My New Bible Quote of the Year 2018
Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the Lord.
Lamentations 3:40

Want VS Need
I, too often, find myself buying something I want just so I don’t want it any more. If I buy it, I will stop visiting it on my wish list. In other words, I stop wanting it. Once I do have it, I forget about it.

For instance, there is a DVD I want because one of favorite actors is in it. Now, I don’t ‘need’ this movie/TV show, but I ‘want’ it, just to have it in my collection. Then I don’t watch it and have to find a place to store it with my other DVDs.

I have to fight ‘want’ vs ‘need’ all the time. I have an addictive personality and I get something in my head and it annoys me until I have it.

In other words, I ‘need’ to possess something that I don’t know what I’m going to do with it when I get it.

I have an addictive personality. Both sides of my family were alcoholics. Luckily, as far as I know, they have not been addicted to other drugs or have created problems that go with those addictions.

I never drank alcohol, smoked cigarettes or took illegal drugs. That does not exempt me from my family traits. Luckily, my addictions are been to over-reading, doing puzzles, coloring, TV, radio, certain types of music/groups, cross-stitch. I have been addicted to Father Time…I must do certain things at certain times of the day. I have been addicted to perfectionism which has led to many unhappy periods in my life. For instance, no matter how ‘perfect’ I tried to be, my family still didn’t love me, I still didn’t have teachers like me, I still didn’t have friends in school, etc.

Some of my addictions are fine, one might even say healthy for me. I am happy about being in them. For instance, eating and sleeping at basically the same time every day is very healthy for the body and the brain. I said ‘basically’ as I am open to, say, eating a little earlier or later to accommodate another person; or going to bed earlier to get up earlier to attend something that might be necessary (like a doctor’s appointment or getting the bus for grocery shopping) or stress relieving (like attending a play or meeting with a friend). In other words, being flexible and not demanding or whiny.

However, I have recently awakened to the fact that I am addicted to Facebook.

I need to log on by a certain time every day, twice a day. I need to update my games to the extra points. I need to know who to pray for or celebrate with. I need to know what other people are thinking about in the news-of-the-world. I need to let people know what is going on in my life in the hopes that they feel the same way and I get sympathy or congratulations (which now comes in red lettering and blows confetti across the screen).


As I have spent the past week or so deleting things from my Facebook account I have felt a physical, as well as, a mental relief. I have felt my body actually lighten. I have felt, in the good sense, a light feeling in my brain. I have, also, felt brain cells sparking to life and feeling…well…freed. My writing muse has returned. My imagination is flowing. I am looking around my one-room apartment and seeing things that need to get redone and ‘finding’ time that has always been there, to do them. But, no, I needed to check Facebook. I sit there trying to shut off the computer but updating and checking my Timeline ‘just one more time.’ It has become a physical and mental pull. Nothing should have that much hold on me.

I admire people who can just check in. People who can post a picture or two and then log off. People who can show up once or twice a week and know what is going on. I don’t believe that all people are just like me. Addicted.

So, here I am. I am walking, typing (?), away from Facebook. I have heard about these things called ‘leaving’ and ‘deactivating’ but they seem to be a myth. I have tried for over a week to find these places. I have asked for help finding these places. I can’t find them. People don’t answer. I did find a place where it said to go to such-and-such a place (which I can’t find) and then use my password to be allowed to write Facebook and ask to leave. They might turn me down. What then? Who are these people? My masters. I am their slave. I am breaking the chains and walking away. Literally. I will unfriend everyone on October 1st, log out, and leave.

Some of these people are, indeed, friends. They have let me know in one way or another over the past week. Some are just ‘friends’ and I wonder about that. For instance, I posted some excerpts from email I got from a man who lives in my building. Out of all the male ‘friends’ I have on Facebook, only one has responded. (He knows who he is, he IM’d me.) But the others have either, silently, agreed or approved of the sexual harassment/physical threats and felt no need to respond in any way.

As many know, the past week I suffered my first heart attack. It was very mild but obviously brought on by stress. Heart attacks don’t run on my side of the family. I have, also, suffered from TSIs, most likely brought on by the stress. However, strokes do run on my side of the family, so I might not have been eating and exercising properly either. I cannot blame all of my life-problems on other people. And I don’t. I am the first to admit when I have done something wrong and try very hard to correct it if it is possible and/or apologize when what-is-done-is-done and cannot be taken back or fixed.

So, here I go. I will post this on my Timeline and in my blog. I will give those who wish to respond, time to respond. And then I will move on.

God be with all of you. (Even the people who run Facebook. Yes, God loves you, too.) It’s been a ride! We have shared good times and bad. We have found each other when we never thought it would happen (who knew PCs were coming into our lives?). We have seen marriages succeeded and fail. We have watched the children and, now (good heavens!) grandchildren grow. We have cried and laughed and posted WOW! :o Facebook has lifted our day, it has crushed our day, it has left us gobsmacked (will you miss that word?).

You do have to admit I weaned myself off of Facebook. I did not go cold-turkey and leave people wondering as others have. I am not dead. Not yet. I am not in hospital (which I have been in the past). Not yet. But I am gone…from Facebook.

Oh, and I will miss you Diamond Digger Saga. We had a long run and a good time. But you are not, as yet, available on an app for my tablet.

Goodbye ‘friends’ and God bless. luv, miss josh


It is now Nov. 10 and I haven’t missed Facebook. Interesting. As a matter of fact, I didn’t realize until today that it had been over a month! Even more interesting.

Only 7 people, out of 62, wanted to keep in touch with me. That means they were ‘friends’ not friends. Good to know.

I have caught up on Pinterest except for one group because I had to work other things out to start actually posting on it. I will delete what few colorings are there and start over. I have updated my list of titles and artists which was quite a chore but it is done. Give credit where credit is due. I have finally been able to get on WWOMB so I will be deleting the stories that I posted in 2004 and reposting the updated ones and the new ones. I feel I have moved on to a new phase in my life or returned to an old one I liked!

I used to go to a VHS rental store on Telegraph in Michigan that had rare movies. Like all the rental stores it was free.
If you paid a yearly fee you had access to ‘the side and back rooms.’ They even had a book you could go through that listed actors/movie titles. And, no, they were not pornographic. (Unless you count that some movies, like Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet from 1967 was rated X and I had to go to an actual ‘art’ studio (porn theater) to see it. This movie might have been a hard R in 1983.)
I found the store exciting because I could find movies and TV episodes with my favorite overseas actors.
Under Mark Gregory there was a listing for Blue Paradise. Well, I was excited! I rented it several times.
I, finally, got cable and Showtime ran Blue Paradise. (I paid extra for Showtime to watch Robin Hood, now known as Robin of Sherwood. Think, Michael Praed. Worth the cost…)
Move forward from the 1980s to the 2000s and DVD.
No Blue Paradise.
Finally discovered, under Mark Gregory on IMDb, an Adamo ed Eva, la prima storia d’amore. It was Italian. I thought that if it had subtitles, I might have found Blue Paradise.
So, here is a list of what is available online: Adam and Eve; Adamo ed Eva, la prima storia d’amore (org. title); Adan Y Eve; Adam and Eve Meet the Cannibals; Adam & Eve vs the Cannibals.
Anyway, I did get this movie in English, it is Blue Paradise and Mark Gregory is still hot.
I just don’t get the cannibals title and packaging. Yes, in this movie they do run into cannibals for about 5 minutes, somewhere in the middle of the movie.
If you are into cannibals, this is not the movie for you.
However, if you are interested in an Italian version of how the earth, man and woman were created, this is a goodie.
Adventures in discovering sex, finding out there are other people already on the earth as you travel on foot searching to return to water, love triangles with Eve and a lot of the men she meets while Adam keeps pushing forward, nice scenery, and some decent laughs, outside of cannibalism.
This may just be the movie for you.
There are some gory scenes not appropriate for youngsters and nudity.
However, for me…it is Mark Gregory in more skin that Bronx and Thunder, which is fine with me, a little old leftover hippie lady who usually specializes in cheesy disaster films. And hot guys with long hair! What more can I say?

Copying My Bible

I read in Guideposts about a man who decided to hand write the Bible from Genesis on through. A bit ambitious for me but it put my mind to work.

I was noticing that since I got my Bible from Gayle Kasch, who inscribed it to me, and renewed my faith, I have kept track of each year’s discovery with a different color highlighter. After ten years, I used black, blue then red pens to underline passages.

I had been wondering about how my faith has progressed from receiving the Bible and reading it cover to cover 3 times now, plus reading it twice a day in my own Bible studies through The Our Daily Bread and The Upper Room, and a Bible study in the building. Then I struck upon an idea that was perfect for me and my limited writing time due to arthritis.

I got a binder, college-ruled paper and tab pages and have devoted about half an hour, before going to bed, hand writing out my personal revelations. It has certainly been a journey and I am only up to Psalms! I can see the original feelings, the gains, the setbacks and the re-gains as I have journeyed through Jehovah’s inspired writings and Jesus’ teachings.

But me, being me, as I reached the Psalms and saw all the different colors that showed up on the open pages, my first thought was, Wow! It looks like a unicorn threw up in here! Luckily, unicorns are mentioned in the Psalms so I believe that God had a good laugh and shook His head and said to the angels, “O, that’s My silly Josh.” You’re welcome, God.

God be with you all for ever and ever, amen. And always remember:

Why Every Performer Has Written a Song About Being On and Off Stage: Touring, for Real, in the 1960s

As a user of Facebook, I have been fortunate enough to re-connect with many old friends, some all the way back to the 60s.

As Facebook grew more and more, ‘groups’ opened up. I was excited to find some for people from the 1960s or early (pre-disco) 1970s and for various performers that I loved back then. Eventually the ultimate question is asked in one of two forms: Did you go to Woodstock? or How old were you when Woodstock was a ‘happening?’ And then the youngsters come out of the woodwork: “I wasn’t born yet.” or “Hey, I was only 2 or 3.” I think it is great that there are young people with great taste in music but they need to read and learn or ask questions. Sometimes their comments are shocking to those who lived it. For instance, there was a picture on one of the Brian Jones sites at a concert and he is surrounded by police and guards. Sure enough, some commented: “I adore him, too, but I think they are overdoing it!” No, they weren’t. You are Millennial. Even then, when Brian wanted to be famous, he never realized what the fans were going to do to him or how hard it was to tour and get gigs.

So, for all the people who didn’t live and work in the olden days and are not leftover hippies, here is the real truth and not the myths. It was work, work, work and not a lot of glamour until much later for those who ‘made it.’


I was watching an episode of Endeavour (Canticle) that was about a rock band getting ready to tour with The Kinks with the made-up name of The Wildwoods. Insp. Morse wanted to know why they had a doctor tour with them. They were four healthy young men. The answer: Sprains, strains, stress and the occasional need for a sleeping draft.

This brought back memories I had shuffled away in my head from that era, The British Invasion 1964-1969.

Some people not might know this but waking up every day in a strange room, in a strange bed, in a strange city is very mentally and physically taxing. Add to this the fact that there were no sound systems except for the singers. Thus there is extra loud music from the amps going through you to reach the back of wherever you are playing, plus the stage vibrating, plus the electric instruments vibrating right against your body, plus the hot lights, plus the screaming audience, plus remembering all the notes and words to many different songs. (Heaven forbid a guitar string should break in the middle of a song…what to do: Quickly change guitars; step off to the side of the stage for a couple of minutes while the string is replaced and let the band carry on; forge on through with the remaining strings until the end of song and improvise?) And keep an eye on all your equipment as there was easy access to backstage, cars, trucks, buses and motel rooms. You were constantly worried and keeping an eye on your stuff. And if you were just starting out, you probably were your own roadies, as well. (Lift that amp, tote those drums.)

Now add the fact that in 1964-1969, many bands drove themselves and pulled the equipment from city to city in strange countries. Or the ever popular used Greyhound bus with a few seats torn out, not equipped like today). Some bands had to play odd places due to the availability of concert halls…think Michigan one night, Texas the next night, New York the next night and California the next night (or different countries in Europe and Asia) and the flying is nerve-wracking at best. You walked to and from the plane across the tarmac in all kinds of weather. If you were lucky, a car drove up to the plane to get you.

You stayed in small dirty motels that came with their own assortment of permanent guests you can call vermin. You had to share with others up to 4 or more (if you could get away with it). You, finally, made a little extra money as you got more ‘well-known’ and could upgrade to the Holiday Inn. (Okay, until you caused enough noise and damage that you got banned from the entire chain and Holiday Inn is worldwide!) The beds were lumpy and, sometimes, you were positive the sheets hadn’t been changed for a month or two. And if there was a room where the shower, or anything else, didn’t work; the rock bands got it! And you had to flip a coin, or whatever game you made up with your band mates, for the bed or the floor. And no TV or swimming pools. (Some had TVs in certain rooms but you paid extra for it. And some had swimming pools but those places were likely out of your price range.) There were no video games or internet or cell phones. If your family could afford long distance/trans-Atlantic calls, you could call collect, otherwise, you better not add something like that to your bill! And the ‘central’ room would be packed with people offering free drugs and booze and sex. And they were passing out and vomiting and stealing everything they could get their hands on.

Food? Hah! No fancy restaurants and most motels didn’t have food service. So you ate fast food/takeaway and it was greasy, fattening, under- or over-cooked, tasted like cardboard. And then there were the vending machines with stale you-name-it that didn’t work anyway. That’s if you had a chance to eat at all. (Many bands members suffered from malnutrition and/or dehydration.) Sometimes one meal would have to get you through. (And people wonder why, as bands entered into the 1970s, they started demanding food backstage as part of their contract…)

Now add that you had to hide! Yup, hide! Don’t let anyone know what motel (later hotel) you are staying at. Don’t let anyone know the route you are taking from the airport to the motel. Don’t let anyone know the route you are taking to and from the venue. If anything slips…you are mauled. Just plain physically violated. Your clothes are ripped to shreds. Your hair is pulled out of your head in handfuls (or with scissors and you can get your scalp cut). You are grabbed and kissed on the mouth. You are squeezed in a frenzied hug. You have private parts grabbed. You have police/security/other band members pulling you to ‘safety.’ The car you are in is jumped on putting dents everywhere, especially the roof, making you slide down in your seat. People are pounding on the windows, sometimes breaking them in an era before safety glass. Or, if the window is accidently left open, repeat the above clothes and hair pulling. You have to go very very slowly so as not to kill someone in front of the car, on the car, hanging to the bumper of the car and being dragged.

Rest? Rest, you say? Oh. No. During the day you have photo shoots, radio station interviews, lip-syncing on local TV dance shows, in-store record signings and press conferences. And after the show: meet-and-greets with the big wheels and their little teeny bopper daughters (and their friends); glad-handing to keep that radio station owner playing your record (sometimes your manager slips them a few bucks you can’t really afford but Payola works); sucking up to the producers and local record executives; the club/arena owners; the local press; DJs; promoters; and the party to make sure everyone who ‘counts’ is drunk and happy. And you better sound and look happy, happy, happy! Smile until your face hurts, literally. And, don’t forget the small talk such as, “Yes, we did take the train here. How interesting that you actually have a train collection. What a coincidence. Tell me more about your collection.” (“My face may be smiling but I have killed you three times in my head…”) And, please, never ever blink when all the flashbulbs are going off in your face because that is the picture that will make the newspaper or magazine because they think it is funny.

While on the road or in the area you are staying, if you want to eat or take a walk, good luck. If you are a woman, you sported the Mary Quant/Sassoon-look. Men and women made rude remarks about your short dress, platform shoes and panda bear eye make-up. You might be safe inside but you could be taking your virtue in your own hands as soon as you left. If you were a man, you sported the Carnaby Street/King’s Road/Sassoon-look and the men would really razz you. (Listen to Bob Seger’s Turn the Page or The Barbarians Are You a Boy or Are You a Girl?.) You could be hassled or get caught in a fight inside, and walking to the cars or tour bus might feel like the longest walk of your life.

Money? You get money? Well… Sometimes. There were the gigs you played where the check bounced. Where you learned to get the cash before you left and had to sleep with it because the motel safe was locked and banks weren’t open and you didn’t really sleep because a lot of bands got robbed and sometimes beaten up, but you had to go on the next night. And the promoters who lied about the ‘take’ or faked robberies at the ticket booth/office. And the managers/agents who lied about how much you spent for food, lodging, gas, and airfare, whatever…and ripped you off. And the bad contracts that took away your composing rights and all your songs because you were too young and too excited and they were greedy and saw a way to make a fast buck and run.

And it was strange to read about yourself in all the magazines. Everything was made up. The top name magazines and the fan club magazines had people who were hand-picked to be you. They answered all the questions and wrote all the articles and many even answered the fan mail that came in. They worked on the signature so it looked like yours. (Or the fan clubs just had rubber stampers.) You never even saw the letters or the gifts or the x’s and o’s. There was someone to do that for you. Early on, you might have tried to keep up with some it. Or, and here is a favorite, your mom answered the mail! (I, personally, know someone whose mom did that and he never saw any of it. It gets better. Teen girls hung around the house, so she invited them in, gave them milk and cookies, and THEY answered his mail!) Well, at some point, you really did lose track of yourself and the fans knew you better than you did and you couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to know what your favorite color was or what toothpaste you used. There were a few magazines who really tried with real interviews (quick shout-out to Unity at Fabulous 208!) but they were usually the magazines that were aimed at the fans of the instruments you played and why, and not about you personally. Of course, that meant that if you should need something like the aforementioned toothpaste or you wanted to just take a walk to try and remember what real air smelled like, you better look pretty darn good! (Imagine if you lived to today with cell phone nuts.)

And, yes, it was called: Sex and Drugs and Rock ‘n’ Roll. So, let’s mention the groupies who gave you STDs and stole your stuff (check out Rod Stewart's Stay With Me). They had no place to stay so they slept in the halls or stayed up talking all night which kept you up. And the pregnancies. I knew a group where the girl showed up and you knew that kid was the bassist’s, looked exactly like him, but to save money the band vowed to say in court that she slept with all of them (gang-banging) and she got no support. No DNA tests in those days. And, yes, sometimes a girl would have sex with every member of the band. I, also, know a British band who spent all the money they made on the tour for medicine to cure their VD.

(I’m just talking about the touring part here. How and where you lived and what you did or didn’t eat between tours is another horror story all together!)

Okay, looking back, given all the whining in the new Century autobiographies, was it all worth it? Well, sure, if it panned out to be a good dream come true. For The Rolling Stones, The Who, Aerosmith, Rod Stewart, Elton John, Cher, Bette Midler, you know, the people who managed to finally make some money and keep it and are still touring with one-week gigs in big cities like Las Vegas or Paris, in a nice big suite, in a beautiful hotel, with your wife/husband and kids/grandkids. Whine all you want because every little club where you got booed and chairs thrown at you; every dirty motel room; every sexual conquest that came with an STD, every hangover from all the booze, every coming-down from a drug trip, every arrest, every stomach ulcer, every ache, pain, tinnitus, arthritis, surgery, etc. was worth it. However, for a lot of them, it was a bad dream. Yet, many of those one-hit, one-tour wonders still think it was, in a way, worth it. But too many burned out, are still on drugs, picked up medical things that would debilitate them for the rest of their lives, or just plain died.

I know. I have the photos and memories to prove it. I don’t have the money but I have my integrity…I never drank alcohol, smoked cigarettes, had sex with a rock star/roadie or took illegal drugs. So for all you young people who think you know everything there is to know about your favorite musician in the 1960s? You don’t. You can Google it on your cell phone or join a Facebook group or watch documentaries on your cable TVs but don’t, for a minute, think you ‘actually,’ know anything unless you were there!

“And oh the stories we could tell...sittin’ on the bed in some motel.” (©John Sebastian, 1974)
Tags: forget it.
A vast number of decades ago, the longest word in the dictionary was


and everyone had a goal of being able to spell it.

I had a friend, Patty, who was an all-A student. She decided to outsmart everyone. When asked if she knew what the longest word in the dictionary was and how to spell it, she replied, “Yes, but do you know what it means?”

Everyone looked blank and then admitted…”No.”

Brain Scan Update, Update
I got the information from Beaumont Hospital. Just a map and the psychologist's business card.

I called Leona and she said the 2 ½ hour test was oral and written. No scan. The doctor doesn’t like to put radiation in your body unless you need it. He can tell if I need an actual scan by the tests.

Plus, since it is in the geriatric wing of the hospital, he can tell if I need a scan somewhere else on my body due to age. Pain in other parts of the body can affect the brain and slow it down mimicking Early Onset Dementia.

Therefore, no fasting, no scrubbed clean scalp and I can go to the bathroom when I need to. Interesting…

Of course, Dr. Sturla and Debbie never mentioned this. And Dr. Sturla said that Debbie would not be handling it and that it would be a scan.


Brain Scan Update – or – Who? What? When? Where?
The phone rang and a woman said, “Mrs. Emmett?”
“No, Miss Emmett.”
“Oh, well, I’m calling from Dr. O’Leary’s office about a referral from a Dr. Scurla and I’m afraid we can’t help your husband because the doctor doesn’t take Medicaid.”
Long pause…deep breath…no cursing Debbie.
“Okay, I’m single, female and only have Medicaid ‘hospitalization’. I have Medicare and Medicare Part C under Blue Cross Blue Shield.”
“Oh, my, well…”
“Would you like to go back to the beginning? Or maybe before the beginning?”
“Sure, let’s start over. And I’m very sorry, I saw the ‘y’ and thought it was a man, but I do see here it is checked ‘female.’”
“That’s okay.”
I proceeded to give her my insurance info, that I was, indeed, a senior female who had never been married. I had been told that I would hear from Leona at Dr. O’Reilly’s office. And the other doctor is Dr. Sturla, as in sternum, not Scurla. However, this was very typical of his office.

The upshot is that Leona is excited about meeting me and was surprised to hear that I wrote a whole blog on the ‘y’ in Randy. Of course everyone jumps to when they hear Blue Cross Blue Shield (because I pay for it) and the first opening is Oct. 6 at 1p, unless I’m a morning person. I told her I’d have to get up early for 1p! We ended up laughing. She is sending the information. Whatever it is I’m getting will be at his office/clinic and it takes (at least) 2 ½ hours. Fine.
I called Rose and told her to go ahead and enjoy her Sept. vacation! We laughed, too, and she needs it!

Lord, help me! Maybe after this is all done I will really consider getting a new doctor, whatever his name is! haha

Medical Update
I called the doctor’s office on Sunday and left a message.

The doctor’s office called on Monday and said all my results were fine.

I would be called by a woman, Leana, from a Dr. O’Reilly’s office and he would do the brain scan. It would be in his office NOT at Beaumont. (I didn’t say Beaumont, Dr. Sturla did, but I let it go.)

So far…no call. I will wait until next week and then call them.

If they try to make it in September, I will have to have a date that does not conflict with Rose’s vacation. The Dear Lord knows she NEEDS it!

At least I feel I have made a start.

There is no word on my getting a physical or scans of the places I need scans. Still thinking of getting a new doctor.

At this point, I think the best thing to do is go to the November Wellness visit and see what happens. If I’m not satisfied, I will definitely get a new doctor in 2018 after all the January medical insurance updates go through.

I feel I am making progress and have a plan.

SEE: Brain Scan...20782


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