Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Emotional Pedulum

I am an emotional nightmare today. I'm sitting here PURPOSELY listening to "No day but today" from the musical Rent and putting myself in tears. Who does that?? But on the other hand I have no emotional attachment to the song (other than the musical is fanfuckintastic) for me but I am just sobbing and sobbing listening to this song. WHY? The line "I'd die without you" is what's sending me over the edge. Die without who? Family? Friends? Well yes, but normally I wouldn't be in tears about it. The ONLY sentimental moment I have about that song in particular is that my sister Kristen, my eldest daughter Jessy and I went to see Rent in Toronto a few years ago and at the end of the show when they're singing that song everyone stood up and sang with them. It was emotional. It was a great feeling. But it's NOT just the's ME.

What has got me so worked up? I mean yes, okay I'm seriously period-ing this month...but today is just...I'm a wreck. Even now. I'm not listening to anything, I'm not doing ANYTHING but sitting here writing this and the tears are just flowing, and I'm baffled. Completely confused. Have I lost my ever loving mind? Or what's left of it? Am I having some sort of break down? Do people when they HAVE break downs rationalize that they're having one? I just am overwhelmed with emotion right now. Don't worry gentle reader I'm not suicidal I'm just in tears. LOL Oh great now I'm making jokes...and the pendulum swings.

I wonder if this is what menopause is going to be like....if so...sorry honey! I loved you before I went mental. Even if I become a screaming *insert John Taylor's favourite curse word here that starts with a 'c' that I use too much here* I still love you! Alan's going to come home from work and I'm going to be a sobby mess, he's going to think someone ran over the cat for fuck sakes.

Maybe it's because I'm tired, or maybe I'm just trying to rationalize something away that needs no rationalization. I've already recognized a few days ago I'm emotional lately. I'm normally an emotional person but not like this...this is too much, even for me! This period needs to be gone...and I swear I don't need to be like this next month! I'll be emotional enough!

Can this over emotional-ness be gone already? Can it be next month? Can I please, just be sitting in my seat, anxiously waiting for them to come on stage? Please?

One Last Glimpse,


I feel hungohvaah...

This morning I awoke (the morning after the Winery show in Saratoga) and while I was in a good mood, I was a little bit...lethargic and slow. Truthfully, minus the nausea and headache...I felt hungover. I felt like I had been up, all night, tightly wound and then left in a puddle on the floor at the end of the night once I had unspooled myself.

And now...sitting here the next night (the LA show has just finished) while I'm writing this, I feel this way again.I really can't think of a way to describe it except that I FEEL as if I've had the most fantastic, tantric orgasm and now...I'm just sort of floating. I don't feel high, just mellow I guess. Or at least I do now. I suuure didn't earlier.

Remember as a kid, sitting on a swing at the park...and you'd spin the swing around and cross the chains as high and as tight as you could. You'd sit there for a little bit chains tight and crossed. Knowing the moment you let go you'd spin like mad. The smaller you could make yourself the faster you'd spin, and if you stared at the ground while you spun the dizzier you'd be by the time you were "unspun". THAT is how I have felt all evening, and THAT is how I feel now. "Unspun".

It's funny, following these shows as I have been reading everything. Listening to the interviews, watching the twitter feeds. It's exciting watching and reading everyone be SO excited (including the guys), not to mention supportive. I've always known the Duranies were a family, but to actually be able to witness it first hand is pretty cool I have to say.


So it's the next day (the morning after the LA show) and I awoke to a tweet on my phone congratulating me for being on stage with Duran last night in LA. I was confused....But I notice that it's sent to me AND Simon, John and Duran. Now...I know that I'm no where NEAR LA and have no idea how this (what I think is a rumor) got started. So I'm like ummm what?? (I'm awake now!!!). So I quickly came downstairs and tweeted back saying I wasn't in LA, and I certainly wasn't on stage with Duran, I could only wish to be so lucky. (just to clarify any confusion, because I don't want the guys reading this going wth is this crazy chick saying she was on stage??) THEN I find out that our tweets last night were being fed LIVE to the show during Tiger, Tiger and being put up on the big screens. I have NO idea what was said other than I saw mine when I saw a video of it on youtube.

Quite frankly, I think it was a TOTAL fluke, and what I said was really nothing. I'm actually kind of disappointed as there were several other more meaningful things that I said last night that they could have shown - although for all I know, they did. The person who filmed it only HAPPENED to catch that one thing before the panned back to the stage. I mean don't get me wrong, I thought it was damn funny (and cool!). I have no idea why my tweet, especially that one was chosen to be put up, but it was. I'm famous!

I guess I can now say I've been on stage with Duran Duran.

One Last Glimpse,


Tuesday, 27 September 2011


I'm emotional lately, a little more so than usual. Not that I couldn't and don't normally cry at a Hallmark commercial before...but this, is different.

I emailed 2 friends last week a sappy sobfest of an email...which I do on occasion and I think I bawled the entire time I wrote it. My friend whom I've known since we were about 10 or so Nat texted with me the other day and she finished our conversation with "love you" and I cried. Again today - a different friend, my friend Jane...same sweet meaningful, heartfelt words...and again...tears.

I'm not sure what it is, or why it is. I'm not the kind of person to hold in my feelings normally. If I'm happy you know it, mad, angry, upset... I consider myself to be a 'wear my heart on my sleeve' kind of person. I get attached to people that I consider a friend and when I was younger...that was a problem. I was naive to think that I wouldn't get taken advantage of or hurt. I did... but for whatever reason I just didn't learn from it until I was probably late 20's. I'd give it my all in friendships and I got hurt and stabbed in the back again and again. Was I stupid? No. But I thought so at the time. I trusted the wrong people many, many times...told people my secrets only to find out that everyone knew them.

Now, I'm blessed and privileged to have some amazing true friends both close to home and not so close to home. Some I've known since childhood that have truly stuck by me thru thick and thin and proven themselves and their love for me time and time again. Some I've known for a lot less time, but that I feel like I've known for a lifetime or more.

It was funny earlier today when I got the text and I began to cry a little. It was from 0 to about 60 in .2 seconds, I went from throwing my head back and tears and then back again. I must have looked like a psychopath. My work space keep in mind is a glass box what with working at a gas station. Everything I do, can be seen. EVERYTHING. Every face, every gesture, every laugh and cry. The problem with that is there is nowhere really that I could have turned (even if I had wanted to) to have a moment outside of getting up and going to the washroom or the backroom and when I'm busy (like I was today) I can't do that. So I sat there, laid bare and had little...albeit happy cry. My friends know the perfect things to say when I need them to the most. I guess that's one of the many reasons I'm blessed.

I'm even more lucky to have a man who truly loves me. He loves me for me or in spite of me sometimes. He loves my passion for things (even a certain British Band...with my particular fondness for a certain bass player within said band). He just. loves. me. And I know I haven't always made it easy on him. But I'm thankful, he's not bailed on me yet. So I guess I can't be all bad.

So I guess this is a thank you, an appreciation of you, please never doubt or question if I love you. If you are here...and you are reading this...and you are taking it in the vain which it is intended. Then I'm talking to you.

Love you. Always.

One Last Glimpse,


The Mountain Winery

So I'm standing here at work, just before my shift is to begin - it's mid afternoon on this rainy, gloomy Monday. It's September 26th, 2011 and one of my Duran sisters (Andi) is experiencing her first Duran show ever tonight and I couldn't be more excited!

How excited she must be! What emotions she must be feeling. It's mere hours away now left for her, probably about 10 I'd guess. How thrilling!! I'm truly in awe and wonder as I write this wondering what I will be thinking and feeling at this point in a months time. I mean yes, I have an idea of how I'll be feeling, but I want to know what does that feel like?? I can put words to it..but I really have nothing to compare it to. I'm fairly certain no concert I have ever been to thus far in my life will be as exciting and turn me on (for lack of a better way to put it) quite as much as the Duran concert will.

I mean really. It's a different level of excitement that I really have no basis of comparison for. It wasn't until recently that Alan finally "got" my excitement for Duran. It's not that he's not a fan, I've mentioned before that he is. But HE had nothing to compare it to either. He's recently re-immersed himself into his Star Wars passion, and I think now...he "gets it". He understands what I mean and how I feel, and the excitement and rush that only they can bring me.

Jane is also going this evening. It's her second show and I know she's already beside herself. She's so excited and filled with anticipation because there is no rush quite like the Duran live experience. That much I understand. It's its own euphoric high that must be experienced to be believed.

The band performing tonight is not the only thing of beauty on the books for the evening. The locale is breathtakingly exquisite. It's full of ambiance and beauty all on it's own. Not to mention I'm sure the acoustics in the place are amazing.

I'm so excited to "share" this experience with them. As they will be to share in Rach and my experience. I'm currently receiving intermittent texts from Jane as she prepares...with each text I can read in her words the excitement is building. Her responses are becoming giddy and lighthearted. And it's exciting to see that happening.

John too just tweeted that they were leaving Portland and on their way to Saratoga. How exciting. How thrilling...for everyone involved. 3rd show, first two by my understanding were stellar, outstanding shows.

Tonight should be just breathtaking. Amazing venue, amazing band, and some amazing people (band and fan). I am proud to not only say that they're my fellow Duranies...but also my friends...and family.

Love you, sing strong, and be proud.

One Last Glimpse,


Post script: Tweets and texts are coming in as the concert is progressing. They're filled with nothing but love, happiness, and raw emotion. I can feel the euphoric high that you are feeling right at this moment it's just that intense. I'm sitting here now at home in front of my computer loving each and every update. It is truly a privilege and an honour to know you. I thank you for making me a part of your life.

Sunday, 25 September 2011

Cecil Bartlett Foster

March 2nd, 1996 my life came to a screeching halt. My Mother, who had bore me, raised me (to the best of her abilities), nurtured me, loved me, and guided me left this place and plane for another. I was almost 25 years old, my son and daughter were quite young (6 and 4 respectively). My husband and I were beginning to become at odds with each other due to the PTSD (Post traumatic stress disorder) that he suffered from going to Rwanda with the Canadian Armed Forces on a UN mission for 6 months.

For months after her death I would pick up the phone to call her about an event that had occurred with the children at school, a milestone they had passed, or just to hear her voice because I'd had a shitty day. I would get close to dialing the number or sometimes even half way through and I would remember she wasn't there anymore to take my call. Once I even managed to dial the entire wasn't until my Grandfather (Grandpa Cecil) answered the phone with his typical "Yes?" greeting that I remembered that she didn't live there anymore. And I would have to fake and fain my way through a conversation with my Grandfather making up a reason as to why I had phoned to speak with him.

Now don't get me wrong...I loved to talk to my Grandpa Cec. But he was a much more interesting person to speak to in person than he was on the phone. My Grandpa was such an ominous person (or so I thought) growing up. When I was young he seemed so incredibly tall (I think at his tallest he was only 6' or perhaps 6'1") I think the fact that he was so thin as well didn't help. Not to mention my Grandmother frequently did the talking (to say she was domineering and overbearing would be an understatement) so he kept to himself and kept quiet. When she passed...a whole other side to my Grandfather emerged. And for the first time...I actually had the opportunity to meet the real Cecil Foster.

In my Grandmother's eyes (When my Mom and Aunt were young) my Aunt Bev (who I have previously blogged about) could do no wrong. She was the queen, the star, the brilliant child. My Mother was left behind and nothing but trouble and could never do anything right in her eyes. As such my Mom became my Grandpa's favourite, and my Aunt hated her for it. My Grandmother in turn then pitted my Aunt and my Mother against each other telling my Aunt that my Grandfather didn't love her and only loved my Mom. My Grandmother believed her own lies, and hated my Mom every bit as much as my Aunt began to. It was ugly, vicious, and at times very difficult growing up in that household from what I've heard from both my Mom and my Aunt over the years.

Listening to him spin a story I think was one of my favourite things. And it wasn't that any of the stories he'd tell were fabricated or anything...but they were detailed and he could take you in and make you feel like you were there no matter what the year the story was from. He was very funny and clever. My Grandpa was very intelligent, he loved music and books and reading. My GOD. The books in that man's apartment when he passed were countless. He was a druggist (pharmacist) by trade and was very good at it. He spoke Latin, could write in Morse code and frequently did so with my husband (who was a signalman in the Canadian Forces).

I always loved my Grandpa...even when I didn't know him as a young child. I'm so glad that I did get to know the real him before he passed a little over 11 years after my Mom (He passed on March 7th, 2007). She would have been so glad that my sister and I got to know him the way SHE did. That would have pleased her very much.

I will leave you with some parting words of wisdom...the ones my Grandfather would always say when we would drop him off at his apartment after a visit.

"Buckle up for safety, Semper Ubi Sub Ubi, and Don't take any wooden nickles"

One Last Glimpse,


Saturday, 24 September 2011

Psychotic Telepathy

I've always been told I'm "psychic-ly gifted". No...I can't tell you what the lottery numbers are because I don't know them. I have "heard" people's thoughts in the past, and am more "open" to the exchange of energy and communications. I know some people may to just go "unfollow" at this point and for that I'm sorry if you do but I understand. But what you have to understand is it's how I was raised, and it's what I believe in. And having lived with a few too many unexplained things in my life that can ONLY be explained away with this...well again, it's what I choose to believe in.

I believe in out of body experiences, I believe in ghosts, spirits, the after-life and the communication there in. I believe in ESP...hell I believe in ESPN if a good game is on. (kidding!) I read tarot cards, I believe in muses, angels and spiritual guides. I believe in telepathy, the use of crystals, I understand the concept of feeding off each others energy. I understand the whole they feel good, you feel good even though you're separated by the miles mentality. I get that. And I have to say that my mind is every which way right now while I'm sitting here at work. It's like I can't sit still and I'm hyper as hell.Seriously's insane.

SOMEONE (without naming names...*cough* John) needs to go run around the Arena about 20 times and burn some of his energy. It's almost like having a child going "Are we there yet?" about 100 miles an hour in your ear. For the love of 'dWog' go for a run, go lift a car, go. do. something!! I mean don't get me wrong, I don't mind. I really REALLY don't mind being 'open' Take up a hobby. Cross stitch, knitting, competitive Hungarian basket weaving...SOMETHING! On the other hand...No...don't. I truly do love it. I guess it makes me feel...useful? Wanted? I don't know quite how to put it.

I've always been "open". I used to read my Mom's mind when I was really young I guess is how it started. I was probably 3 or 4. She was driving me to pre-school one day and I turned to her in the car and said something to the effect of how I didn't want whatever it was for lunch I wanted something else. I guess she about drove off the road because she was fairly confident that she hadn't been muttering to herself about what she was going to make me, but just to make sure she decided she was going to conduct a little experiment the next day. The next day driving me to school, again she thought about what she'd make me for lunch...this time something completely different. And I REMEMBER turning to her and saying "Oh Mommy! I'd love grilled cheese for lunch!".

My Mom took me to see a friend of hers around that time who did psychic readings and what not. She stopped in to drop something off to her class (I don't recall what she taught I just remember it was a classroom of sorts -- although I don't think it was a classroom in a conventional sense). We walked in - she spun around from talking to someone else - looked at me and said to my Mom "WOW Gail...she's just all sorts of open!!!". COOL! I can kill people with my mind!!! Okay...not quite. But wouldn't THAT be awesome?

I guess what's funny to me is that I have these little 'dreams' or 'conversations' with the guys, with other AND passed (like my Mom who passed away 15+ years ago)...but it wasn't until as I was writing this that I had the recollection that my Mother had the EXACT same thing.

When my sister was very little (probably 1 or 2 - before I was born) My Mom went to see my Grandma Tillie in the nursing home (My Grandfather's Mother) she lived in. My Mom had with her a 'recent' photo of my sister to show her . My Grandma Tillie was almost normally (at that point) pretty much catatonic. She'd had a stroke, and couldn't talk, was in a wheelchair and so therefore sadly trapped in her own body; which had betrayed her; like a prison.

My Grandmother had met Kristen before (before she'd had her stroke) so she knew that my Mom and Dad had had her already. My Mom arrived, talked to her (to no response of course), and eventually showed her a more recent photo of Kristen and said to her "This is your Grand daughter you remember her?". At which point my docile, catatonic Great Grandmother went batshit. Like I said she'd had a stroke, so she couldn't talk...but I guess she started to cry and moan and yell. My Mother was in tears because she'd upset her Grandmother and the staff told her to leave. Shortly after that Grandma Tillie passed away. One night she came to my Mother in a "dream" and gave her royal shit for thinking she wouldn't know her own Great Grand-Daughter.

It's never bothered me to be this way. In fact...I love it. I've learned a few things over the years...if I turn away from it...I don't function as well. It's better (for me) to embrace it, and utilize it to the best of my ability. It's a gift that I treasure. It's a gift that I apparently inherited from my Mom...and I'm okay with that.

One Last Glimpse,


Friday, 23 September 2011

Open Letter #2 - To Duran Duran

Yesterday while pointing people towards the Duran Duran Facebook events pages, a question was posed by Duran Duran Headquarters (Or DDHQ as they often refer to themselves as on Twitter). Asking "What are you most looking forward to"? How can you answer this question in just a few words? It's never that easy or simple, especially when it comes to Duran.

How do you say in a few words something about someone (or in this case a group of someones) who have changed and touched your life so significantly, so profoundly that it even begins to cover what you feel? When answering a question like this, there is a simplistic and easy response: "Everything" but that's so bland and nondescript. And Duran is anything but.

Having never seen Duran in concert before; in my 29 years of being a fan; there is a multitude of things that I'm looking forward to. The music (of course), the palpable energy, the artistry, the brilliance. I'm both proud and honoured to consider myself an "enlightened fool" in my 'Duraniedom'. As I think we; as fans; all should be.

I think I will be completely awestruck if I'm being truthful. I'm going to the show with one of my dearest friends - Rachel - that I've shared a love of this band with for 26 years. It's what or who brought us together, it's only fitting I share this significant and unique experience with her. To finally be able to sing, dance, and party with the band that is designed to make you do just that. All this on Simon Le Bon's birthday...what more could I possibly want?

What am I most looking forward to you ask? 'What am I not?' is my response.

One Last Glimpse,


Climbing trees with Simon Le Bon

I loved climbing trees as a kid. My Dad had one that we used to climb all the time when I was younger. It was beside a fence so it made it even easier to get up into. Why do we as adults stop climbing trees? I dunno...I think personally it would be fun to do every once in a while.

I used to sit up in the tree for hours doing nothing. Sometimes reading, listening to my Walkman, listening to the waves crashing up at the beach, or the wind rustling the leaves in the tree. There's something about the last two sounds that are both relaxing and comforting to me even to this day.

I haven't climbed a tree in years, probably since I was about 17 or so and truthfully had I not done it last night in my dream with a certain bearded Brit lead singer, I probably wouldn't have thought about it or that tree. I'm sure you're wondering why we were climbing trees...but truthfully I have no idea, but I can tell was Simon's idea.

We sat there...for the longest that tree, my tree and said nothing. Just literally hanging around. I remember that I leaned back on the branch; just as I had when I was 10 or 11 years old; and closed my eyes relaxing in the ambiance. He must have relaxed too, he began to sing softly as he's prone to when I dream of him...he IS Simon Le Bon after all...what ELSE would he do? Last night he sang "Lonely in your Nightmare" which I don't think he's sang before when I've dreamt of him. I remember opening my eyes and looking up at him. He was sat 2 branches above me, staring out to the lake singing swinging his one leg. At the chorus I harmonized with him. He looked down at me a little surprised. Truthfully, I'm not sure if he'd forgotten I was sitting there, or if I caught him off guard or quite what. I'm uncertain. In any event he smiled, gave a brief nod and continued singing. All he said when we were done singing was "That sounded fantastic! You did great!". I remember I smiled and nodded in agreement, and I think I said "Thank you". Which I usually do when he sings for me, and again...he nodded. I closed my eyes and lifted my face to meet the warmth of the sun's rays, the wind rustled the leaves, I opened my eyes and with that, he was gone.

I sat there in the tree for a few moments; after he had left; pondering things just as I had as a child. I pondered the significance - if any - to the song we'd just shared. I was aware I was asleep - as I am occasionally - is that normal? Do many other people know that they're asleep when they're dreaming? I mean it's irrelevant the grand scheme of things. But it's something I often wonder about. All in all it was a very mellow and relaxing dream that I enjoyed thoroughly. Who wouldn't?

One Last Glimpse,


Tuesday, 20 September 2011

You spin me right round baby right round...

So I'm off today...the day is half way over and I've done absolutely nothing. Some people would say's your day off! Good for you! But to be honest...I feel like I SHOULD be doing...SOMETHING. I'm just not sure what. I've decided I'm going to blog, and see just what comes out....

I'm sitting here texting with my friend Jane, listening to my son wander around the house, and have watched more than a few youtube videos this morning. So I guess even though I've 'accomplished nothing'...I've accomplished something. I'm awake, I'm dressed, I'm speaking with my friend...I'm writing this blog. Strange how that's almost like that logic is backward to me somehow. Is it engrained into our being that we have to accomplish something tangible? Something visible to have actually accomplished something? Something to ponder. It's like Simon Le Bon said in an interview a while back that I watched...We; our generation; must have that CD or vinyl LP...something tangible. To hold, to look at the art work, to know that we've actually GOT that specific piece of music, or album, or have accomplished something. Some of the artwork in albums is truly exquisite. I mean really. Have you ever taken the time to truly look at a CD insert? Or an LP jacket sleeve or slip cover? Or hell...even the album itself. Some if it is truly intricate, beautiful artwork. Just as lovely as the music itself. Some artists go all out...with MP3's on an iPod or MP3 just don't get that. While MP3's are relevant, and ecologically and technologically sound...there is nothing like opening that CD jewel case, or pulling that vinyl album out of the sleeve and looking at all that went into making this living, breathing, blood, sweat and tears piece of artwork you have before you. And I agree with him. Wholeheartedly.

However, on the other hand...I'm not a luddite. I'm fairly technologically savvy or at least I'd like to think so. I can build a computer from the ground up, I can download, burn, install and remove software. I know how to operate a computer. (Obviously) I have an MP3 player. I know my way around torrents and musical downloads. I even know how to transfer youtube videos to MP3 format for my listening pleasure! (Okay, truthfully the latter part is thanks to my daughter Jessica!). But just the same, and none the less...I am far from lacking in the technology department. I must say however that I don't know the difference between analog and digital sound, and while I might be able to pick out which is which in a playback if tested...I know nothing about it off the top of my head.

The one thing sadly I currently don't a record player. I desperately want one. I have some albums, and others of course I'd LOVE to pick up.My father has an entire trunk I'd love to go through. Fanfuckingtastic stuff in there if I recall correctly, quite the vast collection. I remember how fantastic that hiss sound was when you first put the needle on the record. And quite frankly...I miss it. I remember I had to stack pennies on the top of the arm just to keep it from skipping, and while that wasn't the best solution either, it worked more often than not. I've informed my husband, and my children that this is what I want for my Christmas gift this year. I want a record player. I want to be able to play albums, AND MP3's harmoniously. My thought is to have a USB record player, attached to a laptop with MP3's on it. That way, I can have the best of both worlds at my fingertips.

The art and beauty that are albums and the technological advancement of MP3's -- the best of both worlds. Is that really too much to ask for?

One Last Glimpse,


While writing this blog today, I came across this video which is almost 2 years ago (a month shy of being almost to the day). It's of John Taylor speaking at UCLA's 40th Anniversary of the Internet celebration on October 29th, 2009. It's a well written, insightful view of someone who is not only within the music business...but also as an avid fan of music and the arts.

Monday, 19 September 2011

Designed to make you party

I thought everyone knew this already but apparently there seems to be some surprise out there. So what better thing to blog about!

I have never seen Duran Duran in concert...EVER.

I've seen it on VHS/DVD more times than I can count...but I have never seen them live, as in been in the same room with them. I was within 500 feet or so of them in Toronto when they were playing their seminal gig with Blondie at the Toronto CNE stadium in 1982. I BEGGED my mother to take me (tickets were 8.75$ I might add) and of course didn't get to go. I actually cried all the way home.

I actually JUST recalled the other night that my Dad tried to get me tickets for the Maple Leaf Gardens show (when they filmed the Reflex video) but couldn't. I remember my Uncle (My Dad's older brother) offered to have us for the weekend. (His apartment overlooked Maple Leaf Gardens) I could have sat out on his balcony and listened to the show (and to be honest heard it just as well as if I was actually IN the Arena). But I played the teen drama card and felt that there was no way I could possibly just sit on the balcony and would be like rubbing salt in an open wound. Only AFTER the fact did I find out the great lengths (short of buying scalped tickets) that both my Dad and my Uncle went through to try to get me tickets. Oh the teenage drama of it all!

My next opportunity to see Duran was the Wedding Album tour. They were performing at Canada's Wonderland and Rachel bought two tickets. All I needed to do was to get to Toronto where she would pick me up on her way to Canada's Wonderland. I was married (I got married at 18) and had two very young children. My husband was in the Canadian Armed Forces and was a private. We had VERY little money, and were up to our Ta na na na's in debt as it was. In the end, try as we might to arrange didn't happen, and I didn't go. Rachel ended up going with a friend of hers (a NON-Duranie) and didn't enjoy the concert as much as had she gone with me.

The next time the guys went through when I had thought about going was during the Reunion Tour (Astronaut album). I was living in Victoria British Columbia and thought that perhaps I could go to see them in Vancouver...but once more the fates intervened and I didn't go. We had just moved out west and bought our first place, and there was no way that we could afford to have me go.

When this tour came about there was no question, no hesitation...I was going...and that was final. And now here we are, 38 days away...I can hardly believe it. I know I'm growing more and more excited as the days progress, and I'm dying to see them. Once more I apologize to you'll have to put up with me...and those sitting around me...Sorry! I've heard people tell that folks told them to shut up and sit down at the concerts in the past. Yea...that's not going to expected to be told to fuck off and get bent if that happens. They are the band "Designed to make you party"...and I'm going to do just that.

One Last Glimpse,


Thursday, 15 September 2011

Devil in the details

With today's blog I thought I'd try something a little different. This is more of an exercise for myself than anything else. The following is a brief piece of fiction written by me specifically for this blog. I didn't "get it" from anywhere else other than the dark, twisted recesses of my mind.

Personally I feel it's good. I feel it's rather vague with the characters which is basically what I wanted. No description is given of them aside from the fact that the main character is referred to as "I" (in the first person). So when "I" am reading is about me (I guess?). If you are reading it...well, I guess you get the point.

I tend to; when I write detail about my characters; mention what they look like, wear, height, hair, etc. The characters you can visualize as that is something I enjoy in other books when I read them. However I feel that I tend to leave out the surroundings in the past, sometimes I'm more aware I'm doing that than others...but not always. So I thought I'd work on that the goings on in and with the environment. As I say it was more of an exercise for myself to see what I could come up with, nothing more. I hope you enjoy it...curious who is standing on the other side of "your" door.

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I'm standing in the living room of a small, one roomed log cabin. It's walls are rounded with large wood knots in them. The wood is smooth, cool to the touch and well worn. The lighting is dark, with the exception of a decent fire going in the fireplace, there are no lights. Across the room I can make out the outline of a bed against the wall, with what appears to be a red quilt covering it. At first because it's so dark in the room, I think perhaps there are no windows. However as I turn around to face the door, I realize there are two small windows on either side. They're laden with snow, so it is difficult to see out and only adds to the darkness of the interior.

There is a massive snowstorm going on outside, and the wind is whipping and wailing around the exterior of the cabin. I reach for the door nob which is freezing under my grasp and open the door. I'm expecting someone. I stick my head out into the storm; and even though it is getting close to dark; the snow is blinding. The wailing wind plays a morose tune as it howls. I am concerned, the person I am waiting for has not yet arrived. And they should have...a while ago.

I manage to get the door shut but not without a fight. I'm pushing hard against the door...the wind pushing back just as forcefully. I hear it latch, the lock catches and I relax leaning against the door.

I sit in the dark on the couch by the fire now...warming myself. I hold a mug in my hand, tracing the lip of the mug with lazy circles with my fingertip. I am completely lost in the fire. It crackles, pops and sizzles and I am mesmerized by the flames dance. I slowly move the mug ascloseasthis to my lips but do not drink, my breath causes a ripple effect on the liquid. I can see my breath or perhaps it is the steam from my drink as I break from my reverie.

I sigh heavily. I furrow my brow. 'He should be here by now' I think to myself. Until that moment, I'm unaware that it is a "he" that I've been expecting. Why isn't he here yet? Is he lost in the snow? I grow even more concerned, or more so than I already am. I sigh again.

I'm fidgeting now. Tapping my foot, spinning my ring and chewing on the inside of my cheek. I lean back on the couch momentarily and twirl my hair in my fingertips as the flame does it's seductive dance again trying to captivate my attention. It doesn't work. I stand up once more and attempt to look out the window. It is dark as pitch out now, and yet I think I see movement. My pulse quickens. Is he here? Finally?

I move to the door quickly and open it. A dark shadow; only lit by the fire from behind me; darkens my doorstep.

His back is to the door. The collar of his jacket is up to give him some protection from the elements. He is covered in snow. His dark, thick wool coat is white with snow. The wind blows wildly continuing it's tune of morose, mournful moans. A whole and whistle follow adding their input to the durge-like sound.

Finally he turns around to face me. The snow in his hair begins to melt, making his hair wet, it drips down his face as he smiles at me. Snow blows into the cabin from outside. I am captivated by his smile. And I; like the snow that has gotten too close to the flame; melt.

One Last Glimpse,


Wednesday, 14 September 2011

When I grow up I want to be a wha??

It seems to me for as long as I can remember I've always wanted to be a hairdresser. Since I was probably about 5 or so I think? I don't know why, perhaps it's something in the social aspect of it all, not to mention I've always loved doing hair. I still do.

I had brief flits with wanting to be an Ad Exec. (Thank you Tony Danza and "Who's the Boss") I took advertising in high school, as well as drafting (I guess I also wanted to be an architect?), or even a Private Investigator (Kudos to Magnum P.I for that short lived idea). But for years the idea of being a hair dresser stuck with me.

When I hit high school everyone and anyone (or so it seemed) came to me for advice. I knew more secrets about my friends and the people I went to school with than a priest does from the confessional and his own parishioners. I knew it all. And on more than one occasion I had people tell me that I should become a shrink. While that's flattering that people think I have the ability within myself to deal with that...I honestly think that I would either a) become depressed myself with some of the stories or b) want to beat the crap out of some of the patients I was trying to help. Probably not the best idea.

My sister always had this crazy notion that she thought I'd make a great fashion designer. I'm not sure where that idea came into play. I never really thought I had a good eye for fashion, not to mention I'm not the best drawer/artist (read: can't draw worth a lick) but I appreciate the idea none the less.

More recently the idea of photography had come to mind as something I'd like to take classes in. And truthfully while I still would it seems to have gone to the back burner. Today Alan and were playing the "If/When we win the lottery" game. Alan said to me "OH! I know exactly what I would get you!!"  My response? "I don't know that his wife would appreciate that...and besides I have no where to put him!".

When Alan was done shaking his head he said "No, but I'd love to get him to give you a lesson for an hour!" (ME TOO!!!...but I think he meant bass lesson) I added that I didn't think John would ever give anyone a bass lesson, as I don't think he'd feel that he would be a good teacher. While I think he has confidence in his bass playing, I don't think he'd have confidence in the ability to teach someone else. Maybe I'm wrong. Who knows.

What surprised me more was later Alan said he'd love to go to the UK and learn to metal smith. Instantly my mind was taken to all the amazing English and writing classes I could take, and how much I could learn. Rumor has it England is where English originated from! Who knew?! It's not just a cleaver name! Also apparently there's this British play write guy and some novelists? I can't remember their names off the top of my head...(must not be that relevant to English Literature...ha ha! Kidding!)

I have to admit I was floored that what I want to be?? A writer?? Maybe someday...when I grow up...I'll figure it out. Until then...I guess I'll keep writing!

One Last Glimpse,


Monday, 12 September 2011

The werewolf moon

"The most wonderful werewolf moon following me home..Life is so good. Thank you" ~ John Taylor - Twitter feed 10/09/2011

Saturday; truthfully; was a great day. Personally I was full of energy, and felt as though I had accomplished a lot. I blogged, played, chatted with friends. Online on Twitter there were laughs had which were so much fun. On a few occasions I couldn't see my monitor I was laughing so hard; tears were streaming down my face. I love to laugh like that. To the point where you can't stop, it was fantastic. 

There was also a lot of anticipation and excitement about the 4th and final "rehearsal gig". Would Simon's voice make it through 3 nights of back to back gigs? The answer by all accounts was a resounding and wholehearted "yes". John tweeted on his way home grateful, thankful, emotionally honest tweets. John tends to wear his heart on his sleeve, but it was blatantly obvious he was so full of pride, and happiness it was great. He thanked the fans...and seemingly the universe for putting them back where they belonged. On stage, performing for us, their fans...and for themselves. It truthfully brought a lump to my throat and a tear to my eye.

Simon was quoted in an article I read this past week, saying while on the hiatus he realized that he didn't know how to do anything else, and how he wasn't good at anything else. Truthfully I felt for the guy. Here you are at 50+ years old, having only known and done music since you were a young man...and now the terrifying reality sets in that you don't know and can't do anything other than that which you've been doing, and been extraordinarily successful at all of your adulthood. Now you are standing on the precipice with the real and distinct possibility that you can't return to the life you knew, and moreover you weren't anywhere near ready to giving it up when you (temporarily) had it all ripped from you. But not just you, others that depend on you. Talk about a reality check, and putting things into perspective, not to even mention the fact the sudden and mass appreciation of all the gifts you've been given. That is not to say that the guys don't appreciate what they have because I'm pretty sure that is not the case whatsoever. 

I believe they've come to a point with themselves and with the fans that they are very much WYSIWYG (what you see is what you get). I think that they so much in the 80's just slapped the smile on and did whatever was expected of them if they wanted to or not. But now, being older and dare I say wiser (?!) I think they're comfortable in their own skin, and with their fans that they can truly show and expose themselves (Simmer down ladies!!) to let everyone know them...for them. That they're people. People with feelings, short comings, foibles. People who have and do make mistakes. People who have good days and bad ones. People who sometimes; although they're snazzy dressers are still the "consummate unproffesional, hopless neuro-mantique and invertebrate bad speler" that they've always been. To be honest, I think I respect them more now, than when they were all shiny, glossy and hanging up around my bedroom. Mind you, I am 29 years older than I was when I first started down this path. But More mature?? Maybe not so much.

It was very evident Sunday morning Simon was still riding the high of excitement from the last few days. He tweeted steadily, full of energy, positivity and it was obvious he was still hyped up from the Oxford gig Saturday night. Who could blame him?!

Saturday night for me (post concert) Rachel and I went to our friend Nat's boat. Rachel is not a boat kind of girl. She very much can relate with Nick's theory of "liking women like I like my boats...tied up." minus the women part for Rachel...unless she is the one...well...never mind. I digress. So I was very proud of her that she made the effort to get on the boat even though it was tied up and we weren't going anywhere. She came aboard, chatted had a couple drinks (Rach is in the pic below) and laughed uproariously once again to the point of tears. My friend Nat's husband Shawn (who is not a Duranie in the slightest, nor is Nat -- although she knows some of their stuff) cranked the radio when they came on singing "Hungry like the wolf" (much to our surprise). I had to laugh when Shawn recognized the song and then yelled "HEY KEN!!!" with a huge grin and turned it up a few more notches on the volume. We (Nat, Rach and I) proceeded to karaoke the shit out of it. Oh yea...we rocked that thing. 3 part harmonies and everything. We're thinking about going on the road...maybe open for them next tour. I kid of course...but, we did rock it!

I truly love the days when things such as Saturday...just randomly happen. Those serendipitous moments that just make your day shine a whole lot brighter. 

Sunday morning I awoke to this tweet from Simon on my feed: 
"Well, if I have to say so myself Duran Duran were fucken AWESOME at Oxford's O2 acad. last night." ~ Simon Le Bon - Twitter feed 11/09/2011

Indeed. Now, let's get this show on the road!!! We're ready...are you? 12 days till kick off...

45 days...and counting.

One Last Glimpse,


Saturday, 10 September 2011

The adventures of Kendra and Rio - Volume 1

Back in May (as you may well recall) Alan got me my early 40th birthday gift, my hearts desire...he bought me my sweet, beautiful Peavey Cirrus BXP 4string bass. I love this thing. I love the sound it makes, I love the sounds I can make it make. Truthfully from the moment it came through the door and I strapped it on, plugged it in and turned it up...I felt like I was at home. As odd as a statement as that is to is the truth. Her name is Rio. Yes, I named my bass - after a Duran song...further more I'm musing between two names for my NEXT bass that I don't even have yet! (China or Chauffeur for those wondering...POSSIBLY Blue Silver but then it would have to have a blue silver body -- don't know if that will be doable -- we'll see). People name their cars...why not my bass? I mean after all  BB King  named his guitar, I figure I'm in damn fine company!

The very first song I learned how to play from start to finish was a Duran Duran song. Of course you're probably musing to yourself  "Of course it was...what else would it possibly be? You are a tad obsessed after all Kendra". And yes...I'll admit it; it's true; but I'm not a stalker so it's okay. The song is called "Serious" from their album "Liberty". It's fairly simple (by comparison to some of the other stuff John as come up with on the bass in other songs) and was a great jumping off point for me to learn. I guess I learned it start to finish in probably 2 days (in total hours probably 3?) and learned to play it full speed from the get go. It's something that works for me, and while I don't anticipate it would work for EVERYONE learning an's what works for me.

I've always been adept at learning music by ear. My sister who was a music major in university (first for piano and later for vocal) has always maintained that the one thing I far exceed her at is playing music by ear. It's just something I can do and do well. Something I've always been able to do, I'd rather sweat and struggle trying to figure something out by ear and get it down and running full tilt than sit...learn to read the music...figure out what's what and go measure by measure, and going through the frustrating process of reading music. Now...I CAN read music; in fact, I can read it quite well; however for whatever reason I find sitting and reading the music boring and tedious. I guess it's because I want to be able to just pick up the instrument and play. I don't have the patience for going through that whole process of reading the music. What's funny about playing the bass is...I feel like I've come home. Almost like I'm not learning to play these songs...more like I've already learned them but forgotten how to play them.

I'm now up to playing 4 songs (3 by Duran - Serious, Safe and All you Need is now, the other is Love Removal Machine by The Cult which truthfully was SO easy (TOO EASY) that I started throwing variations into it on the first time through today just so I didn't get bored before the end of the song - now mind you their music was FAR more guitar based than Duran - however the song...was dirt simple). The first was via video lesson and the other 3 were just by ear alone. I'm not saying I'm ready to get up on stage with John Taylor and play...but I'm not completely repulsed by my playing either, in fact the opposite. Is that arrogance? The fact that I find real potential in my own bass playing? I'm not sure. I don't get to play as often as I'd like, I really need to learn to set a specific amount of time aside per day (even if it's just a half hour) - plug in, turn up and tune out.

In the immortal (and paraphrased) words of Simon John Charles Le Bon....

Play the Fuckin' bass K

One Last Glimpse,


Friday, 9 September 2011

Adam Robert Bartlettt Campbell

I got pregnant when I was almost 18. I got married to Alan, he joined the military, and our first born child was born on February 16th, 1990. His name is Adam Robert Bartlett Campbell. The name Robert was taken from Alan's brother Rob as well as his maternal Grandfather. Bartlett was my maternal Grandfather's middle name as well as his mother's maiden name.

When Adam was very young (1 or 2) his behavior and vocabulary was lacking by comparison to the "average" children his age. Honestly, I blamed myself. I thought at the time it was something I wasn't doing as a parent. A failing on my own teachings of my child.

When Adam was about 18 months old we had Jessy, and by the time she turned a year, her speech far exceeded Adam's. So much so, she would speak for them both "Adam wants a drink", "Adam doesn't want 'that' he wants 'that'", etc.

Alan's mother Pat had a friend who was a special education teacher, her name was Judy and to be truthful I didn't like Judy at the time. I found her to be intrusive and could be very overbearing. She sat Alan and I down one day and told us she felt that Adam was autistic. I remember feeling outraged with her "diagnosis". I felt she didn't like me and this was just her way of "sticking it to me". Of course I was completely wrong, but I was young and didn't even think about this at the time. I'm not sure truthfully, why...I guess probably because every parent wants to think of their child as "perfect". And if he were to be diagnosed as autistic...that "perfect" child image and dream would be shattered. Right? How naive I was back then.

Just before Adam began school, our family doctor thought perhaps he was hard of hearing. His speech was still lacking, and the doctor had concerns about his behavior. So we had his hearing tested which had complications all of it's own. The doctor assured us Adam was not hard of hearing or deaf however during the testing the doctor had other concerns and gave us a referral to yet another doctor.

The new doctor did; over several appointments; behavioral, IQ and other tests with Adam. When she came to her diagnosis she asked me to come to her office. I didn't care for her from the get go, and to be honest, I don't think she liked me much either. I sat in her office and she informed me that in her "professional opinion" Adam was "a retard". I remember I blinked a couple of times, digesting the words she had just used to describe my son and to relay her "diagnosis". I honestly wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly at first, and then when I realized that I had indeed heard her, I told her I thought it best that she leave before I did or said something I'd regret later and that I was sorry for her wasting my time. Her lack of professionalism had hit my maximum limit and I had had enough.

Adam began school, the school gave him an educational assistant and once again we set out on the path of finding someone who could help our son.

That help came in the form of two doctors. Dr. Diane Arthur and Dr. Arthur Fraise. They were a clinical psychologist team that specialized in working with children at Queen's University in Kingston. At first they thought perhaps Adam had something called "Fragile X Syndrome" but upon further testing they came to the conclusion that in fact Adam had Asperger's Syndrome.

Asperger's Syndrome is within the autism spectrum. Adam is considered "high functioning". In fact, even though his classes were marginally altered, he graduated from high school with honours.

Adam will be 22 in February, he has his quirks. He talks to himself pretty much constantly, his 'maturity' (what interests him) level is about that of a 14 - 16 year old. He has times where he becomes hyper focused on things. Some are fine, other things he can become obsessed with. There have been more than a few occasions where he will be literally up for days because he has become obsessed with something that has him truly terrified that most of us wouldn't even give a second thought to (2012 end of the world, Large Hydron Collider creating a black hole and imploding the world - stuff like that) but then the cycle spins around and everything is fine again for another 8 months or so.

It's funny when Adam was so young, I remember being so angry that Judy would "dare" tell me that my son wasn't "perfect". I've come to learn him being an "Aspie" isn't all of what he is. It's just a small part of who he is, there's far more to Adam than that. He is smart, incredibly intelligent, very funny, caring, well behaved, loving and sweet. Sounds pretty perfect to me...

One Last Glimpse,


Thursday, 8 September 2011

Memories and the Mind's Eye

If I close my eyes and think I can see my first bedroom. I only lived there until I was about 4 but I can see it in my mind’s eye.

Our house was a ranch style (all one level, no basement). Almost an identical lay out to my Grandparents home – except our house had 4 bedrooms (theirs had 3) and ours had a family room built on at the end where theirs had a carport. I loved that house, I still do. I’d love to see the inside now to see what has changed by comparison as to how it was when I lived there.

I remember my bedroom seemed (to me) to be the largest bedroom. I’m sure it wasn’t but I remember it being bigger than my parent’s room and about three times the size of my sister’s room. I always remember thinking her room was so tiny by comparison. Her wallpaper had this green tinge to it with little girls all over it that she picked out herself.

My parent’s room was painted a baby blue colour and they had this abstract flowered satin comforter that I loved. I think my Dad may still have it somewhere. I remember it being cool to the touch, and very soft. There was something about it that always made me feel very safe.

My room was purple. It had huge purple flowers on the wallpaper. A deep, dark, violet coloured flowers on a white background. My furniture was painted white with a little flowered appliqué on the headboard. I loved my room.

Maybe it’s because it was the only bedroom that I had that was when my family was still together. Or maybe it’s because it was my first bedroom. Whatever the case, I don’t think that I’ve ever had an affinity with another bedroom (growing up) as I did with that one. None of them have I loved quite the same. Sounds odd dun’nit?

I know so many people speak that either they remember nothing of their young (pre-school) lives or they have crystal clear memories. My maternal Grandfather used to insist he had memories of being pushed around in the pram; however he was always told how ‘ridiculous’ that was; but he always maintained that it was the truth.

My memories don’t quite go back that far, although I do remember back to when I was about, perhaps a little younger. One of my first memories is of a Christmas party for my Dad’s extended family. I remember my Great Grandmother (my Dad’s Gram) was playing the piano; I wanted to play with her. I remember touching the keys, and my Dad chastising me at first because my Grandma Minnie was playing.  Then she turned and chastised my Dad for stopping me. Did I mention I loved my Great Gram?

My Grandma Minnie (pronounced My’knee) was one of the most amazing people I have ever known. Her spirit was brilliant, she was feisty and someone that everyone loved. She was Scottish from Kerrimuir (Kirrimuir) Scotland (North of Edinburgh).

I remember when she was 90 (yes I said 90) my Grandmother (her daughter, or one of…my Great Grandparents had 10 children), my sister and I went to her house for the weekend. My sister and I wanted to learn The Highland Fling (Scottish Sword Dance). At 90 years old, she got up, told my sister to play something on the piano and showed us how to do the sword dance…at 90. I honestly hope I am lucky enough to be like her at 90.

I remember when my son Adam was a baby. We (My Gram, my Dad, my sister and I) went to see my Great Gram in the nursing home where she now lived (she was 99 at this point and had only moved out of her own home; where she had lived on her own for 25+ years; about 6 months prior).  She was down having lunch when we arrived; they wheeled her back to her room in her wheelchair where we were socializing. She said she needed to go to the washroom, she got up and walked there of her own accord. I remember my Dad was gobsmacked she could do that. Somehow I wasn’t surprised, the woman had spunk!

We went down into a private sun-room where we formally introduced her to my son, her Great-Great Grandson. In history the Campbell’s (my married name) had many issues with other Clans, my Father told her my son’s name was “Adam Robert Bartlett Campbell”, she looked at me when he said “Campbell” and kind of smiled her soft gentle smile and looked back to my son. My Dad asked her if “the Campbell’s were an okay Clan” her in eyes. She looked at him, looked at me, looked back at him and said, “They are now…”

We had a generations picture taken that day. In the picture were my Great Gram Minnie, Gram Marge, Dad, Adam and myself. A picture I never saw until my Grandma Marge’s funeral. It just…vanished. I was heart broken. How many people could boast about having a five-generation picture taken? And it just vanished.

At my Grandma Marge’s funeral there was a table with various photos laid out on it from over the years. Pictures of her as a young teen with her siblings, pictures of her with my Grandpa, and then my eyes fixed on that picture…and I full on lost it.  I felt my knees go weak, saw the table blur as tears filled my eyes. My hand shook madly as I picked up the picture. Keep in mind my son at the time of the funeral was now 18; however in the picture was only a mere 4 months old and I had never seen the photo, just the memory of it being taken.

My Dad saw me struggling and having a slight nervous break down and even though he was speaking to someone he excused himself and came to me. “Where did you find this??” I managed to ask. “Gram’s house…have you not seen it before?” he asked “Never…” I replied. He embraced me as I cried. It was one of those moments that is filled with sorrow, happiness and relief all at the same time.

I still don’t have a copy of the photo, however I know where it is. I just need to get a copy made before it vanishes again!

I have some great memories of growing up, and some not so great ones. I can remember well back into my youth and for that I’m thankful. Even though many of the people in those memories (good and bad) are gone, I’ve still got the memories and nothing can ever take that from me.

One Last Glimpse,


Womb to tomb, Birth to earth

 Ever since I was about 11 or so, my favorite movie has been "West Side Story". My Dad had the album on vinyl that we would listen to from the time I was about 8 or so growing up and I fell in love with the emotion, anguish and passion on the record. It wasn't until I was about 11 or 12 that I actually saw the movie.

 We were going to be going out to my Dad's for the weekend, I think actually it was Thanksgiving if memory serves. I informed him when he came to pick us up that the movie was going to be on television the same day as our family dinner. He knew of my passion for my music from the film and wanted to share and extend  that into the film just as he had loved it.

 He instructed everyone I was watching the movie and therefore exempt (this one time) from helping set up for dinner. My cousins (who do NOT enjoy musicals...although they like music) were none too pleased that they got stuck setting up while I sat watching tv.

If you've never seen "West Side Story" its essentially Romeo and Juliet set in 1960(something) New York City. It is a turf war between the Sharks (Recently immigrated people from Puerto Rico - and not looked kindly on) and the Jets (born and raised American's). One of the Jets (or former Jet) Tony becomes re-immersed into the gang due to issues between the two cultures. Tony wants to settle things peacefully insisting the two can work things out by compromise and by being adults. at a dance Tony sees and falls in love with Maria (and she him). She is young, naive and innocent. She doesn't see Tony as anyone but someone she shares an instant connection with. Her brother informs her that Tony is an American and not a Puerto Rican - therefore he is forbidden. But it's too late, she's already in love with Tony and he is with her.

  The story is brilliantly acted and the music is truly a moving experience to me. I can watch the movie from start to finish or just 5 minutes from the end and always...always am distraught and in tears by the end. And yet...I love it.

  West Side Story is about truth, faith, devotion and love can conquer People are their own worst enemy in this world. Some people hate, fight, and cause war for reasons I don't even know if they know WHY they're fighting because the fighting and hatred has been going on for so many generations that people don't even remember why any more. It's truly preposterous or maybe it's the romantic in me hoping love can conquer all.

 Of course I'm not saying that there aren't people in this world who are just bad to the core and even deserve their fate or sticky end. However, I think there or there would be a lot more people getting along if some people weren't as subservient as they are. But, money can buy power in some places...

"Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men." - John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton

 It's funny how this started out being a piece about my favorite movie and yet I've ended up here. Although truthfully if we analyze it, sadly they're not too far gone from each other in the reality of the situation. With the exception of course West Side Story was brilliantly scored by Sondheim and Bernstein and the other...not so much.

One Last Glimpse,


Wednesday, 7 September 2011

8 tracks, Shag carpet and Leisure suits

 Even in my darkest hour, music still warms my heart. There are very few things that can reach me - music is one of them. Through most of my life, as far aback as I can remember - there has always been music.

 I think one of the first songs I learned was "Sing" by the Carpenters. I remember (before my parents split, so I could be no older than 2 or 3, maybe at most 4) driving in the car listening to their 8-track player. Yes, my parents were that hip. We had an 8-track player in our car!! O-la-la! Cutting edge of technology that was!

Somehow that boggles my mind. We could put men on the moon, 8-track players in cars, shag carpets in every home with a deeper pile than the average corn field, and yet no one warned us of the pitfalls of leisure suits and polyester pants with the line perma-seamed into them down the front. What kind of communist regime and dictatorship did we live in???? I kid of course.

  If there's one area where my Father in particular has always spared no expense, it has been in the audio/visual department. Yes, true, there was the slight misstep with the television he had for the longest time that turned on and off via a screw where the on/off button had fallen off. But aside from that, it was a perfectly serviceable television. He was the first in the neighborhood to have a VCR or a DVD player AND our stereo could be heard from one end of the subdivision to the other (still can be).

  I love music. Right up until I moved in with Alan, I listened to music every night to fall asleep to. I still will (on occasion) when Alan is working nights, listen to my MP3 player. Music is one of the first things I do in the morning, and one of the last things at night. It is probably one of the only things I need to have every day or I don't feel complete. (There are other things I NEED to have daily - and no's not sex, just sayin! - that don't involve music). Even just one song has worked. It's just one of those things, ya know? I don't need coffee, or tea, or a smoke...I just need music.

 I was lucky then in retrospect my Mom put me into piano. Even though at the time I wanted to take dance lessons (ballet). I'm thankful to her... and to my Dad for their persistence. I honestly believe it has helped shape me into the person I am today.

Sing, sing a song
Sing out loud
Sing out strong
Sing of good things not bad
Sing of happy not sad.

Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not
Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song.

Sing, sing a song
Let the world sing along
Sing of love there could be
Sing for you and for me.

Sing, sing a song
Make it simple to last
Your whole life long
Don't worry that it's not

Good enough for anyone
Else to hear
Just sing, sing a song.

One Last Glimpse,


Monday, 5 September 2011

If I could meet myself as a 13 year old...

Sometimes I think about if I could go back and meet myself as a 13 year old. What would I tell myself? This is the following list I've come up with:

1) You're going to get pregnant at 17, and married at 18. This is absolutely the right thing to do. Don't even give it a second thought. You'll be scared, but don't. Everything will be okay. Promise.

2) Don't give up...don't leave...don't walk away, things will get better. Don't be ashamed to ask for help.

3) On the night when Mom calls you to tell you she's going in for that "routine mammogram" - TELL HER WHAT YOU KNOW!  She'll believe you.

4) Ugh - DON'T date him. He's not worth your time down the line, there's more drama there than you can possibly imagine. And don't date or let yourself become attracted to either of them...they're gay. But they're AMAZING friends who you will love dearly.

5) Don't listen to the haters. In 25 years time Duran will STILL be around. You'll be going with Rach 2nd row centre in Toronto - it will be worth the wait.

6) Forgive her - your friendship is worth more than you can imagine.

7) Don't toss out the pussy sweater. It will STILL be the topic of conversation in 25 years time.

8) You WILL learn to play the bass.

9) Don't do it...Just. Don't.

10) You're not going to marry John Taylor. I know, it was a shock to me too. But the man you DO amazing.

11) Trust your instincts - you're more switched on than you think.

12) Don't forget to believe in yourself.

13) You're your own worst enemy sometimes.

14) The grass is NOT greener on the other side of that fence so stop thinking that it is. IT. IS. NOT.

15) Be more supportive and understanding of the three of them. You're all going through the same things.

16) Stop being so damn angry. What are you so mad at anyway?

17) Not having Treetorns, a Beneton shirt, or a pair of Kettle Creek pants is NOT the end of the world. Get over it.

18) Don't EVER wear that again.

19) Not even worth your time.

20) She will end up being one of the most pivotal, important people in your life later on. And SHE will end up being a backstabbing bitch. Run while you still can.

OH! And perhaps the most IMPORTANT one of ALL!!!


One Last Glimpse,


Sunday, 4 September 2011

Bournemouth and beyond

It was a funny day on Thursday, Duran was playing a "rehearsal" gig in Bournemouth. Twitter was a buzz with anticipation (once again). Even the guys were tweeting! John was tweeting countdowns of the amount of time remaining before they took to the stage. It was obvious he was a ball of nerves and energy, and even stated flat out at one point that he was eager but nervous about getting back on the stage.

By all accounts the concert was amazing from what I understand and they were in top notch form. Truth be told I'm dying to watch the little video clips that are out there but I'm resisting temptation. It's not easy...but somehow I'm finding the strength and willpower not to watch. It's a personal choice of my own and of course I have nothing but excitement for those who see these "rehearsal" gigs and get to tweet about it.

I was intrigued by the set list the other night truthfully it's not what I expected to see at all: The Man Who Stole a Leopard, All You Need Is Now, Blame the Machines, Networker Nation, Too Bad You’re So Beautiful, A View to a Kill, Safe, Before the Rain, Tiger Tiger, Secret Oktober, Shadows On Your Side, Mediterranea, Other People’s Lives, Notorious, Girl Panic, Hold Back the Rain and Sunrise. No Rio, Save, Chauffeur or GoF. There's a couple songs (IMO) that could go and be replaced by those 4 "must plays" (IMO). But; having said that; I don't think that this is the final set list. I think that they are still trying to figure out from the new songs what works and what doesn't. I think there are some that are missing, after all these ARE just rehearsals and there has to be some surprises right? Maybe I'm wrong - who knows. I mean it's a good set list as is, and as I've said before I think they could sing the freaking phone book and I'd be okay with that. I just want to finally go.

I still as I sit here and write about this cannot believe it's a mere 52 days for me. I know it's going to come up on us so fast. Before we know it, it will be here and then gone. But the agony and the exquisite anguish of the anticipation is awesome. As these "rehearsals" progress I know I'm going to release that pressure valve a little more each time. As it draws closer to that kick off date...our date...

The fact that we can now follow the guys and communicate with them on their thoughts on the performances and ask for our input is still mind blowing to me. Who does that? More over, who goes to the lengths they have gone to? Who does that? It's few and far between - if ever. Leave it to Duran.And yet how completely typical of Duran by the same token. They've always put themselves out there in various ways for the fans. This is just an extension of that. The question is which one of us is having the better time? They seem to be having just as much fun as we are so I think it would be hard to answer that question. After all, if you're not having fun doing something that you love, what the fuck is the point in doing it in the first place?

In talking to various friends the energy, anticipation and excitement is palpable at this point. We're all so excited for each other, it's a great feeling. I'm loving it. It's hard to not be in a constant state of excitement as we move towards the kick off date. I think though that this energy runs clear through the Duran family. From us, to them and back again. I think they're just as happy and excited as we are. Not only that the tour is getting underway but that Simon's voice has come out the other side of this whole ordeal okay. I'm proud of Simon and the guys to know when to say "right. Y'all are going to have to wait and so are we". And now we're out the other side of this together, and things are going to be okay.

I did happen to see a picture of Simon from the Bournemouth concert the other night that I'm going to share. I'm not sure who took it, or where it came from so I cannot give credit where credit is due. I have procured it however, and would like to share it. Maybe you've seen it already, maybe you haven't. However if a picture is worth a thousand words...then this one speaks an infinite amount more.

One Last Glimpse,


Open Letter #1 - August 29th, 2011

To Whom it May Concern and Mom:

  I was terrified today. For a brief moment, I was petrified. I went back for my follow up mammogram (2nd in about 3 months) because they found a "density" in my last one, in my right breast that they wanted a better look at. I wasn't overly concerned about it - I have large breasts so IMO better to be safe, than dead.

 My Mom (and know I love(d) you dearly) died from cancer 15 years ago and I don't want to go out like that. I just...don't. I mean really though...who does? I don't know anyone that would volunteer to die of cancer. That would be insanity.

 In any event, I went back this morning after a long eventful weekend (the last thing I wanted to do was get my tit squished!). I went in a little early and they took me straight away. The woman who did my mammo this time was not the same woman as last time, which was fine. She took the images and then asked me to wait as she was going to have the doctor look at them right then (which kind of panicked me a little) so she had me wait in the waiting area.

 A couple minutes later she returned and told me that the doc wanted me to have an ultra sound on my right breast. ARE YOU KIDDING ME?? More than a little panicked now people!!!!!

  I (somehow) calmly informed the woman when she tole me "it might be a while" that I had to work at 3 (it was 10:40am). She assured me it wouldn't be that long. And left. Inwardly I panicked. "What the fuck had they found that they weren't saying???!!!"

I sat there with another woman who (also dressed in a matching hospital gown to my own) made a joke of some sort, that I've forgotten now while we waited. I bit my nails - something I've not done for a while and tried (in vain) to concentrated on the fashion magazine in my lap.

Please Mom....don't let them find anything....please I remember I mentally pleaded.

They called my name again and I followed another woman back to a different room this time where I had my ultrasound. She apologized at one point if she was hurting me, to which I replied "Pain is fleeting and I can deal with the pain, you just get the clear shots".

When she finished she told me to stay laid back and she'd be back. Again she left to go look at the shots with (I assume) the doctor. She returned a few minutes later to inform me that they "didn't find anything" and they'd see me in a year.

 Truthfully, I wanted to cry and hug the woman. I wanted to sob to her and tell her all about you Mom and the anxieties I had had and how relieved I was to find out that this "density" was nothing.

  I'm thankful. I'm thankful that everything is okay. I'm thankful that I went and had it done despite my fears. I'm thankful for those who love me, and those who watch over me and inspire me daily.

  I walked out to my car afterward, started it and sat for a moment. I smiled to myself and silently thanked those, whom I've just thanked. And if you're reading were also on that list. You are special to me. For reasons all your are special. And I love you. Thank you for your love, laughter, support, affection and affinity.

 One Last Glimpse.