Springtime Snow

Just so you know-

I love you so,

Precipitationous Romeo!

While others wish for you to go

I’ll hold you close, ever-so

Encircle me softly to and fro

You Springtime bad-boy

Romeo Snow

Guess who is performing in my hometown tonight?


Read the title of my post.

Yep. Those of you old enough know–

It’s The Eagles.

I don’t have tickets because I’ve been feeling so crappy the last bunch of months that I haven’t felt like doing anything. Plus, my husband isn’t such a big fan. I don’t think he cares too much about the fact that this is the last time we’d be able to see them live.

Of course it’s not the original line up, with Glenn being gone and all.

But you know why the Eagles mean something to me?

I LOVE the song Hotel California.

Ever since I was little when it first came out, I’ve loved it.

I like the music, I like the story, I like the idea of pink champagne on ice.

I also like that the song scared the bejesus out of the Christian counselors who used to hang with my crew when I was a teenager at the local pizza shop after Sunday night worship service we attended to see if there were any cute guys there. We were such little shits–playing songs on the jukebox we knew would stir the fear of Satan’s wrath in those people’s pizza-guzzling oh-so-vulnerable souls.

Hotel California was a staple for that kind of fun. Second only to Stairway to Heaven, of course.

But this is my favorite Hotel California memory.

I was 9 when my older sister was a senior in high school. I distinctly remember her taking me with her to Pizza Hut one night when all of her cool high school friends were there in that dark yummy pizza joint.

She and I played songs on the jukebox that night. (I’m just now fully realizing how this song has so many pizza place jukebox memories for me).

I felt so cool being there with the big kids, and getting to choose a tune all on my own.

Pam played “Lido Shuffle” by Boz Skaggs, which to this very day reminds me of her.

I played–you guessed it–“Hotel California”.

Whenever I hear that song I’m transported back in time to that cavernous pizza facility full of long-haired teenagers wearing painters pants and Earth shoes.

God knows what I had on that night. I was just hitting my incredibly unattractive awkward stage. I know I had a shag hairdo and probably wore a gauzy embroidered smocked shirt and jeans.

Anyway. That was a cool time. I appreciated my sister taking me along with her. I can only guess she probably didn’t really want to, but she did anyway.


The Eagles are in town tonight and truth be told, if we could swing it, I’d go.

Tickets are so expensive. Plus our daughter and her girlfriend are supposed to come for dinner and to work on daughter’s tax return tonight.

These are things I would be willing to give up if reasonably-priced tickets somehow made their ways into my hot little hands.

I keep watching the Ticketmaster site. People are trying to “resale” tickets for astronomical amounts there.

I can’t help wondering if the closer we get to showtime, maybe they might lower their sights?

I’ll keep checking.

If by some miracle I get there tonight, I actually have a gauzy white shirt somewhat similar to the one i had when i was 9. Im pretty sure I have a pair of jeans to pair with it.

But there ain’t no way in hell I’d resurrect the shag hairdo. That thing was a hot mess. The Eagles would be looking at me like–look at the chick in the audience whose hair thinks it’s 1976.

To finish, won’t you please take a moment to enjoy my all-time favorite version of what is probably like my #7 or 8th all-time favorite song.

Never make light of someone who is sick

Because it just makes you sound like a dick

And even if you’re doing it to “lighten the mood”

You come off as jackassy, uncaring

and rude

So next time you see someone with something you don’t have

Just shut the fuck up, give thanks and be glad.

When I was a little girl, Easter Sunday was second in my good graces only to the massive juggernaut that was Christmas Day.

We went to church on Easter, dressed in starchy really uncomfortable long dresses but NEVER white patent leather shoes (mom thought white patent leather was cheesy even tho I kinda liked it!)– and I was always completely grossed out by the crucifixion story. I always wondered if my parents were really okay with me seeing the brutality of that story.

I mean, my mom pitched a fit when I wouldn’t go to bed so she could watch the made-for-tv-movie Helter Skelter when it came on my tv in, what–1976?

That was a pretty gross made-for-tv movie, you know?

So why was I able to look at first-born sons getting wooden stakes driven through their hearts and the shit being beat out of Jesus wearing his hideous crown of thorns and being hung in a cross was lost on me.

And honestly–coming back from the dead? Pushing that big ass circular stone out of the way and getting the hell out of dodge? Going to Heaven and whatnot?

I mean, yeh–that’s kind of a cool story. But it’s also kinda hard to believe if you really think about it.

You know, for me personally…even as a small person, I never believed that ever really happened.

I was way more down with the Easter Rabbit bringing me candy and silly toys.

Who cared why an odd and really- unusually smart rabbit would show up in my home to bring me goodies?

I thought a rabbit coming into my home to bring me chocolates was way more likely than a dude dying and actually coming back to life.

For me and apparently my sins.

Yeh. My sins I committed as a small child.

These days, at 50, I know Jesus didn’t die for “my sins” and that the Easter Bunny isn’t real.


I still leave big hunks of banana outside for the rabbit that has been living under my neighbors’ deck for a long, long time.

He’s pretty cute and has been entertaining me for a while now.

I didn’t know rabbits like bananas, did you?

I mean, I didn’t actually see him eating it, but I have seen him hanging out by our old Xmas tree we left out so little animals could take refuge during the cold winter months.

I’m assuming he ate it.

Want to see him?

Here he is–my old buddy the Easter BunBun. Chilling by my hose last week.


I’m rambling.

Today my grown children are with their significant others whose families celebrate Easter, and I am grateful for them showing my little ones (ages 25 and 24) a good time today.

Bill and I?

We’ll enjoy a good dinner together. He is watching some Jason Bourne movie I don’t like and I’m in bed with my cat writing this post.


I feel pretty good physically today.

That’s really nice.

I guess I don’t have much else to say except

Happy Easter.

And isn’t it such a freaking relief the sun and warmth is coming back?

God and Goddess, yes. ❤️

I’m off to switch laundry and throw hash-brown casserole in the oven.

Hash-brown casserole.

Now if that’s not another reason to celebrate, I don’t know what is.


I’m about to go see my chiropractor Dr. Mark. I like this guy. He puts me in weird positions and on tables and snaps me here and there. You should see what he has done for my hips.

When I first walked into his office, my right hip was way lower than my left. I have no idea how long it had been like that. I wasn’t even there for him to treat that.

I was there for the pain in my tailbone that I’ve had for MONTHS that wouldn’t (still won’t) allow me to sit for any length of time without experiencing pain.

If you don’t think not being able to sit for long lengths of time doesn’t suck, you are wrong.

It’s sucks hard.

Anyway, this guy is currently manipulating my coccyx which is hanging off to the damn left.

I’m hoping I go in there today, after my PT session last week, and he goes:

Hey! This tailbone is back where it belongs. Whaddya know.

I actually feel better. Not perfect, mind you. But I can sit easier. And my sitz bone on the right side and the muscle there no longer tingles and feels puffed up.

These are large improvements.

Of course, now that I’m reading all this emotional pain causes physical pain stuff, who knows if I really need the chiro or the PT.

One thing is for damn sure–I’m sticking with all of it til the pain is


Gotta go get ready to split.

In the meantime, here’s a little song about doctors and feeling good.