It’s funny… today I realized that I was just born in the wrong place…. Probably at the wrong time, too.  My mother took a bus to Texas when she was very pregnant with me to join my father.  She rode a bus with four kids and a hamster in her bra for three days.  Now that’s tenacious.  Heaven only knows what took him to Texas…. That man was born with a gypsy soul.  I am too old to be angry anymore, so now I thank him for the gypsy in me, just like I thank my mother for that thrice cursed tenacity.  Both have often served me well.

gypsy wagon

I wasn’t kidding when I said I was born in the wagon  of a traveling show.  Anyway, I’ve been at this crossroads for a hot minute.  What I really  want to do is throw caution to the winds and seek out some wide open spaces.  It’s not as if I don’t have a decent life… I totally do.  I have meaningful work I enjoy, fantabulous kids, a nice home, my boyfriend is great when he isn’t telling me I’m crazy.  Why do people persist in that line of thought, hmm?  Undoubtedly, that’s a continuing theme in my world.  If it walks like a duck, and it quacks like a duck, hell,  maybe it’s a duck.


I got my preacher brother’s panties all in a bunch yesterday because we were talking politics and I referenced the Madonna-Whore dichotomy.  Freud first discussed it and it exists today.  Often referred to as slut shaming and double standards.  It’s the difference between the women men respect and women they desire.  They are almost never one and the same.  I got a lot of my early dating advice from my brother, which explains so many things….  He taught me basic self-defense (grab, twist pull and I don’t care how big they are, if you break his knee, he’ll go down crying like a baby.)  One of the things he used to tell me is that you must wait thirty days before letting a guy get to home base in order to have a chance at a relationship.  There’s that dichotomy, rearing its ugly head.  If he’d had a little brother, do you suppose the advice would have been the same?


My refrigerator sounds like it’s peeing, which can’t be good.  Meanwhile, I’ve realized that I don’t mind my blurred lines.  What I have been minding is the feeling that I’m stuck.  There are really only so many pallet projects I can engage in before it stops distracting me.  I do have a spool to play with.  It occurs to me that I’m not crazy at all.  My world just doesn’t look like your world.  I’ve seen things and done things and even been things that don’t look like the average bear’s life.  There is magic all around us, if I do say so myself.  I have known this much longer than I’ve known you.


OK… for your entertainment… Good Time Charlie likes to call me a wolverine.  He isn’t wrong.  Since your image of wolverines probably comes from the X-Men, I’m going to edgamakate you about the cute little fellows.  They look like a miniature brown bear, but they are actually members of the weasel family.  So are minks, people.  They are tenacious, ferocious little buggers who exhibit strength far exceeding their size.  In a fight, you will see a bear run from a wolverine.  Sounds about right.  They are damned near extinct, because their fur is beautiful, much like Miss Shannon’s hair, thanks to Kerri at the Village Edge salon.


Here’s what I know… I’m crazy like a fox.


Esoteric Eggs


Let me tell you, sports fans, if you wanna bake a cake, you gotta break some eggs.  But Miss Shannon has grave difficulties with breaking an egg yolk on an over easy egg.  We’re talking flashback city.  It’s been damn near twenty years since I watched food fly at a wall because it wasn’t prepared perfectly.  If you want an over easy egg flipped correctly, you need cooking spray.  Being the laid back guy he is, Good Time Charlie does not possess this.  So, there I was attempting to fry an egg in olive oil… and the fucker broke.  Then Miss Shannon just about lost her shit.  I pick better these days and this particular man just ate the imperfect eggs and said, thanks for breakfast, babe.  That’s my little shout out to PTSD and domestic violence this week.



Now I’ve come a long way, baby.  Nothing else really matters, including my occasional lapses into a pathetic puddle because an egg yolk refuses to cooperate.  If you aren’t entirely clear, there are things that I have experienced that I will never fully disclose to another human being.  For a hot minute in my twenties, I blamed myself.  I’m nearly forty years old and here’s what I have learned:  Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes you’re the bug.  I would take every single misstep again for two reasons…. First, I really like me.  I have strength and endurance that is beyond measure.  I survived.  Hell, I’ve even thrived.  I’ve helped one or two people along the way.  You really can’t ask for more.  Second, my kids are the most amazing little critters I have ever encountered.  I wouldn’t have missed them for the world.

bug on windsheild

What I want to leave you with is the idea that we are all a little bit broken.  Sometimes the shards that surround our souls create the very best sparkles… and Miss Shannon is all about the sparkle.    Some of it comes from the pieces of my soul that have fractured… like any prism, the angles catch the light.  In a perfect world, we would all be whole.  This is not a perfect world, so enjoy the starbursts and rainbows that come from the shattered.  There is great beauty in chaos.  Open your eyes, loves.  Know that Gaia, personification of Earth and the Great Mother of us all, also bore the Titans.  She certainly endowed you with the strength to prevail over your day to day bull shit. Go forth, boys and girls.  Prevail.  Fight for you… no one else is ever going to.



Women give away pieces of themselves.  I was just discussing this with my girl Stacy, because some random guy wants to flip for her life.  Says she needs a sugar daddy. (Eww.)  Stacy spent a number of years with a fellow whose primary goal was to take away her pieces.  She needs her pieces.  Sugar daddy guy doesn’t understand that when he’s offering to flip the bill, he’s taking away from her integrity and person-hood.  He thinks he’s just easing the way.  Sometimes… the way is hard.  And it needs to be that way.

sugar dady


I told Stacy that she needs her pieces… she said, “Girl, so do you.”  And she’s right.  I lost a lot of my pieces to the men in my life… I was with my ex-husband for fifteen soul destroying years.  (I am not sorry for it.  I got the best end of that deal.  Their names are Brenna, Samantha, Hunter, Luke and Tug) Then I let a guy who shouldn’t have ever even darkened my doorstep matter in my world.  I stopped sparkling, because he didn’t like it.  I gave away pieces of myself because it was easier than having the fight.  Stop that, ladies.

you are not a tree

If Miss Shannon has learned anything in her 39 years on this Earth, it’s this:  You are who you are.  You have to be an I before you can be a We.  I spent a lot of years alone.  I am OK with alone.  Yes, I enjoy having my gentleman caller in my life.  Yes, he matters to me.  This guy enhances my life, no doubt about it.   Now and forever, I can stand on my own two feet.



Currently, I feel I am in possession of most, if not all, of my pieces.  I want all my girls to hold onto their pieces… that is valuable stuff, ladies.  You are valuable.   I cannot ever stress this enough…. If your boy doesn’t think you are the best thing since sliced bread, then he’s not the guy for you.  He doesn’t have to think you’re perfect.  Just that you are fabulous and amazing, which you are, as you currently exist.  Do you, baby.  If you don’t, he doesn’t love you anyway.

be yourself

Me?  I want to sparkle.  I like fast cars and freedom, wind in my face.  I like it a whole lot that Good Time Charlie will take me along for the ride.  I love it that he’s ready, willing and able to teach me to do it myself.  In this instance, I’m talking about a Harley Davidson.  The theory applies to pretty much every area of life.  You’ve got two hands, baby girl.  You can do it yourself.

hello kitty