Message title affectionately borrowed from one of my favorite ekoostic Hookah tunes that personifies what I am feeling tonight.

I was in my late 20's when I fell in love with Steven King while working the free clinic one autumn night during a Grateful Dead Show in San Francisco's infamous concert hall, Winterland. I had wanted to be out in the crowd dancing with "Jerry's kids," which was my favorite thing to do. But a couple of years prior to that show, I had married a strange and demanding young man who turned to be threatened by the thrall and the excitement that the magic hippie band generated among their avid followers. He was threatened, I believe, by the stars in the eyes and the dedication and energy of the boys and their fans, as he himself, he felt that he was a rising star of some level of popularity while volunteering at these rock shows to render medical aide as a Respiratory Therapist and an EMT. Very few deadheads needed his services during a Dead show. The clinic saw more than their fair share of highly stoned and tripping kids at these shows, but they required ministrations that he really had no ability to provide. He fancied himself a professional, a medicine man, short on patience with the kids that did not need his clinical medicine, but rather the understanding bedside manner, someone to gently talk them out of a bad trip and back into a good trip. That is where I came in as such sweet talking my strong point, and why I was as valued in my own right, as an EMT volunteer, I was almost as highly regarded as he was. He hated that, the schmuck...

But that evening was a quiet night in the clinic.Even my services were not in demand, though of course, it was not outside the realm of possibility that things could change at any moment and a naked tripper be thrown our way by Security, all of us hoping to keep the kid out of jail. Knowing that anything was possible kept us both hanging out in the near empty clinic awaiting just in case we were needed. I really wanted to go dance while things were slow, but HP didn't see it that way...

As I was an obedient wife and wished to maintain my good standing volunteering for Rock Medicine, in order to continue having adventures in the outer ridges of the Rock 'n Roll realm of concert staff, I repeatedly asked permission to go out in front of the door and dance to the music in the midst of the lobby which was full of other dancing kids buying T-shirts, and hitting up the snack concession's stands for pizza slices, over sized chocolate chip cookies, and cups of carbonated watery liquids to squelch cotton mouth. Repeatedly, my domineering spouse refused permission for me to take a dancing break, enraged that I had the audacity to ask more than once, repelled at the possibility that I might join the deadheads throwing caution to the winds with their antics and joy. Obediently, but sullenly, I stayed with HP in the clinic area, the music a distorted cacophonous din blurred by the closed door and the clinic room's lack of any acoustic amenities. A very few other staff members remained in the otherwise empty clinic, either too tired to go out and dance, or like my still-new husband, they failed to recognize the music's magic. My friend Barb stayed with us, not out of any sense of duty, but because her nose was stuck in a book that she couldn't put down. Eventually though, the lure of the obscured music brought her to her feet and she told HP & I that she was headed out for a dance.

"Can I look at your book while you are gone?" I asked, avoiding HP's disapproving gaze, ducking eye contact. If he held anything in more contempt than the music of The Grateful Dead, it was the concept of reading for pleasure. It was a pass time that he never faltered in his vocal vehement disdain-"a waste of time unless you are learning something that you can apply to your life, towards tangible improvement, in the here and now."

Barb had long noted the power struggle, as she knew and pitied me and and despised him. She seemed to slap the book jovially into my hands in open defiance of what HP did or did not approve of saying "Have at, but no way am I lending it to you until I am done with it."

It was Stephen King's "Salem's Lot," and prior to that night's reading, I do not believe I had ever read anything so profoundly disturbing and addicting. I, too, could not put it down. Vampire children scraping their fingernails at bedroom windows of their playmates, luring them away from hearth and home, into the darkly fictionally classic allure of the undead.

To me, it was an immediate rush to read it. I actually felt a stab of pain in my heart, when Barb returned from her dancing, and I had to return the book back to it's rightful owner. I had hardly paid any attention to my pain-in-the-ass narcissistic spouse the entire evening. First, as he refused to allow me to take dancing breaks out in the crowd with the music, and secondly and more satisfying, since the book caught my undivided attention. He picked a huge fight during the drive home, but my defense was self-explanatory. I had not left him to go dance with the hippies per his demands, and if the worst thing I did all night was to read a few pages from a borrowed book to amuse myself, then indeed, he would be still quite the lucky man.

The Dead played again the following night, and of course we were there to man the Free Clinic, but so was Barb, and she had finished the book. She brought it to the show for me, knowing I would most likely still be forbidden to dance. She loved to piss HP off, and I was desperate to hold onto something of who I was before marriage, despite my husband's demand that my role be limited to being his #1 obedient fan and devotee. He glowered as I slipped the book into my backpack, but said nothing, then. Later in the evening he forgot about it, and I let him. I didn't open the book until I was home alone and he was at work. When he was at work was the only time he allowed me to play music by The Grateful Dead or to read for pleasure. When he was home, he demanded and usually got my undivided attention. I have said it before and I will say it again. He was a very sick young man who was largely instrumental in me becoming a very sick young woman. I will still accept 1/2 of the blame, as he did nothing to me that in the end, I did not allow, but...we were sick. I almost allowed him to ruin my life.

But I didn't. My passion for the forbidden fruit flowered. It was only natural. And against my husband's wishes, I not only fell in love with the music of The Grateful Dead, but the writings of Stephen King...and whenever the rat was away, I would benignly play.

Fast forward 30 years to the new and improved me. Bubba watching the Red Sox slam the Indians in the living room of the house he built for me with our 3 wonderful dogs at his feet. He also fails to understand the joy I get from my music and my reading, but viva la difference! He lets me be me! I am in the bedroom, watching what I want to watch on my TV, with a book and a newspaper while surfing for fun on my lap top. Bubba has heard me babble for years about my enthusiasm for the works of Steven King, amused when watching me annually reread "The Stand", and shaking his head with a smile as I continue to repeatedly watch "The Green Mile" whenever TV gets old. He peeks into the bedroom to say:

"You should have been watching the playoffs," he grins, "They just had a close up of Stephen King and his son in the stands...Stephen King was reading a book, not even watching the game, and the announcer said his boy was a writer, too, but his name is Joe Hill, not anything King."

"Really? I missed them? I know Stephen King takes a book with him everywhere he goes. His boy is Joe Hill? I heard he had a son that wrote under a pen name-Joe Hill?"

"Ha!" He laughed, "You mean I knew something back about Stephen King that you didn't? Ha!"

Immediately, I googled Joe Hill, and captivated by the moment, my fingers danced over the keys, and carried away with the moment,(as I now often allow myself to be) before I knew it, I had ordered Joe Hill's "Heart Shaped Box" for a mere well-spent $8.00.

The novel took forever to arrive, but once it did, I devoured it within 3 days. Just like the books his Daddy wrote when I first fell in love him, and little Joe was a twinkle in his Daddy's eye, in this happy phase of my life, I fell in love with the writings of Son of King.

As soon as I finished Joe's book, I forced myself to get back to reality. I made myself call Wally World to ensure they had received the application I had submitted before the book had arrived. They called me back within the hour and asked me to come in for an interview in the morning.

I gave a great interview...when I left I felt strong and positive. The lady told me that it would probably take a couple of weeks, but they'd probably be calling me. But, it only took a couple of hours, and they called me back for a second interview the following morning. It too, was a great interview. Today, after getting word that I passed the physical and the back ground check, I was hired, and I still have a week off to celebrate. I start Halloween Day @ 8:30 a.m. and will work until 6:30ish p.m. just in time to join Bubba in pass out candy to the neighborhood goblins.

To celebrate, I ordered Joe Hill's "20th Century Ghosts," and consequently while surfing around, discovered that he has a published brother, Owen Hill, another, Son of King. Another King writer to discover and explore. A new job & 2 new authors to investigate! Does it get any better than this? As they both write with their father's magnetic dark fun draw, they are both indeed, originals onto themselves. I ordered Owen's "We're All In This Together," as I am now heavy into celebrating soberly. If the worst thing I do is restock my library, everyone around me, including me, will be quite the lucky folks!

I am starting a new job which looks like for the most part, that I will have fun doing, only 10 miles down the road from home. Working full time starting at a dollar and a half more than I made after 3 years at my last job. Soon, I will be qualify for benefits, however minimal. If I don't screw up, things are looking up. I am so excited, that I broke into the Halloween candy! Celebrating, after all, is in my blood!

It's not how much we have, but how much we enjoy that makes happiness.
I am enjoying more and more of what I have every day of my life these days. I know I too often re-visit the Hell that I went through before I got to this Heaven, but it keeps me humble and grateful for everything that is now my life. It is my blog-I can write everything and anything that I want to write in it. I've earned the right to advertise how far I have come, learning the basics the hard way.

I certainly hope to remember this attitude in days to come as, right here, right now, it is all coming together.