While I love a good conspiracy theory as much as the next .....

This particular book left me cold.

For those who wonder, yes I am in possession of the original LOOK magazines from that time.  My ex's Grandmother had saved them and wanted me to have them.  She knew I'd care for them and trust me I have.  I've also read things that you might not know - things that were reported THEN but lost over time - unless you really dug.

I've heard them all I think.  The most interesting theory wasn't that it was a conspiracy but rather an accident.  I think it was supported by Cyril Wrecht but I'm not certain.  Anyway the supposition goes that a Secret Service person standing in the back of one of the limos lost his balance and oopsed.  Could be.  It's plausible and the trajectories etc could be made to match.  I've also heard that Johnson (sitting in the next limo) pulled out a revolver and shot him.  Far fetched?  yep.

Why do we love a good conspiracy theory?  Is it our way of making sense of a nonsensical situation?  Is it our way of making the square pegs fit round holes so we're happy, organized, and off to deal with another situation?  Or is it our love of a good drama.

I have my own theories, supported by cursory research and access to interesting reading material.  My foremost theory is that we'll probably never know because when the truth is shaded, albeit a little or a lot, then the truth disappears.  As in when you make the evidence fit to the crime.  The real crime is technically unsolved.

I was also fortunate enough to have a father on the East Coast in a restricted program when the shit hit the fan on many things in 62 and 63.  He vowed we'd never truly know.  I think he's probably right on that account.

For now, I will definitely NOT recommend the book above.  It's mostly filled with *I* read this and *I* studied that and look how *I* can make this stuff make sense.  Cutting to the spoilers - the CIA did it because Kennedy was turning into a pacifist and had been having secret talks with the USSR.

Doubtful.  Plus not really well written either.

Oh Cris if only Tim were still around to help me trash this book.  I thought about him when I finally skipped to the last and thought OMG I have better ideas than that (and better research) hehehe  He had the info that I never did have (being born in 64) and this one?  just not good - even from a conspiracy theory point of view.

Voyeur anyone?

I think in some form or fashion we're all voyeurs at heart.

Having just recently hit Amazon dot com in search of reading material, I found myself ordering a book on JFK, the one above on Marilyn Monroe, and wondering if there was a good John Lennon biography out there.

These are not obscure works (like The Mullendore Murder Case which is out of print and dreadfully expensive) but rather popular books.

Why do we want to know so much - and so much more - about the famous and infamous people?  Is it voyeurism - a wish to see inside their private lives in hopes of a glimpse of something tawdry?  It is because they are or rather were famous and we want to see what made them tick?  Maybe figure out why they were famous?  explain the magic?

I don't know the whys and wherefores - I just know that I'm not the only one.

but I am probably the only one reading this who ever read The Mullendore Murder Case.  's ok - if you're not from rural Oklahoma, you probably didn't hear about it.  I bet you heard about Karen Silkwood though ........

Making Choices

I finally ordered our faireever passes for the Maryland Renaissance Festival.  It's a special place where we used to go every one of the 19 days - rain, shine, frigid cold - didn't matter we were there.

Not so much in the last couple of years.  I see the limitations and I know that it's a compromise that I have to make.  Explaining that to others ... not quite so easy.  Then again, I really don't owe anyone an explanation except Jon.

Our dearest friends understand.  They help watch him for signs of distress and pain while I wander a bit.  I wander Revel Grove less and less though as time passes.  It still retains its magic.  The wonder of the trees.  Being away from technology.  Hearing live music, sharing a cup with friends, hugs, smiles, greetings -- those are still the same. 

We have sadly changed though.

The benches at O'Shucks are the best because they offer back support.  However, because they're the best, it's often crowded.  Sometimes he needs to sit practically all day.  Others we can wander a bit but still need to leave early -- always way too soon for me, but usually far too late for him.

Compromises.

I *could* go by myself but then I'd miss him and he'd miss me.  I'd rather make the choice to spend time together, even if it is in front of the television watching The History Channel.

Choices.

I remember the choices I had to make with Mom (aka The Wild Granny).  At first she wandered and looped and got drunk with a friend (and got sick in the trashcan at the White Hart - that's still legendary) but later it was just part way down the path and only for a few hours.  Those few hours were restorative though.

They are for Jon as well.  So we go early, often leave early, only go one day of the weekend and be blissfully happy that Revel Grove exists; that friends are around; and most importantly that he can still enjoy the magic.

I live in dread of the day when it's not possible anymore.

Just please, not too soon.

the photo above is of Mimi - one of the mimes.  She sits upon the gate and does bubbles.  A tiny bit of the magic of Revel Grove.

Live to work/work to live

Perspectives.

Often I need to come in well before sunrise because work demands it.  Often, as well, I forget the benefits of coming in crack-o-dawn.

I've noticed over the years that our normal office staff tends to come in grumpy.  It's not because they're here that early -- I'm often here earlier.  I think it's more a cultural thing.

First off let me say this:  1) this is not a commentary on race nor is it racist  2) this is not a commentary on the legality of workers from other countries - I check them fairly thoroughly  3) race will be mentioned just as a defining term.

I come in early and usually reasonably happy.  I am the minority in our mono-chromatic office staff.  Yes we're all white.  I am white as well so the difference being I don't come to work grumpy and out-of-sorts.

For the most part though, our field employees are Hispanic -- or Latino if you prefer.  They're from Jamaica, Honduras, El Salvador, Mexico, and yes even a couple from South Africa (who prefer the term black - they're very sweet about it though).

What they have in common with each other -- and NOT in common with the office staff is not only a difference in race but rather a difference in attitude both toward work and toward life.

When I'm here crack-o-OMG-dawn, I hear laughs, smiles, friendly greetings, sometimes singing.  From the rest of my office staff?  nope they're not here and when they get in a cheerful Good Morning will get you a grunt if you're fortunate.  No these are my field staff.  They smile.  They laugh.  They're friendly, vivacious, happy to be here:

Happy to be alive to see another day.

I love them.  They love me. They love to chat. They love to laugh.  They love the sunrise.  They love the pre-sunrise, whether they're just coming in or they've worked all night -- doesn't matter ....

They Are Happy.

Why can't we embrace each day with the same enthusiasm?  Just damned happy to be alive for another sunrise?

the photo above is from Rehoboth 2009.  Obviously I am a morning person and dawn and pre-dawn are my favorite parts of the day.  They're made even better when I have a happy person to enjoy the morning with.

Sometimes you just gotta keep paddling

...and sometimes you throw in the towel and float.

Harold informed me that too many changes at once, while ambitious, is driving him bonkers.  Yeah I could see that.

I caved this weekend and procured my favorite crutch:  nicotine.

Yes it's an ugly monkey.  It's a monkey that quite frankly embarrasses me in public and isn't really socially acceptable anymore.  I get that.

I also get that a psychotic break isn't acceptable either.  No I wasn't that far, just distracted, unfocused, and frankly just not dealing.

We shall try again when work slows a bit this winter because (as Harold reminded me) only when we fail to try are we truly failing.

...and now on to your regularly scheduled programming.  I've hid from work long enough this morning :)

the photo above came from NCRF 2005 I believe, I didn't write the date on it buggers.  I love ducks and there was such a lovely pond there, that I simply could not resist.

Sitting coffee in hand/cats at my feet

...and wondering why I'm not at the beach, not outside, not enjoying the sunshine.

Oh yes, that would be because I'm working from home this weekend.  Oh the joy - no please stop me now.

I had an interesting conversation with our HR director a few weeks ago.  Her father aka the owner/president of the company, frowns on us worker bees taking work home over the weekend.  He feels that we should all have weekends off and take a full week vacation (or two as the seniority dictates) each year.  Kate and I talked about how that's just not the way it works anymore.

The era of taking the family off for two weeks, no work, no phone calls, no emails, has sadly left us.

No I don't exactly *have* to work from home, kitties at my feet, coffee happily being consumed (decaf as it is).  I *could* go in at 4 a.m. and put in 12 hour days for 5 days.  For one who is scheduled a mere 40 hours a week, as as salary paid exactly that (and as backup HR, I know the overtime laws - I am definitely non-exempt), putting in 60 isn't always the best move.  Sometimes I'd rather be with hubby though currently that involves something Jackie Chan playing on the tele only barely audible over his snores.

Still, home is more comfortable.  I can sit braless in my favorite tank top and shorts.  I'm also doing laundry (watch her multi-task folks) and obviously at the moment I'm taking a break because it was either this or listen to Harold try to convince me that the journal entries would be *much* more fun with a couple of glasses of chardonnay.

There's a reason why most accountants can't drink on the job, good at numbers though we may be.

So here I sit, trying to convince myself that getting my work done equals sleeping IN til 4 instead of opening the doors at 4.

So here I sit wondering just how I could work from the beach.  It's probably possible, but those pesky margaritas ... probably safest to stick to coffee, snoring husband and purring kitties.

that photo is from Rehoboth from last year.  Whenever we go to the beach either it's too cold, too rough, or somebody doesn't feel well.  I love the ocean.  However, with my eyesight, it doesn't love me without a keeper.  Still, to fall asleep to the sound of the waves is a joy unparallelled.

The things that change - or don't

Sometimes my days feel just like this squirrel - hanging on and trying to blend in.

As I sit waiting for my General Tsao Tofu to cool and hoping that my wine doesn't get warm in exhange, I have to think again about the whirl-bout this life of mine has taken.

I do a lot of Live Journal as part of a Parkinson's Filter.  Not to hide, but rather to protect the feelings of my lovely and quite guiltridden husband who feels I got the short end of the stick in this marriage.

No - if anyone got the short end it was him when he threw caution into the winds and chose me.  All I can say in my behalf is at least I'm adaptable.

I wonder if Mom's first husband will call this weekend in a desperate attempt to keep her alive while speaking with me.  Much like me, he is not only without Mom but also apparently quite alone.  Being a surrogate nearly-everything from Grandmother to caregiver to sister, I find myself in the role as surrogate daughter.  Odd legacy that Mom (still known in many parts as The Wild Granny) has left me.  Diamond earrings and a first husband who never attained closure.

I wonder if I will hear from my wayward youngest child who still has yet to accept responsibilities for his actions.  When I put up the hard-line, he chose a geographical cure and moved with his father.  His father, not being one to deal with angst well, gave in and now wayward child has decamped on yet another geographical cure.  Little does he realize that I only wish him well and happy.  Perhaps one day, he will.

I wonder if I will find an impromptu party has cropped up next door with my resident drag-queens (their choice of title) and if it's a slumber party like last years blizzard was...and if so, if I need to find more appropriate slumber gear as to not be underdressed with my lack of sequins and fringe.

I wonder most of all how I will ever find the patience to keep going though somehow it happens.  Somehow the sun returns each morning and the sun leaves each evening.  As such, I shall continue.


I took the photo above in summer 2007 in Washington DC.  Don't pet the squirrels -- they're bold brave creatures who are not above biting if the hand they investigate holds nothing but a camera.