God Speed Chris

I can still remember clearly the first time I heard his voice. I would lay around listening to the radio, trying to catch his name or the name of the band he was frontman for. I would always hear parts of the song… but never enough to make a purchase in the 5 music stores I went to. I would try to sing words from the song, always to a very confused music merchant. Finally, a person at Virgin records had heard it too. They placed the elusive CD in my hand and I was off. I popped that thing into my car and turned it up so loud the walls vibrated and shuddered. The voice was haunting, dark, melancholy. It was deep like the vocals that have attracted my attention since I was a small child. I played that CD endlessly until people refused to ride in my car. I can laugh at that now. That day Chris became my favorite singer. He had the voice of a dark angel. The kind of tone that hits you inside the chest and gives you that twitchy pain behind your eyes. The tone you feel into your very soul.

I’m a firm believer that some people are just not meant for this world. They try so hard to conform and live amongst us. But their souls are always restless. No amount of love or money or beauty or fame can tame them and their search for that “something” that will keep them steady and quiet their soul…it just never comes. Some people will say he was selfish. Some people will say he abused drugs or alcohol. Others will discuss what was in his mind; depression, mental illness, bi-polar, whatever… as if they knew him well both inside and out. The simple fact is no one did. We only knew his music.

What I say? I pray that God wraps loving arms around his family and friends. I pray Chris has finally found his inner peace and is free.  God Speed Brother.

Words to Live Audioslave Chris Cornell Show Me How Me

Sea Celebration

It’s been a rough week, but Monday my sisters called to say our Mother’s ashes had finally become available and they were on their way to retrieve them. Apparently, even in death, So Cal keeps people waiting in line.  I thought it would be a bit difficult to explain that I needed to leave work early so that I could join my sisters in a “Dairy Queen Drive Thru” but apparently nothing I say frightens my co-workers any longer.  Mother’s urn was seat belted in the back beside me as we ordered our cones and toasted her in a “High Five Ice Cream salute”. (Our Mother was an avid fan).

Last evening we set sail to scatter her ashes. The location was our Father’s “Halibut Hot Spot” where he won 3 Halibut Derby’s and where we spread his own ashes 4 years back. I did worry about divulging the exact coordinates to the sea captain… but he was a great guy… and I think our secret is safe. Me, being me…I can’t let things just “be”. I have to orchestrate everything into some sort of organized event…and even though my Father’s “service script” was less than perfect (horrendously funny in fact) due to a storm brewing on the Pacific…I did make another effort for my Mother’s sake …and her memory. My Family indulges my need to do this kind of thing. Each of us has “something”. This habit is all mine.

Our boat was a 48 foot Aquila fishing vessel leaving Huntington Harbor Yacht Club. Heck…I’ve lived in Huntington for 20 years and never even knew we had one! We carted our paraphernalia onto the waiting craft and left the dock at precisely 6:30 pm. We had previously sent candles for people to light in a moment of reflection and remembrance. (That’s our kind of service). Leaving the Harbor, I had recorded Scottish Bagpipes such as “Amazing Grace” and “Danny Boy”. I found the recording “allot less drama” than when I hired the actual Bag Piper for my Father’s service. He seemed to have a previously undivulge “problem” with motion sickness…which ultimately became a “problem” for the previous sea captain.

We traveled through the harbor very dignified, pipes blaring, wind whipping through our hair. There was an emotional moment when we noticed 2 birds following us, very determined to keep up. We don’t cry gracefully like in the movies…more of a choked, red-faced, gasping of air…(much like a fish out of water) but we made it through. We are Krishers after all.

When we arrived at the area, the captain turned the boat toward the secret spot and lowered his anchor. My oldest sister (Cindy) gets embarrassed easily… but she was a good sport when I told her she was now “the Matriarch” and, with that title, she was expected to be the first to speak. I had given her some old sea verse previously (reading is easier) and when she spoke, I felt her power and was enormously proud. My middle sister (Julie) was next (I had previously mentioned to go in ceremonial birth order) (again, can’t help this habit) and she spoke from the heart through tears that made her children cry…which in turn made her Sisters cry. The captain stayed composed thank God. I went next with a prayer and then 3 of my sisters’ children spoke about their Grandmother.

What came next needs a little explanation. My dear Mother (born Protestant Christian) was fascinated by the Catholic religion. She made me watch “all things Fatima” while growing up. I’ve probably seen “The Song of Bernadette” 400 times which makes me want to shout  “I can’t make you happy in this world…only in the next“. She collected those sealed rose petal things that they send out to people on mailing lists. She must have had 40 lying here and there. Years ago when I visited Notre Dame, I even brought back a blessed Rosary for her to hold on to. So naturally, when the time came for Julie to spread the ashes, I tuned the iPod to the most wonderful version of Ave Maria I’ve ever heard (by the very talented Josh Groban). If you haven’t heard it…let me just say…it could bring Satan himself down to his knees…something I’d very much like to see.

Upon release, the ashes hit the wind and gently sailed though the air, falling slowly into the waiting ocean . Cindy followed this by dropping a beautiful heart-shaped wreath that my niece Nicole had made from gatherings in my Mother’s garden. I followed that by scattering handfuls of white rose petals. I must silently thank a neighbor (whom had no idea of their contribution and never will)  because I actually stole them in the middle of the previous night, after having forgot to pick some up at the local florist. I was standing in the shower late Monday night, trying to remember all the things that needed to be done, when white petals popped into my head. I jumped out quickly and retrieved my robe. Armed with cutting shears, I marched around the block until I spied some whites roses growing. I am grateful that nothing embarrassing (like a car) happened by while I stealthily hacked away. I did my best not to leave large, noticable bald spots.

Once the 3 sisters had done their best to celebrate their Mother’s life…we stood and watch that beautiful wreath…surrounded by white floating petals…roll wave after wave through an ocean lit by the golden setting sun. I blame the tears on Ave Maria…but it really was a beautiful, peaceful sight…a fitting end to a beautiful woman’s life.

Ceremony completed, big band Benny Goodman brought us back into a lighter mood. During the next hour I witnessed my sister fall on her bum (she was ok), my niece argue with the sea captain about the merits of the Beatles versus any other lesser band and the captain’s shipmate break out his fishing gear. I felt warmed knowing the world was being set right and that life goes on…even after great loss. I felt my Mother and Father’s presence and I know that they were smiling down on us.

Silver City

A recent road trip, originally planned for San Fransisco, made a quick detour east to Silver City, New Mexico. Rain was in the forecast…and rain…well… my camera (and my hair) have issues with it. Once you enter the California dessert and go on into Arizona, the music changes along with the food and the people. Lucerno is on the radio, sleeping hound dogs are found in convenience stores and snake-skin boots make their entrance. At one stop, a Motel 8, Mike inquired if there were flat screen TV’s in the rooms. The gentleman, not in on the joke, stared first…then got it with a guffaw. He and his bride were recent transplants from Minnesota and, not missing the snow, were settling into the heat nicely. The next morning, we realized we were staying at “truck stop heaven” and I found the most amazing flag-draped truck in the back lot. I wasn’t alone.

We set out again, going through old towns, in search of places of interest.  We turned off at Bowie to see the old mining fort. The town itself was desolate, except on the outskirts, where it seems pecans and pistachios are grown in abundance. I saw horses walking freely between farms without fences…although they took one look at my ready camera and turned their big arses towards me. I didn’t take it personal… I don’t like having my own photo taken.

Once we stopped at the end of a long and winding dirt road, we encountered the sign that said “a gentle 1-1/2 mile walked with good trail”... People, if you EVER see a sign with those words, get the hell back in your car and drive away…fast. We started down the “gentle” trail, and about a mile into it, I had an asthma attack. I think God (or my Father in his angel form) sent the deer in just to check on me.

We made it as far as the old cemetary where a soldier had received the Medal of Honor and a small child (Geronimo’s son) had been laid to rest. From there, you could see the fort with the flag blowing gently…taunting… straight up the side of a rather large hill. I gave Mike the nod and we went back before I myself was laid to rest. To add insult, while driving out, we noticed a sign previously missed coming in. It was the handicapped entrance and apparently you could drive straight there…

When we reached Silver City, my first impression was “Haight Asbury meets Wyoming”. I had never seen so many old hippies together in one place…except maybe in that old Woodstock movie. Later (inside an antique store) my observation was confirmed on a tee-shirt…“Where all hippies go”. Beyond the hippies, I saw cowboys going about their business, even a few kids standing up on hay and one gentleman having a conversation with a cinder-block fence. In my estimation, he appeared to winning, but that block wall was holding pretty firm.

We stayed at the oldest hotel in the town…a place called The Palace. You had to park wherever you could and the curbs (I swear) were 24 inches high. Once parked, if you were too close to the curb, you couldn’t get your car door open for love or money. I made sure I didn’t need to get back in before I made the big step up. I went inside to inquire about a room and was followed in by an older, sprightly couple from Derbyshire, England. I’d been there in my travels (Pride and Prejudice ya know) and we made an instant connection. We waited, while hearing strange sounds coming from what appeared to be the adjacent bar, trying to keep up a normal conversation. The hotel lady finally came in and gave us several keys to check out the available rooms on our own, explaining she was very busy trying to get a pigeon out of the bar. I wanted to ask her if the bird needed help with his tab, but stopped myself, aware that this might be these folks first visit to the states. At least we now knew what all the yelling was and it seemed a somewhat reasonable explanation.

Her Majesty’s loyal subjects and I mounted the stairs and explored (and of course commented on) each of the room selections. The place was built in the mid 1800’s, all moldings and narrow hallways, and it certainly had its charm. Being the polite American I am, I let them have first pick of the three available and naturally… they picked my only choice. When we went  downstairs, apparently the bird had been liberated and the lady had recruited the balance of her faculties, saying “Oh, there’s another room”! “Thank God” I whispered, not wanting to be next to the breakfast area, I leaped up the stairs with the key. It was perfect with beautiful natural light, a window view up the street and at the very end of the hall and cheap!

Room reserved, camera in hand, we marched out onto the unsuspecting streets. We met up with a hippie Santa trying to give out candy canes but I feel certain his normal day  job is growing medicinal marijuana. There were interesting folks all up and down the streets…even a cowboy selling his prize farm beef from cooler chests…and thankfully none were camera-shy. We passed up a young girl with a sign that said she was giving out “good advise”. She looked about 20 so I was fairly certain about the decision to pass. I have a cat about that age so I thought I’d save money and just have a chat with Avree when I got home. We visited one new gallery that was hard to miss because the sidewalk was painted with colorful big round dots that said “Follow me”. Naturally I wanted to.  After walking a bit more, tummies were growling, so we stopped at a restaurant that said “cafe”on a neon sign. I love Mexican food but I’d had it 4 meals in a row and decided I just wanted an ordinary sandwich. I ordered an egg salad sandwich and that my friends…is exactly what I got…A fried egg on 2 slices of bead with a piece of lettuce on top. Literal took on a whole new meaning. Back outside, we noticed a sign hanging from a bridge. I shot it and it appears in an earlier story. I put it here again for those who missed it. I had to read it a few times before I understood it, but if you take the town tour, it all starts making sense.

Back at The Palace, I took my book down to the cozy lobby to read. Our room was a bit small…and what with the flat screen blaring…

Down in the lobby, I found a nice big burgundy velveteen chair with a matching footstool, and made myself at home with my book and a box of good n’ plenty. Just as things were getting good, some lady opened the door and went outside, leaving the door cracked open and all the freaking cold air coming in on me. I got up, shut it and resettled. She then came back in, placed a phone on a lamp table, put the door kickstand down and went back out. This went on a few times for the sake of her nicotine habit. Just before I strangled her to death (I’m pretty sure they still hang people there for crimes) I went back upstairs. I grabbed my coat and went to the coffee-house owned by the Palace… but not before giving her the stink eye.

I got settled in with a nice hot chai latte and big chocolate chip cookie. I had to tell the guy behind the counter what I would pay because there were no prices and he was new. Then the Harley guys started filing in. I wrote about them  previously and it’s somewhere below here. I found them entertaining and friendly with their contagious holiday cheer as they dressed for the local childrens Christmas party. It was fun to watch them take off toward the school complete with a police escort.

After coffee, another trip down the streets, and some interesting window shopping. I’m not sure the connection between Elvis and Christmas, but he’d be proud to know he’s remembered in Silver City.

When one door closes…

My Dear Friends,

It is with great sadness that I tell you, I will be closing the Gallery at the end of April. My Husband Micheal, was laid off from his job of 17 years, making it impossible for me to keep it open. To all those who have been an important part of Anuvue Studio, I wanted to thank you for your friendship and utter kindness. It is very rare to be able to have a dream become a reality. For a short sweet time, with the help and inspiration of all of you, I was able to have mine. A very wise woman told me “Heather, when one door closes, another one opens”… and I will always believe in that wisdom. I want to thank each and every Artist and valued friend for all your very kind thoughts in email, by phone and in person. I share what I can with you here.

I am most proud to announce that the last 2 Artist’s in line to show are Yumiko Yanone and Kweli Walker. Anuvue will fulfill their dreams on April 18th, in a duo show, with a party full of love and celebration.
I do so hope that all of you will join us one last time and make it a great memory.

God Bless all of you and your Families
Love Heather

Hi Heather .
You all have been in my thoughts lately. I’m sorry to hear your lovely Gallery will be closing . It has been a pleasure to be included in your gallery with so many lovely artists.
If you need me to clear out before the 18th so you have more room to showcase other artist please let me know .Otherwise I will shoot for the 25th but still do my best to stop by and say hello before then .
I’m so glad to have met you and hope we have the pleasure of working together again in the future .

See you soon.
Best ,
Gina

Heather,
Sad news indeed. Give your husband my best.
Thanks you for a great place.

Best,
Darcy

Oh sweetie….. I am so sorry. I will be in CA April 5-10 and will try to get up to see you and the gallery. Or at least the gallery as you will probably be working your real job. Krap. And it is such a beautiful gallery. I HATE this economy stuff. We love ya- Vicki

Oh Heather… I am so sad and very sorry to hear of this news. I am certain it was hard to write. What I will always know is how inspired you were by your father to open the gallery. You did him AND you very proud. Let me know how I can help in this final showing….I will contribute some foodie stuff. Xoxo jenny

Oh Heather, I’m so saddened to hear this and so very sorry.
I know that you’re grateful for the time you had running this wonderful space, but it still sucks!
I am so very grateful to you for all you’ve done and want you to know what a difference you’ve made in many people’s lives- including mine, and I will always be grateful for this time.
I will absolutely be there on the 18th– (the day before my birthday actually!)
You did a great thing for a lot of people Heather, remember that always. I wish this weren’t the way it is, but this damn recession.

Love you lots Heather,
MaryBeth

Oh, Heather. I am so sorry for both of you. I sat and cried after I read your email. It breaks my heart to hear that you have to close the doors on your dream.
Also, the uncertainty of your future now that Mike has lost his job. Those feelings came back to me in a flash. Not knowing what doors will open. I remember Patrick trying to remain upbeat while I am sure the turmoil inside was brewing as he thought of how he was going to provide for his family. It is a scary world not knowing what the next day will bring. I cringe every time Patrick comes home and tells me they lost a bid on another contract. Kawasaki is desperately trolling to bring something into the plant. I pray that through his connections, that Micheal will find something soon. We will keep you both in our thoughts every night as we say our prayers with Joseph. You will be added to his prayer list. Godspeed, My Dear, Godspeed. -K

I’m so sorry to hear that, Heather. It’s such a rough time for everyone. I wish you much love and support for the future. I’ll be by with new things for your last month. We’ll go out with a bang! 🙂 Cynthia

Hello!

Most of you have no idea who I am, and you’re probably going to think I’m nuts, but I really feel a need to do this. My name is Dee Muzic, and my husband Tim did most of the carpentry for Heather and Mike. I watched the cabinets, desks, display cabinets, and walls, come to life in my own backyard. I know this sounds crazy, but I feel a real connection to Anuvue Studio and when I read the email Heather sent I cried. I felt a sense of shock as well as an overwhelming sadness for her and Mike. I, as well as the rest of you, know what time, effort, frustration, and love went into making this dream come true for Heather. She made many people’s dreams a reality, along with hers. She is a very unselfish person, and deserves to have her dream fulfilled for as long as possible. I am willing to do whatever I can to keep the studio alive. If ANYONE can think of ANYTHING that we can do to keep the studio and dream alive, please let me know. I know that just one person can’t do much, but with a bunch of people who really care, miracles can happen.

Dear Heather,

I’m so sorry to hear this has happened. That is such a shock and challenge for you both. Your gallery was one of the best things that ever happened to me and the other artists who’ve shown there. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you and Mike. We (the artists and neighbors) must have a big moving party to ease the challenge of getting your things moved, etc. Please let us know how and when we can assist. When one door closes, another one opens! I hope and pray Mike finds a better job right away.

Love Always,
kweli

Hi Heather,

I got your message.
I am so sorry about Mike. I just couldn’t believe it…I’m sure he worked so hard for 17 years for the company and this happens…

And I am so sorry about your gallery, too.
The gallery is your child and the place was my dream place, too.

Thank you for still giving me a chance to have my art show.
Yes I am willing to share my space with Kweli.

If there is anything I can do, please let me know.

Sincerely,

Yumiko

I’m not much with written words but things have been difficult for many of us recently but faith with the help of time heals as well as making us stronger.

Leo

Heather, I am so sorry to hear this painful news. You are the warmest, sweetest spirit that I know. I pray it’s just a short time before something great comes Mike’s way, and you can both hold onto your dreams. Please, please call if there is anything we can do. All our love to you both, Shiela and family

To my dearest beloved Aunt,

I just heard the news from mom and read your blog… unbelievable… it’s the only thing that comes to mind. I can’t imagine how Uncle Mike feels about leaving a place he has been for so very long. Please send him my thoughts. As for you… my heart aches at the thought of you having to depart from something you have given so much devotion and love to achieve. I assure you I wouldn’t miss that show for the world!! You know, I have done much reflection on our times of late, trying to determine it’s purpose. I heard something simple yet profound today… be grateful for what you HAVE, not what you HAD. In the midst of all that we endure, you are a rare soul who shines so bright, you have given others a chance to live out thier dreams, as you live yours. I cannot begin to say I understand, or know what lies in your head or heart. My prayers will be for you and Uncle Mike. Yet rest assured, that you have left your mark on many with your gifts and you will have the opportunity to give and receive again.

I love you so very much!
Forever your niece
Corina

Too Much Color

Gallery unrelated consumer report 😉

Ok people…is it me? Or is it that we Americans are given too many choices? For instance…You go into a store to buy tea. I happen to drink green tea. In the good old days, I used to go to the store, find my tea, then get the heck out. Well now there’s about 35 different brands of green tea to search through. They really push the stuff now so everyone can be “healthy”. They put allot of “healthy additives” in it to make it taste yummy, screwing it all up until it’s no longer healthy. But…people pretend it still is and drink it with a good conscience. I ask you. Do we really need 35 choices of green tea? Wouldn’t you rather just see the nice pretty box, with Japanese information that you can’t understand, verifying it as the really good stuff. That’s the kind you can feel confident that you have the very tip of the tipsiest part of that dang green tea leaf…you know…just the point! NO. They got to offer bottles and bags and boxes and powders and stuff that looks like grass clippings that have dried up in a lawn mower bag. And don’t get me started on the “flavors”.

Forget tea for the moment and let me really throw you a curve. Jamie and I were wandering through Target on Saturday night trying to find some soap. Apparently I am now allergic to natural soap. I’m not exactly sure what’s left after that. Maybe I should just rub wet sand all over me. Didn’t some tribe do that to keep clean? Anyway, on one of the aisles we went down, I was suddenly rendered speechless. Now maybe some of you already know about this but I guarantee I didn’t. You know the good old product Listerine? I used to sit and watch my Dad swishing that stuff in his mouth until he couldn’t take the taste another second. Well, by God, he would be thrilled to know that stuff comes in every color of the rainbow now. I saw 3 different blues, 2 greens, a purple, a yellow, an orange and I think even pink! They were all lined up at attention, proud as fruit punch, all in the same bottle shape and size. I implore someone to tell me what the heck we need rainbow Listerine for? Are people now trying to match their hygienic products with their bathroom decor? Or is it better to offer more colors for the health of the psyche? Because if so, I’m still waiting for the 3 ply, unscented, peacock blue toilet paper 🙂

The Doctor Visit

Ok, I haven’t told a story for a while…and well, today, I’ve got one. First, let me begin to tell you folks out there that still think it’s cool to have a tan, forget it. I spent my entire teen years burning…and peeling, burning and peeling, “repeat at will”… and now I’m paying for it. I now walk around with a giant black Joan Crawford hat and Chinese paper umbrellas; with SP…I don’t know…what are they up to…90? ya know…kind of vampirish.. (Not that I have any problems with vampires) Ok… that said. Preaching over.

Today was my “see the Dermatologist because you’ve had this thing on your cheek forever” visit. I actual refer to it as “My little friend” in a Scarface kind of accent. After securing a parking spot…that isn’t all that easy here in So Cal…I finally made it to room 204. When I opened the door to the office, I was greeted by a “spaciously challenged” room…maybe 9 feet wide by 10 feet long. It held a couch, a table and 4 chairs…2 facing 2 others…all shoved in with a shoehorn. There were no windows unless you call the slider door where the receptionist sits hidden with her own air… a window.

I crammed my way inside and saw a disgruntled looking 20 something guy with his equally disgruntled 20 something girlfriend sitting on the narrow couch. They were probably just mad because they now were forced to share their already limited air supply. Well, I did what any normal person would…I signed in for my 10:30 appointment, glared back and took a seat. The receptionist called me and gave me the ever-popular clipboard. It had more papers to sign than the mortgage I currently have and asked me more personal questions that my own husband has ever dared to ask.

While filling papers out, the narrow entrance door opened and in huddled an elderly lady with a large carved cane. She managed her way to the receptionist sign-in sheet and then took the second of the 4 chairs, opposite me…cane extending far into the room. Still filling out my paperwork, the door opened yet again. In came a long, lanky woman in maybe her late 50’s. She apparently was a repeat customer and had the routine down. She promptly signed and sat in the 3rd of 4 chairs, next to me. I had finished the first draft on my future life story and walked back up. It was at this time I noticed two things. One was that everyone signing in had an appointment at 10:30 and that thankfully there was a candy dish…with tootsie rolls. Well, all things considered, figuring trouble brewing, I naturally dug in, took enough to kill the pain and re-took my seat just in time to see the door open again.

In walked a very round, very tall man…with a rather large, round, pink woman behind him…and just as I thought the room couldn’t get any smaller…in came their daughter with the largest Afro I have ever seen in my life! It was at this very moment I started searching this tiny room for the hidden camera. Each person shuffled around, trying to get comfortable in a room where a family of Hobbits couldn’t get comfortable. I noticed the disgruntled guy get up and hi-tail it out into the hallway as quick as he could. He apparently thought it was “him”…or “her”…and he’d chose to save himself.. We all sat, trying not to stare at each other because there wasn’t anywhere to look…and just when I thought it couldn’t get worse…in walked a woman with a rather large incision at her throat with some very nasty looking sutures. I could feel my head spinning.

She signed, sat and stared with the rest. It was about this time my phone began to ring. It’s rather loud and I tried hard to get to it in time to turn it off. That’s when the elderly lady said “that’s a pretty song’…”who is it?”…all eyes on me. I swallowed and mumbled “Staind”. The late fiftyish woman yelled “Sting?”…. to which I had to reply “No, S-T-A-I-N-D”. “Well it’s very pretty…what’s the title?” she asked. I had to tell her “It’s been a while”…, to which I will not repeat the conversations of confusion that title lead to about my “remembering” but will tell you that Afro kid had a big smirk on her face, waiting to see how I’d get out of it. She and I were the only ones to know that the “Pretty song” was written by a recovered heroine addict confessing his life’s low moments…complete with profanity.

In my silence, the rather large, pink, round woman decided to ask each person his or her reason for being there at this momentous moment in time. I was treated to horrific scars, office treatments, surgery stories, chemo advise and just…just as they got to me…an angel with bright blue eyes and a pixie grin opened the second door and yelled “Heather”. I have never in my life catapulted across a room as if shot from a cannon…but I did then. I kissed her hand and said “THANK GOD YOU CAME FOR ME…!” I think she might have even understood.

I was then settled into a room of quite lovely, Zen like, decor. The designer, no doubt, had at one time been left in the waiting room and felt some form of moral responsibility to those who “made it through” boot camp lobby. I found it interesting that a dermatologist has the same type of bed thing you’re supposed to hop up on. The angel asked me the routine questions, “What are you allergic to”…oh so innocently. My smile confirmed she had hit the jackpot. Upon completion I sat there re-living, in my mind, the stories I had just heard in the Hobbit cave until the Doctor walked in and looked at me over her glasses. She questioned me rather bluntly about “my little friend”…”How long?”….“Um, well, a while”…quite a while”… No eye contact. To which she said “Are we talking years?… Hummmmmm…

She put her rather large glass over me with its rather bright light and pulled and prodded my cheek. She pulled her glasses upright and said “We can go about this one of 2 ways”…”I can give you a topical cream and we can try it for 3 weeks…or we can biopsy now…. which could leave a scar”. Now I knew damn well she thought I’d pick the cream being a woman. I replied, “Well, you know… I’ve always looked kinda innocent…let’s chance the scar!”… And finally, a smile. She then did her thing, finally presenting my cheek with a very un-fashionable band aid that could not be more noticeable if it were hot pink and I left with a “thank you very much” getting the hell out. I actually ran the 3 steps I needed to pass the waiting room.

I returned to work and promptly told the boys I was happy to have “Shaved off” a little weight and that I had now provided them with a target for all those rubber bands. My first comment, from a friend was…”Oh, Nice look”… I expected no less…

When I got home I promptly went to the store in search of the “cool band aids”. I had a choice of “Nascar” or “Hello Kitttie”…neither of which suits me. I was looking for a scull with crossbones but selected “Hello Kittie” because I figure I can draw fangs on her…

And, when I return to the Doc’s office, I think I’ll get some use out of my old lawn chair and sit in the hallway until they call… 😉

Party Time

I took a few shots early on as people started arriving for our opening…and then had to put my camera down to eliminate bodily harm in the mayhem. A few people picked it up towards the end and took some of me and my fat cheeks. I wish I had more to show you just how many beautiful people came to see and enjoy the Studio. We had such a great time. Everyone…

Anuvue Reception

Anuvue signage