Who am I? I'm...

My photo
Gonna met all muh friends Gonna have ourself a ball Gonna tell my friends Gonna tell them all That I'm a wild one Ooh yeah I'm a wild one Gotta break it loose Gonna keep 'em movin' wild Gonna keep a swingin' baby I'm a real wild child I'm a real wild one An' I like a wild fun In a world gone crazy Everything seems hazy I'm a wild one Ooh yeah I'm a wild one I'm a wild one I'm a wild one I'm a wild one Oh baby I'm a wild one ~~IggyPop

Hard workin man

Now that Crash Farr has had one session of PT, he's been workin hard on his own brand of PT. Here are a few snaps of our Farr hard at work.

All work and no rest makes for a very dull Farr.

And the beat goes on... Farr warming up his skills with his new toys.

Photo time

Hello all. As Argus mentioned in her blog, I did receive the photo of Farr via cell phone. As technological savvy as I am, I had to call a friend for a mini-lesson in sharing the photo from my phone (that ought to give Farr a good laugh! lol). After some blips and bumps, I managed to email it to myself. Yay for me!

Without further fuss, here's the man of the hour.... check out that grin! That's our Farr! Love ya Farr!

Marching orders

Yesterday Farr and Argus met with the tres therapists. After looking him over, much like a fine classic car, it was determined that Farr shall be put through the paces twice weekly (physical, speech and occupational) through the end of December at the Scripps Outpatient Therapy Clinic. We've made it this far, I'm sure a few exercises will be nothing.

A moment of hilarity (okay, maybe just for me) came about when the first thing the main therapist asked was, "Where's your crash helmet?" ; } Actually, this is one of the first things I asked Argus when I found that they had plans for getting Farr out of the bed and moving around a bit. To hear it was also a concern of the pro's... well, it just made a few of us laugh. I think I'll start referring to Farr as..... Crash Farr. lol

The upside of all of this is Argus will have access to the net during the times Farr is at the clinic and will be able to post updates to her blog AND read to Farr all the lovely notecards to email that everyone has been sending along via the mailbox at Echo. Keep an eye on this space and I will let everyone know when that first session will be, as the posting will return to Argus' blog at that point.

Keep the good thoughts and well wishes coming and if you haven't yet, stop on by Echo and leave Farr a notecard in the mailbox on the front porch. I'm sure he'd love to hear from each and every one of you. I also plan, at some point, to print them all up and post them to Argus for Farr to read for himself when he is ready.

Therapy Tuesday

Good morning everyone. Today is testing day. We will be meeting with the occupational, speech and general physical therapists to map out the plan of attack for regaining physical traits that are trailing a bit behind. Then in a few weeks, we will meet with the surgeon once again. Things are still looking up and forward.

Over the weekend, we went out for mexican cuisine and visited with Farr's last roommate in the hospital. Farr's spirits are great and he is very much so enjoying the one on one phone calls some of you have been making. We will post more information after the visit with the therapists.

Onward and Upward

Greetings all...Onward and upward is the current mantra. Farr is set for his outpatient physical therapy consult on Tuesday of next week. They will evaluate him and set up a course of physical therapy to fit his personal needs. He was given a set of electronic drums for his birthday. Music, it does a body good. He watched the instructional video for the set today. This will not only aid in his recovery, but is something that he so loves - music. Farr has started the journey of becoming one with his best buddy, the lazy boy.

All signs are positive he's well on his way to recovery. Will know more next Tuesday, on how all of this therapy will come together. In the meantime, the good vibes and prayers mean a load to Farr and Argus.

Troglodytes and the beginning of the week

Heya everyone! Argus is "net-less" for a short time, so I will be updating here on my blog for her. Here's to hoping she has net access soon - I know it's driving her batty.

Mark is doing well at their temporary home in Del Mar. So well, he's now laid claim to "HIS" lazy boy. lol They say they'll have to dynamite him out of the thing when the time comes. The initial meeting with the outpatient therapy unit should be soon. For now though, he's enjoying the fresh air, moving about the house and being with the love of his life. He's had us searching for "troglodytes," and of course none of us knew what he was talking about. No fear, he recalled the name of the movie and all is well. (have to love those obscure references that pop up from out of nowhere)

He's progressing very well. Continued thoughts and prayers are greatly appreciated. Mama passes her love on to everyone. Tune in here for further updates until such time Mama has her net access back.

Drive time convo with a seven year old talk box

When a boy becomes a graduate the discussion with a seven year old, on the drive home, can become enlightening. Yes, I am thrilled to report my son, the quiet child, stood before family, community and peers, received his diploma and promptly instructed good ol mom to "hurry up mom, you are taking too long with pictures." Ahem... After all the hugs, congratulations, tears and photo ops, the twisted female child and I headed toward our trusty family mobile for the quiet ride home. Conversation during the walk across the rather expansive parking area should have clued me in to what I was in for on the drive home, but my keen need to get us across the expanse and into the car (really, my feet were killing me and I had the goal of getting to the car and getting those heels off!) did not allow me to pick up on the cues.

"Please walk beside me. Not in front of me, not behind me."

"Mommy, you are so confusing. I can walk just fine right here."

"Yes dear child, but if you can't do what I am asking, I will just leave you here and come back for you."

"Mommy, I can make my own way to the car."

Oy vey... Seven year olds and their sense of "I can do it without you."

Once buckled into the car and out of that never ending move two spaces and wait ten minutes rush to the open road, I asked the seven year old twisted female child if she was proud of her brother. Her reply ran (continuously, mind you) for the full forty minute trip home, began like this...

"Yes, BUT... I am going to do better than bubba. He spends too much time playing his game, that's why he didn't do as well as I will. He could have done better, but that game was his excuse not to. I like to read more than bubba, that is why I have so much smart stuff in my brain. I think my drawing is going to have to be taken out, there just isn't enough room in there for it with all the smart stuff I plan on putting there. Mommy, I have so much smart stuff in my brain, I have no imagination. I wish I did have some imagination, but the smart stuff is more important. Do you think it will be okay if I have all smart stuff and no drawing or imagination parts? I think I will, but it worries me that my friends seem to have more imagination part than me. Maybe they will think I am too smart and not want to play with me because I can't play imagination with them. Okay mommy, I decided I can have two small parts next to the big smart stuff. One for drawing and one for imagination. They will be tiny, but I will fill them up with all the right things. I think my writing goes in the smart stuff, don't you? Maybe I need to make a list when we get home to make sure I put everything in the right place. I have to have a really big smart space, because remember mommy, I want to be a author and a singer/musician. For those I have to get lots of smart stuff from school and college. Is it time to start thinking about which school I will go to? I don't want to go to school where bubba goes. That would not be good. I want to go to my own school. By that time, bubba will be a real adult and could have babies. Did you see that one girl with the big belly? I bet she had a baby in there. And she is to young to have a good man. She really messed up mommy. Now she can't go to college and get a real job and do the fun things you are supposed to do before becoming a real adult and having a baby. Don't worry mommy, I won't be like her. I will go to school, get all filled up with smart stuff, and a little bit of drawing and imagination so I can keep my friends, and get a good job before I become a real adult. I think that I will be 35 when I get to be a real adult. Then I can get me a good man and have a baby. Do you know that B is dyslexic? She can't read much, but her only hobby is drawing. She is trying to get smart stuff in her head, but the drawing takes over. If she would make the drawing part smaller, maybe the smart stuff could get in her brain like it does mine. That's why I know how to do math better than her. Because I don't want my drawing part bigger than my smart part......"

I will stop there. I did interject with a few comments here and there, but this child can run right over anyone during a conversation so it is best to let it just run its course. If any of you remember the McDonalds commercial with the little girl in the backseat just rambling on and on and on with no end in sight, until she's handed a McDonalds shake. That would be my wonderfully twisted female wild child. The key difference being, she talks between sips. Eventually, she did wind down and toddle off to bed. However, this morning began a new day. The first thing she said to me...

"Mommy, now that bubba graduated when does he leave so I can have his room? I want to paint it purple and get book shelves and one of those up off the ground beds so I can make a fort underneath with a big light so I can put all my smart learning stuff in there. Can I also get one of those nature sound things? You know, don't you mommy, that music helps kids learn. So I need lots of sounds so I can keep putting the smart stuff in my brain..............."

Welcome to the brand new world of having a newly graduated child with the world at his feet, and one child who is insistant her imagination is small with all evidence pointing to the fact that despite her wishes, that imagination is firmly intact and growing with each breath she takes.

What the *censored* was that all about?

"Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you...Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be... Dream a little dream of me"

Ah yes... we all have them, a majority don't recall them, some are skeery, some are sexy, some are run on themes of the day's happenings and some are just downright "what the *censored* was that all about?" I had one of the latter overnight. Zam Pow! From out of nowhere this thing came.

I have never been one for crushes, idols, untamed passions, being star struck or any such nonsense. I'm a practical gal, feet firmly planted on the ground with stickers abound. To say I live a life full of reality is an understatement. That said, there has been one singular soul that piqued my interest many moons ago. Unlike many in the wild, wild world of the netterverse, this soul does not rule my every move, I don't do the fanfiction thing, don't do the walks on water schpeal, as a matter of fact I very rarely say much on the subject at all, much less think on the subject. Rather, one moment in time etch-a-sketched an image/thought/interest in the deep caverns of the grey matter confined between my ears. It stays there hidden away from prying eyes and other such negative nellies, swinging on the swings and romping through the emty fields before it. This is where the *censored*-ness comes into play about this dream.

I sat in a little diner (is it odd that I was actually sitting in a booster chair?) with a couple of friends having the earth's best DEEP fried taters and cocoa, just yabbering up a storm about absolutely nothing. Isn't that the normal way? When along came a spider and sat down... Opps, I forgot the subject... Ah yes, the dream. Out of nowhere I hear this voice ask if they can join our rather animated discussion about nothing. Without looking up, we chime in.. sure thing mister. The next thing I know, I'm smacking the hand of this etch-a-sketched vision of many moons ago, for having the nerve to dip into MY fried taters. WTH does he think he is anyway? Some superstar? Sheesh! Without so much as batting a singular eyelash, I request that he get his own *censored* taters. After all.. It is reported that he has more money than g-o-d himself. Hell, get me another order while yer at it dood! While he's away, my friends promptly begin kicking me and throwing things at me, reminding me, "why yes.. he is a superstar... WTH is wrong with you? Be nice!" He returned just as I was dipping my eyeballs into his water to clean them off after having rolled around on that floor covered in lord knows what. Conversation prattled on, ranging from nothing much to absurd.

I blinked and the food was gone (what good is a dream without food, I ask you?) and we had apparently launched war on a booth across the room. With finesse, we catapaulted spit wads, ice cube missles and creative insults (I thought the "you are as messy as my melted ice cream cone" was the finest in our arsenal). Laughter erupted when this etch-a-sketched image come to life sitting next to me took a direct hit upon his gargantuan sized schnoz by a very overcooked brussel sprout. It was akin to that neat "squirtshplash" cartoon sound from the days of yore. This instance, but of course, caused war to break out at our own booth. From out of nowhere, food appeared and was hurled at the booth's residents. I took a direct hit to the kisser from a sloppy joe and before I could clear my vision (again, by rinsing my eyeballs in HIS water - wth is up with me doing that?) a wad of smashed taters was sent on the fast track in my direction. Me being an old pro at food wars, I immediately grabbed the plate positioned in front of me and redirected the white glob the consistency of drywall paste toward my etch-a-sketched new friend. Heh! Take that you person who thinks you are a superstar! Splat! As I was clearing the vision and launching into a fit of laughter.... I mean, afterall, who the *censored* comes to a lowly grimy diner decked out in a tailored designer black suit complete with fine egyptian black shirt and silky grey tie with perfectly coiffed hair?... This etch-a-sketched soul that has held my interest since before I was even a tween, grabbed the passing waitress, pulled a fresh WHOLE cherry pie off her tray and kersmashed it square in my mouth full open in sheer laughter face. *censored* ... *censored*.... *censored* Cherry pie? Ewwwwwww.... anything but that!

I blinked and found myself sitting rather close with the most in horror, in total shock, mortified look on my face as this etch-a-sketched soul was passing a camera across to my friends and asking me if I would please take a photo with him. Zam Pow! End of dream, time to rise and shine. I wonder if this is a sign that I should try cherry pie.. hey.. I might like it. Or maybe that I should act on my craving for those DEEP fried taters that only a tiny dimly lit dingy diner can provide. Perhaps... Well hell... I'll just leave well enough the *censored* alone and cherish the new etch-a-sketched image deep within the caverns of grey matter confined between my ears now covered with schplatted overcooked brussel sprout and smashed taters!

Why is everyone so all fired STUFFY?

In my rather outlandish estimation, 98% of any grouping of adults are just... well... too damned adult. To make the waters even more muddy, I put forth that the same 98% are either entirely stuff jacket or turn to altering substances or others to MAKE fun/silly/goofy for them. C'mon people! Just when exactly did you shed your need for all things goof (akin to need for speed) skin? Was it when you walked across the stage during that defining moment and they handed you a rolled up empty piece of paper to tell the world to take you more seriously? Was it when that slick stuffed suit offered you a cubicle on the 2,489th floor of that ugly ass building downtown? When exactly did this happen? I missed the memo, obviously. My goof skin is firmly in place and seems to have its own timing for letting loose.

Now, I'm sure quite a few of you are already spewing forth any number of obscene and downright illegitimate mouthfuls as to why it is no longer appropriate for persons of advanced stature, community standing, advancing age, yadda.. yadda to spontaneously whip yer goof out at any point in time. Pardon me for one moment while I run outside and retrieve my rolling eyeballs as they make a mad dash to the park up the street. Please spare me your litany of excuses and listen for a short spell. In other words.. Zip yer lip and put on your listening ears (you might want to run them through the dishwasher first, I know it has been a millennia since most of you listened to anything outside a six inch radius from your tiny pea brains... hell, they may have already turned into fossils). Though another subject for another time, a lot of you 98%'ers have also forgotten how to really listen.

There are really few times/places where one needs to place a straight jacket on their personal goof. They are rare and even then, I give my goof permission to run rampant within the four walls of my grey matter holding cell, with nary a glimmer of the chaos showing to the outside world. Of course, I can hear the rumblings coming from the wave of inappropriate settings for a full on goof loosing. I can think of two, in which I straight jacket my goof. Court proceedings and a child's funeral. All bets are off when it comes to any other situation. Loosen that choker you've chosen to wear, yes.. you've all CHOSEN to strangle the fun out of your lives, and I will start you on the path to finding and releasing your own inner goof. Just do me a favor, when you read a scenario and feel the excuse bubbling up through your throat, jump up out of your chair and bust a move. Spontaneous goof dancing (and yes, everyone can goof dance) can stifle even the most logical excuse.

My co-workers over the years have without a doubt rubbed their stress filled dramas all over my daily life. I believe we all have this issue, heck, we basically live with them eight to ten hours each workday. The more stress filling the air, the more my goof tends to, shall we say, spontaneously erupt. A brainstorming group stuck in the initial stage of project planning, the process is stalled, teeth are knashing, heads are starting to pound, nerves are starting to frazzle. What do I do? Unleash the beast and start jamming to some imaginary song I just made up in my head. My chair is laughing under my wiggling, dancing and bouncing butt. My head, doing the slide. And the hum begins. The lyrics don't matter much, it's all in the release of the goof tude. Sing along with me now! "OOOpaupau mau mau Ompa Mauuuu.. OOOpaupau mau mau Opma Mauuuuu... My butt it has its own beat called m-a-u-m-a-u, my hips they have a wiggle called p-a-u-p-a-u, Ohhhhh I want to bust a desk top spin and if you ask me why I'll sing... Cause my OOOpaupau mau mau just has to Opma Mauuuu all day!" Original? Nah, there is something about those childhood commercials that just stays with all of us, my grey matter just tends to... well.... slaughter the original lyrics and fit them to the mood. Believe it or not, my singing catches on and soon the co-workers are cutting up, laughing and once again freely productive after a goof singing session. Other times I have been known to stop in the office doorway bust out my sad rendition of John Travolta's Staying Alive dance and belt out the refrain "ah ah ah ah Stayin Alive, Stayin Alive," complete with my rocker chic headbang.

Friends and their daily dose of drama seems to drive even the most sane person to drink. Don't drink! The next time yer girlfriend visits upon you her tale of woe that her boyfriend/ husbandisn'tpayingher nevermindthekidshavebrought homenotesall (breath)weekfromschoolmylibidoseemstobedwindlingmynailswon't growhewon'tlistentome (breath)didyouhearaboutwhatsherfaceup theroadandhernewestboyfriendohwhatamIgoingtodo(breath) helpmefixallmyproblemsican'tdoanything rightdoesmy buttlookfatinthesejeans???, take a deep breath, let it out slowly and repeat after me..... "On the good ship Lollipop...Its a sweet trip to a candy shop... Where bon-bons play...On the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay" and tap dance to your heart's content! Throw your head back and really let it rip. Grab your friend by the hands and twirl her around ala Fred and Ginger. Dosie-Do her around, grab her and plant a wet raspberry square on the forehead and begin again. Guys, you can try this, but you'd most likely have more success with, "Spiderman, Spiderman, Does whatever a spider can... Spins a web, any size, Catches thieves just like flies...Look Out! Here comes the Spiderman." Do the bump-da-bump, jump up on the couch/bumper and do the hand jive. Really let it fly!

For those moments of waiting that has become the "mytimeismoreimportantthanyours" hurry up, move out of the way, why is this line taking so long, the light turned green .00001 seconds ago.. GO already, I have my own mash-up goof remedy sure to de-stress and remind you that YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY PERSON ON THE FACE OF THE EARTH. Pull into the nearest parking lot, step back from the shopping cart, step back from whatever is causing you to grind your teeth and say "hurryupalready!" inhale deeply... roll your shoulders and roll your head around slowly a few times... shake your legs out.. clear your throat and in your best Pee Wee Herman voice, loudly sing "A-well-a everybody's heard about the bird...B-b-b-bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word...A-well-a bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word... A-well-a bird, bird, bird, well the bird is the word... A-well-a bird, bird, bird, b-bird's the word" while skipping in place or around the vehicle flapping your big bird arms repeatedly. If others stop to stare, invite them to join you. Simply put, you are not attractive as a stuff shirt, a holier-than-thou, a teeth knasher, an I know better than you, Can't you do anything right, Me.. me.. me.. me adult. Let that goof out. LAUGH! SMILE! Channel that unabashed goofy kid that you've hidden so well over the years. Leave the berating, cursing, belittling, looking down your nose activities that you just KNOW are cutting loose and throw them in the trash heap. Pull on your mismatched socks, muss up your hair, grab a chocolate popsicle and just GOOF already! What are ya waiting for? Stop being so all fired self-important and stuffy that you can't see the fun right off the tip of your nose!

In the beginning

Let there be light. Huh? Who turned on the lights? Dagnabbit, let me grab my eyeballs to see what on earth I'm doing here..........

There.. much better! Oh, hello! Are you sure you meant to tumble into this tangled mess that will at some point become a receptacle for my jarbled up nonsense? You did? Wow... you do realize that makes you durn near as nutty as me, yes?!

What is my purpose here? Nonsense, pure and simple. I'm a talker by nature, a writer by chance and I'm not at all sure my inner child is keeping up with my rapidly advancing age. I'm not worried. Nor should you. I may not be an expert on the matters of which I write, I may not be eloquent in my speech patterns, but boy howdy is it a whole lot of fun getting from point A to B with the entirety of my brain in between!

So, kick yer feet up, grab a beverage and join me in this ridiculousness. What? Oh.. yes.. I suppose I should finish up my profile first. Ahem.. Now, where is that contraption that sucks in my soul and spits out some caricature that is supposed to resemble me? Hmmmm....