All of the wars, hidden agendas, politics, propaganda, empty promises...nothing else has worked to grant this crazy world a lil peace and tranquility. What is so unbelievable about people uniting through the international language of music? I suppose it will never work because the very rich would not be able to get richer, without war. For me-music works. Inventory @ work today, hassles w/delivery drivers, the boss, the customers... I get into my car, and there's John Lennon," speaking words of wisdom, let it be." Some deep breathing, some thinking about Wally seeing The Beatles, and again, the music heals me. My sister Jan calls to tell me that Mom is doing well, and that this AM, her room-mate, Josephine had passed. Some deep breathing, some remembering of John's words, some letting it be, and getting on with the business at hand.. Then, later in my car I hear George Harrison has a new $50 collection available just in time for Chistmas...something about new mixes or songs from The Concert @ Bangledesh...(where am I gonna get $50 to obtain this unquestionable work of art?" I saw George w/Ravi Shankar...sitting on big ol' pillows on stage giving the gift of astonishment for anyone willing to accept delivery. All day today, I let it be. I will try to do the same as inventory continues tomorrow. I wonder now-was that a McCartney song, and not one of John's? It does not really matter, for it's the gift of the song that gives peace through music for me...

Mom's room-mate at the nursing home is dying. Last year, during the Thanksgiving Holidays my Mom's room-mate was Daddy-Don, my stepfather, and she watched him slip into a coma and die three weeks later. They were married for more than two decades, and indeed, they grew old together... She stayed with him to the very end, and we were all amazed at her strength, bravery, and dedication, After Daddy-Don passed, they moved Mom in with Josephine. A soft-spoken, sweet, and kind lady, frail to a fault. Over the last year, we have watched Josephine fade quickly, and ached for our Mother having to watch another poor soul die a slow death literally at her bedside. Tonight, the nursing staff told my sister, Jan(my angel), and my Mom that Josephine did not have long, that it will be anytime, now. They offered to move Mom to another room, if she liked. Mom considered these things during all of Jan's visit before asking to speak the nurse, and announcing that God had given her Jo to her for a reason. That Mom felt God wanted her to help her roommate to travel this journey's end. And that is what Mom wanted to do. She wants to stay to help Jo on her way.

I try really hard to have a positive energy ebb and flow, but out of habit, I usually put my foot in it. Wally's family-guy story got me thinking(Wally's World generally does set me thinking).Sometimes Bubba teases me and says "Quit making friends...you always turn their problems into your own..." I know what he means...but, being friendly is pretty much what I do-it comes to me so naturally. Mom & Dad were both very sociable in their younger days. Mom worked as a secretary in an international branch of the local big-business factory. She brought lots of visiting businessmen and women from other counties home for many an American home-cooked meal.She was always intelligent, hardworking, prolifically interested in so many of her fellow human beings. And, Dad, he stll is straight out of Tom Petty's "My old man was born to rock, he's still trying to beat the clock..."Mr Entertainment was always happy to see ya and if humanly possible, happy to party with ya. He could get on those keyboards and whisk you away, effortlessly. Man, I am what I am-and I am doggone friendly-sometimes, to a fault. Like meeting that 22-yr old co-worker who volunteered to be the daughter I never had. Well, she was a cute lil youngster and if she wanted to befriend this middle aged hippie chick, I was guessing that it might be a good thing. She had heard of The Dead and wanted to hear my stories, and hang out. Then, she got really excited about The Dead. When I got whinney because Carlos Santana was coming to Indianapolis & I wouldn't drive the 75 miles at my age, alone ,because those concert days had come & gone for me, I figured. (Bubba has no taste in music-he just does not like music. Any kind of music-he has tinnitus from 30 yrs working in a factory, and it's one of those opposites attracts romances. He wouldn't go-he's gone to a Dead show with me & was miserable.) I keep trying to get folks interested in my type of music & they usually resist it. So, when Carrie said she'd go with me, I decided to make a "go" of it.She had dramas I won't go into @ the show & she reminded of how much I enjoyed going to shows alone, so drama does not mess with the music. She missed most of Carlos's show("Isn't he Mexican, Cher?I heard he was Mexican?" "Well, yeah, I suppose he is Mexican-why, is that a problem?", "Oh no,no, no problem...it's just my first concert...will there a lot of Mexicans there?","Well yeah, I suppose there will be...but there will be lots of people, all kinds of people. It's a concert"). That was my first clue that she didn't get it.When she missed most of the show (I found an alternate method of attending), due to self-induced mutiple mini-dramas, that should have been my second clue. But she got excited about The Dead and sorrowful that she'd never see Jerry, and I felt sorry for her, and since she was my new friend, and had such drama in her life, I loaned her all of my Dead DVD's and most of my Dead CDs. I loaned her a Carlos DVD, but she got that one back to me. But when it comes to the boys, I am Dead to her. She won't answer her cell when I call, and she is not getting them back to me. And if I don't go find her house in a little berg some 20 mins from here, I know I will never see them again. I am going to have to chase her down and cause some drama of my own, if I ever want to see them returned to their rightful owner. Proof positive that she just dosen't get it. Which reminds me of Tina, and how she owes me, and is not answering her cell. I don't know what is wrong with me-I keep thinking everyone has good intentions, so, without hesitation, I tend to trust them. And so many of them disappoint me. And I just keep giving, trusting and letting things slide, setting myself up for a fall. I don't know why I always share the wealth-do I really try to" buy" friends as one girl once accused me of? Or do I refuse to learn from experience? Or can I really not help myself-I am just a friendly and giving person who just refuses to clearly set boundries for her friends, because to put limits on friendship just feels wrong? Man, I hate it, I gotta go chase this kid down...she's forcing my hand. Confrontation is not my strong point.Lee owes me, and Wayne,and Les, and Jeff...It's like I invite people to use me as a doormat. The way I think, is that since I'd never bogart the way these folks have done, that they would quite naturally, want to do the right things, as well. And I can be so wrong. There is no "EASY" button for my personality quirk. I have to keep being friendly-because that is who I am. And because, sometimes I make a friend that touches my heart, and leaves me with a warm glow, and who wants nothing from me, but my friendship. Sometimes, I can meet someone like Wally.

A rainy Sunday in the Hoosier Heartland of Southern Indiana. I go about my Sunday morning routine preparing for my ususal Sunday afternoon routine.I drive the 35 miles to my old hometown to viistate my loved ones. First an hour or so, with Deb, who is always on my side, and has been my best friend through both of my adult residencies in Indiana. She is kind, but never cuts me any slack if I'm throwing myself a self-pity party when she's around. She has been through Hell & back many times over & if she can take it, she know that with a little help from my friends, that I can take it. She cowboys me up for an hour or so (you ought to hear her son sing & play guitar!), and then, I go on down the road bracing myself for the visit w/my Mom. It's never easy. The dementia is non-stop heartbreak. Rex has shown an interest in accompanying me today. I was almost going to leave him home because of the rain. Then, I realized, if it was me in the nursing home(as someday soon it will be),that a wet dog is still better than no dog at all. We'll spend around 2 hrs with Mom, trying to communicate with always limited success, and having Rex's Mutual Admiration Society fill in the gaps in our attempts to communicate. Then, I call Dad on my cell & see what he wants me to bring him & Rene for Sunday Dinner. Usually KFC, pizza, Steak n Shake..something healthy...anything, but the institutional food the nursing home provides. I visit there for a couple of hours and hope nobody cries, but they usually do, and Rex provides some comic relief, but it's never enough. Dementia compounded with depression fills their little room. I make a less-than-graceful staggering exit most visits, then hightail it down the road to visit my baby-sis & her husband, who are usually waiting dinner on me. We talk, eat, comfort each other, and before I know it 2 hrs have passed & it's time for me to hit the road for home, a return drive of about 35 mins again, with Rex at my side, listening to the radio, both of us anxious to get home to Bubba where we belong. Thank God, Rex is my companion, who has lots of love and patience for the people in my life that I love.

Like that wonderful show at the Greek Theater in Berkeley..I attended that show with a ticket, as I was suffering from burnout of working through "Sugar Magnolia" when I'd rather be dancing. I was single, still flirting w/Sean after many a drama betwixt us. I knew he was going to break my heart from the first time I met him & in that same moment,I had pretty much already forgiven him as I knew the adventure would be worth the pain. Rock Med had set up nearby where I had put down my blanket I told them they could come fetch me if they needed me, but otherwise, I'd be dancing,'right over there", and I was. I remember that the ladies on the blanket in front of mine were obviously 3 generations of Deadheads. A beautiful Grandmother with long, grey braided hair, her daughter around thirty something with braids of fire red hair, and the grandchild and daughter of the red head, with long blonde braids. They had a picnic basket of home cooked culinary delights, and the 3 of them ate, danced, laughed and glowed with happiness. They shared some of their cookies with me. It was a picture perfect show-Jerry & Bobby & the boys opened w/ "How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By you", and the crowd went wild cause we knew we all loved these musicians, and we knew it to be sweet. I danced alot that day. Mostly, alone, freestyle, letting the music take me over the hills and far away. There was soon, the beginings of a spectacular California sunset. Sean walked over to where I was and told me that he had just been sent down to do his turn at the nearby tennis court for the kids. The Dead always sold out, but when @ The Greek, they liked to put huge speakers at the nearby tennis courts where all the other kids could come and dance for free. All the benefits of the show, all the courts covered with shinny, happy, people dancing to what The Dead were playing right now over at the Greek-the only drawback was that you couldn't catch a glimpse of the band. Sean asked if I'd come with him to the courts. No matter who's heart was broken, I had promised us both to always be friends, so I did what any good friend do-I went with him to keep him company, see the kids, and dance over there for awhile. It was a great, level place to dance, and I had soon entered a self-induced altered state through dance. There were no patients, everyone was having a great time, and true to his nature, Sean was dancing, as well. I saw it first. The crowd had swelled around a guy with a HUGE purple crystal lashed to a large branch that had finger-like sticks and twigs holding the crystal in place along with the hemp reinforcement ropes. Everybody crowded around it as the guy held it high in the air, then slowly brought it down closer to the crowd. We reached our hands out to the crystal, and to this day I can recall the surges of energy pulsating trough the palms of my hands and flowing through the rest of my body. Other folks were all doing and feeling the same things. Someone was burning a large torch made of fragrant sage, and all of us were transending our realities, feeling the energy flow, all of us chanting "OM" over and over again, while the speakers treated us to yet another session of Jerry being contentedly lost in space. That was then, and this is now, but back then-There Was Nothing Like A Grateful Dead Show. Never will be again, I'll betcha. Walking back to our cars after the show, I remember Bill's crowd control staff, keeping things flowing, keeping pedestrians out of the street, saying"Help keep Jerry's Kids safe..walk on the sidewalks, not in the sreets...help keep Jerry's Kid's safe..." They were such fun kids. I hope they are all still safe.