This made me text Zachary, just to tell him the song came on and I was thinking of him. Which led to thinking about spending  time with him, just the two of us hanging out. And then thinking about how busy he is, how he has a separate life now, and how difficult it would be to be able to pin him down to spend a night chilling with just his mom. This made me a little sad as I thought about it, driving and listening to Heart sing about Dreamboat Annie and missing the days when Zachary and Jonah were always there to hang out with

Which then made me think of my mom, and the times she would reach out to me. Just to say “hi” or to tell me she was thinking about me. And to see if we could just hang out some time. As “Dreamboat Annie” ended I was hit by a wave of nostalgia, regret, and shame. Because on most of those occasions, I was the one who was too busy and couldn’t make the time.

She said to me once, “Someday you’ll understand this feeling, knowing your kids don’t have the time for you anymore. I know it won’t be as bad for you, you’re a better mom than I was and your boys will want you around even as they get older.” She wasn’t wrong. While finding time to hang out with Zachary and Jonah is difficult as they continue along their journey of adulthood, our relationships are good and we eventually find the time to connect.

What had me ugly crying the rest of the way home is remembering this conversation with my mom, and at the time rolling my eyes and thinking her melodramatic. But she was right. In that moment, listening to “Dreamboat Annie” and thinking about Zachary, I felt what she felt. And I was ashamed of myself, complicated relationship or not, that I ever made her feel that way.

Someday, you’ll understand.

If mom had a headstone, this is what it would say.

Nothing was really jumping out at me, until we were just getting ready to leave and the sales person moved a black, velvet tray to reveal a large, stunning, sterling silver Buddha ring. I had to try it on. While a little big for the ring or pointer finger on my left had, it seemed made for the middle finger. What it wasn’t made for was my wallet. Being approximately an inch long and solid, this gorgeous, hefty ring came with a heft price tag. Sadly, I gave Buddha back.

Over the next few days, however, I couldn’t stop thinking about the ring. Thoughts of it would pop into my head randomly. After three days of this, I decided to see if they would still honor the discount they had offered me over the weekend. I would then inform my family that they didn’t need to buy my any birthday presents if they just wanted to contribute to the ring, instead.

Armed with my credit card and a plan, I entered Oddemporium on a high note, which was shortly deflated as I was informed that a previous employee had been in, loved the ring, and purchased it for their girlfriend. So I spent 30 minutes looking at consolation rings, then went home empty handed, berating myself for not just purchasing the ring the first time I saw it. My girlfriend wisely stated, “If it was meant to be yours, it would still have been there.” She’s wise like that.

Time went on (ok, actually just a few weeks passed) and it was my birthday dinner. Giving presents over champagne, my brother hands over this small gift bag, mumbling something out it “not being a big deal” (he’s not one for shows of emotion). Excited to see what he got me, I gently opened the bag to discover my gorgeous, hefty Buddha ring. After a few moments of staring at it in disbelief, I burst into tears. It was the most thoughtful gift, and I was moved beyond words.

How did this come to be, you ask? Let’s rewind to the Saturday, a few week previous, when I first became enthralled. That night, my brother, his wife, and I were playing poker with our poker group, and I shared the story of the afternoon and the amazing ring I decided not to purchase. The next day, my brother and his wife went into every antique store along Broadway’s “antique row,” looking for the ring, to no avail. They had one more shop to go before they called it quits—the Oddemporium—where they found my ring, purchased it (I hope at a discount!) and kept it a secret for two weeks at poker!

I guess it was meant to be mine all along.

For anyone who knows the basics of Buddhism, you will see the irony in this story. The Second Noble Truth of Buddhism is that suffering is caused by desire and grasping. Which I was clearly demonstrating in my desire and grasping for, of all things, a Buddha ring. And while I’m fascinated by Buddha and Buddhism, I don’t regret my desire for the ring, nor the fact that it’s sitting on my finger and bringing me a little peace of mind when I reflect on it. Alas, I have a long way to go to be enlightened.

Suffering is caused by desire and grasping.

But I digress. This post is about the immediate aftermath and the need to find a new job. To put it quite simply, job searching sucks. That may seem like an obvious statement, but outside of looking for bar and restaurant jobs in my 20s, I’ve honestly never really had to search for a corporate job that provided benefits and insurance. That’s because about 25 years ago I was fortunate enough to wait on someone who had a connection at a small Denver online education company, and I got the job with a referral and a single interview. From then on (for the most part, but that’s another story) I’ve been essentially employed by the same company for 20 years. I’ve interviewed internally for promotions, but I’ve never really had to submit my resume and hope to get a call back. It’s frustrating, exhausting, disheartening, and just generally sucks. So far I’ve applied for 22 jobs (I seriously thought it was more) which has resulted in 3 phone screens, which netted 1 interview (didn’t get that one), and an upcoming interview on Monday.

In this new world of LinkedIn, Indeed, and customizing your resume to get past the AI bots, it’s a whole new world — at least for me. I’m the first person to embrace the remote workplace — again, I was fortunate to have the opportunity land in my lap 18 years ago — but post-pandemic, it’s made the job market even more competitive. I find it crazy to see every LinkedIn job posting, after 24 hours, state “over 100 applicants.” And that’s not even the most disheartening part. There’s nothing like actually getting through the internet bots and having the HR screening call, only to be ghosted by the recruiter. Seriously! We talked on the phone and had good rapport (I know when it’s going well — I used to be the interviewer) and you can’t send an email? We all know AI is doing the work these days. Even a canned AI email would be better than nothing.

So that’s my rant. I kept it pretty mellow. No sense in burning bridges or going off the deep end. TL;DR — private equity firms suck (Regent, I’m talking about you!); Job searching in the 21st century sucks (LinkedIn I’m talking about you!); I’m looking for a job (people who are hiring, I’m talking to you!). So, if you’re reading this, hire me! I’m pretty kickass at what I do. And I’m fun to hang out with.

Note: This post image was created in Midjourney. My prompt was “a drawing of a 40-year old woman with spiky blonde hair, holding a sign that says ‘hire me'” and I used –stylize 500. I also know how to use modern technology. 😉

Fast forward 30+ years and I still avoid most mysticism, including tarot. But when discussing tattoo ideas to commemorate my mom, for some reason Zachary brought up the idea of tarot cards. And it was the perfect idea — especially considering I had just recently uncovered that Rider-Waite tarot deck, wrapped in a burgundy velvet bag and stuffed inside an old, empty cigar box that was in my mom’s things. As I inspected it, I saw that the deck was printed in 1971 — the year I was born. Cue the mystically eerie music.

If this were the movies, the director would cut to a dramatic but softly filmed scene of the daughter, in a tasteful and eclectic dining room, considering the tarot cards on the table in front of her. On her face is a look of melancholy and skepticism. Lighting a few candles while thoughtfully sipping from a (large) glass of red wine, the woman sits down slowly, never taking her eyes from the deck. A few minutes pass, and the woman’s expression changes from consideration, to interest, to resignation. Setting the glass of wine down, she slowly reaches towards the deck of cards. From memory she starts to turn them over in the classic Celtic Cross. The first card, the “this is you” card, is the Queen of Wands.

Great scene! But this isn’t the movies, and I don’t trust the universe to deliver up the perfect card to have inked into my body until the end of time. So I went through the deck, researched the meaning of all the cards, and found the perfect combination of “forever body art” and mystical meaning: The Queen of Wands.

The image depicted on the Queen of Wands card shows a queen sitting proudly on a throne decorated with lions facing opposing directions, which are symbols of fire and strength. She is holding a sunflower in her left hand, and the image of the sunflowers are also carved on the throne — meaning happiness, satisfaction, and fertility. (Is it coincidence that my favorite flower is, in fact, the sunflower? So much so that I have a sunflower tattoo on my left foot. But I digress…) In the queen’s right hand is her wand, which is starting to blossom and symbolizes life.

In her positive aspects, the Queen of Wands reminds you that you are upbeat, courageous, and determined. You are here to see through your creative visions and life purpose, even in the face of adversity and challenge. Highly self-actualized and self-aware, you know how to best channel your strengths and weaknesses to achieve your goals. She is courageous and individualistic, though at times she may appear self-centered. Her hidden side is hinted at with the placement of the black cat at her feet, a sign that while this Queen is bold and outgoing, she is also in touch with her shadow self — the darker, lesser-known side of her being.

The Queen of Wands asks you to be bold in your undertakings and actions. Don’t be afraid to own your real power and put it out into the world. You have so much to offer — so shine your light bright! Believe in yourself and what you stand for, and don’t be afraid to speak up and be heard. 

Biddy Tarot

The Queen of Wands reversed can suggest a more introverted personality than most expect. Instead of being the social butterfly and center of attention, this card reversed can be an indication of someone who prefers to linger on the sidelines and watch what is going on. It’s also a sign of someone who feels called to spend more time alone so they can recharge and connect with their inner self. (So relatable, and results in all those photowalks!)

I found the perfect blend of tarot meaning and tarot art as I reviewed every card. And so I am the Queen of Wands. The universe didn’t choose this card for me in some mystical way. Or did it…

I fire up the Christmas playlist the day after Thanksgiving and listen to the over 17 hours of Christmas music I love. Which bring me to “Darcy the Dragon,” from Roger Whittaker’s self-titled 1976 Christmas album. I was five when this album came out, and it was a favorite in our house. My mom even had a beloved dragon tchotchke that she named Darcy, which my brother fought me for (and won) when we were going through her things after she passed.

As a kid in the ’70s, the story of Darcy was delightful. It’s about a kind dragon named Darcy who wants to buy presents for his friends. Darcy has a problem, however: whenever he speaks, he breathes fire, which causes trouble in the village (and by trouble, of course I mean fire). After being chased away twice when trying to buy gifts and setting things aflame, Darcy finds himself sadly sitting alone during a winter storm. He was so upset that he “opened his mouth so wide, that the wind and snow went right down his throat, and put out the fire inside.” Once he realizes that the fire inside him is out, he is able to return to the village, is now treated kindly by the villagers, and is able to buy presents for his friends.

Check out Darcy the Dragon’s lyrics for yourself, before reading on.

Or listen (it really is a cute song).

Cute story and happy ending, right? It was a cute story in 1976. As I listened to this song the other day (in 2023) I was struck by two thoughts. How awful it must have been for Darcy to have to change himself to be accepted, and damn it! Another Christmas song I love, ruined. Now when I hear Darcy the Dragon, all I hear is a story of intolerance, acceptance through assimilation, and lack of agency.

Unfortunately, the song implies that the only way for Darcy to be accepted by the villagers is to suppress his true nature and learn to speak without breathing fire. This promotes the idea that assimilation is the only path to acceptance, which ignores the value of celebrating individuality and diversity.

Also problematic is villagers intolerance of Darcy’s differences. Ok, to be fair, he did set shit on fire. But surely there was a better solution than everyone cheering because Darcy is no longer Darcy (is a dragon that can’t breath fire really a dragon any more? ?).

Finally, while the song ultimately ends on a positive note, it does so by focusing on Darcy’s drastic change that lets him fit in. This undermines his agency and reinforces the idea that it is the responsibility of marginalized groups to adapt to the majority rather than the other way around. I say Fuck That.

From shop to shop, he then did go
In each, he made his choice
Darcy was treated so kindly now
No need to fear his voice

Roger Whittaker, from “Darcy the Dragon”

And so here I am. Sad about a favorite Christmas song. I still listen to it and am nostalgic about it, but I recognize the problems it reinforces. To make myself feel better, I think it’s time to cue up “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.”

While his album “Songs You Know By Heart” is the go to for so many people (and why wouldn’t it be!), it was released in 1985 — I was listening to “A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean” in 1973. I was only 2, but my mom was a fan, so I heard that album at least once a week, every week (except for maybe the week of Christmas), for at least a decade. Add into rotation the other seven albums he released from 1973 – 1979, and I was indoctrinated as a full-fledged Parrothead from an early age (even though that phrase wasn’t coined until 1985 by Timothy B. Schmidt, coincidentally the same year “Songs You Know By Heart” was released).

I’m listening to my vinyl version of “A White Sport Coat…” right now as I write this, and I’m taken by surprise, song after song. Each song hits me like a wave of nostalgia and I might have ugly-cried during “He Went to Paris.” It was, after all, one of mom’s favorites.

Through 86 years of perpetual motion
If he likes you he’ll smile then he’ll say
Jimmy, some of it’s magic, some of it’s tragic
But I had a good life all the way

He Went to Paris

As I reflect on Jimmy Buffett and what his music has meant to me, I’m struck by so many memories throughout my life that his music and influence have impacted. As a kid I would go with my mom to visit her favorite local musicians and his songs were staples in their repertoire. Of course are the hits, but these guys were singer-songwriters, so while they would toss in a singalong, they would also play the story songs, which was Jimmy’s Buffett’s gift. Songs like “He Went to Paris,” “The Great Filling Station Holdup,” or “West Nashville Grand Ballroom Gown.” He had a gift for storytelling, and telling stories of everyday, seemingly un-extraordinary people. If I ever wanted someone to write a story about my life, it would have been Jimmy Buffett.

I saw my first Buffett concert in my early 20’s, with a group of Hooters co-workers. We stayed up the night before making about 100 jello shots that we snuck into Fiddler’s Green. I am saddened that this was the only time I ever saw him live, even though there were dozens of opportunities. But I remain thankful that I got to see him live, and it was as awesome as you would imagine a Jimmy Buffett concert would be.

When we moved back from seven years in Florida, I always joked that when we moved there, I was moving to the ocean, spring break, and Margaritaville, but that’s not what I got. Which is why we moved back home. Jimmy Buffett sang about a lifestyle that I yearn for, and while I have never lived less than 45 minutes from the ocean (those 7 years in FL), the ocean life is what calls to me. Sometimes it’s hard for me to listen to his songs, thinking about the ocean life I wanted to live.

And there’s that one particular harbour
Sheltered from the wind
Where the children play on the shore each day
And all are safe within

Most mysterious calling harbour
So far but yet so near
I can see the day when my hair’s full gray
And I finally disappear

One Particular Harbour

Every time I go back to Florida to visit, I make an attempt to visit the the Lone Palm Airport bar at Universal Studios. I sit on a bar stool outside, drink a margarita (or two, or three) and enjoy the sun. I don’t ever go inside the Margaritaville restaurant. While I don’t begrudge him getting his and trading in on the success of Margaritaville, I just can’t with corporate chain restaurants. I get what I need outside, sitting at little thatched roof, open air bar, sitting next to the Hemisphere Dancer. (If you don’t know the story, it’s the plane that the Jamaican authorities shot at in the 90s when Buffett was taking Bono and his family to one of his favorite jerk chicken spots.)

It’s so hard to pick a favorite, but if you put a gun to my head, it might be “Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season.”

Squalls out on the gulf stream
Big storm coming soon
Passed out in my hammock
God, I slept till way past noon
Stood up and tried to focus
I hoped I wouldn’t have to look far
Knew I could use a Bloody Mary
So I stumbled next door to the bar

Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season

But luckily, I don’t have to choose. Here’s my list of favorite Jimmy Buffett stories. They don’t include the everyday greats, like “Margaritaville,” “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” or “Come Monday.” You already know those. These are some deep-cut, hidden gems that showcase the storytelling and dream-spinning that made Jimmy Buffett a popular poet, whose songs you (mostly) know by heart.

• The Coast of Marseilles
• Havana Daydreamin’
• Banana Republics
• They Don’t Dance Like Carmen No More
• Grapefruit—Juicy Fruit
• Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season
• Treat Her Like a Lady
• Survive
• One Particular Harbour
• Who’s the Blonde Stranger?
• My African Friend
• Jamaica Mistaica

Spending this afternoon listening to this storyteller weave tales of water, booze, sun, sand, and pirates has reinvigorated my wanderlust for sea and surf. Luckily we go to Florida in three weeks. That will have to do. For now.

I hope you have found your margarita in the sky. Tell my mom I said hello, and I love her.

I’ve given my life for songs that I sing
As a matter of fact, I’ve given everything
But time has come to not make a sound
Time has come to lay my burden down
Ohhh wo, ohhh wo
It’s come from behind,
Now is the time for the last line.

The Last Line

Chris woke up Sunday not feeling great. We chalked it up to an amazingly busy three days of deck the balls-to-the-wall holiday bartending. Unfortunately, as the day went on and he added fever and congestion to the aches and pains he was experiencing, we knew it was more than just old age + bartending. Fast forward 24 hours, a full-on sleepfest, and continued fever, and it was obvious the jig was up. Tuesday morning’s test results came back positive. After 19 months, Chris has Covid.

It’s hard to live in a house with someone who has Covid. It’s hard to have Covid and live with other people that you don’t want to make sick. People get frustrated. Tempers flare. No one likes to be followed with a can of Lysol. No one likes to be told “stay in your room and stop touching shit!” And we really don’t like to have to wear a mask in our own homes. But that’s what we do, to keep the ones we love safe.

Miraculously, the one person in the house with asthma and shitty-weak lungs has tested negative (THANK YOU BOOSTER!), as well as the teen (who’s never home, so that probably helped). So we’re a house divided — Johnsons 2, Covid 2.

This year, our Christmas plans have changed quite a bit. No week of Christmas outings. No grandma over on Christmas Eve to watch “White Christmas.” No outside family over for dinner Christmas day. This year, mom and my brother will be over Christmas morning for presents and to set up Jonah’s gift. There will be isolation — Covid sickies in the living room and the rest of us in the dining room — and masks. It will be weird. But it will be a Christmas.

Chris and Jonah are both better, and while it sucks to be sick, it could have been a lot worse (THANK YOU VACCINATIONS!). There are wonderful gifts, we will make a wonderful meal for the four of us in the house, and we will live to celebrate another holiday.

Make the yuletide gay!

For the three people who will actually read this, have yourself a merry little Christmas. Make the yuletide gay! Whatever that means to you, I hope your celebration is full of joy, love, and food. (And if you haven’t gotten your booster yet, just do it!).

And while this verdict is right and just, let’s not pat ourselves on the back just yet. We are still living in a society where people of color are targeted, discriminated against, and killed. We are still living in a society where police tend to be above the law and have qualified immunity, regardless of the circumstances surrounding police-involved shootings. To illustrate, here are a few disturbing facts (out of hundreds):

• At the time this verdict was being rendered, another black life was taken, as 16-year old Ma’Khia Bryant, was shot and killed by police in Ohio.
• During three weeks of the Chauvin trial, more than 100 people were killed by police across the US.
• A survey from the Bureau of Justice reports Black and Hispanic people are upwards of 2 times more likely to experience use of force by police than white people.

I will likely die, holding my breath. But at least it won’t be choked out of me, over 9 minutes.

This is why, while I breathe a small sigh of relief that George Floyd’s murderer was found guilty and will do jail time, I will continue to hold my breath until there is sweeping reform across the nation. I will continue to hold my breath until there are no more names added to the #saytheirnames list. I will continue to hold my breath until I live in a country where all people are treated equal.

I will likely die, holding my breath. But at least it won’t be choked out of me, over 9 minutes — I’m a white woman, after all.

Say Their Names 2020/2021 (through April)

Jaquyn O’Neill Light was killed on Jan. 29, 2020. He was 20 years old.

Barry Gedeus was killed on March 6, 2020. He was 27 years old.

Donnie Sanders was killed on March 12, 2020 in Kansas City, Mo. He was 47 years old.

Mychal Johnson was killed on March 20, 2020 in Tallahassee, Fla. He was 31 years old.

Fred Brown was killed on April 23, 2020 in North Las Vegas, Nev. He was 34 years old.

Shaun Lee Fuhr was killed on May 1, 2020 in Seattle, Wash.. He was 24 years old.

Maurice Gordon was killed on May 23, 2020 in Bass River, N.J. He was 28 years old.

Dion Johnson was killed on May 25, 2020 in Phoenix, Ariz. He was 28 years old.

Robert D’Lon Harris was killed on June 25, 2020 in Vinta, Okla. He was 34 years old.

Julian Edward Roosevelt Lewis was killed on Aug. 7, 2020.

Kurt Andras Reinhold was killed on Sept. 23, 2020. He was 42 years old.

Mickel Erich Lewis was killed on Oct. 2, 2020. He was 39 years old.

Jonathan Price was 31 years old at the time of his death.

Anthony Jones was killed on Oct. 12, 2020.

Marcellis Stinnette was 19 years old when he was killed.

Andre Maurice Hill was killed on Dec. 22, 2020 in Columbus, Ohio.

Patrick Lynn Warren was killed on Jan. 10, 2021. He was 52 years old.

Jenoah Donald was killed in Hazel Dell, Wash. He was 30 years old.

Daverion Kinard was killed just hours before his 29th birthday.

Amir Johnson was 30 years old when he was killed.

Rayshard Brooks was killed on June 12, 2020.

Wilbon Cleveland Woodard was killed on May 19, 2020 in Tallahassee, Fla. Woodward was 69 years old.

Yassin Mohamed was killed on May 9, 2020.

Casey Goodson Jr. was killed on Dec. 4, 2020 in Columbus, Ohio. Goodson was 23 years old.

Albert Lee Hughes was killed on Jan. 15, 2020 in Lawrenceville, Ga.

Carl Dorsey III was killed minutes into the new year on Jan. 1, 2021 in Newark, N.J.

Arnell States was killed on Feb. 20, 2021 in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. States was 39 years old.

Donovon W. Lynch was killed on March 26, 2021 in Virginia Beach, Va. Lynch was 25 years old.

Daunte Wright was killed on April 11, 2021 in Brooklyn Center, Minn. Daunte Wright was 20 years old.

Adam Toledo was killed on March 29, 2021. He was 13 years old.

Ma’Khia Bryant was killed on April 20, 2021 in Columbus, Ohio. Ma’Khia was 16 years old.

The Xavier Newswire

I was content to lie awake and listen sleepily, letting the conversation/music mix wash over me. Since most of what was being played was easy guitar-vocal music, like James Taylor and Gordon Lightfoot, it was easy to simply drift back and forth without paying too much attention to any one one particular thing. That was, until I heard the opening lines of a song I’d never heard before.

There’s a moon, over Bourbon Street, tonight

I see faces as they pass beneath the pale lamplight

I’ve no choice, but to follow that call

The bright lights, the street lights, and the moon and all

Sting

Something about those lyrics was familiar, but I knew I’d never heard that song before. Now I was awake and listening in earnest, trying to separate the conversation from the song. Just barely, I was able to make out words from the next verse.

It was many years ago that I became what I am
I was trapped in this life like an innocent lamb
Now I can never show my face at noon
And you’ll only see me walking by the light of the moon

Sting

And that’s when it hit me. He was singing about Lestat! A character from one of my all time favorite books, “Interview with a Vampire.” I was too excited to worry about the trouble I’d be in for not yet being asleep—I had to know who was singing that song. I was pretty shocked to discover it was Sting. I was disappointed in myself that I hadn’t made the ‘voice’ connection to the lead singer of The Police.

That following week, as soon as I could get a ride to the record store, I bought a cassette of “The Dream of the Blue Turtles.” I had heard two of the other singles, “Love is the Seventh Wave” and “If You Love Somebody” (shit, you couldn’t get away from this song on MTV), but it was a happenstance encounter with “Moon Over Bourbon Street” that made me really fall in love with Sting and his departure from The Police ‘sound’.

This album introduced me to yet another genre I wouldn’t begin to really understand until my adulthood—jazz. While it’s really jazz ‘lite’, this album is solidly played by jazz greats like Branford Marsalis and Omar Hakim.

Sting and his music would continue to be an influence on my musical journey, and would pave the way for several firsts—including my first Red Rocks concert, the Soul Cages tour in 1991, and Zachary’s first Red Rocks concert, the Back to Bass tour in 2013.

I leave you with one of my faves from an album of faves, “Consider me Gone,” which was originally recorded as a demo for The Police album “Zenyatta Mondatta,” but wasn’t Police-y enough.

Juneteenth is the oldest nationally celebrated commemoration of the ending of slavery in the United States. Dating back to 1865, it was on June 19th that the Union soldiers, led by Major General Gordon Granger, landed at Galveston, Texas with news that the war had ended and that the enslaved were now free. Note that this was two and a half years after President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation – which had become official January 1, 1863.

I hope each of you has a wonderful day of health, happiness, and reflection. Stay safe out there!