Archive for 2007


Sunday, November 25th, 2007

Hello my friends,
It’s a few weeks after the fire storms and my mother and I and her tenet Sharon The Masseuse are sitting on Mom’s new deck, on Mom’s new patio furniture at her new wrought iron table with the two massive umbrellas.

It is also several weeks before my sister Barbara, (who looks after Mom’s money,) will tell my mother that our sister Polly is wrong in telling her that she is a wealthy woman, that, in fact she is Not rich and that she has spent way too much on the new deck and repairs to the big white house where Sharon lives. Barbara will tell Mom that her account is shockingly small and almost over-drawn.

This will cause my mother to fire the house keeper that we have worked so hard to find for her and will cause her to stop buying ice cream, beer and other food necessities. Mother will also lapse into a black state of constant worry about being impoverished.

Polly will remind all of us ‘kids’ that Mom is indeed land rich; that her property is worth millions and we can keep borrowing money against it. Since Mother plans to live to be 102 we feel that with all this borrowing there won’t be any inheritance left for us to get and that is OK.

“Live it up, Mom,” we tell her. “We’re glad you don’t have to put our inheritance towards an old folk’s home or nursing care. Drink lots of beer and eat lots of ice cream and chocolate. And, for gosh sakes, live comfortably!”

I’m thinking about all this as we sit on the fancy, solid new deck that’s just been built, (pardon the following words,) off her truly crappy, rusty rotten mobile home.

She likes the mobile home and she doesn’t want to live, anymore, in the 100 year old, two-story, cold and dark white farm house that she rents to Sharon and many of Sharon’s kids and grand-kids. Mom has had enough of that old, historic home and needs the rent from it, to be able to keep the 13 acres she lives on.

So, it is now several weeks before Mom’s mental ‘financial collapse’ and she is sitting on the patio with Sharon and me, loving the eight new beige chairs with the puffy cushions, the bright orange umbrellas and all the new potted plants on the new deck with the thick, strong stairs and the white, wooden railing.

It’s a clear, vast blue-skied late afternoon and we’re sharing a bottle of red wine and it’s 14.5% alcohol. What could could be finer?

We lift our glasses and I say, “Here’s to beauty, Mom. To your beautiful outdoor Party Place.”

We each take a big sip of wine and we hear, “So, where’s the septic tank?”


There he is, leaning on the deck rail, The Plumber, a greasy-haired man in his 50’s, part of what, since I have had dealings with them, I privately call The Dumb and Dumber Team.

I look at Sharon and my mother with a question on my face.

Sharon says, “Oh! Here you are. Did the rental manager call you? I told her my septic tank is full and poop is in my bathtub and every-time someone uses the toilet, upstairs or down, we get more poop in the bathtub!”

“We don’t pump out septic tanks,” The Plumber says.

“Well, you’re a plumber, why don’t you pump out septic tanks!” Sharon shouts. “I told that woman to send someone to pump out the tank. I know what’s wrong with it. It’s full!”

Sharon is clearly irritable and tired of hosting growing piles of poop in her bathtub.

“We’ll take a look,” says The Plumber.

My mother points out where the underground tank is, about 12 feet from where we sit.

Great. This will be fun..

The Plumber scratches his head.

His partner, the Younger Plumber, ambles up.

“We don’t pump septic tanks,” he says.

We then proceed to watch a version of the 3 Stooges, (minus a stooge,) at work.

As we drink our wine, we enjoy the view.

The Two Plumbers kick the dirt where they think the underground tank may be.
They whack at the ground with a pick axe.
They use a shovel.
One gets whacked in the leg with the shovel.
They bark at each other and mumble.
Up comes the lid off the tank along with a monstrous smell.

“Here it is,” Younger Plumber says. “It’s full. It’s full to the top.”

Yep, I guess we knew that.

Sharon shakes her head and her eyes roll around.

The mess reeks but we’re not going inside. We are determined to enjoy the new deck, the new furniture, the wine and each other’s company.

The Two Plumbers shovel and hack around in the deep tank.

“You need to have this pumped,” says The Plumber.

We know that.

“But, we don’t pump septic tanks,” he reminds us.

The Two Plumbers look at each other and shrug their shoulders.

(As historical background, these are the Two Plumbers who came to my house several years ago to put in a garbage disposal and fix some pipes in my garden.

They couldn’t agree on how to put the disposal in and I had to get down on the floor with them and partially under the sink, to confer.
It took them two hours to get the disposal hooked up and working without spitting water on my wood floors.

They were tired, I guess, and agreed that they would come back another day and look at the garden pipes. They never came and they never billed me, either.)

“Just send them away,” I now whisper to Sharon.
“They don’t know what they’re doing and anyway, they don’t pump septic tanks.”

The Two Plumbers are now on their stomachs, hanging over the pit in the ground, staring into it’s depths, appearing to be inhaling the contents.

The Older Plumber stands up and ambles over to us.

“We don’t pump tanks,” he says.

“Then go home,” Sharon says. “I don’t know why you’re doing all this since you don’t pump tanks.”

“You need to get this tank pumped,” The Older Plumber says sagely.

“Oh for God’s sake!” Sharon whispers. “I’m going to call Sludge Busters, they pump tanks!”

“Good idea,” agrees Younger Plumber, who has just idled over to us.
“You really need to get this pumped.”

Dumb and Dumber finally leave and later, Mom, Sharon and I finish up our day, while drinking wine and smartly saluting the two enormous men who arrive as The Sludge Busters. They roar into yard, set up a massive hose…and Pump The Septic Tank!!!

We had a great afternoon.


Friday, November 16th, 2007

Hello my friends,
I got an email from a radio listener/blog reader asking if I had found my 83 year old friend Irene, whose home burned in the fires and how my brother is doing after the loss of his house.

I did find Irene. I even saw her interviewed on T.V.
She lost everything including all the glorious quilts she has made over the years. Her attitude is good. She has released the past and says, “Let God’s will be done.”
She is having a bit of trouble living with her daughter as Irene is very independent and finds it hard to fit completely into someone else’s way of doing things.

My brother and his wife are having a difficult slog. They discovered they were under-insured and can’ t afford to build a ‘stick’ house. They are looking now at manufactured homes. The old house has to be cleared off the property, first.

One of my sisters gave them a significant amount of money and the rest of us ‘kids’ are pooling our money to get them some grocery gift cards and a department store gift card. When I asked what they needed, Mary Ellen said, “Everything.”

The people in our valley are still dazed and frightened from the storm. And now we hear that another huge Santa Ana wind is expected, probably next Wednesday. Isn’t it interesting how energies gather and play out until they are ‘exhausted,’ in a sense?

But, here is a wonderful thing. A friend, a lady named Sharon, that I have never met who listens to my radio program, emailed me and identified herself as a quilter. She and her fellow quilters wanted to send some handmade quilts to people in my valley who have lost their homes. I was naturally overjoyed.

The quilts arrived a few days ago and are magnificent. I spent a happy morning with my Art Girl’s Group, showing them the quilts. We had a wonderful time deciding who we would give them to.
One, naturally, went to my sister in law, Mary Ellen, another to a friend who lost her home and the 3 others were taken by two of my artist friends, to be given to 3 other artists who lost everything in the fires.

We felt sad when we ran out of quilts because we have more art friends who need them.

However, later that day, Sharon emailed me and said another box of handmade quilts had been put in the mail to me that morning.

I feel like it’s Christmas!!

Sharon is a generous woman makes beautiful quilts, infused with magical energies. To see her work, please go to:

(If I messed that web address up, you can google Sharon Schamber.)

Talk to you, soon,
X Venus


Monday, November 12th, 2007

Why is it that many of the people who go to health food stores look so bad? After saying this, I must tell you that I am one of those people who goes to health food stores!

I know that many people are there because they are sick and want to be well, so that explains some of it. But, it doesn’t explain miserable, ugly colored outfits, hairy feet and bad hair.

Yesterday I went to a huge health food store down the mountain.

Next to my table, as I ate a healthy lunch, sat an older, tall, skinny lady with a gray and white buzz haircut that made her nose appear to be huge, as if it were standing straight out, sniffing the wind.
I started imagining how beautiful she would appear if she wore her hair longer and softer and got rid of the large greasy poof that was jutting up from her forehead.

This kind of thing drives my hair dresser mad.
Kaycee is a true artist. She can look at a person and know exactly how to cut their hair to make them utterly gorgeous when they have never been gorgeous in their life.

Being an artist myself, I am always looking at people and thinking how to bring out their best qualities.
I mentioned to Kaycee, one day, that if it bothers me to see ugliness, how much more it must disturb her since she knows hair.

“AWWWGH!” was Kaycee’s response. She told me it kills her to see how people could look and she can’t do anything about it.

All my life, I had bad haircuts. Hair dressers always gave me what I call “Dog Head.” There’s something about the way my hair grows that resembles a certain kind of dog. Hair dressers always went with the natural wave and I would leave the shop all perfumed and cut, with this great ruff of head hair, and I would look like a damn Standard Poodle.

Kaycee saved me from that and I will never leave her even though we always have appointments set at noon that don’t actually start until 2 or 3PM or even much later. And I never get back home until well after dark.
But, I look really good.

Maybe you shouldn’t get me started on hair.

As you know, I had an oily adventure the other day. Now, I am taking various herbs and spice waters and I am doing a sesame oil rub over my entire body every morning.

“It’s especially good for you to rub the oil through your hair and onto your scalp,” the Ayurvedic doctor told me………..

Well, honey, you should see me. Now I look like a greased chihuahua.

……….There’s really no point to this blog today, just a ramble. My daughter, Summer, told me that I need to write in my blog more often.

I said, ‘But, I don’t want to bore my friends!’

Summer didn’t think that was a possibility considering the kind of life I have.
I did see my mother and my sister Candy this morning.

I gave my mom another Love Mojo Treatment and she gave me two. Candy demanded one, also. She wants more attention from her husband.

The three of us discussed Mom’s love life.
Candy and I told Mom that if she wants to have an affair with her suitor, Skip, she should. Why the heck, not? She’s old enough. We think it’s terrific that she’s 85 and he’s a handsome, virile 62. We think she’s lucky.
Mom asked if she has our approval to have sex with Skip.

We said, “Are you kidding? One of us needs to have a good time. Do it. We’ll live your life, vicariously.”

Mom has happily fallen into line with our thinking and we’ll see what happens next. I’ll let you know.

Maybe you had better check into my blog more often…you don’t want to miss the next Big Event in my mother’s love life, do you?

And P.S.
I told you on my radio show last week that my brother Jim was introducing me to a younger guy; he had hopes for a romance between us.
Well, I met the man. He’s a nice man, a millionaire who is always sick. He had an ice pack to his cheek when I met him, because of a bad tooth infection. And, according to him he had a big asthma attack a few weeks ago. He then described in some detail, his militant migraines and a nose operation where the doctors removed 3 cysts that looked like ‘big, red grapes. They hammered them out with a chisel.”

Oh, Yummy. That’s appealing.

I told Jim later, that I think I may know this fellow’s future. Some young chickie will look at him and say, “…Ummmm. Here’s a sick old millionaire who’s ready to die. I’d better marry him.”

This is why I had my mom give me another Love Mojo. For better luck next time….

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