Life’s journey is not to arrive safely at the grave in a well-preserved body,
But rather to skid in sideways totally worn out shouting - ‘Holy Shit - What a Ride!’” (unknown)

Whoa, boy - this is gonna be tough. I said I’d never do this. But I’ve had a recent change of heart. Hang with me, please -I’m going for the condensed version here.

I’ve been seeing a lot of my fellow bloggers in a state of overwhelm and trying to reclaim control of their personal lives. Herein, I open the locked door to my inner turmoil and how I’ve managed to deal with it.

For those who don’t know, besides Nick, I also have a son who’s in his mid-20s - “JC.” I’ve not had any communication with JC since he was 14 years old. It eats me up every day, but slowly, I’ve come to terms with it. For my sanity, I had to. I hoped for a long time that, as he grew into adulthood, JC’d seek me out. That hasn’t happened. I’ve been assured he’s healthy and happy, which gives me some small comfort. Not much, but some.

When JC was three, his father and I split up. When he was 4, I realized I couldn’t raise him on my own, and gave custody to my ex and his parents, who could provide all of the necessary things - and stability - that I couldn’t. I recognized my shortcomings and made the gutwrenching decision to put JC’s welfare ahead of my own satisfaction. But the day I gave him to my ex is etched into my eternal memory - to see and hear JC crying out “please don’t go mommy.” The cliche “hindsight is 20/20″ never rang so true as when I made that choice. Having had my heart ripped out, my life almost ended.

At first, everything was okay. My ex and I were quite civil towards one another. I had unlimited visitation and got to spend as much time with JC as I wanted. Shortly thereafter, everything began to unravel.

My ex remarried the second time and the happy little family decided JC didn’t need his biological mother. Bitter court battles and broken promises resulted in parental alienation. On top of that, I was having my own set of problems with my family, and had isolated myself from them, turning instead to reckless abandonment - going out drinking and clubbing with friends, partaking in illegal substances, waking up in places that weren’t my home.

[audio:blurry.mp3]

On Memorial Day in 1987, I said f*ck it - I can’t take it anymore. My whole world was crashing down on me. So I downed a bottle of Halcion and a bottle of mepergan with a bottle of Amaretto. Surprisingly, hours later I woke up in the emergency room to find my mother and sister by my side. The fact that I woke up pissed me off; the fact that the first words out of my sister’s mouth pissed me off even more -

When did the Grammys and Oscars become awards doled out for upstanding behavior and political correctness? Egads! Isn’t the entertainment industry supposed to do just that — Entertain!?

I’m going on record to commend an artist whose take on music is both refreshing and unique, especially in the staleness that is the canned and overprocessed music offered up by the industry moguls. Amy Winehouse is that artist. She blends R&B, old soul, and a retro groove into her music that is totally unique. Probably why her music has been embraced to the extent that it has. I expect to see an increase in the number of copycat me-too’s popping up on the charts - trying to capture what Amy’s been able to do.

I don’t think her behavior is what’s attracting the praises and accolades. It’s her music. Granted, Amy’s personal life pits her as England’s answer to BritBrit. And you know what, I don’t give a rat’s ass what she does in her private life. I’m not idolizing her. I’m enjoying her music. Her unique voice and style are what drew me in and hold me there.

There are dozens upon dozens of unmentionable “stars” so f*cked up in their private lives, yet who have successfully hidden their ’secrets’ from the public behind the mask of normalcy. Are celebrities to be held to the level of high regard as the Queen Mother (whose family is just as screwed up)? Puleeeeze! They’re no different than anyone else, and are fallible.

I’m really starting to feel like a minority in my homeland.  Why?

I am proud to be an Irish Dutch German African Nordic Scottish Italian French English Swedish Native American (et al) American. Geez, what a mouthful! And I guess, there’s more, but I haven’t uncovered the other ancestors yet.

I am the epitome of the American Dream. The Melting Pot. My blood bleeds red, just like yours. And hers. And his.

My ancestors missed the Mayflower, but made it over on the next ship and have been firmly entrenched on North American soil ever since. Bottom line - I live and breathe on American soil. I make my home here. Pay taxes to Uncle Sam here. And raise a family here.

I am an AMERICAN. My heritage is American.

If you’re living and breathing on American soil - you, too - are an American. Can’t you be proud of that? If not, then can I please stop supporting you through the taxes I pay?

‘Nough said.

I originally posted this back in February of 2000. A close friend had recently died in a car accident over in Europe. Although I had only known her for a short time, she changed my way of looking at life and the people in it.
Here is that tribute. Reprised.
(This is for you T. Hope you’re still doing it your way - carefree and with a big ol’ smile.)

[audio:clip_firerain.mp3]

I miss my friend, and I’ve been thinking about her a lot lately. I miss her humor. I miss her wisdom. I miss her compassion. I miss her ability to shrug off the cynicisms of life. She was a unique individual unlike any other I’ve ever known - a free spirit - and I feel that spirit lives on in her new journey.

Many lessons and revelations were learned from her…

She taught me to appreciate myself for the person I am, and not for the person somebody else would wish me to be. That the shallowness of one’s self is evidenced by the level of one’s vanity.

She taught me it’s our imperfections that keep us humble, and our spirituality that keeps us optimistic. That, were we all perfect, our friends and family wouldn’t be able to tolerate us - nor would we be able to tolerate ourselves.