My great grandparents house had this little room off of the living room where they stored albums and photo albums and things like that. It was a small little alcove type room that was big enough for the kids to pile in when we were toddlers. We would hide in that room and I don’t know what we did in there…but it smelled a bit like - old books and my grandfather’s vicks vapor rub stuff that he’d put under his nose to clear his sinus’. I remember the old songs they would use to play and my Grandfather would make a game of singing the lyrics to us - then stopping sort of like a salt and pepper caucasian version of Wayne Brady - I guess - and ask us to complete the song. I was the best - and at age 10 I won many a icecream trophy which I consumed with heavy amounts of caramel sauce on my grandfather’s knee.

Do you know the way to San Jose, I never promised you a rose garden, Bicycle Built for two, How much is that puppy in the window, Sweet Caroline, Country Roads, Sounds of Silence, If I had a Hammer - all were in my library I kept locked up tight in my brain. I couldn’t tell you today what the hell a square root is - but I can sing for you (in a lovely soprano/alto voice, mind you) the entire lyrics to Sounds of Silence. I have always loved a good melody.

Ever since I was little itty bitty little - I have been sung to sleep by my parents with the same song - and woke up with the same song. When we went to sleep it was:

Good night, sleep tight and pleasant dreams to you
Here’s a wish and prayer that every dream comes true
And though it’s always sweet sorrow to part
I know you’ll always remain in my heart

Adios, au revior, auf weidersehen…..Good Night!

When we woke up?

Good mornin’, good mornin’!
We’ve danced the whole night through,
good mornin’, good mornin’ to you.

So, good mornin’, good mornin’!
Sunbeams will soon smile through,
good mornin’, my darlin’, to you.

I don’t know why I wanted to share that little bit of information… it just seemed like a good idea at the time (lol). Rolf will explain that hearing me sing really doesn’t have it’s advantages - but I’m a sucker for a good singing voice - and some walks down memory lane with some well rehearsed lyrics.

It is rather late, though. I stayed up a bit later this evening because I took a nap earlier on. It was busy right before church (again!) and then I logged off and did some math homework - took a nap - and came back (off and on tonight - sorry the Emmy’s were on!!) to do a few calls with some great new callers and some sweet dear old friends (not that they were OLD - just that I’ve been friends with them for awhile old.) It was a great weekend - but tomorrow school starts again. After my nap in the afternoon I’ll log on. May be a bit earlier - may be late - can’t really tell until I log on, you know? But hopefully I’ll get the chance to speak with whoever I didn’t get a chance to speak with earlier.

Goodnight. Sleep tight. Pleasant dreams. **blowing bubbles**

the party’s over. Were some of you wondering what happened to me last night. Well - not actually “last” night - but Thursday night? Apparently they were working on some electrical/power thingee down the street that happened to affect about 4 blocks in my neighborhood. The same thing happened last year, too. They put a notice in the town paper and well, I don’t read the paper. Town or otherwise. I keep telling myself I should …
Anyway, about 9:30PM PST all the power just evaporated into thin air. I could almost hear it when it was shut off. It sounded like the air in a balloon leaving via a small pin size hole. sssssssssssss - silence. Like that. Pitch black. I had gone on alerts to pay attention to Jackson who has taken to tearing up his pee pads in his “cell” when Momma leaves him alone too long. We were playing a friendly game of tug and war (I was letting him win) and then we were suddenly enveloped in this dark eery creepy silence. I thought - OH SHIT. My family wanted to know why I was pacing back and forth trying to figure out what to do. Remember - they have no idea what I do in my little guest home in the middle of the evenings. I made up some story about being on call for a big web project - and then ran to Walmart to get a phone. Yes - I have a phone but the problem is: My phone is a cordless. It runs via electricity - like everything in my home, really. The television. The radio. My clock. My computer!!!. My very life.

So, I ran to Walmart - calling up everyone I could think of to log into my account and turn my alerts on to ARRANGE CALLS. I thought in the event I couldn’t find anyone to change my status that I could at least get an old fashioned plug into a cord phone and take calls on that until the morning when power (and sanity) would be restored once more. I was freaking out. And I was having a really great nite, too. I was horny - I was creative and I was having a great time until the world went black. So I’m in Walmart - in a part of town where there WAS power. I kept looking at people with jealousy leaking out of my eyeballs, sure that they lived in the part of town where they could watch a movie once they got down shopping. I’m sure they could go into their fridge and cook something in their microwave, not that I wanted to eat necessarily - but there’s something about not being able to do something that makes you crave doing it, you know? (Several sexual acts just popped into my mind to give as examples…I’ll save them for my calls… *wink*) So while I was hating everyone I came in contact with at Walmart - I found myself in the pet section. Please…don’t give me any grief. I had no power in my home and was losing customers at every minute. I had to shop for the dog - there’s just something therapeutic about it and I needed the joy and rush from the shopping experience. (I don’t really have a problem, by the way. I could stop buying shit for the dog any time I wanted to. I just don’t really wanna stop right now. But I can stop instantly if I felt like it.) I bought a few toys because the 100 toys I have at home is not enough for Jack. Then I bought some mechanical pencils for Algebra because regular pencils just drive me batty and the 10 other mechanical pencils I had weren’t enough. By the time I made it to the Walmart I had 15 items in my hands. I had walked right by the cart because all I went into Walmart for was a damn phone, remember? 45 dollars later I made my way to my house which was still dark. My family called up to me and told me they were reading The Secret Garden (not the Secret Garden by Nancy Friday - but the Secret Garden children’s book) and I was welcome to join. I declined the offer (and would have if the other Secret Garden was the book that was being read, too - for slightly different reasons) and made my way to my dark house in the woods. I plugged in my phone (success) and looked at my lap top wishing I had dial up. I then took my tired ass to bed and read my “Puppy School” book. I fell asleep shortly thereafter after hearing from Momma Tee that despite her sure case of food poisioning, she had logged me off of Niteflirt before dragging her body in to worship the porcelain goddess.

So I’m sorry - for anyone who was trying to contact me on Thursday Evening. It was not my intent to log off forever - I was going to come back - but it just wasn’t meant to be.

Tonight I logged in and took a few calls (Joe, Catwoman, Jerod, Math Tutor, etc,) spoke to my Tiffy while my family ignored the phone pressed against my ear and spoke to me about 80’s costumes and other things. Tiffy just sat and giggled as she eavesdropped and I shook my head hoping that they wouldn’t reveal anything too personal. Tiffy always wants to have an inside look into my life - and often gets it. As if my diary wasn’t enough - speaking to me while I’m sitting outside in the lawn chair by the fountain always brings about interesting conversations and encounters, huh, Tiffers? It was a busy evening - and now I’m going to tuck my behind in bed and *gasp* do some Math homework. It’s growing on me. I’m solving equations now with variables in them (the value of the variables are given so it’s almost like solving a puzzle of sorts.) Very cool but don’t tell my Math teacher that - he already is patting himself on the back for successfully getting a B out of me on my first quiz. lol. You know what though? I have a certain amount of respect for math. It’s either right or wrong. No ifs, and or buts about it. It’s one of those subjects that doesn’t rely on a well thought out argument - or some sexual favors from teachers in order to pass a test. (FUCK!) You solve the problem - there is only one right answer. That’s it. And there is something really satisfying about that one right answer. I find myself working the problems now and really wanting to know if I got it right. And when I get something wrong - and pout for a minute and whine to my family about how hard it is - I go back to that problem and work it out until I get the answer I know I’m suppose to have. I study the process - remember the rules - and lo and behold… I get it. It’s not “simple” yet - but there are definitely parts of it that are clearer to me. I can dig it. But let’s just keep that between us for now, okay?

New subject. I’m not sure if I mentioned it or not - but there is a pet store not very far from me where I would go and pick up little treats and toys for Jackson. They have a lot of stuff in there and it’s closer than Petsmart so I thought it was a great find. I noticed that they had a puppy in the window but I didn’t really think too much about it. Until I started reading a bit about back yard breeders and Puppy mills and stuff like that. Everytime after I started to read about that stuff I had this feeling of uneasiness whenever I went into that Pet store - like I was being … what is the word I’m looking for - disrespectful? I dunno - I guess that will work. I was being disrespectful to the puppies by giving my business to part of the problem. If the pet stores refused to sell these puppies then slowly the puppy mills would go out of business. See? So I decided to stop going to the store - and the day I decided I would never put a foot inside of that store again I saw in the window a little Maltese - about the same age as Jack - with some of the worst tear staining around his little eyes that I have ever seen. He looked alone - sad - not played with and hot in the little plexiglass cell in front of the window. 1600.00 they wanted for him. If I had the money I would have been tempted - but again - I would have been contributing to the puppy mill problem since the puppy would just be replaced by another born out of the same extreme conditions. It broke my heart seeing a little maltese in the window though. There was also a Shitzu and a Boston Terrior. The Boston Terrior was already showing signs of distress by eating his own poop and the Shitzu just paced back and forth or whined pathetically at the passerbys.

A friend of a friend bought the Maltese I just found out today… (that was the news, Tiffy.) Ugh. I wonder how he is doing. I’ll have to keep you up to date on his progress. I really want to do my part to not support these puppy making machines. I just think there is something wrong when profit comes before the well being of a puppy. And it makes me feel just a tad bit guilty that I bought a doggy that would have very little chances of NOT being adopted/bought instead of going to the pound like several people told me to do to get a puppy with fewer chances of finding a home and a family that loved him. I know for my situation I couldn’t have a puppy that was too big - it just wouldn’t work in our home - but I could have held out for a rescue, I’m sure. Or maybe I could have waited and found a smaller puppy even if it wasn’t a “pure bred”. At least my puppy isn’t some result of some puppy mill. At least my puppy wasn’t bred in some back yard of someone who knows nothing about genetic testing to make sure the puppies are given every chance of developing with out the problems that run amuck with toy breeds. At least Jackson’s parents were part of a family that cared about them - and not stuck in some shed with piss poor conditions and … you know what? I’m going to stop now. I’m sure I’ve made my point. Probably about 50 sentences ago, huh?

I’ll be back on tomorrow evening some time. I have absolutely nothing on my agenda tomorrow except to play with the kid Jack, fold my laundry, and finish cleaning my room and complete some math homework. I have a few little errands to run - but nothing that won’t be done before logging in tomorrow evening.

Thanks for keeping me busy tonight, men. It was indeed my pleasure. I’m pretty sure the power thingee is taken care of and won’t return this weekend - but in the event that we are speaking and the line completely goes dead - I have another phone and a flash light.
The party will not be interupted. I’ll make sure my vibrator is close by though just in case the batteries go dead. Maybe I should get some batteries tomorrow while I’m out and about. I won’t be caught (unprepared) in the dark again.

Maybe I’m doing a bit of intellectual make up by posting 3 (count them 3) posts in the past 3 days. Maybe I just got tons of stuff to say and time enough to write it all down. I did have the insight today while speaking to Tiffers and telling her my story that I did have a post inside of me that was just begging to be told. Thank her for the post happy mood I’m in currently.

So anyways - today was the BIG day. Today was the day that I met with my screen writing class and pitched 3 great ideas (or what I hoped were 3 great ideas) and prepared myself to choose one story to tell with the help of about 20 people I know nothing about. It was very scary - but I went 2nd. I knew it had to be done - as quickly as possible. I read my ideas and I waited for … I don’t know what. I’ve spoke to Rolf about this before - but being that I’m pretty determined that this last “I know what I want to be when I grow up” decision is the last one, I’m really scared about putting myself out there with my good ideas. I’m not totally insecure - but I have to admit that I still get a little thrill when someone tells me that I’m on the right path. I know I have the passion to do almost anything I put my mind to - if I have the passion, that is - lol - but still sometimes I doubt myself. My ideas were received really well, however. Actually all of my ideas were GREATLY recieved - and being that my peers were judging me that made me feel somewhat better, I guess. The proof is in the pudding, however - so so what, really, if I have great ideas if I can not execute them well. For the next few months I will be cramming my little brain full of techniques and the right way in which to write this screenplay - and the rest of the time I’ll be attempting to put the story in a somewhat formatted form to be recieved (hopefully) by the only audience that really matters: The Industry. The truth is - this city in which I live is packed full of people wanting to be either the next big producer, the next big movie star, the next big director, the next big photographer, singer, writer, drummer, phone sex operator, porn star, activist, playboy bunny, sitcom star, designer, Chef, personality, or roommate of any of the afore mentioned. To quote some singer who wrote some song I can’t quite remember, “Everyone wants to be a star.” Everyone. At least in the town I live in. And even I know (rose colored glasses and all) that not everyone is meant to be one. I’ve realized that there are two things that are desperately needed in this town: perseverance and luck. One I can’t do a thing about - and the other I need to work extremely hard to have. Every book I’ve read so far tells me that I have to look at writing as a job. I collect journals but have yet to fill one - isn’t that kinda sad? So I have to practice my craft. I have to take classes (check) and I need to read about people who are successful in my field (check) and I need to do what they do. So I’m going to blog. And I’m going to journal off of here, too (of course) - and I’m going to become one of those people who is afraid of forgetting the little details so commits everything to memory. Yup. Just thought I’d share that little stream of .. .whatever it was.

This weekend my cousin came to visit. I wish that statement could just stand alone. I wish that was all there was to it - just another event that happened this weekend that I felt I should throw in. Alas - that is not the case with my cousin coming to visit. What happens when my cousin comes to visit is a series of … how can I say it? Adjustments. We kinda know that we’re not going to operate the same when he is around. Things seem to move in slow motion mostly so that he can keep up. My cousin from the time he comes to visit till the time he gets in his little car to leave - is high. High like a kite high. High like nobody’s business high. From sun up to sun down the scent of his “cigarettes” fill the air high. At first he would light up in the house - but then my family suggested he may want to do that outside. Now he stands by the fence that separates the neighbors from us and smokes. He stumbles around making off color jokes and innuendos and then slowly makes his way to the dinner table where he piles food on his plate and eats about a 3rd of it. We watch a lot of movies when he’s around - mostly cuz when we have taken him out with us it’s embarrassing. But he is an orphan - has no family of his own - and I’m sure he doesn’t really have that many friends - and if he does they probably are just as high as he is and don’t really remember him, I’m guessing. And before I get grief for this post - I’m really not anti-drug or Nancy Reagan-isk. Hey - if you wanna do whatever do whatever. I’m cool with it. As long as you’re not asking me if I wanna join in - or driving in a car on the same freeway I travel while under the influence - and um - taking care of your responsibilities. I don’t mind what whoever else does - I just mind when it drips on over to my “yard” - or in this case - my doggies little pen. Yeah. You heard right.

So after school I come on home and he’s still here. I slowly make my way to my room - and I take a little nap. I needed it. I REALLY needed it. I wake up - and he’s gone. I go look in on Jackson to make sure he’s doing ok - and thinking I’ll play with him for a bit which in Jackson language means “I get to run around and slide across the wood floors bumping into things as I go along and chase you while showing my razor sharp puppy teeth and successfully biting your toes and causing you to scream in delight”. I lean down to pick up his poop and there is this little canister laying next to him - like a canister that film is kept in. You know the kind? I’m thinking - what the hell is that? And I pick it up - open up the little lid that has jackson’s teeth marks all over it - and WHEW LAWD JESU’ the smell! Yup. Cousin T. was definitely here. Thankfully Jackson had not been successful with his little biting activity so I almost sighed my relief until I saw a little … leaf/bud something laying next to his food dish. I pick THAT up - smell it - and yup. So now I’m concerned. I pick up Jackson and I look for the signs. Yes - I know the “signs” I’m not completely daft! Finding his eyes clear and no sign of redness (and he wasn’t wearing sunglasses to hide his eyes either - ala Jack Nicholson) I then check his food bowl. I figure if M.J. makes people get the munchies - then maybe Jackson also got the munchies and ate up all his kibble - but it was all there. Thank God. But then I’m looking at him like why didn’t he eat anything. I pick him up and he just lays there in my arms - mellow. Just chill-laxing. I look him in the eye and ask him if he’s high. He doesn’t respond. I place him on the floor and he just looks up at me like, “whoa” - and then looks down at the floor before laying on it. He NEVER does this when he wakes up from a nap. So now I’m convinced. My dog is stoned. And then I start to freak out. How the hell am I going to explain this to the vet. Will he believe me with the ever popular “well - my COUSIN had the stuff - I don’t do it” statement? Will they have to pump Jackson’s little tummy? Can you OD on MJ? Damn my cousin. Shouldn’t he know better - he is like - as old as my parents for crying out loud. How do you drop your stash in a puppy play pen (gated area of the kitchen) and NOT NOTICE? HOW?

Jackson is fine. I don’t think he needs to go to Rehab. The consensus is that he’s actually much better behaved while under the influence, however. My cousin is going to get a talking to in the next few days. I hope they aren’t TOO hard on him - I mean - he does have a prescription for the stuff so apparently he’s not just a hobby flyer. lol. No one was hurt - it’s all okay - and I’ll know to better trust my instincts when he comes around and remove Jack from the grounds. Perhaps I’ll put him in a safe house or something - like a shelter for doggies whose owners are dependent on drugs or something… there has to be a place like that somewhere…especially in the city that I live in.

I’ll check in tomorrow because I need to let everyone know how my math test went. Just to make sure everyone is on the same page as Rolf and Tiffy - I HATE my math teacher. And just to prove to him I belong in the class I HAVE to get an A on my algebra test tomorrow. I’ve been studying all weekend - I’ve completed all my homework - and now it’s the final test tomorrow. Not the FINAL test - just the final test for me for this class. If I don’t do well he’ll suggest I go to another class - a LOWER math class. I’m already on the ground with this Algebra class so I definitely don’t want to go lower. I will if I have to - but I’d rather prove my teacher (but mostly myself) wrong on this one. Pray for me. or pray for the callers I get on Tuesday if I don’t pass. Someone will have to pay… (evil laugh.)

This diary entry is going to be all over the place. For me to place it into some sort of category and stay on topic at this point would take a bit more time…more time than I have to give. Of course, I could always use this need of mine to package my entries in nice pink pretty packages as an excuse to not write an entry for another week - but judging from the emails I’ve received, that option would not be a very kind one for me to take. So, this is what it will be. A grab bag of thoughts, ideas, musings and the likes - hopefully for “your” entertainment. Knowing myself though - I’ll probably be successful in tying it all up at the end. Even my thoughts that seem random tend to follow a distinct pattern.

About a week ago today (give or take a few hours) my kitty died. It actually wasn’t my cat - but after a week of caring for him and trying to decide whether or not I should have him put to sleep (he had kidney failure and was declining faster than I could even keep track of…) I felt as though this cat and I had developed a sort of bond. I purposely had kept myself away from him when he was diagnosed as … well.. .dying. I had noticed his rapid weight loss and watched helplessly while my family disregarded it until there was no denying that he was sick. With my family gone on vacation I found myself alone with my worst nightmare: death. I couldn’t keep my feelings at bay any longer. He would sit and just speak to me - and I would strain to understand what his meows (that were growing weaker by the day) meant.

Last Saturday evening he crawled out from a tight spot behind the entertainment center and would not or could not move. After petting him for awhile and basically freaking out, I realized that he was now paralyzed, and that he would soon die. At the encouragement of my dear Doc (thank you again, sweetheart) I placed his body into a box I had lined with an old blanket. I kept watch over him until my friend 2n’s urged me to go to sleep. I knew that when I woke up Sunday the cat would be dead. And he was. (was it Saturday or Sunday, I’m wondering now…). I somehow sucked it up (although I lost it momentarily at the Vet’s office and needed to call my friend Kylie to calm myself down, but I realized that it was for the best and felt (with the slightest dab of guilt) a bit of relief that it was over.

I did what only CeCe could do under the circumstances. I went to PetSmart - and shopped. There was one remaining kitty at home that needed me - the sister of the deceased, and I intended on making her days a bit brighter by quickly adopting her and raising her; basically taking over her care. (cleaning of the litter box, feeding her, etc.). Maybe in my head (though my heart knew differently) I felt that my family had killed her brother by not picking up on his illness sooner (it wouldn’t have made a bit of difference - Kidney failure is something that can not be cured). Somewhere in my head I felt that I needed to save the last kitty standing so I vowed to be the responsible owner for the rest of her days. I bought a new litterbox, a new bowl for her food - a mat to place in the laundry room so she could wipe her paws after using the new litterbox, and a toy. I cleaned the laundry room from top to bottom and did everything but light a scented candle and scatter rose petals on the floor leading to her new “room”. She wouldn’t budge from her chair in the dining room. I spent what seemed like hours talking to her - explaining what had happened to her brother and reassuring her that he was in a better place and … shesh. I felt like I should have been some funeral director on Six Feet Under or something - so convincing I was of the trite things that were coming out of my mouth. I pet her - and looked into her eyes and bribed her with days away from her dreaded brush (she’s long haired and gets mats) if only she would eat something - or drink a little bit. She would not budge. For 2 days I did not see that cat move from her space - and yeah - I didn’t have my eyes on her for 48 hours - but I could tell she was stuck to that chair like the last life jacket on the Titanic. It was clear to me (duh) that she was indeed mourning and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it but wait it out with her.

Several days later - I noticed her drinking. The other day - she used the literbox and with out getting into too much detail - she must have eaten at least a few bites of something. She seemed to be coming along, although she moved like she was underwater - and had this air about her that screamed, “Why bother?”.

Then a few nites ago we had an earthquake. It wasn’t THAT big - a 4.something - but when I glanced over at the throne that belonged to my little kitty (ok, after I had quit freaking out my damn self - and removed myself from the frame of the doorway and quit saying “OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD”) - it was empty. It took an earthquake to do it - but the queen had been dethroned. She’s somewhere under a bed now and hopefully she’ll reveal her whereabouts when the family returns from their vacation tomorrow.

On top of the pussy drama - I’ve also been facing my family being in Minnesota during the whole bridge collapse thing drama. And if that wasn’t enough to throw me from the train (or at least convince me to throw my own self from it) - there is homework - the final HURRAH! before the finals. One paper to write on a film titled, Almost Famous, and one open note test and I will see some sort of resemblance of freedom. For about 7 days. It has been one heck of a 2 weeks.

I have started to watch the movie, Almost Famous, in order to complete my paper. I have always loved that movie - and yeah - it is written by the one and only brain crush Cameron Crowe. *double sigh hold the whipped cream*.

A funny thing is happening though. Just when I thought that my class on Film was about the stupidest class I ever took in my entire life - it started happening. I started to really dig my class - and I started to really dig my teacher for helping me dig the class. He didn’t really work hard on it - it must have been by accident - but I’m an equal opportunity lovah. Even if you don’t mean to show me something - and even though you may not intend on enriching my life - if something you say sets off some lightbulb above my head - or makes me buy a movie, a soundtrack, a plant, or even some shade of lipgloss I’ve been coveting…I’ll adore you. Well, not really. I’m not all that easy. If you bring something meaningful to me I’ll adore you. If you open my eyes - place something I’ve never tasted before on my tongue and encourage me to…that sounds too sexual! - but if you treat me to something that is new and I change due to the new experience…you will never be forgotten. You’ll place yourself in my heart and I’ll draw on that more times than either one of us could anticipate.

My teacher, who I felt was one of the laziest teachers around, made me look at films in a completely different light. He made me notice things - not just get swept away in the fantasy (which is good, too!) like I usually do. I started to watch Almost Famous tonight - writing down notes on a notepad in front of me so I wouldn’t forget key things and realized this was the first time I ever saw this movie. I mean - REALLY SAW the movie. I started to ask questions. Why is the camera drifting over the items so quickly in the drawer and slowing down on THE PLAZA key? Tickets to specific shows? Backstage passes? A pen? How come I never noticed the “family whistle?” or the way young William punches an imaginary keyboard when he answers his mother’s question what the difference between FECK and FUCK is with, “the letter ‘U’”? How come I never quite understood the whole, “It’s all happening” bandaid chick - and connected that to the beginning of young William’s journey into becoming a journalist - or more specifically - his journey from awkward 15 year old to courageous and sensitive ADULT?

I’m thinking about all of these things because of my teacher - the one I was furious with for having not taught me a single thing all semester. And maybe he didn’t… on purpose, anyways. Whatever the reason … I have changed and I will never forget him for the new “taste” he introduced me to. I have gained from this class what so many adults have been telling me is valuable: another perspective, another way of looking at things, a new vantage point, more “fuel” for the fire that continues burning inside of me. For a bit of time I thought that maybe this class was extinguishing the flame that would be my “education” - my (laughing) thirst for knowledge, as trite and unoriginal as that line may be. What a great feeling this is: excitement at being able to see a film I’ve watched at least 15 times - in a whole new light!

Can you guess the next line? Very good!

It’s all happening!

There are certain sights, sounds, smells - that always lead me home. I’m directionally impaired, however, given enough sensory stimulation I could always find my way back to where I belong; any Lutheran church, the sound of loons or doves, the taste of apples with cinnamon, and the smell of fresh picked strawberries, all of these things remind me of home and in an instant I am happily swatting away mosquitos and wishing summer would never end.

My great aunt had a farm when I was younger, and our family managed to visit it every year around harvest time. With gallon pails packed into the back of our suburban we would travel over 45 miles of gravel roads - disturbing little stones along the way that would ping ping ping their annoyance at being unearthed against the metal of the car. Our windows would be open because my mother insisted that that is what was meant by “air conditioning” and my brothers and I would have settled into our daily game of “don’t look at me”. When our car finally reached its’ destination we would pile out of the car - taking a pail with us and walk to the end of the little green rows. Kneeling down we would start to pick strawberries - competing as usual to see who could fill up the most pails. We knew what to look for and our fingers greedily searched and plucked.

The rows of strawberries seemed to stretch on forever. We hardly noticed. Half way into our race - we would fall prey to the temptation that lay before us. The plops of the berries hitting the pail would stagger…our motions would slow and soft little groans would erupt from the patches of green and red. One berry for the bucket. One berry for us. One berry for the bucket. Two berries for us. Even though we paid by the bucket no one stopped us. The berries would just … melt in our mouths. There was no need for sugar. There was no need for cream or shortbread or even vanilla icecream, even though we knew that the berries we picked would later meet any of those fates. Our fingers would slowly turn red - and the juice from the berries would run down our chins onto our t-shirts - a dead give a way to our theft. My brothers and I would stuff our faces full of berries - and I remember thinking then - even though the mosquitos were biting every inch of our bodies in search for the blood sweetened by those berries, that this was the best place on earth.

I missed the farmer’s market today - but I managed to take a quick drive to the fruit stands near our home in search for berries. It took two stands to find them - but when I did I yelped. Seriously. The strawberries aren’t as sweet as they were in my great aunt’s strawberry farm - but they still hold the same smell - and evoke the same memories. I washed a big bowl full of strawberries - plucking off their little green caps - and cut them in half. I ate until I felt that feeling in my stomach - the same one I felt when I was picking them with my brothers on the farm. I ate them with my fingers, too, because - well - it’s tradition.

And I was home.

I need to go to bed, soon. But a quick thanks for the great weekend. I started a bit late this weekend and I always feel like maybe you’ll forget me or not wait for me… lol. Then I get 4 hour calls that tell me that I haven’t been forgotten at all - so thank you!

I did manage to tell a few people about their surprises - which is something very special just for them - but I wanted to at least put out a little teaser about it and let the rest of you know that it is possible for you to be admitted into this special club, too! Keep an eye on those emails, guys… I still have a few more to send out!

I have so much more to write about … I feel - rejuvenated in a way - stimulated (definitely) and creative… so this week (provided I finish my dreadful outlines) should have some great stories/posts or whatever else I can squeeze out of my head/heart/toes.

I’m on alert for the morning. Give me a call… chances are I’ll answer and tempt you with nice sweet strawberry juice you can lick off my fingers, toes, and other body surfaces… who knows? Maybe the taste, scent, and feel of a sticky CeCe will transport you someplace friendly and familiar, too!