Tres-The way I see it …

Or …

To blog or not to blog …

It’s a cultural phenomenum … it’s a vain waste of time … it’s a relevant way to communicate on a thousand different topics with three or four people … it is a great means to an end.


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And speaking of … read Anne R. Allen’s post from this Sunday and get great blogging tips and advice.

Okay … you are reading this … or maybe you’re having your first cup of coffee and wish it had not landed in your e-mail this morning.

You are a fellow blogger … you hate blogs but you love me.

You don’t know how the hell you got on my subscription list and never learned how to unsubscribe to anything on the net.

To blog is to be a blogger or blogs are often powered by Blogger, WordPress and I don’t know.

Blogger sounds like blog-her. Like her-a-cane … the phoeonetic of a brutal storm that is given a name.

Used to be that they were only named after females. Then a group of women protested and we got hurricane Oscar?

Sorry ladies, guys take this one: More of the deadliest, costliest hurricanes have been tagged with male names.

To keep things fair, we only included hurricanes since 1979, as all hurricanes were given female names between 1953 and that year. (Before 1953, latitude-longitude identification methods were used to tag hurricanes.)

Also, after a storm does devastingly descusting damage, that name is retired.

Here is South Florida the top of the list is Andrew.

Enough … I digress …


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And here we are … me, you, and a couple of folks who perceived that the last of my perception stuff might be interesting.

And talking about my trilogies … some of the time I get a resounding response to the first, a blah reaction to the second and a terrible thud to three.

Where it all began …

I was a late third addition to the family tree and so it was like I was an only child, the only girl, the only person who had a running dialogue with herself … even though I was not the only person on that tree who was well … nuts.

I talked to myself I suppose because I got lonely or because I had so much to say, it had to find a place to go.

My mother … “You do know that people who talk to themselves are considered crazy?”

Me … “Yeah?”

The Big Guy … “Will  you cut that out. I never know who the hell  you’re talking to me or you.”

The Middle one … “You keep that up and they’ll put you in a rubber room.

The Head Honcho … “Basta, figlia mia. Se dusi patso.” Translation: Daugher o fmine, stop that crazy talk.”

Fast forward to living with the children’s father … “I heard you talking in the bathroom again last night.”


And of course, the children. “Ma, why do you do that?”

Finally, I was divested of the nuclear family, the hubby and at last I left the kids 1,200 miles away in NYC and happily talk myself silly.

I often talk in character or switch sides in a debate. I’ve been known to mimic a male voice and I use language that would make a sailor blush.



The solution-blogging …

The way I saw it was clear. I’d find something funny and I’d talk about it. Like doing stand-up comedy in writing.

I would have loved to have been a female Carlin or Richard Pryor. Even at this late stage in my life, I still wonder what it would have been like to take the stage and rant on my favorite flavor of the month.

To have the courage of Carlin who took his right to free speech (no matter how others perceived it as vulgar) to the Supreme Court and won.

To be Richard Pryor and say whatever strange thoughts bounce around in my head.

Alas, I am merely a kid from Brooklyn with time on her hands and stuff on her mind and decided to come here to see if someone might be interested.

So I told stories or found great places you might want to learn about or I took snippets from books, or rambled on about nothing at all.

Like this series will be in the “Rambling” category.

An odd subject that I may not repeat but felt compelled to share would be in the “Random Thought” category … and so it goes from week to week.

You can go to my side bar and instead of finding all my outstand blog awards, you will find my archives and my categories, a precious handful of other blogs and a few of my daughter’s amazing photographs.

The point here is crystal … blogging can be fun, educational and a wonderful release of tension for those solitary up-tight types. Whether a reader or a doer … enjoy.

How did you get here?

Do you blog or just love reading them?

fOIS In The City

maxine growing old

Getting older? Too bad.



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Perception Part Dos-You can say that again …

And they did and did until it was said and done.

Some were romantic and some cynical … others depressed and more optimistic. The makers and shakers of our world from time immemorial, what they saw was what we got.



On the walls of caves, primitive man needed to communicate what was going on outside his domicile. Neanderthal man vs. Cro Magnum,  Neanderthal vs. Homosapien … or as scientists prefer … everyone back then vs. Homosapien. Science perceives that the Neanderthals of Europe evolved into homosapiens, leaving all of ancient man behind in the dust.

No matter what you believe or perceive, all of mankind sought to communicate, sought to tell us who they were and what their world was like. And when we use the expression … “the writing was on the wall,” we are speaking literally about entire generations of mankind who left us their messages on  cavern walls … on the inside of the pyramids … hammered in the early stone scribes.

And thus mankind began his journey to write down thoughts … the individual perceptions of each of those who passed along the “word,” which became history.

What you see is what you get …

And what the author sees is the story you read or perhaps the story you see.

The two most read of all popular fiction are romance the numero uno and mystery a distant second. All others fall in line after those.

Dystopia for instance:

“A dystopia (from the Greek δυσ- and τόπος, alternatively, cacotopia,  kakotopia, or simply anti-utopia) is a community or society that is undesirable or frightening.It is translated as “not-good place”, anantonym of utopia, a term that was coined by Thomas Moore and figures as the title of his most well-known work, “Utopia.”

“… By contrast, dystopia is a nightmare world which, in many cases, has resulted from attempts to create an ideal society. Such dystopian societies appear in many artistic works, particularly in stories set in a future. Some of the most famous examples are 1984 and Brave New World. Dystopias are often characterized by dehumanization, totalitarian governments, environmental disaster, or other characteristics associated with a cataclysmic decline in society.” Wikipedia 


Reference to Brave New World

Emerse yourself in a dystopian era and try to imagine a time thousands of years from now when our descendents uncover the remains of an old Barnes & Noble book store.

The once known city of New York and dozens of other major cities were blasted out of existence; destroyed in the war to end all wars.

A band of rebels have been attempting to uncover the truth and not the propaganda about our time and believe that it can be found in not what they have been told, but in what we wrote about our time.

For the purpose of my story, the only section of the book store that is salvageable in the wreck is the popular fiction section and the only books that are still readable are from the romance and mystery sections.

This is their only chance to convince the populace that we were once a great nation. They have found proof … the printed word.

As we attempted to piece together the daily life of the Neanderthal, they attempt to piece together the daily life human kind in the Twenty-first Century.

What truth can they cull from these ancient books … what does our bent toward the fantasy of happily-ever-after and the who-done-it say a about who we are as a society?

As we tried to learn from the ancients, so they must try to learn from us.



My perceptions about our modern novels might be quite different from yours. Perhaps you love romance but not “hot” romance or you want a story that has romantic elements but does not guarantee a happy ending. Do you see the eternal struggle for love and happiness as the battle of the sexes, the fate of a woman to follow a dream no matter how impossible it may seem at the onset?

Or you prefer the cozy mystery to the more frightening thriller, a bit of both in romantic suspense?

What we write may be based on our personal perceptions of the concepts of good and evil; right and wrong … it might be to entertain or enlighten and give our reader a place to escape the harsh realities of their hum-drum life?

Regardless how or why you began writing down your thoughts … the are just that … YOUR thoughts. And if you believe as some do that there are only X-number of plots, then your personal thoughts mold and shape themselves into one of those.

Therefore, what we perceive is fashioned by what thousands, perhaps millions of others perceived as the outcome of our human condition. There is no “original” thought and the universe has long ago given us the answers to every dilemma. You might believe that everything and anything has been recorded from the beginning of time and rests on the astral plane or is written in the Akashic records as perceived by theosophists.

“The akashic record is like an immense photographic film, registering all the desires and earth experiences of our planet. Those who perceive it will see pictured thereon: The life experiences of every human being since time began, the reactions to experience of the entire animal kingdom, the aggregation of the thought-forms of a karmic nature (based on desire) of every human unit throughout time. Herein lies the great deception of the records. Only a trained occultist can distinguish between actual experience and those astral pictures created by imagination and keen desire.” Wikipedia

And balderdash to theosophists-snobs who claim that only the “trained occultist” can see and know. As if they discovered the thoughts that exist in our universe.Were our little band of future rebels to know and perceive this to be the real truth, it would hardly matter. No one can ever live two simultaneous lives. our human bodies are mortal, the temporary vessel for who we are to be while here on earth.

I’d rather laugh …

And I do. I laugh at my own foibles and use them to entertain you. I come to this place in the blogestsphere to give you a little tickle … like grandpa did with his fuzzy beard.

Why I write at all is impossible to explain … mostly because I think explanations are a giant yawn. Who cares why you do what you do or how you see the world around you. Will you write the next Harry Potter or Hunger Games or will you fashion a tender love story? Whatever you perceive to be the driving force behind this craziness that we call creativity is personal. And frankly, I am grateful that I will never know why Emily never married but spent a solitary life enchanting us with her words.

I could truly care less what motivated Charles Dickens and I have no desire to question a modern writer or seek to look inside the brain of Stephen King … now that would be what a trip.

In the triple play of perception, I would like to dissect and devour the stranger than strange world of the blog … stay tuned.

Tell me true … is there a reason

you do what you do ?

fOIS In The City


Maxine and Sex


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Perception-Our only reality …

You know that exercise they do in law school? A stranger bursts into a room of students and does something … shouts, dances, jumps up and down. Or they run into the room and run right back out.

How about the party game at a dinner table? The person at the head of the table whispers something to the person next to them and tells them … “Pass it on.”

In one instance, the law professor reminds the students that the weakest form of evidence is an eye witness account.

In the other, by the time the message gets back to the person who started, it has changed completely.

Of all the aspects of psychology, I am fascinated most by perception. We color what we see internally …  seeing our world in our unique way.



By the way …

Glad to be back  !!

happy to be here

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I’ve missed you … whoever you are out there in cyber-space.

And for the last three weeks, I have been missing my main soul-sista and one of my most trusted BETA readers.

We talk every day except for three weeks a year when she travels to various spots on the globe. Off she treks to Africa or the Middle East, to Spain or Bali … to Vietnam or Paris.

And even then, she finds international calling cards or phones and gives me a holler or sends e-mails. Imagine that? Emails from the Serengetee?

And during those weeks, her younger sister from New York comes down to “cat sit.”

Yes, my soul-sista is one of those cat-obsessed types who must have a very special type of “sitting” for her beloved cat. Don’t ask.

My friend comes from a family of eight siblings … four boys and four girls. Her mother worked two full time jobs and ran a tax business to support them after she and her husband split.

She loves to tell me stories about her siblings and her mom. I’ve fallen in love with her mom from hearing stories of her.

A woman who worked two jobs, checked homework and infused a love of learning and hard work in all her children … a woman who did not see a single of one them as she saw any of the others.

She talked to each of them differently, advised and guided each of them along a path in life and set in motion the successful lives of eight individuals.

Dozens of times my friend and her younger sister have recounted the same story of a family incident. One would think they were talking about two different families.


big family

Cartoon image

Like I might have believed my two older brothers were raised by two completely different parents. Well not really. We all three, were raised by the same two people.

But none of us saw either of them the same way. I check this off to our differences in age.

I was not the oldest who was destined to succeed. The one who became my surrogate father. Nor was I the middle rebel, fated to fight his way through life … never quite satisfied with his lot.

The big guy was my dad’s favorite … the middle one my mom’s.

And then along came me … the interloper … the accident baby who had the nerve to intrude on their well established places on the two thrones beside our parents.

I was the “baby” of the family and until the pregnancy for my second child, the Big Guy called me Baby. My sister-in-law pointed to my eighth month belly and informed her husband that I was no longer a baby.

Actually, the only people who called me by my name were teachers and friends. My entire family, extended to up-state cousins and the local Italian horde all called me Baby or Rufiana. Rufiana is an Italian endearment for a kind of female Dennis the Menace and loosely translated means … ruffian. A rose by any other name is a rose and the kid from Brooklyn?

And if that isn’t enough … I am also a “Baby Boomer.” My goodness, I was even born into a generation of seventy-three million strong who were thought of as babies.

And baby, you haven’t seen the best of me yet.

Back again

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Since I’ve been gone for longer than my usual Holiday and Summer breaks … I thought I’d start this year with one of my trilogies.

Gees, Louise … another of those three part things?

I mean who said you’d hang around for three weeks just to learn of my unique take … my perception of life, love and the secrets of the universe … my reality.

Oh, come on … hang with me for a while. We might have fun.

AND … in case I forgot to mention it … today is the first day of autumn … my favorite season and it is also my Birthday.

Yes, yes X-number of years ago, the old girl gave one valiant push and Bingo … I slid into the world.

I slid into my world and yours too … to do mischief and mayhem … to tell you tall tales … to entertain and delight.

And in the next two weeks I will do just that. I will entertain you with my definition of our world … why we write … why we blog … why we are caught up in cyber-space talking to people we may never meet in person.

Wish me a Happy Birthday and stay tuned.

Tell me if you will …

What is it about your world that makes it special?

What makes the world you live in a place others might like to visit?

fOIS In The City

Maxine and coffee

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