The kitchen traditionally belongs to women. That is changing as more men find their way to the kitchen and are becoming proficient there. Personally, I think there is nothing hotter than drinking a glass of wine and watching your man cook, thinking about all the uses for that sweet chocolate sauce he is making, but I digress.

In a family the kitchen is where important decisions are made, issues discussed, marriages made, divorces accepted, behaviors reviewed, plans made, hopes offered, disappointments soothed. Many of the most important conversations often happen in the kitchen. Babies are celebrated and fed there, the departed grieved and support given across countless coffee cups, midnight snacks and holiday meals.

When chefs take over a kitchen, the kitchen’s soul is stabbed by the knives by which they ply their trade. No longer tools used in the preparation of family nourishment but the rapiers of cuisine. What once was the cornerstone of hearth and home, food becomes an object of lust rather than nourishment of body and soul. As such, chefs become the pimps of harlot dishes that call to us from darkened doorways and exotic locales.

Ah, and then there is the food porn. 24 hour stations of the Food Network, Fine Living, websites that tempt and taunt and addict us to the airbrushed beauty of the perfect holiday turkey, it’s legs dripping with the juices of a perfect trussing and baking. Immediate pleasures that will sate and slake and then leave us aching from a sensual disease that clogs arteries and upsets gastric tracts. I’m sorry, let me collect myself again.

The kitchen, like a long time lover, while not dressed in the seductive lingerie of test kitchens, shines instead in the warm understated sexiness of flannel. It should be a place of familiarity and subtle formality where the heart of a family lives. It should be where lovers share the preparation of a meal that binds their love together as they feed each other tender morsels. Re-enacting that age old tradition of nurturing their mate and showing them favor by the sharing of food. It should be the place where young families learn to cook together and teach their children how to set a table, clean an ear of corn and make brownies.

It should be the place where we all share the concerns of the day, of playmates in and out of favor. Sometimes that moment bellied up to the counter is that single thing that shows a child from an unloved existence that there is something bigger, warmer and loving waiting for them in the guise of tile and countertop and shared cookies.

It is where older families sit and remember shared dinner chores as their teens run headlong out the door into their own life, and rediscover the quiet joys of cooking for each other. It is the place where friends enjoy the smell of the food cooking and share a toddy together as they ponder the joys and struggles of their clan.

Kitchens are where moments are made. Not by chefs, but by cooks. They bake and fry and brew the moments that nourish the body and those that nourish the soul. Both the chefs I knew took their knives and left. I was sad for a moment, but then I made a sandwich and thought, damn, it’s nice to have my kitchen back.

And so my friends, today, make a moment in your kitchen with your child, your lover, your friend. Share a moment, a scent, a cocktail, and let the nourishment fill you.

Those who know me know that I am wildly opposed to knee jerk reactions, particularly when it is accompanied with unlimited resources and folks who have to justify their existance or get real jobs!

Can anyone say TSA?  Talk about a knee jerk reaction with unlimited resources.  And honestly what have they given us?  Safer flights, uh no… less terrorism?  Uh no…we have just traded a slim chance of random terrorism with an anticipated one in a uniform representing our own government. Honestly, we have traded the slight chance of being terrorized by some unknown person with screwed up sense of commitment for a guaranteed opportunity to be terrorized by federal employees prior to every flight!

The advent of giving them little badges has made a bad situation even worse. You cannot find two airports that even use the same standards or exceptions.  You would be hard pressed to even find two screeners in the same airport using the same standards.  I find in offensive that these civilians were given badges of any sort!

Keep in mind that these folks are NOT law enforcement officers, they have absolutely NO law enforcement training.  They are chosen on their ability to move bags over 50 pounds and apparently their ability to assist the airlines in gaining additional income by forcing people to check bags that they would otherwise carry on, more on that in a moment.   Always remember that these people would not recognize a terrorist if one bit them on their more than ample asses.  To portray them as any type of officer is ridiculous.

For whatever reason, as a group the TSA seems incapable of attaining or maintaining any kind consistency throughout their operations.  One of my most interesting experiences with the Terrorism Supply Agency was recently at the SEA-TAC airport where patrons, including military personnel, who appeared to have a little cash in their pockets were singled out, found to have some contraband item, (in one case a tube of lip gloss not in a plastic bag.  Apparently in Seattle, anything you put on your body, excluding clothing is a toiletry) and forced to either surrender the item or check the bag.  Bag check is of course fee based now.  In the time I was in line and prior to my personal assault by a member of the Terrorist Supply Agency, over 1000 dollars in checked bag fees were charged.  This included a woman traveling with a toddler who had a suspicious sippy cup.

Of course, when it was brought to the screeners attention that make up items were, according to the TSA not counted as a toiletry, I was told to “check my attitude” and standby for a “thorough random check.”  Random my ass, it was punishment for daring to speak out against domestic terrorism.  My attitude was fine, the racist witch doing the screening while she is screaming hysterically for a supervisor?  Not so much!

Any agency that is allowed to run unchecked should be a grave concern to every citizen of the United States.  To outfit them with little uniforms and badges as if they are actual law enforcement officers should be wildly concerning!    Blindly supporting an agency because they are “protecting” you is dangerous.  And really what are they saving us from, a Toledo housewife who in a fit of spite douses you with creme rinse?  Seriously, are we in that great a danger from uncontrolled toiletry wielding citizens?  If that is indeed the case all of us are in far greater danger at our local Hell-Mart than in the airport!

If you are unhappy with how you are treated, do you really have any recourse from newly decorated tin badges with superiority complexes?  Complain to them?  Really?  So they can put you on a terrorist watch list, you and your sample sized Suave?  So you can be pulled aside and physically accosted by someone who thinks that using the back of their hand doesn’t qualify as touching?  So you can be profiled on your ability to pay 15-50 in additional fees to keep 250 worth of make up or contacts?  The person directly in front of me at SEA-TAC, a soldier mind you, was forced to check his bag because he had too many pairs of contacts with him to go on the plane?   He did not have the money to check the bag, so I paid for it for him.  It was the very least I could do and all I could do was thank him for his service while apologizing for the fuckwit screener.

Honestly?  What did this twit think he was going to do, apply the contacts all over the pilot and suffocate him in 4-6 months, 3 mm at a time?  I was deeply offended on his behalf and when I made the comment, “You should be ashamed of yourself” to the screener, I was immediately pulled from the line, searched, frisked and forced to check my bag, get this people, not once, BUT TWICE, so a total of 3 trips through the TSA line!

The flight attendant on my flight who witnessed all this, said that SEA-TAC TSA was so bad that her daughter refused to even use that airport flying instead into other area airports at greater expense rather than have to deal with them.  Again I point out to you, dear reader, where do you go to complain????

If that doesn’t smack of Nazi Germany, I do not know what does.  So for that… The Terrorism Supply Agency of the SEA-TAC airport receives my Foot in the Ass Award for this week along with being the recipient of the Sara Single Finger Salute.

It is a deeply disturbing scenario and if you as a US citizen are not outraged, you are not paying attention!

Practically it make sense.  All things are energy.  Energy can neither be created nor destroyed.  Therefore all energy goes on.  To me, it’s a no brainer.  I feel very sad for people who are convinced that this physical plane is all there is, that we are all there is.  It’s a kind of arrogance I think.

I don’t know that I believe in all the variety of ghost shows, and the few that I do enjoy are pretty skeptical.  I have had personal experiences that have left no doubt in my mind regarding the intersection of planes and that it is possible to flow back and forth.  I don’t know that I need, or that anyone else needs to try to quantify, define or explain that.

Ultimately, it is something that, like our relationship with a power greater than ourselves, is intensely personal.  With rare exceptions I am not convinced that there is a right or a wrong to it.  You either walk in the light of being a part of, or you suffer the torment of always feeling separate from.

I find it intensely ironic that the people who have the greatest difficulty with accepting a life beyond also tend to be either completely anti-religion or intensely religious.  The idea that there is only one, or perhaps two “spirits” in the universe absolutely fascinates me.  Like most things the youngest and most insecure souls tend to be the ones that most need the outward trappings of religion or deny that there is anything beyond themselves.  They need those constant symbols or defiance to remain steady in a Universe that they cannot accept much less understand.

My hope for everyone today, is that they reach a bit further, that they open themselves to the positive possibility that all of us are interconnected and that the beat really does go on, for all of us.

Sending you blessings and joyfulness.

However, I sure know a lot of people who have picked poorly. And I’ve noticed that as a group, those of us who are in what they loosely call “the helping professions”, we tend to have a real preference for intense relationships. I have a theory about that, but’s it’s a different blog.

I’m not quite sure what to make of this phenomenon, but I see it all the time. A good looking guy who works for an undisclosed government agency, goes to a strip club one night sees a stripper named Candy (shouldn’t that tell you something right away?), has to have her and 12 months later she has taken over his life, his boat, almost gotten him fired, has alienated all of his friends and birthed a baby named Sailor Moon after the cartoon, that her mother is taking care of and he can’t get custody of.  Hello?  This is a surprise how?   Exactly where in the analysis of that plane wreck do you pinpoint the place where it started going south?  Seriously, at no time prior to donating sperm to this woman, you didn’t get a glimpse of the crazy train you were boarding?

How about the really kind man, who loves his family, takes care of his grandmother, works hard, is thoughtful and genuinely caring; that hooks up with bipolar-borderline chick, psycho Suzi with no friends but 3 restraining orders “because men just seem to go a little crazy around me.”  Huh?  Three of them?  Really? Wow, I can’t even get one to take the rubbish out.  But he’s in love, she wants to be discreet, he understands.

Now, c’mon, we all know what ‘we have to be discreet’ means. It means I’m screwing around and don’t want to get caught. (As a side note, I think men don’t recognize this when it gets used on them because they don’t think women will use male code on them, but again that’s another blog.) This guy honestly thinks she is just protecting her virtue.  As if she had any!

And it’s not just the guys… how about the chick who has the guy who whoops got busted selling drugs? (I was just holding them for a friend, honest.) Got busted with his best friend’s woman, (she came on to me, I swear). Or inevitably, popped her mouth because she was getting on his nerves, (I’m sorry baby, it’ll never happen again). Then she married him while he was in jail. Because no one really understands him like she does, he just needs to be loved. Ya, no one understands him because they get that he is a nut!

I know what you are thinking, WTF? Right? What were they thinking? (Here’s what is really scary, some of you are sitting there thinking to yourself, I don’t see the problem! They are committed.)  I guess that really is the question.  What were they thinking?

Hell if I know. I know what I would be thinking if I was involved with a crazy person. I would be thinking, “Hey, I can fix this! I just need to try harder.” This is one thought is what separates us from the others. Others, normies, as I call them, they look at a situation and think, “Say, this is not a good thing, I think I shall move on.” We look at the situation and think, “Hot damn, it’s a party!”

I have developed a theory over the years as to the psychological underpinnings of this phenomenon. I have yet to find an instance where it is not true. I place a significant amount of faith in this theory mostly because anyone I discuss it with hates it so badly. I’m a big believer that the harder you deny something the more likely it is that it is true.

My theory goes something like this…  an individual takes a heavy hit to the self esteem, through love lost, ineffective parental units, or some other kind of loss. They feel alone, and lonely, and more than half convinced that they are always going to feel this way. They think, maybe this really is as good as it gets and I don’t want to be alone.  C’mon, fess up, you’ve felt this way at least once.

Almost instantly, like an evil jin, a crazy person appears and says stuff like: “I’ve never felt this way before. I feel so safe with you. I want you in my life forever. You make me feel so good. I feel like I have known you forever.” And we go, “WHHHHHHHHHOOOOHOOOOOOOO!”

Actually we are more like. “Are you sure? Me? Really? Cool! I’ll play along.” At no time does the thought occur, “They want me, but do I want them?” Why would it? We have gone from our ordinary existence to this amazing, intense sense of being wanted and needed that makes our nether parts sing and our hearts pound.

Here is where my theory comes in. I think that the aforementioned wound to our self esteem short circuited our wiring. That short circuit has resulted in our alarm system for abuse being cross wired with our alarm for sexual attraction. So we run into the crazy stripper chick, bipolar-borderline chick, violent guy or general asshole, and our abuse alarm is shrieking like ATF sirens at Waco, but we get a little shiver and say, “WOW! Do you ever turn me on!”

Normies don’t stand a chance against our crossed wiring. Ever notice that?  This is why, because our abuse alarm is being quiet, because they are not, you know, nuts, we think, BORING!  And off we go to find something that makes our nerves jangle. Now, I of course, have never had this experience. However, if I ever had, I would have had this moment when I looked at this delightfully crazy man and thought, whoo, this could be fun and simultaneously realized he was a nut and decided to watch Fatal Attraction again instead of living it!

So, how do we correct this malfunction? Well, you have to want to for one thing. Not surprisingly most people don’t want to. Despite all their protests to the contrary, they love the intensity of the craziness. It is the strongest drug known and it’s a bitch to kick. But if they do decide to kick it, they have to be willing to walk away from every spark for at least a year, or until normal starts looking and feeling better. Nothing else works.

That path is filled with angst. Will I ever love again? Will I ever be loved again? Holy crap, will I ever get laid again, by someone I actually want to have sex with? The uncertainty can be overwhelming. But it can be overcome, no pun intended.

So if you are taking this little trip and you need a little encouragement, give The Queen Joker a holler. I can’t fix it, but I can testify!