Grown-Up Letters to Santa...

When I was a kid, I don't remember ever writing "letters to Santa." I guess I figured out Santa wasn't real at a fairly young age, but my parents "played" Santa well enough that I never found the need to ask for anything--I usually got what I really wanted. When I got older and moved across the country, however, it got to be a joke between my parents and I, so I started writing letters to Santa that I would send them around the holidays so they would know what I wanted and/or needed.

Now that I'm married, with children of my own, I tend to continue the "Adult Santa Letter" tradition with my husband, who then passes it around to my parents, his parents and anyone else who wants to know what to buy me. Frankly, it's a lot of fun, and the family really appreciates the opportunity to buy me something I want, instead of a widget with a bow that's going to sit in the box for a year until I decide to re-gift it. Truthfully, I usually put a lot of things on my list because I don't want to KNOW what I'm getting--I do like surprises--and if I just put three or four things on there, it won't be hard to figure out what's under the tree.

So just for fun, I thought I'd put my Santa Letter on my blog this year so that the whole world will know what I want--but also so that some of you out there will post yours in the comments section as well! Maybe after the holidays we can all see how many of got what was actually on the list!

Dear Santa:

I've been a really good girl this year, volunteering at my boys' schools, getting a part-time job subbing, and taking care of everything when Kevin travels. It would make me SO happy to get a few little things on my list...

1) "U is for Undertow" by Sue Grafton
2) "Dark Horse" CD by Nickelback
3) "Use Once and Destroy" CD by Rock City Angels
4) "Fa La La" cartridge by Making Memories (for Slice Machine)
5) Slice Carry Bag
6) Archiver's Gift Card
7) KitchenAid Artisan Stand Mixer (in red)
8) "The Unit" Season One DVD
9) iPhone
10) Spa Gift Certificate (especially a massage!)
11) Tickets to see Bon Jovi in April
12) "Bookplate Special" by Lorna Barrett (paperback only)
13) "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" by Deborah Grabien
14) "Frill Kill" by Laura Childs (paperback)
15) Sizzix Texture Boutique Embossing Beginner's Kit

So there is it, my 2009 holiday wish list... from the super cheap to the fairly costly! Now post your lists and let's see what we all wish for when we're not being practical!

Until tomorrow!
--Kathy

Those Who Can, Do; Those Who Can't...

No, I am NOT going to say "Teach" because that's just wrong! Especially now that I'm a (substitute) teacher. Teaching is just as hard as doing, and sometimes harder! But that old saying has left me wondering lately. Not because I agree with it, but because a lot of times, it's true. Musicians who are now music teachers, artists who teach elementary school, and writers (like myself) who are substitute teachers-what, exactly, are we all doing?

In my case, the reason is two-fold. First, I wanted to be home with my children when they were born, and I used the a good portion of that time earning my Bachelor's Degree, which was a long-time goal. Second, writing just doesn't bring home a steady paycheck unless you get into a full-time, often stressful, position. In the old days, getting a check for $25 and a pair of concert tickets was enough, but now, it would cost me more to pay the babysitter so I could attend the concert than anything I might get paid. And frankly, those jobs are few and far between too.

I've been told I have a fair amount of talent, and I writing is what I do and who I am at a most basic level, but at this stage in my life, I simply don't know how to to be a "do-er" in my field. So I write for my own pleasure, now I have my blog, and occasionally I do freelance work that brings in craft supplies or some other form of minimal payment. In the interim, I am a substitute teacher. Sometimes, it feels really, really good. I can work when I want, be home when I need to be, and still bring in extra cash.


Other days, it sucks, plain and simple. Not because it's a bad job, but because it's not the right job for ME. I want to write--I NEED to write--and I do write, but if no one (hardly) ever sees it, where does that leave me? I don't necessarily write for a particular reason--like money or praise or controversy--but it seems unfinished somehow to leave my works on a disc or in a box somewhere. What good is my creativity, my gift if I deign to call it that, if no one sees or reads or appreciates it?

So I guess I started to wonder... do you DO what you love or do you just do what you can? Am I selfish to believe that I should be able to do what I was born to do, or do I suck it up and just be happy that I have a husband who can support us and that I can at least dabble in my passion? Because those that can don't always do it, and those that can't sometimes do it anyway. The rest of us fall somewhere in the middle. Right? Wrong? Weigh in...

Fiction, Part I, Section IV...

Monday morning loomed bright and sunny. Sam rolled over and felt a surge of energy. She'd finished the two articles she'd needed to turn in and emailed them to her editor last night. Then she'd cooked a nice dinner for herself and Ty, and they'd spent the evening drinking a bottle of Merlot and going over everything he could remember about Johnny, Lynn, the band and the events of the past few weeks. At some point they'd wound up in bed, the sex simultaneously energetic and gentle. Ty had always been a bit reserved in the bedroom with her, and she'd chalked it up to the fact that he wasn't in love with her, but last night had been almost ground-breaking for him. This morning, she was still high from the after-glow.

She glanced over at him, quietly snoring, his face mostly buried under her pillow and his hair, and she smiled. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and squinted at the clock. 10:35. Not bad, considering they'd been up until after 3 a.m. She made a pot of coffee, paid a few bills that were sitting on the counter, and checked her email.

She'd eaten a bagel, changed into her gym clothes and was brushing her teeth when he padded up behind her and slid his arms around her waist.

"Good morning," he whispered against her hair.

"Hmph," she said through the toothpaste in her mouth. She spit it out and then leaned up for a kiss. "There's coffee in the kitchen, bagels in the microwave and my neighbor's newspaper on the table. I'm going to the gym and the grocery store, and I should be back in about two hours. Think you can stay out of trouble that long?"

He gave her a grin. "Sure. But what can I do around here while you're gone?"

Her eyes widened slightly and then she frowned. "Okay, who are you and what did you do with Ty? The guy I know is only good for one round in the bedroom and is usually gone before I wake up. Last night was way more than one round, and even if he did stay the night, he never, ever offered to help around the apartment. What's wrong with this picture?"

He rolled his eyes. "You really know how to ruin the moment for a guy who's trying to change," he muttered.

"I'm sorry." She leaned over and playfully kissed his cheek. "You can make the bed and clean up the coffee pot and stuff when you're done."

"Okay." He moved towards the toilet and she decided they weren't ready for that level of intimacy yet, so she yelled good bye and headed out. The minute she got in her car, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed Liz's number as she turned onto Burbank Boulevard.

"Girl, where have you been?!" Liz demanded when she answered.

"I've had a house guest," Sam laughed.

"And you've been gettin' it on," Liz sighed dramatically. "When are you going to learn that casual sex with pretty musicians is only going to get your heart broken?"

"Oh, I know it, but it's so much fun while it's happening!" Sam chuckled. "Besides, Ty's being really different. I mean, he offered to clean up while I was out today. Does that sounds like the insensitive musician I occasionally get naked with?!"

"No..." Liz was truly startled. "Wow. He must be really freaked by whatever's going on with that band of his."

"Yeah." Sam sobered. "Liz, Johnny came to my apartment lookiong for him--and after I told him I was busy working on a story and hadn't seen Ty, he stood outside my door listening for a while. I saw him through the peephole!"

"He stood outside?" Liz frowned. "Girlfriend, you'd better be careful what you get yourself into. Ty's a decent guy, but you don't know what those buddies of his are capable of."

"I know. That's why I'm letting him stay for a while." Sam turned onto Ventura Boulevard and headed towards Universal City. "Anyway, I'm going to the gym--you wanna meet me?"

"I've got a casting," Liz said. "Some new TV show. I think they're looking for a five-foot white girl, but my agent said a six-foot black girl might surprise them so much they hire me!"

They both laughed before hanging up. Sam pulled into the parking lot of the gym and grabbed her towel and water bottle. She felt better after a night of good sex and some shared laughter with Liz; maybe things weren't as serious as Ty made them out to be.

After 45 minutes on the treadmill and 30 minutes doing strength training, she got a smoothie at the juice bar and then headed to the grocery store. Ty had spoken to his mother yesterday and she was sending him $200 to give Sam for groceries, so Sam had mentally planned out some healthy but inexpensive meals. Ty was still too skinny for his own good, and though his mother didn't know what was going on, Ty had told her that his rent money had been stolen so he had no money for food and that Sam would force him to eat better. Sam wasn't sure if eating well included beer and wine, but she put it in her cart anyway. After she picked up some staples like skim milk, coffee, peanut butter and pasta, she threw in a loaf of French bread, sharp Wisconsin cheddar cheese, grapes and a pint of Haagen Dazs ice cream.

She'd just put everything on the check-out counter when a deep voice breathed in her ear. "Hello, Sam."

She jumped, her hand on her chest as she spun around. Her eyes widened and she stared at Johnny in shock. "You scared the shit out of me!" she sputtered, glaring at him.

"Sorry." He gave her a small smile and shrugged. "I guess you were so lost in thought you didn't hear me calling you."

She frowned. "No, I didn't."

"Cooking tonight?" he asked lightly, his eyes taking in the items laid out before them.

"I don't know," she shrugged. "But if not tonight, certainly a few nights this week."

"Do you have a boyfriend?" he asked, leaning forward.

She took an involuntary step back. "No one serious. I'm dating, though. Why?"

"You're real pretty," he said softly, reaching out to brush back a curl that had escaped from her ponytail during her workout. "I always wondered about you and Ty."

"Ty and I are good friends," she said, turning towards the cashier. "But it's not really any of your business, is it?"

"Well, only if he's your boyfriend." His eyes glimmered dangerously. "But if he's not, I was thinking you might want to go out sometime."

She raised an eyebrow and cocked her head. "Ty and I are friends, but we date on and off, so I don't think that would be a good idea. Two guys in one band could cause problems, you know?"

"I think you'd be worth it," he said, reaching for her again.

She turned away, smiling at the cashier. "How much?" she asked, ignoring Johnny.

"It's 49.66," the teenage cashier said mildly.

Sam put fifty dollars on the counter and waited for her change. She willed her hands not to shake even though there was no doubt that they were. It took all of her willpower not to leave her groceries and take off full speed for her car, but she managed to put them back into her cart and start making her way out.

"Need help?" Johnny followed her.

"Johnny, what's going on?" Sam's temper overruled her fear and she spun around, one hand on her hip. "You've never said more than ten words to me, in two years, and suddenly you're showing up at my place without an invitation and then stalking me at the grocery store. Tell me what you want, because I don't buy this 'I-think-you're-pretty' crap. I know you dated Ty's old girlfriend Lynn when they broke up in high school, so don't play innocent with me."

"Whoa, there, little lady!" Johnny held his hands up in mock surrender. "Don't get your panties in a bunch. Maybe I went about this all wrong, but I do think you're pretty and I do want to take you out. I've always wanted to, but I thought you and Ty were together. Then when he got all pissy about the rent money he lost and missed rehearsal, I thought maybe he'd be with you. When he wasn't, it occurred to me that maybe you guys either weren't together anymore or were never together, so maybe this was my chance. I didn't mean to scare you and I'm not stalking you." He gave her a conciliatory smile. "Really. I just realized how hot I thought you were when I saw you yesterday, even without make-up and all." His voice trailed off and he looked to her for a comment.

She shook her head. "Johnny, I've seen you in clubs all over town with two, sometimes three girls at a time. I don't play that way, and really, Ty and I aren't serious, but we are together sometimes. I don't think I need you complicating my life. Especially now that you guys have an album coming out. If you have some kind of hit, you're going to have girls coming out of the woodwork, and that's not where I'm at in life."

Their eyes locked for a long moment and she could swear she saw the wheels turning inside his head. Whatever he was after, it wasn't a relationship with her, and he knew that she knew it.

"You're too smart for your own good," he said quietly. Then he turned and walked away. "But you haven't seen the last of me, Pretty Samantha," he called over his shoulder.

Sam took the long way home, driving north on Ventura, east on Van Nuys and then south on Lankershim. When she was relatively sure she didn't see any sign of Johnny or his red pick-up truck, she stopped in the parking lot of the library she frequented and called Liz's cell phone. She filled her in on what had happened and asked her to come over after her casting. Then she headed home.

Ty was sitting on the couch playing guitar when she came in, and she paused to smile at him, enjoying the picture he made with his handsome face half-covered by his hair, his long fingers caressing his acoustic guitar, and his voice strong but soft in the dimly lit apartment. The spell was broken as he looked up and put down the guitar.

"Let me help," he said moving towards her.

"Johnny was following me today," she said quickly. "Stay here. I'll be back with the rest of the groceries. You can start putting them away."

He was pacing when she returned. "He followed you?!" he demanded. "Jesus Christ, Sam! I shouldn't have gotten you involved! You have no idea how--"

"Stop!" She put a hand on his chest. "I'm fine. See? I'm all here, safe and sound. I told him that even though you and I weren't serious, we were still involved enough for me to not be comfortable dating him."

"He asked you out?!" Ty gaped at her.

"Yeah, but he's not my type." She moved against him purposefully. "You're my type."

"Sam, we need to talk--"

"Nope." She kissed him, digging her fingers in his hair and pulling him close to her. "I felt violated just talking to him--he made me feel dirty. Now I need you to make that go away. Please."

His answer was to pull her towards the bedroom.

25 Days of Christmas Challenge!

Hello Everyone... I'm really a slacker here on this blog. I know it, and you know it, but you're probably too polite to say so! So I'm challenging myself to post every single day for the 25 days of December leading up to and including Christmas Day (although that post might be a short one!).

I don't "do" New Year's resolutions, but I do like challenges and I really like giving myself something to work towards, so this is it. However, since I'm doing it on my blog, and I really want to encourage everyone to come here regularly--kind of like checking the daily newspaper but not for what's going on in the world--I've got a challenge for YOU guys as well. On December 25th, when I post my final blog of the challenge, I will select one winner who has A) visited and left comments on my blog during the challenge, B) encouraged, critiqued and/or challenged me in those comments, and C) brought me at least one new follower...

The prize is going to be a simple RAK (Random Act of Kindness) but I can't tell you what it will be because this is a unique blog in that I don't have just ONE theme, but I write fiction, talk about scrapbooking, do music reviews, and a lot more. So the prize will depend on WHO the winner is. It might be a homemade CD of songs I'm listening to that I think you might like, a paperback I've read that's interesting, a scrapbooking item, or even a stocking stuffer-type item.

In the meantime, the challenge officially starts Tuesday, December 1st and I will have at least one post on each of the topics that I love... music, scrapbooking, the ongoing fiction story, life here in the suburbs, and couponing. Everything else is a crap shoot, but there will be one every single day. I hope.

And here's the fun part: If I drop the ball and miss a day--assuming there is no serious tragedy, God forbid--then I will allow YOU GUYS to post about whatever you want on my blog... you can have a whole day/post to talk about whatever you like. Deal?

Okay, so today is Saturday, November 28th and there are three days until we begin. I'm going to get started right now, though, to get a jump on things since this IS a super busy time of year! (And you might even get some bonus points if you post a comment on THIS post...)

--Kathy

Fiction, Part I, Section 3*

They talked most of the night, but neither of them could put their finger on specifically what was going on. It boiled down to a few unexplainable events that made Ty nervous and merely confused Sam: a missing money order meant to pay his share of the rent, a brand new carton of milk that was suddenly sour, and a strange, almost desperate long distance call from Lynn, begging him to come home to Minnesota, something she'd never done before. Ty had been in a meeting with their band's manager when the phone call came, so he'd told her he'd call her back, but that had been three days ago and he hadn't been able to reach her.

Sometime near dawn, they fell into a restless but platonic sleep in Sam's waterbed. She tossed and turned, but after a while she could tell by his steady breathing that he was finally resting. In the moonlight, she studied his profile for a while and had to force herself not to touch his face. So handsome, yet so troubled, she thought sadly. A great guy who couldn't seem to catch a break in his life, both personally and professionally. She longed to wrap her arms around him, tell him she'd fix everything, and take over his life. The thought made her smile, because she knew he would balk just as surely as she knew she would never do it, but part of her really wanted to. He was not the kind of man she pictured herself with in the future, but sometimes it seemed easier to try to fix a guy that already existed than to wait for a knight in shining armor to come riding into her life at some unknown time.

Full of curiosity and strange longings, she finally fell asleep.

When she finally woke up, it was close to noon and she was alone. She rolled over, stretched and eased herself onto the side of the bed. She could hear someone in the kitchen and she smiled to herself, wondering if Ty could cook or make coffee. When it came to practical things, like changing the tire of a car or grocery shopping, Ty didn't have a lot of common sense.

After using the bathroom to pull her hair into a ponytail, brush her teeth and wash her face, she found him at her small kitchen table, a phone book in front of him and his cell phone at his ear.

"--I know, Mrs. K," he was saying. "But I'm worried about her. She called me when I was in a meeting, and she sounded really upset, but I haven't been able to reach her so I thought... yes, ma'm, I know, but if you would just--" He rolled his eyes but took a deep breath. Finally, he thanked her and hung up. "Ignorant old bat!" he muttered, looking up at Sam with a smile. "Good morning!"

"Good morning." She pulled a mug down from the cabinet and poured a cup of the coffee he'd made, hoping for the best. "Who was that?"

"Lynn's mom!" he shook his head. "It's not like her to not take my calls, but that's what her mom told me, that she was finally growing a backbone and letting me know she was done with me."

"Any possibility that's true?"

"Maybe." he shrugged. "But she sounded really upset, and in my last message, I just told her I was worried, and even if she didn't want to talk to me, just send me a text to let me know she's okay."

"And no word at all?" Sam frowned. She'd met Lynn once, and she'd seemed like a quiet, intelligent woman who still carried a torch for her high school sweetheart. She was an elementary school teacher, so it wasn't like she had the freedom to just drop off the face of the earth. That gave Sam an idea. "You could call her work Monday."

"Yeah." He sighed. "She's just never done this before. No matter how much of a fight we've had, she always picks up when I call."

"You think this is related to what's going on with Johnny?" she asked, taking a surprisingly delicious sip of coffee.

He nodded. "He's trying to distract me from something else by giving me stupid shit to think about--missing rent checks, stressed out ex-girlfriends..." He fixed his blue eyes on her and blinked. "I think he just wants me out of the band."

"He can't write all those songs himself!" she laughed. "And no one gets the girls to come to the shows like you do... besides, you own the name, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but that's easy. He could add an "e" to the end or put "the" at the beginning. That's the least of his worries."

Sam propped herself against the counter and cocked her head. "Ty, you know I'll do anything to help you, but you're not giving me anything concrete."

"If I had something concrete, I'd be doing something instead of just worrying about it!" he snapped. Then he sighed. "Sorry. I'm a little on edge."

"Well, I've got work to do today so I'm going to turn on the computer and--" She was interrupted by a brisk knock on the door. They looked at each other and Ty immediately stood up and tip-toed to the door.

His eyes widened as he looked out, and he gaped at her. "It's Johnny!" he mouthed.

Sam grabbed his sneakers and threw them into the coat closet, while Ty grabbed his wallet and keys off the kitchen counter. "Into my bathroom," she whispered. "Close the door and don't come out." She mussed her hair a little and walked to the door. "Who is it?" she called.

"Um, Sam, it's me, Johnny Kranston."

"Johnny?" She opened the door a crack and forced herself to smile, despite her heart slamming in her chest. "What are you doing here? How do you know where I live?"

"You're in the phone book." He gave her a disarming smile so guileless she almost wondered if Ty was imagining things. "I'm really sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning, but I'm worried about Ty and wondered if you'd seen him."

"Actually, I saw him at the Rainbow last night," she said, with a frown. "But he was in a hurry and we only talked for a minute before he took off."

"I haven't seen him since rehearsal Thursday night," he said, leaning forward as though hinting at being invited in. "And we've got rehearsal tonight, so I'm a little worried."

"Gosh, that's not like him," she said earnestly. "But I don't know what to tell you. If he calls, which he probably won't, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

"Um, okay." Johnny looked a little surprised that she was dismissing him. "You okay, Sam?"

"Yeah, I've just got a deadline and I drank too much last night." She gave him a lopsided smile. "You know how it is."

"Yeah, I do. Well, thanks anyway." He looked past her for a moment, gave her another winning smile, and then turned away. She shut the door, locked it and then leaned against it, waiting for her heart to still. Finally, she peeked out the peephole and jumped back, startled that he was still standing there, apparently listening against the door.

With a gasp, she tip-toed across the room, went into the bathroom, shut the door and then flushed the toilet. She threw herself against Ty and clutched his shoulders. "You're not kidding, Ty. Something is definitely up; he's still standing by the door!"

"Shit, shit, shit." Ty wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his nose in her hair. "Oh, God, Sam, I'm sorry I got you involved in this. I just didn't know where else to go."

"It's okay." She breathed against his chest. "We're going to figure this out. I promise."

To Be Continued...

*Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. I'm writing it because I love fiction and mysteries and writing and all that goes with it. I'm going to write installments no more than twice a week (sometimes less) until no one is interested in reading it anymore. No outline, no pre-conceived plot or characters. I'm writing this soap opera style, with an ongoing storyline and characters that "build themselves." I will be using my experiences in the music business, the legal business, as a writer, as a mom, celebrities I've met, etc., but none of them will be real. I will also be using some of my favorite names, but they do NOT represent REAL PEOPLE. I know at least 8 or 9 musicians named Mark in real life--but the Mark in this story is not any of them! Names are names, nothing more. If you don't like the story, that's okay, but please don't get up in arms if I make a reference about Mick Jagger being too skinny or Pamela Anderson's breasts being too big--this is all for fun. Thanks for reading!

Life, Death and Mid-Life Crises...

Despise my best intentions, it has been entirely too long since my last blog. The actual reason (laziness due to lack of inspiration) is far more common and uninteresting than the underlying problem: I think I'm having a mid-life crisis. No, I'm not having an affair, I don't plan to buy a sports car (we have one, thank God!), and I'm still genuinely in love with my husband and family. So it's a little hard to explain, and it's a lot hard to understand.

Like most people today, there is a loosely accepted definition of "mid-life crisis" that I've always just accepted and didn't give much thought to. For one thing, it was usually something that affected men. For another, it almost always involved adultery and embarrassing behavior, two things that I don't have much respect for. However, about six months ago, I became acutely aware that something was happening to me, both inside and out, that I had no explanation for. I was aging, and while I was intellectually aware of the ramifications that come with that, I was a lot less able to comprehend some of the other ways it was affecting me.

I don't remember the exact date, but I was surfing the internet for some long lost friends and when I typed in the name "Ty Westerhoff," I got back a hit that included the words "date of death." I was flabbergasted. Not just because he'd died, but because he'd died in 2005! He'd been gone for four years and I was just now finding out about it. I was sad but I was also angry. I'd last seen him around 1994, just before I moved away from Los Angeles. He'd been tall, blond, talented, kind and drop-dead beautiful. I mean, he was so good-looking it was kind of embarrassing. He was made me laugh, he kissed like an angel, and he was probably the only guy I ever dated that never once made me cry. He was honest, easy-going and neither of us was in love. We were friends, often lamenting about the people in our lives who hurt us, and though we drifted apart, there was never an unkind word between us.

In the end, my tears over him were because it was such a tragic loss at such a young age (he was 42), in such a painful way (stomach cancer) and without saying good-bye. If I was being honest, I would admit that most of my tears for him were really for myself. My lack of closure, my worry that maybe I hadn't been a good enough friend, and my disappointment that there isn't even one picture of us together. For a week, I cried in the shower and said good-bye to my friend. Then I printed a picture of him, put it on my window sill in a little frame, and started thinking about all the things I still want to do that I am not doing but could be doing. Maybe they were some of the same things the Ty wanted to do but never got the chance.

A few weeks later it occurred to me that, for the first time, I could empathize with all the men in the world who'd gone through the proverbial 'mid-life crisis." I don't necessarily condone their behaviors, but I absolutely understand their motivations. The thing is, I'm having a lot of those kinds of thoughts and behaviors, and it's starting to frustrate me. Why am I thinking about good-looking men all the time? Why am I pulling out all my favorite rock and roll CDs, buying new ones, watching rock videos on YouTube, and spending a lot more time putting on make-up? Why did a few new gray hairs freak me out? And why on earth was I putting together a bucket list?!

The sad truth is that I've been surrounded by death the last few years. Losing my grandparents in their 80s and 90s was sad, but not life-changing. That is the order of life, after all, and living to be 93 is a decent run, but dying at 42 is another matter altogether. When someone who's larger than life dies, it's even more jarring. Michael Jackson, in his prime with a young family and all the money he could want, did something stupid and never woke up. I know there's a lot of controversy about his death, and that's neither here nor there because I have no idea if it was a homicide or not. What made it hit home for me is simply that it can happen to any of us. We all know, intellectually, that we could get hit by a car right now, today, on the way to the grocery store, and die. We simply don't dwell on it because it would probably immobilize most of us.

The problem comes when we become emotionally aware of death. There's something disturbing about your contemporaries dying. No wonder there's a huge amount of depression in the elderly! People who hit "middle age" (regardless of the exact age this is defined as) are suddenly acutely aware of it and it's scary. For example, there are three people in my life right now with cancer; one of them is almost 80 years old and though he doesn't admit it, I know his time is limited. Another is just 40. She's beautiful and vibrant and fighting for all she's worth. I know she's doing her damnedest not to give in, but it's spreading, and deep down I'm terrified every time I don't see her on Facebook for a day or two. The last is my 70-something Uncle who refuses to acknowledge it and tells everyone he's fine even though he's barely alive.

So everyday I look at my children and think, I could be next. They could be without a mom. My husband could be alone, my parents would lose their only child and all the things I want to do would never be done. It's terrifying enough to send you right into the arms of a long-haired bad boy with flat abs, young enough to be your kid! I haven't done that, mind you, but there's no doubt that it has some appeal... thank God for the bright red 2007 Mustang in the driveway that moves that second you touch the gas and has a decent stereo system. There's something exhilerating about the movement, the wind in your hair, the music playing. When I'm in our mini-van, I fade into oblivion; when I'm in the Mustang, truckers often honk and men with wedding rings lean out the window and wave. In the past, I thought they were idiots who didn't love their wives. Now I understand that most of them are just like me; human beings whose contemporaries are fading away, leaving the rest of us to ponder our own existences. Acting "young" (or at least younger than you actually are) makes you feel alive again--because aging is related to death, no matter how much you try to think otherwise.

That's not to say there aren't assholes out there, men who cheat because they can, women who drink because it's something to do, and teens who do drugs because they don't have the sense to realize what they're doing to their bodies. There are bad, stupid and/or misguided people everywhere, but they're not the ones I'm talking about. I've just been thinking about regular people, like you and me, who aren't so much afraid of death as they are afraid that their lives aren't what they should be or could have been. What I'm most afraid of is to be lying on my death bed thinking not about my wonderful family and the memorable moments of years past, but about all my regrets and how I would never get to do this, that or the other thing.

And so, as I ponder the days and weeks to come, I've suddenly started thinking about doing, as opposed to hoping or wishing. I'm going to take that trip back to my home town to see a few friends, even though I could probably pay off a bill with the air fare. We're planning the details of how to affordably visit my in-laws even though I despise the drive and we can't afford to fly. Mostly, I've stopped automatically telling myself no, I can't, I shouldn't, it's not possible. Everything is possible. The world is there for the taking. I still believe in moderation, in practicality and in saving for a rainy day, but there are always going to be rainy days, both now and long after I'm gone. So I'm going to start pretending that a few sunny days are actually those proverbial rainy days, and dip into my savings. It's got to be better than a mid-life crisis.

Fiction, Part I, Section 2*

Sam was following behind Liz, thinking about whether or not her hips could handle a mid-night breakfast when an arm snaked around her waist and pulled her to the side.

"Sammy, I gotta talk to you," a soft but deep voice, with a faint mid-western edge, murmured in her ear.

Sam sighed, her hand on her heart. "Jesus Christ, Ty, you scared the living crap out of me!" She glared up at him, and momentarily blinked in surprise. "Dude, what is up with you? You look like hell!"

"I need you to let me hang at your place for a couple of nights," he breathed against her face. "Please, Sam, something's going on." He pulled her around the corner, away from the busy dining area and into the darker and quieter bar.

"Ty, what did you do?!" she demanded, looking up at him in dismay. She loved the tall, lanky musician from Minnesota, though they were not romantically involved. Modern vernacular would probably call them "friends with benefits," but the "benefits" went far beyond just the occasional roll in the hay.

"It's not me," he protested, shaking his head. "It's just, well, I think Johnny's trying to kill me."

"Johnny." She folded her arms across her chest and gave him a dirty look. "The same Johnny that's your led singer?"

"Well, yeah." He frowned down at her, his incredibly blue eyes currently so bloodshot she could barely make them out.

"The same Johnny Haynes that's been your best friend since before puberty?" She pursed her lips now, waiting for his response suspiciously.

"I know, it sounds crazy." He ran his hand through his long, wavy blond hair and blew out a long breath. "Sam, I mean it--I think something is going on with him and I really think he wants me out of the way."

"For what?! You're not even finished recording your album! For all you know, Geffen is using you guys as a tax write-off!" she finished, referring to the large record company Ty's band had their deal with, who had been rumored to have done just that over the years. Young bands signed contracts with them, got a million dollars or more, put out one record and then the record company suddenly lost all interest in promoting the band or the album. No one knew why exactly this happened, but it happened often enough in the industry for people to have a lot of opinions.

"If we could just go back to your place, and I could crash for more than two hours at a time, I could explain everything," he whispered. "Please Sam, I really need a friend right now."

In all honestly, he looked like he needed a friend. His long, normally gorgeous hair looked oily and was somewhat matted to his head. His eyes weren't just bloodshot, but there were bags under them the size of actual luggage, and she'd never seen him look so thin. In fact, in the three years they'd known each other, she'd never seen him look so uncertain and downright sickly. With a scowl, because she knew he would be underfoot for at least the rest of the weekend and she would fall way behind on her writing, she dragged him by the hand.

"Okay," she said. "My car's about four blocks down, right near Doheny, so--"

"No!" He looked startled. "I can't walk that far--someone might see me!"

"Ty!" She gave an exasperated grunt. "How do you expect me to get you home then? Invisible spray?"

He gave her a weak smile. "You got some?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ty..."

"Okay, look, how about you get the car and--"

"There you are!" Liz stood there, arms across her chest, a frown on her pretty face. "Girl, I've been looking everywhere for you! What the hell are you doing?"

"I'm sorry!" Sam gave her friend a knowing look. "Ty needs some help, okay? We need to get him out of here incognito--can you help?"

Normally, Liz got irritated with Sam's choice in loser boyfriends, crazy musician friends, and the overall nutty music business types she hung out with, but something about Sam's voice and Ty's desperation must have been obvious, because she shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "Of course! We can be a threesome!" She grinned then. "I always wanted me a skanky white broad with big tits and a long-haired rocker with a small penis!"

Ty opened his mouth to protest, but Liz and Sam were too busy laughing to hear him anyway. "Not fair," he muttered as they dragged him out, one on each arm. "My dick's not that small!"
*****

Forty-minutes later, they were seated on Sam's couch, take-out boxes in front of them. Ty was eating as though he hadn't eaten in a week, while Sam picked at hers, wondering how many hours at the gym would compensate for so many late-night calories.

She let him eat for a solid ten minutes, and when he finally leaned back, closing his eyes and resting his hand on his stomach, she leaned over and moved a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "Talk to me," she said softly.

His eyes opened and he looked at her with a sad smile. "Sammy, I really think Johnny's gone off the deep end. The whole group, actually, but mostly Johnny."

"Like how?" She thought of the times she'd hung out with Ty and the band, both at rehearsals and shows, and Johnny, Rex the drummer and Clay the guitarist were always friendly, fun-loving and as easy-going as any musicians she'd ever met. Johnny, as lead singer and one of the band's two main spokesmen, was by far more gregarious and outgoing, but she'd never gotten the vibe that he wanted the spotlight all to himself. Of course, it was hard to take the spotlight away from Ty, because he was not only a talented bass player with great stage presence, he was also incredibly good-looking and could sing lead when the need arose.

"Well, technically it started about eight or nine years ago, before we moved here." Ty stared up at the ceiling. "It was the beginning of our senior year in high school and Lynn and I had broken up." He referred to his on-again/off-again high school sweetheart whom he still occasionally carried a torch for, despite the fact that she'd left him, Los Angeles and their impending marriage nearly four years before.

"Oh, boy." Sam leaned back on the couch next to him, almost mimicking his position, but instead of staring at the ceiling, she turned her head just slightly so she could look at his straight, angular profile. "Anything to do with Lynn is sure to be trouble."

"You can say that again." Ty hesitated. "She wanted all that traditional senior year stuff, like Homecoming tickets with the tux rental, all the senior skip days and the other crap that, as you probably guessed, I had no interest in. So I told her to forget it, and we had a fight and broke up." He glanced over at Sam and grinned. "Now, the one thing you have to remember is that I was the only one of our gang that was gettin' any on a regular basis. Johnny, Clay and this other guy we hung out with, Brett, had their share of girls when we played live, but we were all underage, so there weren't that many girls at school that put out. Lynn and I started sleeping together our junior year, and of course the guys knew that. So as soon as I put out the word that Lynn was no longer in my life, Johnny moved in on her. You know how 17-year-old boys are--all about gettin' laid, and he saw the writing on the wall. He also had money, something I never had, and he bought her Homecoming tickets, rented a limo, the whole thing. Told her he was just being her friend, because we'd all known each other for years."

"So he put the moves on your girl?" Sam blinked at him. "Just because you broke up for a while? I mean, weren't you guys together from like 8th grade?"

Ty nodded, shaking his head. "But I was mad, you know? I told him to go for it! I didn't care about anything but music, and she was driving me nuts, talking about college, a 'real' career, getting married... babies!" He chuckled. "I think my dick shriveled up just thinking about it! But Johnny, he didn't care about her, he just wanted someone he could screw whenever he wanted, and he was good at saying what she wanted to hear. So they got together, and she thought it was great to flaunt it in my face." He paused. "Anyway, in the end, he really screwed with her and of course, she came back to me, but the point is, that was the first time he went after something that was mine. And now he's doing it again."

To Be Continued...

*Disclaimer: This story is pure fiction. I'm writing it because I love fiction and mysteries and writing and all that goes with it. I'm going to write installments no more than twice a week (sometimes less) until no one is interested in reading it anymore. No outline, no pre-conceived plot or characters. I'm writing this soap opera style, with an ongoing storyline and characters that "build themselves." I will be using my experiences in the music business, the legal business, as a writer, as a mom, celebrities I've met, etc., but none of them will be real. I will also be using some of my favorite names, but they do NOT represent REAL PEOPLE. I know at least 8 or 9 musicians named Mark in real life--but the Mark in this story is not any of them! Names are names, nothing more. If you don't like the story, that's okay, but please don't get up in arms if I make a reference about Mick Jagger being too skinny or Pamela Anderson's breasts being too big--this is all for fun. Thanks for reading!