Becky's Greatest Hits Vol. II

 We have been suffering a drought in the Southeast this summer.  It has been hot, dry and generally miserable for a few weeks now.  Usually we have until about mid-July before this phenomenon ruins our lives.  Ruination came early this year. The word "drought" has so many connotations in our lives.  Obviously, it usually  means a lack of rain.  But it can mean a lot of other things.  Probably most often people associate it to a lack of sex.  But it could be a drought of the mind, of friends, of fun escapades.  I'm here to tell you, no matter what you're lacking, it does tend to make you feel dried up and near dead.  Be it body or grass. Today, it started to drizzle just a bit.  It didn't last long, but it was such a welcome site outside my office window.  My coworkers were marveling over it.  Everyone was anxious to walk out into it. And I had a memory.  A memory that probably comes to me every time it rains in the summer. Back when I was a young bride (for the fi

 I started writing when I was a young girl.  In elementary school I wrote poems and stories and some of them were even published locally.  I had a wild imagination, but in my heart I wanted to be a reporter some day. I blame Kurt Vonnegut. When I was about 15 I read my first Vonnegut book, Slaughterhouse-Five.  And it's wild and brilliant and insane and we all know it's a classic.  But the thing I remember most was what Uncle Kurt said about the female reporters during WWII.  He said they were the best.  Relentless.  That they worked way harder than the men and were way better.   That's what I wanted to be.  I wanted to go to NYU and study journalism.  I wanted to be Christiane Amanpour, Barbara Walters, Lois Lane!  I wanted to know all the things before anyone else knew.  I wanted a sign-off on the nightly news like Walter Cronkite......"and that's the way it is." Well......needless to say......all that did not happen. My parents didn't want me to go all

 I'm telling you, if want to experience this book the best way possible don't read it, LISTEN to it.  The sound of Owen Elliot-Kugell's lovely voice as she repeatedly says "my mom" and "my mother" is a gift to your ears.   Being born in 1975, I can barely remember the 70's.  What I do remember is mostly vintage clips of television shows and news reports: bright polyester suits on variety shows, Walter Cronkite, women in long caftans and head scarves, and music.  So much music.  My own mother raised me on The Mamas and the Papas, so the voice of "Mama" Cass Elliot is one I know well. Like many people who love the 1960's, folk music and the early days of rock music, I've heard a good many of these stories before.  But I haven't heard them told from this perspective.  The purity, the honesty and the respectfulness of Owen's retelling is extraordinary.  It's the way we would all like to be described by our kids someday.   Sh

 Reason #6752 why it's hard to work with a bunch of dudes all the time: they don't understand how us ladies need to talk.   Oh, wait.  Strike that.  They do understand.  They just don't want to hear it. The ladies out there will get this.....go with me here. You know how you'll go out to the kitchen to get a snack or go to the bathroom, at home or at work, it doesn't matter.  And while you're on that errand you'll suddenly think of something.  Then you'll come back to your cubicle or the living room or your porch and you'll need to remark on what you thought of. Examples include but are not limited to: "I am getting so fat." "I really need to stop eating so much cheese."   "I thought my period would be over by now." "Do you remember that movie we saw about 2 years ago with Clive Owen?  That was really good." "This bra is killing me." (slight homage to Pamela Adlon) Any of these phrases could come up a

 I think I may have woke up this morning and chose violence. What's with this money-grab culture we live in now?  Has it always been this bad?  Everywhere you turn you've got somebody looking to make money, and often times, it's not off people that can really afford it.  It's off people just like them, who probably can't afford it either.  It's like they're trading back the same cash again and again. It reminds me of women that host home parties selling products that nobody really wants like gourmet cookware, candles, tacky jewelry, Tupperware and Avon.     No scratch that last one.  Avon was and will always be awesome!   But seriously though, who always hosts these parties?  Women.  Women who are selling to their friends and neighbors.  Women who probably also need to make money and don't have much to spend.  Thus creating the Pyramid Scheme of roping in more women, I mean consumers and resellers. And just because I mentioned these old-fashioned brands

 Gets me every time......

  Well, you need a blue sky holiday The point is they laugh at what you say And I don't need no carryin' on (I always thought the line was "reporters that laugh at what you say" which honestly is a much better line.   Maybe next time DP will call me and he won't be a One Hit Wonder.....JS, DP.)

 Hoo boy.  Baby Reindeer.  It's a tough one.  It left me feeling heartbroken, angry, confused and with an even more heightened degree of how scary the world of interpersonal relationships can be.   I could say a lot about this, but there are several articles by Vogue, Esquire and others that unpack it way better than me.  Check those out. I will say this though.....all through the series I couldn't help wondering if the stalking situation would have been different if Martha were thinner, younger and more attractive.  And before you judge me, give it some thought and do some more reading.  And I also know there are tons of pieces of media about a femme fatale, sexy stalker type of woman who is bad news.  I get it. The one very painful thing that Baby Reindeer made me think about is how I have handled the support role to friends and family that have been sexually assaulted.  I wondered if I had said the right things, been kind enough, been the person those survivors needed me to

Felt like this book and movie were due for a re-take.  I am currently listening to the audio book and enjoying the lovely voice of Linda Stephens as narrator.  This movie can be found on a few streaming services including HBO/MAX and begins with a disclaimer about how the language and ideas are outmoded for our time now.  Thankfully. For me, the book and movie hold something altogether different as I realize more and more how important the idea of home and land have become to me.  When Rhett tells Scarlett she gets her strength from the dirt of Tara, I suddenly understand.   I also understand several marriages and several romantic disappointments much better now. That's the thing about books.....they can teach you something different every time...... The summer of 2017 was an odd time to decide to read this novel.  For that was the summer that the Nazis decided to crawl out of their hovels and folks decided to pull down Confederate monuments.  Nonetheless I decided to commit th

 As Mother's Day approaches, remember to treat yourself and others with care.  There is so much about each other, and ourselves, that we are still trying to understand.   Be gentle with yourself.  Forgive yourself.  Maybe forgive her.  Maybe don't.  Maybe talk to her.  Maybe don't.  Maybe let some of it go.  If you can. Maybe give yourself a break and admit you're doing your best.  Maybe let some things go.  Maybe don't pay attention to influencers.  Maybe stop trying to being an influencer yourself.  Just be.  Maybe just be you.  Maybe stop caring about what anyone else thinks.   Maybe laugh about it.  Kid about it.  Turn it all into a joke.  Be glad you never had kids and never wanted any.  Rejoice in your freedom.  Enjoy your empty nest.  Your quiet time.  Money that only belongs to you.  Maybe see it differently.   Maybe treat yourself.  Maybe cry a little.  Mourn a little.  Ugly cry.  Feel it.  Feel her.  Remember.  Forget.  Maybe talk to her.  Maybe talk to yo

  He never saw it coming at all.......

 A recent trip to my fave North Carolina beach reminded me of all the things I love about small town beach life, the South, and the not-yet-crowded May beach scene.  Southern beaches have a very different etiquette of space, friendliness and neighborliness that I have always loved. And it's also how you can always spot Northerners who haven't yet learned "our ways". First off, I love reading at the beach.  Not on a device, from an actual book.  And it's typically a battered old comfort book that I've read several times.  In this case, I re-read Patti and Robert's time in New York in the Summer of Love of 1967 and their trips to Coney Island.  May I never grow tired of two of my iconic young bohemians. Second, I love to lazily walk along the beach.  No destination, no step counting, no agenda.  Just an easy-going walk.  While I'm walking, I people watch, admire frolicking dogs and children and generally lazily smile at anything going on around me.  I lo

 With a great new record, Happiness Bastards, and all the old hits we wanted, The Black Crowes did not disappoint in Charlotte last night. (Photo by Shutter 16 Magazine) The energy was awesome, the old school carnival stage set-up was cool and Chris Robinson's voice was still strong and wild.   (Photo by Shutter 16 Magazine) I also dug seeing my man, Chris, after all these years.  His dancing, swagger, vocals and Mick Jagger impersonation were on point. There's plenty of other items to report on: the middle-aged pre-gaming at local watering holes, the high jinx of the very high balcony seats and the overall bro fest that the show seemed to be.   But believe me y'all......that is a WHOLE other post.......

  You dudes can do whatever you want, as long as you play "Jealous Again" and "Twice as Hard".  

 I never expected there would be a time when I was proud of my Baby Boy for recognizing the skyline of  Winston-Salem. Winston-Salem is not a big city.  It's home to a medical school and a few prestigious HBCU's.  It once had a thriving textile industry and furniture making reputation.  It even has a historic Moravian Community ! Still it was a town that never meant much to me.  Until my son started living just outside it in an adult group home.   That decision, made when he had just turned 20 came with a good bit of tears, fear and guilt.  But now as he approaches the age of 22, with the same happy smile he's had for his entire life, I know we did the right thing. Now he's happy to come home.  Happy to go to his dad's.  Happy to see his grandparents. And even happy to go back to "the camp house" as we call it.   And as we make our way up the interstate as soon as we hit those inbound spidery ramps to the city and he spots the skyline, he calls out Winston

 I remember once talking to a man I was dating about how I wasn't over a relationship that went bad.  And maybe, just maybe, I still wasn't over two marriages that went bad.  But I explained my ability to keep going and forge through the pain by saying it was just something we all had to do.   "It's kinda like 'functional heartbreak' you know?" I mused.  "We just have to do it. We just keep going." "Functional heartbreak," he repeated.  "That sounds like grief." Did I mention that this guy happened to be a grief counselor?  And a damn good one?  So I tend to think he knew what he was talking about.   Isn't it funny?  Or maybe funny isn't the word.....ironic?  Silly?  Delusional even?  How often we are willing to hang our hearts out on the line for another punch?  And it's not just for romance either.  We do it when we make new friendships, give birth, take up causes.  There's probably no organ in more danger fo

 George Michael.  Oh, George Michael.  His name incites something.  It stirs something.  It makes you feel some kind of way.  I know his name for sure does something for me.  It did back in the 80's and it still does now.   When I was a girl waaaay back in the 80's, I loved George with Wham!  He was sexy and fun and mysterious in a way I couldn't even explain or understand.  It was a time period in which we were all still grappling with how we felt about gay and straight, what it all meant and how it did or didn't affect us personally.  Like most girls, I was bummed when I found out George was gay.  Not because I cared or thought it was wrong, but because it meant I (a girl light years away and twelve years younger) would never have a chance with him.  Disappointment! His solo record, Faith, came out in October 1987.  I was twelve and I got it for Christmas on cassette that year.  I could have watched that slow camera pan up the ass of his jeans from the "Faith&quo

 Even though I've been grappling with severe back and leg pain for over 2 months now, I still did not want to admit that I needed help.  Even if I could barely stand.  Even if I could barely walk.  And I especially felt it true when I walked into my office with the help of a walking stick and one of my coworkers quickly named me " Gandalf the Grey" .   All I can say is this to the 27 year-old kiddo, one day you're gonna be my age.  I hope you either take better care of yourself or wish and dream that you don't have this problem.  But when my friend/partner in crime gave me this walking stick I said "eh sure......thanks, dude" and decided I'd used it in front of him to humor him. Until I realized how much it really did help me.  AND  how much I truly did need it.  That's the thing about support.......sometimes it arrives from surprising sources and just in the nick of time.  Now I'm leaning on it, keeping it close by and depending on it when I

 I will be the first to say that I'm not the one to talk about immigration.  All I can talk about are feelings and people.  Those things, I think and know, I'm an expert on.   I keep my company's front lobby television feed on the national CBS News channel.  That channel regularly runs a commercial for a CBS documentary about the immigration "crisis" in New York City and it features a man.   The man is welcoming people off a bus.  He talks to each person and makes a point of putting a hand on their shoulders or their backs.  One can tell that he is trying to make them feel welcome, and above all, safe.   He looks at a man walking off a bus carrying a toddler.  It looks to me like he is saying "hi baby" as he reaches out and touches the child.  (I watch the video more closely and see that he is greeting the child in Spanish and not saying "hi baby" precisely but the sentiment is the same.)  He also steps onto the bus and speaks to the riders in