Book Review: The Book Of Unheard Hits: #unheardhit by MV Meadow

Before I get to the book itself, I want to share a few things that need to be here right out of the gate:

1. Congratulations! It is not easy to write a book. Any book. Anyone who writes a book and puts it out there for public consumption, and criticism, is brave. This is the MV Meadow's debut as a published author. I give a star just for being able to accomplish that challenging feat, because it's not easy to do. The number of hours that go onto writing, and eventually publishing, a 301 page book, is only imaginable if one is actively doing it, or if one has worked with authors on a regular basis.

2. I am absolutely, positively, completely, and irrevocably in love with this author for his bravery and daring choices. The content alone is an unfathomed amount of his soul spilled onto the pages. There are things in here that I didn't know about him, that I presumed I'd know by now. The ability for the reader to "collaboread" and collaborate with the author, and the never seen before format, set this apart from any other book about lyrics and/or songwriting that has ever been published. Trust me...I LOOKED! One can't love the daring choice to write the book in the format presented.

2. Full disclosure: I personally know the author. Writing a book review for an author one personally knows is actually more difficult to do, especially a review that's completely honest, and if necessary, critical. Since I have written reviews for authors I do know personally, I did ask him if he wanted me to write a review. The caveat to that, was that he would have NO knowledge in advance regarding what I would write. That is the same caveat I give to EVERY author I know personally. He gave his blessing. That, is also daring and brave.

Let's get to The Book Of Unheard Hits...

The format is the best place to dive into the book. There is Part One and Part Two. In Part One, the format starts with a singer and a bit of their biographical information. A description of that musician's influence on the author's life follows. MV Meadow goes on to add some of his own personal experiences that tie him and that artist, together. For example: Billie Holiday. Of all the singers in the book, Billie Holiday is number one. There's one line that stood out, and that line made me think, "she is the icon of the icons for him." 

"Nothing sounds prettier than Billie Holiday's pain." Full stop. That one line says everything a reader needs to know about how the author feels about Billie Holiday.

Following the biographical and autobiographical connections is an original song, written by the author. The lyrics that follow are a mix of the heart and soul of the author. What follows is music paper. It's time for the reader to interact with the author and the lyrics by setting the lyrics to music. The type of music style they wish to use is left to the "collaboreader."

In Part Two, the lyrics are original songs by the author. How they came about is shared with the reader, and the reader is encouraged to set the lyrics to any style of music they wish. Other information about approaching the lyrics is part of the introduction and gives the reader free rein to do whatever they feel is best with the lyrics. The reader now becomes the decision maker when deciding if the chorus should go after a first verse, if there should be an instrumental solo, etc. You get the idea. There's a ton of freedom here for each reader.

So, is that it? No. I couldn't put the book down once I started. I even started to form music in my head as I read each song. I approached reading the lyrics as poetry without music. I am not a writer of songs. I've never even attempted to write a song. It's simply not one of my gifts. I can set words to music, and I can sing the Hell out of ANY song put in front of me. But writing lyrics isn't my gift.

This author is a singer, musician, a writer, a curator, and more. But HIS gift of ALL gifts is writing lyrics!!! Writing this book is a gift to every single person whoever wanted to set words to music, but didn't have a clue on where to start. Now you have your start. There are lyrics for every single person's personally favorite genre, because you get to decide how you want these words to sound.

All of the lyrics are under copyright, so if you intend to make commercial use of the songs written in the book, you must contact the author. You are given all of the information to do that at the beginning, along with encouragement to record it, hashtag it, and share it. Remember, you are a "collaboreader," so collaboration with the author is encouraged.

If you're asking, "what if there's not lyrics that speak to me personally?" I guarantee that there are. There are song lyrics in here that fit every situation. A breakup, true love, feeling powerful, feeling powerless, and so on. There is a song in the book called, "Hold My Hand." After I read the lyrics, I put a purple Post-It note on that song, drew a heart, and put my and my husband's name into the heart. The lyrics to "Self-Indulgent Prick" caught me by surprise. After I read those lyrics, I wrote a notation on the page that said, "that's what I call 'IN. YOUR. FACE.'" I *really* LOVED those lyrics! There are FIFTY SONGS in this book, so don't be surprised if a song hits you in good places, and even not-so-good places. 

Personally, I've been singing since I was 5 years old. Every song I love is lyrics intensive. That doesn't mean I don't enjoy a good dance mix, I do. I don't mind listening to a mix that repeats a certain phrase or chorus over and over. As a performer, lyrics are the delivery of a story or a message, and I prefer songs that have something to say. Every single song in The Book Of Unheard Hits has something to say about everything. I can't think of a single topic that doesn't appear in one of these FIFTY songs.

I decided to NOT critique any of the lyrics or any specific song. They are all works of art, art is subjective, and the author poured heart and soul into each word. I will say that every single set of lyrics in this book can be set into any genre the reader chooses. You CAN take a song called "Self-Indulgent Prick," you can have it be in your face, and you can turn it into a slow ballad, a fierce rock song, or hip hop, or Jazz, etc. You take whatever is inside of YOU and make it YOUR song, YOUR way.

My original rating was going to be 4.5 out of 5 stars. Because it's a first book and there's always room for improvement. And as I was editing this review I thought, "do I want to sit down and put music to some of these lyrics?" Did I want to at least try to do something I've never done before, now that the barrier of writing lyrics is out of my way? YES! For me, that's the purpose of the entire book. I added that 1/2 star right back in. FIVE "completely knocked me out" STARS!!! The book is available on Amazon and there is a sample that you can check out before ordering.

About The Author:

Book Review: "God Chose ME to Carry THREE" by Lisa Frances Penn and Aaron Madison Penn

Title: God Chose ME To Carry THREE

Authors: Lisa Frances Penn and Aaron Madison Penn

Genre: Non-Fiction, Faith-Based

Where to Buy: Click Here To Purchase NOW!!!!!

Dedication:

I have never done a dedication on a blog post/book review before. Mostly because I wasn't sure if people did that. Then I decided I didn't care what other people do. So, I dedicate this blog post/book review to the following people:

1. To my 12 angels. I will see you again someday.

2. To my beloved, late friend and brother of the author, Todd Christopher Jones. Without Todd, I wouldn't have met Lisa. All things come together for those who love the Lord. The Lord took you home but gave me Lisa. You are still missed my CAPA brother.

3. To the author herself, Lisa Frances Penn. The feat of being able to read your beautiful book finally settled the question long in my mind that I can read about such miracles without being in pain over my own losses. If you didn't write the book, I may have never known. Thank you so much for writing it and sharing this part of your life with me.

Review:

Imagine for a moment that you are a 40 year old woman and you have no children. Imagine you want children badly. Now imagine that you're concerned about having a condition in your reproductive system because your mother had it. Imagine having an ultrasound to check for that condition and you find out that you are not only PREGNANT, but that you are having TRIPLETS. No fertility drugs, SPONTANEOUSLY CONCEIVED TRIPLETS!

Now, imagine you're a man with a wife and your wife believes that she's got a reproductive condition that her mother had. Imagine that your wife is having an ultrasound to check for the condition so she can have it treated, if it can be treated at all. And because your wife is a NURSE, you have no reason to think she's wrong. Now imagine your wife comes home from that appointment and tells you she's pregnant. With TRIPLETS!

You have just received a fraction of a glimpse of what it's like to be Lisa Frances Penn and her husband, Aaron Madison Penn.

"God Chose ME To Carry Three" is the non-fiction story of The Penn's journey through learning about Lisa's spontaneously conceived triplet pregnancy, the duration of the extremely rough pregnancy itself, and what life is like raising identical triplets. 

In the interest of full disclosure, from January 2000 to December 2004, I personally went through fertility treatment and conceived a number of pregnancies. All were at least triplets. All of the pregnancies were lost. So, I have a total of 12 angels waiting for me in Heaven. 

So why in the world would I accept an invitation to read and review THIS book? Well, to see how I would feel reading about The Penns and Lisa's experience in particular. I also said "yes" to this book because when I met Lisa at her brother's funeral (he was a beloved classmate of mine) and subsequently got to know her on Facebook, I wanted to be a part of sharing this wonderful story with the world.

So, how did I feel reading this book? For starters, I was once again assured that God DOES still work miracles today. The day you doubt THAT, then read this book. There's no way one can doubt God and His ability to perform a miracle after reading this book. My own losses never really became an issue while reading this book. I didn't feel badly for ME. Faith restored, mission accomplished.

At certain times I felt badly for Lisa. Even though my pregnancies were all high-risk and Lisa and I have that in common, my experience still was not the same. After my first pregnancy failed, I was on bed rest immediately with all of the other pregnancies as soon as the tests came back positive. Lisa's bed rest experience was nothing like mine. She actually made it to having to be on bed rest in the hospital for months.

What was it like to be taken into the world of Mrs. Penn as she went through this journey, primarily left on her own by all of her doctors and nurses, with only her hard-working husband to support her emotionally? For starters, my head spun reading about it. There was a point closer to the beginning of her hospitalized bed rest where I kept finding myself in disbelief. The nurses who cared for Lisa, upon finding out she was a nurse herself, didn't tell her anything. I kept wondering things like "why didn't she push harder?" or "why not seek out a patient advocate inside the hospital?" And then my thoughts flipped. Maybe it was because I'm a nurse as well. But I began to wonder, "what the heck were these nurses thinking?" or "what was wrong with these nurses?" A woman stuck on bed rest, in a hospital during the winter, who can't even get out of bed to go to the bathroom while pregnant with triplets, has to be going NUTS. The hormones alone would make her brain more scrambled than the eggs on a Denny's Grand Slam Breakfast. Would she be thinking about pushing harder? Probably not. She's thinking about the three babies in her belly, right? 

Who should consider not reading this book? If you are a primary infertile woman who is still going through treatment, this may not be for you. If you've been through a lot of pregnancy loss and you haven't moved forward, may not be for you. Overall, if you're a female who hasn't dealt with your own inability to conceive and/or your losses, then this isn't for you. I felt I was far enough past my own losses to read this book and I was happy to find out I was right.

Now, if you do fit into any of these categories and you think you might enjoy reading a true story of someone else's good fortune, this book is definitely for you. There are those who fit into these categories who feel that reading about others having success in this area whether via spontaneous conception or, by assisted reproductive techniques (ART), makes them feel more positive. They receive a positive outlook and some feel better overall. So if you can read this type of book in order to build your own self-confidence, especially when the trying becomes difficult to handle, I would highly recommend that you read this book. It will emotionally uplift your spirit.

For everybody else, this is one of those non-fiction books that reads like a fiction novel. The story has suspense, it has some scary parts too. It's got joy. And, it's got some pain. It will most certainly get YOU. Once I got started, my picky self only stopped reading because the need to sleep won out. The only thing I wanted to see more of in the book early on was more of Aaron's point of view. However, the further I got, the more I felt that Lisa carried these three miracles and the amount that is Aaron's point of view was actually just right.

"God Chose ME to Carry THREE" is every bit as exciting as any good fiction novel. The story just happens to be true.

The Fibromyalgia Suffers' Creed

Feel free to substitute your ailment or the ailment of a loved one and please feel free to copy, paste and share.

1). I accept the fact that I have Fibromyalgia, a condition and disease that will limit my abilities in my everyday life.

2). While I will always have Fibromyalgia, some days will be good and some days will be bad. I will be thankful for the good days and TRY to make the most of them.

3). When I am having a bad day, I will TRY to remember that most likely it will not last.

4). When I am having a bad day, I will listen to my body, and get the rest that I need. I will let my family know that I am not feeling well, because they cannot read my mind.

5). I will NOT feel guilty about resting, because I will eventually begin to feel better, and in the long run, it will also benefit my family. They will not become malnourished if they eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner.

6). I will NOT feel guilty or worry about the work that is not getting done while I am resting. The world will not fall apart without me, even though it looks like it already has.

7). I will NOT let anyone else make me feel guilty for taking time out for myself. They will never understand exactly what I am experiencing, the pain that I feel, and the exhaustion that I feel.

8). They will never understand the fear that I feel when my symptoms creep up on me, and land me flat on my back.

9). I promise not to feel sorry for myself when I am feeling bad, because there are a lot of people out there who are in worse shape than I am. I will not be sorry for what I don't have, but be thankful for what I do have.

10). I promise to learn a lesson from my illness, which is not to take life for granted. I will enjoy every moment that was given to me, and be thankful for the times that I can smile and laugh.

11). I will TRY to help others who also suffer from my condition. There are many confused and frightened people who need to hear comforting words from someone who has been there. There are many people who need me to take his or her hand and be pointed in the right direction.

12). Lastly, I will TRY not to ask, "Why me?" While Fibromyalgia has weakened my physical body, it has strengthened my heart, my soul, and my spirit.

Coming Soon! "And You, And You, And You…..You Never Loved Me"

NEVER UNDERESTIMATE THE POWER OF A CRAZY BITCH!

Minimize how I feel?  That ends now! I asked you nicely to never contact me again and your choice was to tell me I was just going to get over it. I just needed to "chew on that a while."

"I 'Blah Blah Blah' you because that is exactly what B*** A** did to me when I explained my absense was because I was embarrassed about my mental illness.  She was like "Whatever C******...that is stupid.....you see Theresa that what real friends do..... I laugh about it now.  Chew on that a while and I will talk to you soon.  It just boundries not a loss girl...…"

DID YOU SUCK MY ENERGY OUT OF ME TO THE POINT I HAD TO DUMP YOUR ASS?

"...they are very kind and generous. they just want to see me happy, get my own life, etc…it was hardest for me just to come to terms with myself by giving up my career."


Then why did you think it was YOU? And why did you get your daughter to email me about it instead of just asking me yourself? It wasn't about YOU. It's not always about YOU! Good-bye, you are DISMISSED!

WHAT MADE YOU THINK YOU WERE GOING TO SLIDE RIGHT BY, TELL ME NOT TO "TAKE IS PERSONALLY," AND JUST WALK AWAY CLEAN?

THE TIME HAS COME! YOUR ASSES ARE ON MY CHOPPING BLOCK!  I WILL REVEAL ALL I DID FOR YOU, EVERYTHING YOU NEVER DID FOR ME, AND EVERYTHING YOU TOOK FROM ME.

"R-E-S-P-E-C-T, FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS TO ME….." DON'T KNOW?  WELL, YOU'RE GONNA LEARN!

**********

And now a sneak peak of "And You, And You, And You…..You Never Loved Me"

     At least once a week, I have a night at home by myself while my husband goes off to play poker with his buddies.  And every week on that night while he's gone, I have a nose draining cry fest and then go to bed before he even gets home so he has no idea that I've cried for three or four hours straight.  The reason for such waterworks, one might think, would be due to being in pain and crying is a good release for that pain.  However, it is extremely rare that those hours are actually used to relieve stress from pain on my body.

     No, the reason I cry for three to four hours on those poker nights is because of general sadness and malaise over complete and total failure to be able keep people from leaving me.  Granted, in the last 6 to 9 months, I have deliberately ended two friendships both over 20 years old. But that has actually lifted a burden OFF of me in the months after doing so.  However, the overall experience for the grand majority of my lifetime has been that people leave me. They just up and go.  Now I've had a birth mother abandon me and an adoptive mother abandon me. That right there would give anyone a complex of some sort.

     But me?  I can do everything right, be perfectly kind, and try to be the best friend that a friend could ever try to be and people just leave. High and dry. No warning, no particular reason.  Now I know that people come in and out of our lives for a reason, a season, or for a lifetime.  But me?  I'm a weird, off-brand sort of repellent.

     Just recently, I posted on Facebook. I basically said that I should probably do some friend cleaning since I have so many on my friends list and so few seem to interact with things that I post.  When I see my friends post a basic opinion, or photo, or article and those friends seem to ALWAYS get 30 to 50 people commenting (a lot of times more than that), and I get nothing, I must conclude that no one is interested in me anymore.  I can't say for sure that it's the stupid Facebook algorithm keeping friends from seeing it in their News Feeds because I'm highly participatory with all of those friends.  It's the only logical conclusion left.

     In less than the last year, I've said "good-bye" to two best friend relationships. One was a 20-year friendship and the other was a friendship that went back as far as high school, nearly 30 years.  Well, why would I do that? Because one went through a mental health crisis, put me through a massive amount of pain, and when she left the psychiatric facility, didn't contact me.  When contact was finally made indirectly, that friend would not hear of me telling her about any of the things she did during her psychotic break.  Things like:

• Calling my husband and leaving him a message that I was a lesbian who had been chasing her for years.
• Calling and screaming into the phone to stay away from her and her child.
• Sending me texts not to contact her because I was not the agent of the FBI and that she was the Mayor of Philadelphia's agent.

     The list goes on.  And then she told me I would "get over it."  She basically attempted to blame me for it all.  I finally had to tell her "never contact me ever again" and "I'm done with you."  So not only did I have to grieve for my loss while she was sick, I grieved the loss of my friendship.  When it finally came down to thinking it all through, I knew this could never be mended if she would never take responsibility for at least the irresponsibility of going off of her medications.  People DO still grieve even when they are the dumper.

     As for the other friend, she basically turned out to be just like the aforementioned friend. After taking stock of the 20-year friendship, what it all came down to was that she only ever called, talked or spent time with me when she needed something from me.  She never asked for money so that was never an issue.  In fact, she refused to ever accept help when I offered it to her.  But when she needed an ear to burn for 4 to 8 hours or needed advice about family matters and so on, I was the one she called.  Did I expect her to reciprocate?  Of course, if she was able to do so.  But if I went to her with anything from the simple to the dire, she was never there for me. She was unavailable or didn't call back. In the earlier days, she wouldn't come over or wasn't there for me to go to her. In the later days, she never visited me once. I always went to her. And the list goes on…it's way too long to even hit the surface of that here.

Reblog: "I SOMETIMES HATE THE LGBT COMMUNITY. AND I’M A MEMBER." by Amanda Kerry

"Recently, huge fights have spawned between different camps within the LGBT community. The fights are born around the use of certain words, different roles, opinions, outlooks, philosophies of life as an LGBT person, and quite simply wounded egos.

And I have had just about enough of the bullshit."

Read the rest at:  http://nihilismispointless.wordpress.com/2014/04/15/i-sometimes-hate-the-lgbt-community-and-im-a-member/

Book Review of "Susan Mallery's Fool's Gold Cookbook: A Love Story Told Through 150 Recipes (Fool's Gold #12.1)"

Entwined in this fantastic cookbook packed with easy to make recipes is the sweetest little love story. You'll meet Ana Raquel and Greg soon enough but while you're enjoying their story, you'll also enjoy trying as many of these recipes as you can squeeze into a meal or a party. The Arugula Pesto, Ricotta and Roasted Tomato Pizza will make fellow Italianos proud. Mouths will water over the Thai Peanut Chicken! The Christmas Morning Chocolate Swirl Buns are good any day of the year. By far, THE tastiest little romance book EVER!!!!!

Book Review of "Borderline Personality Disorder: A Guide for the Newly Diagnosed" by Alexander L. Chapman, Kim L. Gratz

Overall, the book isn't bad. However, because I'm already a nurse and have worked with psych patients, I already knew most of the information in the book. It was a good refresher but it was obviously written for someone who is newly diagnosed with BPD. But even for someone who is newly diagnosed, I still thought it was too basic.

The style of the book overall was good. It describes what BPD is, it describes various treatments that include talk therapy and medication therapy. I did like that it was recommended that talk therapy be included if one is also in medication therapy. In my opinion, it's crucial for every patient with a mental health disorder receiving mediation therapy to seek talk therapy.

Some of the things I would have liked to be included in the book was more description of the different medications. Almost to the degree that they different types of talk therapy were described. Not to the degree of a drug guide perhaps but just a bit more detail of each one instead. I would have like more description of the symptoms, more information about onset of symptoms and when would be a good time for someone to seek help. I would have like more case study examples where the patients are NOT self-harming or suicidal as well. As it is one symptom of nine, and one needs to have five of the nine, there must be many case studies available where patients don't have this symptom at all.

I received a copy of this book from NetGalley in return for a honest review. One other thing I will include in the notes to the publisher and author which I think people should know in advance is that this book comes in PDF form and not an ePub form. I personally read everything on my iPhone where PDF books are difficult to read even after increasing the font. One still has to increase the size of the page with every page turn which slows down the reading process. I was able to convert the PDF to an ePub file. However, the file converted to a badly formatted ePub book. It might be good if NetGalley actually increased the options for the readers or of NetGalley made it so all books are in ePub form for non-Kindle users.

I give it three of five stars. For me, three stars signifies a rating of "Good."

What A Woman REALLY Loses When She Loses Her Daddy (Updated June 11, 2011)

June 11, 2011 at 6:24 AM

With Father's Day just around the corner, I figured it was time to sit down and re-read through this special piece and update it a bit. Please note that you are reading from 2009. Updated information is indicated.

The original can be found here: https://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=120168433408.

Warning: some material contained is GRAPHIC, shocking and NOT for the faint of heart. But, it is the truth as I know it. It's not in full, this merely touches the surface. Other Notes I have written on FB intertwine with this one to fill in a lot of, but not all, of the history.

Original composition date: Thursday, July 23, 2009 at 6:06 PM:

On June 21, 2009, I logged onto FB like any other Sunday. And then I logged off. So why did I, a total Facebook-A-Holic (just like the rest of you), abandon FB that day? It was FATHER'S DAY.

At no time in my whole 40 years on Earth do I ever recall having an internal, emotional reaction on Father's Day like I did this year. I'm still not even sure why, maybe it was the glut of Father's Day posts, I really don't know. But I did do a hell of a lot of thinking over the course of that day.

Your story is never going to be exactly the same as mine if you've lost your dad. It will never be the same as mine because those of us who have lost our dads lost them to different situations and at different ages. But, that day I wondered how much I may have missed because he wasn't here. Ever wonder what you really missed after he was gone?My father was viciously murdered, shot to death, by his step-brother on February 21, 1973. He would have been 27 years old less than a month from that date. That was also the day before my 4th birthday. I've been told the step-brother was an overly sensitive, milquetoast type of guy. And I've been told that my father had kind of a wise ass sense of humor. I suppose, on that particular evening, those two things just didn't mix well. Left behind were a wife and two young children.

The stories I heard when I was younger was that my father was just out of the Army after serving his country during the Vietnam-Era. I have his military records that confirm it. I don't know how they met but my parents got married right around early 1967. In February of 1969, I came along and 13 months later, my brother was born. I'm told that my dad was a commercial painter and worked all over the city.

So this past Father's Day 2009, I replayed my life and inserted what I thought life would be like if he wasn't taken away, in some cases by identifying what was lost after he was gone. *Cue the flashback-y, dream music*

My biological mother went completely insane. Her grief sent her into a downward spiral that to this day has never stopped spinning. Drugs like booze and cigarettes and even pot were common back then. But she spiraled out of control and drank, smoked pot, popped pills, snorted cocaine and shot up heroin. She became a drunk and a junkie. She's never recovered and it eventually killed her.

I don't believe for a second that my father would have allowed anything more than what was socially acceptable at the time and I highly doubt he would have allowed things like "works" and needles into his home where his young children were present. Had he lived, my biological mother may have never crossed that line.

And then came the violence. My biological mother became a heinous abuser of her children. Inflicting violence on the very offspring that came from the man you loved and grieved for never made any sense to me. Still doesn't. We were both smacked, kicked, punched, stabbed, slapped, burned and beaten mercilessly without warning. I even got shot. The bullet grazed my belly so I was lucky I guess. The "pop" of the gun that wasn't meant for me was more noisy than painful. Had my father lived, discipline would have been no more than maybe a spanking.

I lost a mother.

With my father gone and my biological mother out of control, the strange bed fellows were frequent. My brother and I spent a lot of nights at my grandmom's house. But, it didn't matter where we were. At home, after passing out from her drunken stupor, those strange men entered my bed in the dark of night and did things no child should ever know about at that young age.

While at my grandmom's house, my grandfather and one of my uncles living in the house also sexually assaulted me over and over. Had my father lived, none of these strange men would have come around and if my grandfather and uncle had still done what they did and my father found out? My grandfather would not have lived until the early 1990's and my uncle would likely not be alive today.

I lost my innocence.

I got good grades in school. I went to voice lessons. I auditioned, performed, and my aunt Margie kept me out of the house as much as possible. I was supposedly smart. Smart enough to be sent to Masterman from 5th grade to 9th grade. At the end of 5th grade, we came home from school to a padlocked door. The rent was not paid.....again. My brother and I walked to our grandmom's house. Great. Now what? My stay there was short and I was old enough to stay away from my grandfather and uncle but I was removed from all of that and went to live with my aunt-mother (my biological aunt and adoptive mother).

She did a fine job raising me after detoxing me from the drugs I was given often and my singing talent was already well known. She took me to church on a regular basis. My hair grew back. I got my ears pierced. I got clean clothing, I got fed breakfast, lunch and dinner (my brother and I used to go for days with no food). I got presents for Christmas and my birthday. I was taken to the dentist and the doctor for check-ups. And while I was extremely active and my confidence was a little better, I was extremely shy around boys. My hormones suddenly activated and all of the sudden, there were boys I liked being around. The teasing I endured at Masterman was hell on Earth already and now I had to talk to boys?

I lost the man who would have been the best advisor and I probably would not have been teased (or perhaps not to the same degree) were it not for starting out at Masterman dressed like a dirt bag. Oh, my body was always clean but my biological mother would not buy us new clothing. She'd just pick out junk from a local thrift store. I wouldn't see new clothing until moving in with my aunt mother. And my hair didn't grow back until I was already there for a year.

I lost my dad's lap to sit on to ask about boys and my protection from bullies.

In 9th grade, I was selected to audition for this special high school. A place where I could learn to be a better singer and performer as well as prepare to go to college for music if I wished. In 10th grade, I entered the Philadelphia High School for the Creative and Performing Arts (CAPA). During the summer in between Masterman and CAPA, I grew taller, my body grew around my chest, and I'd developed a few curves. My hair was red, long, and styled; my clothing was in style for the times. Not all the fancy labels but up to date. And I learned how to wear make up.

I was terrified on the first day at CAPA. I sat in the auditorium next to two girls I would come to know as Susan Donnelly and Janice Barclay. They just talked to me. Because of how we were seated they knew I was a singer just like them. And they were as friendly as friendly could be. It was a new building for them too and having seen where the school was housed before, we basically chattered about what the building we were in was like.

I spent the rest of the day finding my locker, finding my classrooms and bopping around with my best friend Lorna who also came to CAPA from Masterman. It was wildly different. Punk hair, blue hair, spiked hair, leather jackets, chains, ripped jeans, dance tights, guys who wore makeup, and every other possible type of dress under the sun was all under one roof. I got to sing that day. In three periods of classes too.

My father never heard me sing, not once, not ever.

I had crushes on boys. One boy in particular too. For years, right up until today, I would be his friend. Update: we are still friends today. Senior year came. I'd made a name for myself and had a decent rep. I'd experience performing in places I would have never imagined. My confidence was off the charts. I was never teased and I had no enemies (none that I know of anyway). And then what should have been one of the biggest rites of passage for me came along: my Senior PROM.

I knew exactly who I wanted to go with. I think EVERYBODY knew who I wanted to go with. Well, he never asked me and even with all of the confidence in the world I still couldn't bring myself to ask HIM. I never went to my prom, the one I wanted to go with asked another girl...same name, different spelling...and I spent the night of my prom with my best friend Lorna. Surely if my father had lived, I would have had the prettiest purple dress, probably a limo to take me there, my hair all done up pretty and ready to dance the night away with my chosen date.

But, I'd lost my dating advisor. There was no dress, no pretty hair, no limo, and no date. So, I also lost my rite of passage.

My father would not see me graduate from high school ranked high in my class, the winner of two Music scholarships, the Outstanding Vocalist of the Year Award, and a one year ride to study Opera at UCLA. 

I went on to college at Penn State. I did well there. I was engaged to be married, we split up, I dated, I partied (never touched an illegal drug), I sang, I studied, I worked. I was the FIRST person in my family to graduate from college. My father would not see me graduate college either. Had he lived, instead of a degree in Administration of Justice and Music from Penn State, I'd probably have just one degree in Music Performance, Voice concentration, from UCLA, which was the much better school.

Update: as far as I know, I am STILL the first person in my family to graduate from college. None of my cousins on my father's side of the family graduated earlier than 1992 and I don't know if my aunts and/or uncle attended or graduated from college.

The rest is harder to guess. I'd become an independent young woman with a brain and a mind of her own. Would I have met the idiot who would become my first husband? I don't even enjoy giving him the title of "husband" even though it's preceded by "EX-."

Had my father lived, I probably would have known what the red flags were sooner than later.

I do still believe I would have met Kevin. My father would be 5 years older than him. But I do believe my father would have approved of him with a huge gold star and a big, red bow! I believe he would have walked me down the aisle, my biological mother, sober and proud, already seated in the pew to my left. My father would have loved Kevin's parents (R.I.P.), especially Kevin's father.

Update: I still believe that my biological mother would have been a sober woman had my father lived. Today, she is still a drunk and a junkie. She did 5 years in Muncy for Manslaughter, was paroled, served 5 years of clean and sober probation and the day after it was up, she was right back in it.

Had my father lived, I might be famous. He might have had grandchildren. With no insane widow to kick the shit out of me, my reproductive system might have developed correctly and Kevin and I might not have had any problems with conceiving and I probably wouldn't have had any problems carrying those babies to term.

My father was a Catholic-Christian man who served his country, lived a clean life, worked hard, got married, had children and was only getting started on the rest of his life and it was flushed out in a fraction of a fraction of a second over what amounted to nothing but a silly joke spoken in front of the wrong, young and stupid idiot who probably never thought of anybody but himself. Update: as far as I know, this is still correct information. I'm still working to learn the full story. I could get a copy of the police report and read it. But, that man is named and I do NOT want to know his name.

I have never visited my father's grave. I want to but there is no head stone there and I can't find the only living relative I know he has: his sister (and my aunt) Christine. She had to bury him and I cannot find her to negotiate placing a proper marker on the site where he was laid to rest. I am still searching for her.

Update: Aunt Tina (Christine) has been found and is wonderful. She has two beautiful children (my cousins), Jason and Lucille. 

There is also my father's only brother, Vincent. He has three beautiful daughters, Brittany, Michelle and Nicole. 

I have an Aunt Roxane (Brittany's mom) who has been a God appointed angel. 

My Aunt Vicky passed away a while ago and there is an Aunt Patsy as well.

My paternal grandmother for who I am named, Theresa Casper, passed away in a fire before I was ever born. I've also learned I'm 1/4th Polish.

My paternal grandfather, John Casper, passed away from a heart attack at 57 years old. And, supposedly I'm 1/4th Lithuanian.

I'm looking forward to meeting ALL of them real soon.

If YOUR father is still alive, even with all of his faults or problems and issues, honor him. Cherish him. Find something positive about him to embrace.

So, what does a woman REALLY lose when she loses her Daddy? She loses her best admirer, her biggest crush that becomes second only to the man she marries. She loses her protector, her provider, and her biggest fan.

And, she loses a piece of her own soul. That piece of her soul will only be replaced when she goes to meet him someday and he's there to place it back in the hole left in her heart.

Wisdom and Lessons of Approaching the Big "4-0"

February 17, 2009 at 9:27pm

As I get closer to my 40th birthday, it occurred to me that there were two ways for me to enter this new decade of life: glide in nice and smooth-like or go in kicking and screaming.

Well, my claws are out and I’m going in kicking and screaming. And if I hear another cliché, I may have to claw out eyeballs.

I have lived more than one lifetime in these last 39 years and I don’t know if it gets any better solely because I’m entering my 4th decade of life. I guess that’s a wait and see situation.

One thing I have noticed now that I am getting closer to this milestone is in regard to what I think about what others think of me. Has the following happened to anybody else?

For more years than I can recall, I was always quite vocal about what others thought of me. I would proudly exclaim that I didn’t give a shit what somebody thought of me and I would also make it well known that I didn’t care if there was someone who didn’t particularly like me.

If this has happened to you, then you know that absolutely I DID care and I cared A LOT. I could probably guess which of my closest of friends were not fooled by those exclamations but if this is a surprise to any of them, then I’m a much better actress than I ever thought I was.

And then, something began to change. I didn’t hit on it until about a week ago even though it’s been brewing for the last year. Maybe it’s age or maturity or maybe it’s a newfound confidence that comes with this age change. Because now? I DON’T CARE! I REALLY DON’T CARE WHAT PEOPLE THINK ABOUT ME! I really don’t. I am finally LIBERATED! I can rattle off, by name, those real friends and family that truly do care about me, love me, like me and give a damn about what happens to me. And the rest can kiss my ass. ☺

This is who I am. This is what you get. This is how I’m wired and only those who have real love for me will be able to accept it. I do like to think there are more good things about me than not so good, but I’m a weirdly wrapped package with a funky kind of bow. But, God made me this way and God don’t make no junk!

I’ve learned that my past will always have an effect on my present and future. I’ve been to reconcile the horrible experiences so that I can speak of them without feeling pain but the simple fact is that because of these experiences, there will always be something from the past that will play a part in future decisions, future endeavors, and pretty much everything that comes down the pike for me.

Speaking of my horrible past, get over it, period. As I move into this new decade, this rite of passage has brought to light that if you are a part of my current life, you get the whole package, including the past. It’s made me into what I am today. I can’t make it go away, I can’t change it, and for anyone to those who told me to forget about it (yes, people have actually seen that as a viable solution for dealing with it all), frankly, you were a moron.

I am now realizing that I actually know who I am today. I’m more comfortable in my own skin, I don’t care (really, I don’t) if my ass looks too big in those pants, and I may be a late bloomer, but I’m now more free than ever to pursue what it is I want to do and to leave behind what I don’t want to do. I’m no longer willing to cave to the strong suggestions of others if I am convinced something is not right for me. “No” means “NO.” Please don’t take it personal.

Having said all that, I know who my real friends are. I have reevaluated all of my closest friends and have decided how much of a role they will play in my life in the future. Some will be faded away because I’m just not that into you anymore. The rest will go on and continue to grow with me, change with me, and celebrate life with me.

I hope life really does begin at 40.

Feel free to discuss.