nisqually Quake. Crap, and there I was in Costco again at the exact time. What a deja vu! Though yesterday I did act on my plan to get out at first hint of shake, but my intuition was logging onto that Costco experience five years ago, apparently. Right place, wrong time--works for me!

Ciao, ciao, MMMMMMMmelinda