If I don't blog tonight, well, I'll surely make up for it later. The day is gray & cold and properly fitting for my endeavors today. I'm not scared to see the folks today, I am just resigned to do what must be done. All that time I spent in California, I knew these days were waiting for me. Paying my dues...it ain't easy, but we all go through it in one form or another. And we all survive. And I have blogstream for comfort and support if it is particularly difficult. Bubba has a turkey in the oven, smells great. I cannot wait to come home again. I will strive for minimal drama...and put one foot in front of the other and do the best that I can do with a smile. I'm grateful..always...for your kindness & understanding, kids, one and all...and never hesitate to remind me to get a grip. It is what works best for me.Thanks a million...

"There is nothing like a Grateful Dead Show"- so said the bumper stickers, and Winterland's Marquee, and every Deadhead I've ever known. What A Long, Strange Trip it was. My father had turned 70, and I was stuck in my hovel in Oakland, missing the party in the Heartland. I remember (Queen of DeNile) that I protested in my head that it just couldn't be...He couldn't be 70! I paced in circles, hoping I had heard my sister wrong, that maybe she was mistaken...how could my party hearty Daddy be 70? That was the day that I gave myself a year ro kiss San Francisco goodbye, and to return ro my roots before more precious time had slip-slided away. I stopped volunteering so much at the clinic, and fullfilled my heart's desire of buying tickets for the show, and going alone to those shows. I knew folks there. I could hang with them, or go on a solitary trip through the show...I think I liked it best alone. Not looking for anybody in the crowd, no hassles, hangups, or drama. One of my favorite venues was Oakland's Arena. It was close to my hovel, and I could use BART(Bay Area Rapid Transport-SF area subway), so no parking problems...I was my own best company, and the only expectations I had of any one was that we would all hear some great tunes, and dance & have a good time. It was that year I wore a feathered mask to The Dead's Mardi Gras clebration...but that's another story. At Oakland area, they set up huge speakers in the hallways where there was plenty of room to dance. My particular favorite dance hall had a bona fide ballerina in it. Graceful, beyond belief, it was evident that she was well schooled in the art of ballet. She'd stay on her tip toes for inpossible lengths of time, every graceful dip and twirl was astounding to watch. She, too, attended the shows alone. Always right there, always a sight to behold-an unexpected bonus at a Dead Show.She was, perhaps the pricess of our little gathering within the crowd. We also had a couple of possible bona fide Hari Krishna followere...the shaved head with the braid sprouting from the midst of their hairless crowns? They never spoke, I just figured them to be taking the night off; I cannot be sure of their faith, only what they looked like...and they wore long skirts fully employing the advantage of whirling them about as they twirled. There were various and sundry other examples of extremes, most in tie dye and their dancing shoes. That's mainly why we gathered in front of the speaker. We knew what the "boys" looked like...we did not need to see them, only to hear them and to gather in the vibe, the magic. We were there to dance. To achieve a alternative state of being through dancing...a feat easily accomplished with proper deadication-which we all shared. I only wore a tie dye shirt & jeans & tennis shoes. The most comfortable dancing shoes I could find. I had long since learned the hard way the fact that you can blister up rather quickly barefoot while in a dancing frenzy. And many tunes called for nothing less than a frenzy, according to one's ability to dance with wild abandon. Upon impulse, I would skip and dance and prance through the crowd and do that thing Lucy made me think of. There were speakers all through the hallways with as almost as many people strolling and gathering in the halls as were gathered within the darkend arena. But out here, in the light, you could see one another's happy faces...smile, nod, grin, bop,rock, and float. And hear little bits of conversation while sailing by."Its a Saturday...you know they gotta do 'One More Saturday Night", "I heard they were doing 'Fire on the Mountain' in Alaska in a high school gym and a volcano was erupting outside right when Jerry went into the encore,""Did I see Clarence Clemmons on stage?" "Yeah, and I heard Bruce Hornsby was backstage and might do a duo with Brent!(he was, and they did,),""How many did you eat?" "Mellow...mellow, keep it mellow, boys""Oh Darlin, it's so good to see you"."Where's Bobby?""Did you hear his voice crack on that high note?""I am so hungry","What kind of brownies?" All happy talk, all dancing their way throught the crowd, stoping occasionally to catch a breath or their bearings... I loved listening to little snipetts of Deadhead conversation, while gliding in rythm from one end of the arena to another. The Dead would conclude the first set, and then take a break (Some shows, that break would last the better part of an hour...a lot depended on what Jerry was up to), and we would dance and stroll through half-time. Hackey-sack games, Mini-meetings with folks trying to stick with their 12-step programs and bypass the many passing temptations with prayer (These were the Warf Rats-drug free Deadheads still going to shows for the magic of the music and the dance.) Half time would always find me dancing through the crowd to the second floor where I knew I could find what was the biggest drum circle known to Cher. At least 30 folks had brought their bongo, congas,& all kinds of percussion to the show to join in this circle at halftime. And they would get a rythm going that trascended reality for all those around them. I had danced the entire first set at my little dance circle. I danced my way into the drum circle and abandoned myself, lost in the pummeling beat. Drumming, and dancing, and more drummng and dancing.I would dance the entire time that they drummed. The circle would thin out quickly once the "boys" started the second set. I had been to hundreds of shows. I was going nowhere in a hurry, and I was dancing in and out of the crowd, hearing the snippits of talk, occasionally firting, or stopping to exchange a fancy two-step with a complete stranger. Joining hands, dancing in a circle. A hippie version of a conga-line, all connected, all living in the moment."Estimated Prophet", and "Row Jimmy" while dancing in a line with everybody there being your enthusiastic, happily-estatic dance partners. It was like nothing I have ever seen before or since. All good will, all kindness, all rejoycing...all under a happy dancing trance...I have only seen this union of joy in the spirit in a huge crowd, while at a Deadshow. Everybody is so glad you are here! And they want to dance around you and with you in nothing short of jublation. I danced every tune in the second set, and don't doubt me when I tell you I danced through the encores as well. After the show, it never took long to find the drum circle again out in the parking lot, where I would continue to dance until all I could flirt with was exhaustion. I was forced to conserve some energy for the trip home. BART filled with other Deadheads heading home, catching happy bits of conversation here & there, all tired, all happy, "my people" finding their way home, kind and smiling. At my station, I'd find that old white VW that Sean sold me for $40, after he broke my heart. A 1970 bug with a big old hole in the foorboards of the back seat, so you could see the road zipping by underneath as it travelled. I lived in a dangerous part of town. The only bad vibe of the evening was ensuring I got into the bug & locked the doors, before the street folk converged on me for spare change. You had to move fast. Less than a mile from the station was my hovel in downtown Oakland. I lived behind a church parking lot and it sometimes seemed safer than others...regardless, I had to let my beloved mix "Cassidy" out for a well-earned break, then quick, back behind locked doors as quickly as possible, with Cassidy at my side, playing my stereo not too loudly, so as not to disturb my neighbors. The next day, I was always exhausted, and my legs ached, and I was forced to apply Deep Heat to my knees to make it throught the work day. But I did not ever let the pain get me down. If they were playing again, that next night, I always went again. Sometimes, even if I was a ticket holder, I'd put in some time at the clinic, if they were busy. But I was always so anxious to get back to the show, and" If unable to dance, I would crawl..." as Bobby sings in "Hell in a Bucket"...and in those days, that is nothing short of what I did...kissing San Francisco, good bye.

I freely admit I had some self-inflicted tough days after Sunday's botched attempt at visiting my loved ones...but, I am, by & large, now back in control of my emotions(for a limited time only).I get teary-eyed(the good way) when I think of the outpouring of sympathy, love and concern that so many of you sent my way...all of you helped tremendously. And rest assured, I am getting so much better all the time...Ya' wanna know how I know that I am getting better? I know life's improving, as I have been spending some quality heart-to-heart time in Great Britan in conversation with Mrs. G...in fact, in my own innocent way, I just may be flirting w/ the elusive genius...just a little. He is a young man who asked an older woman to tell him about "Harold & Maude." Poor kid-I've memorized the majority of the script, and been telling him about scenes and quotes in lurid detail, and one thing leads to another,for the past two days. In fact, in my own way...I am kinda flirting with the chap. How can an older woman tell a younger Celestial Being about "H&M", without falling prey to acting a bit like her heroine & flirting with the unsuspecting lad? It is to be expected...of me, anyway...and , as you well may know, it is also expected of me to retain the complete inability to make a long story short. One of my favorite aspects of the movie is Maude flirting with Harold...and she looks so good doing it! One just knows it is so-as Kelso of "That 70's show" says in praise of older women, "they can teach us stuff...and they're grateful!" that when Maude is in action, there is no doubt of those words of wisdom. I am going to be Maude when I grow up. Poor Mrs. G did not realize that he was walking (cybernetically) right into my trap. This is the 3rd day in a row that I have been sharing my enthusiasm for my beloved "cult classic" with some one who is learning the hard way to be careful what you ask for. I will keep myself in line, but I must conclude my rather lengthy synopsis tonight. It just dosen't seem fair to keep leading him on, and just leave him hanging...but, I'm having fun doing it. I will return ASAP, and rest assured, I've got to admit it's getting so much better all the time-don't ya' think? Thanks again for the support, kids. I knew I was in a good space when I landed here.

I didn't go again...Coat on, Rex in tow,I never made it out the door. Please forgive me..it was just a bad dream...just a bad day. Transribed<1/2 inventory notes to official papers...then tossed it aside in disgust...not due until 11am, so I will crash early & get up early. I am still drained, but calm now, w/normal breathing, and no more tears. I just had a really bad visit 2 wks ago, & have been strained ever since. I joined the 6 ft Bonde's fan club, and the bad dreams of Jim...Laurel Crowned visited me personally...Ice melted me, JB is always there for me so prolifically, Dazey say git a new doc, but it ain't that ez...in fact, I signed a contract w/that pain clinic that said I'd keep the dr that had referred me, and not go RX shopping.. Bubba (the man of few words) had 2 TV's going in the living room, watching 2 football games, w/the volume up on both...I declined his kind invitation to join him. I had called my 2 sisters when I couln't make it out the door-Jan told me to get a grip. Kath told me green tea & a DVD & to stay off the computer(fat chance). But I wanted you to know I'm doing better, y'all. I had just put Carlos's headphones on and started to feel the healing, when Jan walked through my bedroom door, sorry that she had told me to get a grip(I tell everyone to tell me that-when I hear it, I ususally do. Ice told me to once. It is what I needed to hear.) Jan also told me my Aunt Gretta checks in on Mokie Joe's & my blogs from time to time(OMG! Now she knows about my illegal smiles!), But as we are both rather wordy she is unable to wade thru allllllll of our blog entries,(whew! Maybe she dosen't know)(maybe she doesn't care). And I always wanted to have my blog be a nice place to visit...whassup w/the buzz kilL? my mOM ALWAYS TOLD ME IF I DIDN'T HAVE ANYTHING NICE TO SAY, don't say anything at all..so, whassup w/the buzzkill? A ploy for sympathy? I dunno. I'm sorry. I guess that this is just a tough time in my life. I need to pay more attention to the things I say. I need to take good care of me. The secret of life IS enjoying the passage of time(tho, if 1 does not know great sorrow, 1 can never know great joy, I have been told.) And I have repeated it to many in sorrow...but not lately to me.I do have to roll with the punches to get to what's real...and all that other happy horsepucky in my demure profile...I really meant them, but they are easily forgotten when brain chemicals make it thru the reat of my bod. I have never had a nightmare/terror affect me so physically. Forgive my belly aching. Forgive me asking for forgiveness. It took all day, Jan's visit, Carlos (I am somebody!) on de headphones,(x3). Then, I was worried about the buzzkill efect. Losing my new friends and confidantes...who wants to hang w/a buzz kill anyway? Blogstream always makes me high. I will try not to ever abuse the friends I've made here. I am better than that...than I have been today...I'm better now. thanks.

Maybe even night terrors...seemingless endless dreams of chasing my demented folks up & down long hospital hallways, making them get out of mistaken beds, wheeling them back to where I thought they belonged, trying to obey their immpossible demands,having the head nurse(no jokes) yelling at me that I had other patients waiting for my help and to stop paying so much attention to my parents. 2 hrs after waking, my breathing is still rapid and shallow, my pulse, still racing. How do people handle feeling like this? Meds? I gos me Prozac, but I am a mud puddle with a racing pulse this AM. What does it take to get a Valium from a Doc these days? A Xanex? An Ativan? My doc thinks he has me figured out, but my party daze are for the most part long-gone...there surely was a time I would share and "abuse" the meds, but not now...my parties are Bubba & I watching videos. I WOULD BE STINGY AND NOT SHARE-and that is not my usual behavior! I call my blog Sharecher as that is one of the traits my Mom successfully instilled in me. I share by nature. And my Dad's teachings along that line("Is everybody HAPPY?") just reinforced my sharing inclinations... but I swear...if the doc(s) would just relent... I have changed. I'm going through with my rounds today, but my nerves are jello...I guess this is my karma for good-naturedly "abusing" prescriptiondrugs in my past. More than once, I was accused of trying to "buy" my friends. Geez! You simply cannot escape karma...even when I thought I was doing something good by sharing, I have now learned how bad I was. How can I get through this day? I mean. I know I will, but I dunno how. I am physically affected today by last night's bad dreams...I 've had coffe & oatmeal...going for green tea and a shower after "CBS Sunday Morning" and heir piece on John Fogarty's comeback ( I saw him play w/ The Dead for a" Day On The Green " in Oakland. So fine!), but my brain is physically, unpleasantly actually "buzzing" his AM. It is raining and so cold this morning in Indiana, and there is a 70% chance of it continuing all the live long day. Even the doc I paid $5,000 to, and still owe $5,000 to, for two partially effective pain blocks won't give me meds for days like this... I will survive the remains of the day. I won't drink liquor(tho I'd really enjoy any relaxing effects that it may temporarily provide, with the rain & the stress=1 HUGE OFF DA CHARTS MIGRAINE)...no, boys & girls I will not drink but GEEEEEEEEEEZZZZZ...my nerves are so shot. I know that I am doing this to myself. But, the buzzing in my brain, the erratic breathing that I must conciously continually control...the facsade I must put forward to not worry folks on my rounds today...driving>2 hrs altogether to go from place to place, then home...I dunno how I will survive, but I will. and I will pray for no night terrors tonite.