Plan on planning, I suppose.

I went to my "big city" offices last Thursday, to see my co-workers before the Christmas – er – "winter" break - to pick up a few packages that were waiting for me, and to go ice skating with a new friend.

When I arrived, I was greeted by my friend and ex-coworker Thea, who has just returned from her college graduation and was likely the best receptionist our company has ever had. In the 20 minutes that she was there, Thea mentioned that she'd be interested in returning to work full-time for the company and, by the time she left, she had MANY active leads. She was surprised by this, I was not. I also won't be surprised if she doesn't return and goes elsewhere. She's a really great worker and will be a valued team-member wherever she winds up. While we didn't keep in touch during her absence, I hope to hear from her now that she's back on the West Coast.

I walked across the street and met my new friend, Lucy. After a stroll through a cooking store (where, being food geeks, we drooled at the knives and copperware), we went ice skating. I had visions of broken bones and falling flat on my face but, upon stepping onto the ice, immediately skated off as 'tho I was born in colder weather. (I'd be lying I didn't say it felt good to hear Lucy say, as I took off, "I thought you said you were no good at this?") We spent about a half an hour going for a bit, then stopping and seeing how other folks were doing, and then we turned in our skates and went to my coffee shop for a warm-up beverage, which we drank in the lobby of my office.

While we were there, maybe 12 or 15 folks walked by, greeted me and my new friend, caught me up on the latest happenings, and soon it was nearly 6pm. As we were leaving, Lucy mentioned that I worked at an amazing place with incredibly gifted and kind people. And I couldn't agree more.

As if to reconfirm that impression, I had lunch with Tim the next day. The food was just alright, but the company was terrific. He caught me up on his latest travels (which he did during his sabbatical) and such. I can't say where his head was during this meal, but mine was wondering how much longer we'd be co-workers, and what will happen when I move on. I know we'll always be friends. I know that I'll always be able to call him to ask what time it is in India if it is 10:15am in Chicago, and he'll always be able to send me a document for proofreading, but I also know that things WILL change. With these questions and fears echoing in my head, I drove him back to work, handed him his presents (which, of course, he protested against, until I told him that he'd have to share them with Simon) and drove home without the radio, just listening to the sounds of the city through Jake's ragtop.

And, waiting for me at home, was an email from Scott – reminding me that distance does not define true friendship. No matter if they're new friends, or friends you know only via the Internet, or friends that have known you since before you knew yourself – distance shouldn't be part of that equation.

I know that the approaching year has MANY changes in store for me … some I am expecting, some will catch me off-guard, some I'll be responsible for, and some will come from the actions of others in my life.

And, since stopping time isn't an option, all I can do is hang tight and greet 2008 and all it will bring with an optimism I may not yet truly feel. But perhaps that too will come. I guess I should just plan on that.

Jackie Brenston

Sometimes I'm amazed at the reasons behind my gut reactions.

Ike Turner passed away today ... and this bothers me. But it's not the kind of "bother" you probably are thinking of. As far as I'm concerned, it couldn't have happened to a nicer guy. I hope it was long and drawn out. I hope he was in a LOT of pain for many, many months. I hope he experienced embarrassment as his body shut down. I hope he mentally stayed aware for the entire journey.

And it's that gut feeling of repulsion that I'm talking about when I say that it "bothered" me to read of Ike's passing. He never did a thing to me, after all – I shouldn't care, honestly. It shouldn't even bug me that people are giving him credit left and right for possibly the first Rock and Roll recording – "Rocket 88" – which I know to be actually the work of Jackie Brenston. Jackie sang lead on this recording – AND Jackie is credited with writing the damn thing - but Jackie was a member of Ike's band and, when all was said and done, Ike was the one who stayed in the business longest so … there ya' go.

So why do I feel such … hatred … towards a now-dead man I'd never even met?

Because my sister was a victim of domestic violence for many years, by two different individuals, and I was the one she called each time she needed to be rescued.

Each time, we'd sit quietly in my apartment, not saying much … 'cause there wasn't much to say. I'd told her a million times that we weren't raised to be treated this way, and she'd agree. I'd tell her that she was smarter than this - that she could stay with me for as long as she needed. (I learned early on in her relationships to NEVER give out my actual living address, so she'd have a safe place to hide. It's a habit, I've realized, I continue to practice to this very day.) We'd clean her up, the sounds of our pounding hearts echoing hard in our heads and, depending on how bad off she was and her state of mind, sometimes she'd allow me to photograph her injuries, with a newspaper in the photo as proof of the date. (Amazing how good I got at knowing to do this stuff.)

After some time had passed, my older sister, who suddenly seemed so small and helpless, so lost and scared, would ask me to drive her back home, and I knew that she'd go back even if I refused to give her a lift so it was just easier to agree to do so.

So there ya' go. For the next couple of days, Ike Turner and his many (dubious) accomplishments will be in the news and on the radio.

No one said a word (that I can remember anyway) when Jackie Brenston died on December 15, 1979 in Memphis, TN. We don't know if Jackie was a better artist, or a better husband, or a better human being … and I guess we'll never know those things. Hardly seems fair, right? Very few things are, 'tho.

In case you're wondering, my sister is no longer in a relationship where she needs to hide or be afraid each night. I can't say that she's in relationship-bliss either, but at least I know she won't experience any harm. Unfortunately the lessons that I learned from her experiences obviously are still with me.

I hope that someday I can't remember those days. And I also hope that someday Jackie Brenston will receive proper credit on recording the first Rock and Roll record.

My biological clock has no alarm.

Last weekend was spent with immediate and extended family, as my folks decided to have a "holiday" party ("holiday" meaning "Thanksgiving/Christmas/New Years", 'tho my sister and I also added in "Hey – Dad had a heart attack but looks like he'll be here for the Superbowl anyway so raise a glass").

My parents' home is in no way child-proof … not even a little bit. There are cactus plants at knee level, all kinds of unprotected electrical sockets, cords to pull on, etc. This makes sense because they never figured they'd be grandparents. There was some hope for a time, provided by yours truly, but that was THEIR dream, *not* mine. I've always … ALWAYS … known that I wouldn't have kids, and the reason is simple – I don't "get" them. I can't relate to them on any level … until they're about 12 or so anyway.

Don't get me wrong … infants are cute but … well … they're kinda … slimy. I'm NOT into "slimy". It's why I wear gloves when I work with jams or seperate eggs … too slimy. It's why I've always only tolerated my sisters' choice of canine companion … bull dogs and bull mastiffs are, by nature, slimy. She accepts this as part of the animal, whereas I would just chose a different breed.

Toddlers are also a mystery to me. Their dramatic mood-swings, outright LYING to your face, always thinking of themselves … rather reminds me of myself in the 80s.

Oh, and I know I know … YOUR kids are different. Uh huh. Suuuuuuuuure they are.

I like visiting other folks who have kids … like my oldest closest friend Karin. She has two daughters, both now in school and, while the youngest is still somewhat of an enigma to me, the oldest I totally get. She's a brat. She's selfish and needy. She doesn't just play "princess", she fully believes she IS one and the rest of us commoners were created solely to serve HER needs. Karin and I laugh when she gets like this… which sends said child into a funk, stomping off to her bedroom alone to go and sulk, giving us time to catch up sans children which, honestly, is what we wanted anyway. It's a perfect arrangement.

I had a ball visiting with my friend Scott over the summer. His youngest kids are the perfect age for me – they have ideas and great senses of humor and ya' can tell they're gonna be really great grown-ups. They're VERY well-mannered, like to play games, and actually seem to get along with one another. In short, I can talk to them like I talk to *every* child – as an adult – and they'll respond in kind, without trying to BE you.

My family still thinks I'll change my mind on my whole "child embargo", I guess. I mean, my sister was 40 when she had her first kid … so I suppose the logic is that I'm hearing my body clock, too. So when my cousin and I were sitting with my mom, who had her youngest grandchild on her lap, I noticed that the child was … oozing. It was just flat-out ugly. Her whole face was shiny. My cousin saw me wince and said "Well, take care of it, Auntie" and I said "Sure thing. Here ya' go, Grandma" and handed my mom a Kleenex.

What?!? I mean - come on. That's just ... nasty.