TabbysGal's Journal

  • January 1, 1999:


    Happy New Year! I can't believe it's 1999. Time to restart the diet, and begin keeping the resolutions I made last year and somehow overlooked in the hectic times of 1998. This is the start on my second year of independence and I'm finding more and more each day how much I value that.

    I welcomed in 1999 with two glasses of rum and eggnog, toasting my family, my friends and their families, my favorite players and their loved ones and then off to bed. 1999 arrived and I was sound asleep!

    Today will be spent with Rodney, catching up on news since he returned from Tampa. Tomorrow it's off to see the Penguins to try and get Peter Skudra's autograph and then off to the Coral Lounge with Gloria to catch Back In Time, my hockey-buddy Dennis' band.

    A lot of people I know who are single at this time of year are depressed at being alone over the holidays. Not me! I relish it! If I choose to stay home to welcome the New Year, I can do so, with no explanations. If I choose to go out and dance my butt off til 4 a.m. I can do that too, again with no explanations. After all, cats don't care what you do as long as you keep their food and water dishes filled!

    Okay, I'll be totally honest - sometimes I miss having a male companion around, especially one who can give good hug, but I don't know that I'd want it to be a constant thing, you know? I don't know that I could adapt to having another person around all the time after being on my own for so long. I kind of like it better this way. If I want to walk around the apartment in only a ratty t-shirt , I can. If I want to get on my bike at 5 a.m. and head to the beach, I can. If I want to sit up all night watching bad movies, I can. If I decide at the very last minute to head off for Tampa for a hockey game, I can. I don't know, I feel like having a steady man in my life would only hinder me at this point. I'd been 1/2 of a couple for so long, and had begun to feel like I was stagnating mentally, that since I've been on my own, I've felt stronger and mentally well-balanced. I no longer look to someone for help when reality is crashing down around me, I look to myself. I've had people tell me they admire me because even when times are rough, I don't let any of it get me down. I consider that a huge compliment, because sometimes life is just so unfair and scary, I want to go into a self-imposed sabbatical from society until that rollercoaster starts heading uphill again.

    But I've learned that the ride is what you make it. If that ol' rollercoaster seems to be always heading down, take over the controls! Don't allow others' actions to set your course for you. You are in control of your life, no one else, and it will be whatever you choose it to be. Remember that above all else.

    Oh hell, this is starting to not make any sense. Time for a second cup of coffee and then off to the beach to see if I can find some interesting photos to take.

  • January 17, 1999:


    Flashback! Yesterday I saw Cheap Trick in concert! I'm amazed that they still look and sound so good. Although our seats were off to the side of the stage, I still managed to get some decent photos of the band. "Dream Police" and "Surrender" keep running through my head. Robin Zander is still a stone fox.

    Got the concert photos back and was blown away by one shot I had forgotten was on the roll! ---------------------------------------------------->

    Went to the beach this morning for the sunrise and watched a couple doing T'ai Chi as the sun broke over the water. Truly beautiful. Shot some photos of baby jellyfish that had washed ashore. Now off to the card show to meet up with Sheryl and see Stew.

  • February 13, 1999:


    I had to do something really hard today.
    One of my cats, Grounder, has had recurring bouts of cystitis on a monthly basis for the past year. This morning he was totally blocked, couldn't urinate at all, although he tried. He was crying and hissing and I knew he had to be in a lot of pain. The last time he visited the vet, I was told that to hospitalize him and clear a blockage with a catheter would cost almost $700, something I could not afford. I understand that there is a surgical procedure that can be done to widen the urethra, but the cost of that is also around $700. And neither of the above could guarantee that the problem would not recur.
    Grounder and his brother, Myler More, were born three years ago when their mother, a neighborhood stray, decided it would be a good thing to have her kittens in my house. Grounder soon developed a talent as a lounge-singer; he discovered that the acoustics underneath the waterbed were excellent for cat-singing and serenaded us constantly with "Priiing?", "Praaaangg?", and "Prrriiiiittt?" He even looked like a lounge-singer: black with white whiskers and a white bib, and white socks. Okay, a nerdy lounge-singer, then. And he had the biggest green-yellow eyes. When you petted him and stopped before he wanted you to, his head would spin around, trying to see where your hand had gone. He would beg for a scrap of whatever you were eating, and when he got it, didn't want it.
    This morning I fed him apart from the others, and he was purring and butting my hand with his head, begging to be petted. I stroked him and told him how much I love him.
    The ride to the vet's office was much too short. The vet confirmed that he was blocked and that unless the blockage was cleared, he would only get more ill and suffer. I signed the form authorizing euthanasia.
    I held him and told him how much I loved him while he gazed at me with those big eyes. Then I said goodbye for the last time.
    I love you, Grounder. You're not hurting anymore.

  • May 29, 1999:


    Almost half a year gone. And so much has happened in this first half of 1999.

    Last month I got to spend some time with my favorite hockey prospect, Corey Spring. He wasn't surprised to learn that I had made some friends in Cleveland, where he spent most of the season, but he was surprised by some of the things I had learned about him. I've never seen anyone as red as he was when I asked him about his "pet armadillo". When he hugged me goodbye, he said, "Keep track of me, okay?"

    Also got to see the Capitals and Rick Tabaracci in Tampa and Fort Lauderdale. I got Rick to sign a few photos I had taken and he liked them enough to ask for copies. That made me feel good.

    I went to a Fusion game fully loaded with film, only to find the league had reassigned CARLOS to Tampa Bay, dammit. But I did get some good shots of Alen Kozic, Roberto Gaucho and John Maessner to make it worthwhile.

    And of course, there was the annual Cajun Festival here May 7, 8 and 9th. I made my annual pilgrimage to see Chubby Carrier. I had copies of photos I had taken for him and was escorted backstage as "the band's photographer." Cool beans!

    While I was backstage waiting to give Chubby his photos, I happened to notice the band onstage: Steve Riley and the Mamou Playboys. They were good and I found my feet tapping to their infectious zydeco beat. Unfortunately, it was way too dark to attempt any shots at the stage. After their encore, the band members were wandering around the backstage area, and that's when it happened: across the room, our eyes met and he smiled, a sweet, sweet smile. And I fell totally and absolutely 100% in lust! I tried not to be obvious as I attempted to sneak a shot of him in his black t-shirt and jeans with a towel around his neck, and those big, brown moo-cow eyes, but every time I had the perfect shot in focus, either someone would block it, or he'd catch me at it and smile that smile and I couldn't release the shutter. So now I am flying to Milwaukee on July 2nd to attempt to get some photos of Steve Riley (drool, drool, slobber) at Summerfest. I must be crazy!

    I did shoot three rolls of Chubby and his band onstage and promised to send him copies. He liked them so much he's using them on his new   webpage!

    And e-sports! is going to syndicate my sports photos. Life IS good!

  • February 17, 2000:


    I can't believe how much time has passed since I last wrote, and how much has happened!

    I finally broke down and bought a new car. Meet "Fancy", my 1995 Subaru Legacy LSi 4-door sedan. Since Urka had served me so well for 8 years, I decided to stick with Subaru. She's got leather interior, power package, all-wheel drive, sunroof, cruise control, am-fm radio, cassette/cd player, and an NEC car phone complete with microphone for hands-free talking. She's a beauty! And now that I have a new car, let's see if I can still afford to go anywhere! :)

    I FINALLY got to see STEVE RILEY (Lord, that man makes my teeth sweat!) perform and he was awesome! That man does things to an accordian that I didn't think could be done. I saw him at Alligator Alley, a new music club in Sunrise and again two days later at an outdoor concert in West Palm Beach. And I got to meet him and stand next to that hot, hard, sweaty body!--------->
    I shot 8 rolls of film, mostly of Steve, and had a great time! And he's coming back February 23rd to 32 Degrees in Delray Beach. I am SO there!

    Chubby Carrier has asked me to be his webmistress so I am now maintaining his website, as well as editing a monthly snail-mail newsletter for him. If you've never seen Chubby live, check the tour dates schedule on the page and make plans to see him if he's anywhere close to you- it WILL be worth the trip.

    Although I still adore Rick Tabaracci, who is currently an Avalanche and playing for the minor-league Cleveland Lumberjacks, and Corey Spring, currently with Germany's Augsburg Panthers, hockey has taken a backseat on the roller coaster of my life. I'm currently working two jobs, both for the same Fort Lauderdale geriatric psychiatrist (Hi, Dr. David!), and trying to keep myself from requiring his services. February is a hectic month for me. Besides Steve Riley coming down (that's a month's worth of psyching right there!), there's the Mardi Gras festival in Hollywood at the end of the month and the annual Renaissance Faire. And Colette is coming down next month from Wisconsin for some Cuban food and relaxation. And she's coming in May for the annual cajun festival so she can meet Chubby and his dad and enjoy the beauty of Wayne Toups and Geno Delafose. We're gonna have a blast!

  • February 21, 2000:


    Yesterday I went to Ft Myers, Florida, to watch my son, Michael, race in a ProSolo autocross race. It was the first time I'd seen this sort of auto racing and the first time I'd seen my son taking part.



    Michael drives a 1997 Acura Integra. I don't know the rest of the specs on the car, but it's a beauty. It's also his street car, the one he drove down from Maryland in.







    He finished fourth and was disappointed, but I had a ball watching, even when he spun out.









    And parked two spaces down from us was this :-) ------------------------------------->







  • July 8, 2000:


    Forgive me for being remiss about keeping this updated, but lots has been happening. Fiesta Tropicale in February was a blast, got lots and lots of pix and got to meet Chubby's wife, Maria, who is a sweetheart (hi, Maria!).

    The Fort Lauderdale Crawfish Festival was, as usual, fantastic. Chubby got me a backstage pass so I was free to wander amid the beauty of Wayne Toups, Geno Delafose, Earl Salley and others. Hunter Hayes was awesome as was Lisa Haley and the fabulous Roy Carrier. I have been invited to shoot photos FOR the Crawfish Festival next year!

    Fancy and I traveled over to St Petersburg during the Memorial Day weekend to visit my friend Brenda and her son, Austin. Since we are both thrift-store junkies, we shopped til we dropped (and Fancy's trunk was full). Then we went to the Cajun Cafe on the Bayou in Pinellas Park. This restaurant, situated on a bayou, has the best cajun food I've ever eaten. Owner Joe Thibodaux, cook Stefan Bergeron and waitress Brenda Risk are warm, wonderful folks. Sunday afternoon, there is an outdoor blues jam that is not to be missed. Joe now has some of my cajun fest photos on the walls there.

    And a Sioux City, Iowa magazine called Weekender bought one of my photos to accompany an interview with Chubby Carrier. YES!

    My hockey hero, Rick Tabaracci, was selected first in the Expansion Draft by the Columbus BlueJackets, but was not signed and is now a free agent. Mark Fitzpatrick is also a free agent, and since the Augsburg Panthers did not resign Corey Spring, I have no clue where he may be. Hopefully by the time the season starts, at least one of them will have surfaced somewhere.

    I've met some new friends on the web - Jennie, from Anaheim and Sherri, from Nashville. Hey, gals! Great people, good friends. Both have webpages and if I can ever find the URLS, I'll add them.

    Okay, time to make some of Stefan's cajun cornbread for the Fiesta Tropicale volunteer appreciation picnic tomorrow!

    Ramblings


    4/14/01:
    I picked up my printed business cards today. As I look at the bold black words, "Linda Neary, Photography", I ask myself if that says who I am. Is that all of me, boiled down, condensed, like soup, into those three words: Linda Neary, Photography?

    There is a song written by someone I greatly admire; the lyrics, in part, say, "Damn you, just look at me." Is there someone who can look at me and assess me in a glance? Besides seeing the obvious: brown hair streaked with grey, myopic brown eyes, long legs tacked onto a body that could use exercise and an excellent plastic surgeon, missing great toenails, stubby fingers..... Is there someone who can see who I am?

    Can you look at the photos I take and tell what my likes and dislikes are? What I seek in a friend? What I fear and what I want? Can you determine my needs, hopes, desires with a look?

    Yes, I take photos. Damn good ones, I might add. But I am so much more than my photos and those three words.

    What I want is for someone to take the time to see who I am, the achievement of fifty years of living and learning and growing. I've created life, caused pain, raised hell. I've made friends and enemies along the way. I've learned that hating is a waste of time and good energy. I've come to accept that people are who they are, and it's useless to wish them different. I've reached the point where it's more fun to do the strange than adhere to the path of ordinary. Take a different road home, you may be amazed at what and who you discover. Maybe even yourself.

    The someone I admire greatly (who shall remain nameless, but I think he would know that it's him I'm referring to) is a wordsmith and a musician. He sings his pain (my pain, your pain, our collective pain) in a smoky voice that haunts me. He called me an "artist". His CD is starting to skip, I've listened to it so much. He makes his magic with pen and ink. He has seen African deserts and hangs his naked mother on his wall. He has offered up a glimpse of his soul and I have seen it through his words, and nearly through his eyes.
    Afterthought: He has a killer dimple.

    I hear his words and my thoughts are shallow,
    I feel his pain and my heart is hollow.

    4/17/01:
    And Peter wants to be Patti
    And Patti wants to be free,
    And Peter's wife is leaving him
    So he calls to cry to me.

    4/18/01:
    Superstitions, rituals; call them what you will. We all have little quirks we adhere to, some to bring good luck, some to ward off evil, some just to ensure that the day will pass without any problems. Bordering on obsessive-compulsive behavior, we firmly believe that if we do things a certain way, certain occurences will naturally follow.

    The hockey player dons left skate first prior to each game, or ties his skate laces a special way or only wears his "lucky" underwear on game day. The golfer has his wife kiss his balls prior to raising his putter (works EVERY time!). The gambler kisses the dice. The company CEO wears his power tie the day of an important meeting. The housewife irons her husband's shirts first, then her blouses and skirts, or takes the valium first and then the prozac.

    Cigarette and coffee on rising, that's one of mine. Checking my e-mail, the first sip of my coffee (hot, blonde and sweet, like me), the first jolt of nicotine rushing through my veins, with a chaser of caffeine. I'm awake. Answering e-mail while my hair dries wrapped in a towel. One of two proven paths to work, same way five days a week. Same way home, too.

    So it was a definite shock to my systematic system to find myself taking a different route home from the west coast of Florida. An unknown road beckoned me and said, "I may take a little longer to get you home, but I think you'll enjoy the ride."

    A narrow two-lane road passing itself off as a highway on state maps meandered through small towns surrounded by acres of cattle, rows of moss-draped cedars and orange groves. No passing allowed but I was in no hurry. Camera always at the ready, I stopped several times to take advantage of those Kodak-opportunity moments I'm usually in too much of a rush to notice.

    In Arcadia, where the road narrowed and the speed limit dropped, I stopped to get some coffee. Small wooden houses surrounded by gardens lined the roads; laundry hanging from a backyard clothesline, a dog barking, a battered school bus passes. The air tastes sweeter here. The coffee tastes different. Not better, just different. I'm reluctant to get back in my car. This is the start of a new journey. One to my self.

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