Wow! Been gone for quite awhile. No internet and all that.  Upgraded my phone.  Next up my computer.  Hope to see you soon.  In the meantime,  enjoy my books at: http/www.synergebooks.com/bio_marr.html

I never thought I would come across a Miley Cyrus song that I would actually like. When I heard her sing with her father, Billy Ray Cyrus, I wasn't that impressed. But the song below isn't bad, and it's inspirational. My life certainly reflects what she sings here:

The Climb lyrics
performed by Miley Cyrus

Songwriters: Alexander, J; Mabe, J;

I can almost see it
That dream I am dreaming
But there's a voice inside my head saying
"You'll never reach it"

Every step I'm taking
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking

But I gotta keep trying
Gotta keep my head held high

There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb

The struggles I'm facing
The chances I'm taking
Sometimes might knock me down
But no, I'm not breaking

I may not know it
But these are the moments that
I'm gonna remember most, yeah
Just gotta keep going

And I, I got to be strong
Just keep pushing on

'Cause there's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be a uphill battle
Sometimes I'm gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!

There's always gonna be another mountain
I'm always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Somebody's gonna have to lose

Ain't about how fast I get there
Ain't about what's waiting on the other side
It's the climb, yeah!

Keep on moving, keep climbing
Keep the faith, baby
It's all about, it's all about the climb
Keep the faith, keep your faith, whoa

Listen to it on YouTube

Are you one of those gals who have a "what might have been" in your life? I sure am. Every time I hear that song "What Might Have Been" by Little Texas, I think of him--my best friend from high school. Come to think of it, he's one of the reasons I didn't get asked out much. Everyone assumed we were a couple, because you rarely saw one without the other. Now that I'm older, I realize that sometimes my feelings ran a little deeper than friendship. Though I wouldn't trade him for who I have now, I still can't help but think ... well ... you know.

What Might Have Been
Little Texas

Sure I think about you now and then
But it's been a long long time
I've got a good life now I've moved on
So when you cross my mind

I try not to think about
What might have been
'Cause that was then
And we have taken different roads
We can't go back again
There's no use giving in
And there's no way to know
What might have been

We could sit and talk about this all night long
And wonder why we didn't last
Yes they might be the best days
We will ever know
But we'll have to leave them in the past

So try not to think about
What might have been
'Cause that was then
And we have taken different roads
We can't go back again
There's no use giving in
And there's no way to know
What might have been

That same old look in your eyes
It's a beautiful night
I'm so tempted to stay
But too much time has gone by
We should just say goodbye
And turn and walk away

And try not to think about
What might have been
'Cause that was then
And we have taken different roads
We can't go back again
There's no use giving in
And there's no way to know
What might have been

No we'll never know
What might have been

What Might Have Been on YouTube

Little Texas: Greatest Hits

I’ve been dreaming at night a lot lately—actually it’s in the early morning—and, as with all dreams, they’ve been a tad bit odd. Okay, maybe not everyone’s dreams are odd, but mine always seem to be.

My mom thinks dreams have answers. For instance, she dreamed that her brother, Robert, drove around behind their house, and then drove off in a hole. That same night my niece, Tasha, fell asleep while driving home in the wee hours of the morning, and hit the bank, tearing one end of the front of her car all to heck and back. Mommy believes her dream is related to what happened to Tasha—just the wrong person and the wrong car in the wrong place.

The other night I dreamed that I returned to my childhood elementary school library where Stephen King sat in one of those itty bitty chairs at one of those low-to-the-ground, round tables. Two men in business suits hovered over him looking at a manuscript, and then one of them told him his latest novel sucked.

I approached them, took a seat in one of those itty bitty chairs, and stared at Mr. King. He spoke to me telepathically, saying, Here, Constant Reader, take and review. He held the manuscript out to me. I nodded and took it.

The next night I dreamed about an old three-story house that sits just off Highway 74. It’s a house that actually exists and is always up for sale. I often wish I had the money to buy it, because the house calls to me each time I pass it. I feel as if I belong there, but I know I’ll never be able to afford to purchase it. In my dream, I did buy it for a price of $22,000 dollars.  When I approached the house, the ghosts of the previous few owners wouldn’t let me go inside, so I wouldn’t let them leave by pushing my weight against the door as they tried to push it and me outward.

I dreamed last night, too, but it’s fuzzy, and I only catch glimpses of a cartoonish woman with a long, black top-hat perched on her head, tugging on a papier-mâché snake.

Dreams are one of the great mysteries of the world. Why do we dream? Why are they sometimes so weird? What do they mean? Can they be prophetic? Maybe some dreams are, but I can’t imagine meeting Stephen King in my old school library, especially now since the library is a pottery lab. Are they scenes from a past life? Again, I would have had to live a pretty bizarre life if that were true.

I guess I’ll never know the answers to those questions until I cross over after death and the Great Teacher in the sky explains all.

It's early Sunday afternoon, I'm caught up on writing reviews, and I'm reading a book that's sort of boring, while listening to a Casey Kasem top 40 countdown from the 80s on Sirius XM satellite radio, so I thought I'd update my journal, which hasn't happened in a month of blue moons. Wow! Wasn't that the longest sentence in the history of sentence writing? No? Oh, well, I tried--I'm rebellious that way.

I got to thinking about keeping a journal online and realized it's really not the best place to keep one, especially if you want future great-great-great grandchildren to read them. What? Did you really think the Internet was going to exist forever? We might have some form of Internet in the far far future when flying cars are buzzing around like annoying mosquitoes the size of cows, but I kinda think what wehave now will become obsolete like oil lamps. Sure, oil lamps still exist. I think you can even buy them at Wal-Mart--a super duper store in the south that sells everything at a low low price--but they're only used when absolutely no electricity can be found anywhere, and then they're only used if no one can find last year's Christmas candles. Or everyone just goes to bed. Hey, there are fun things you can do in the dark---um, okay, lets not go off on that tangent.

When I was a little girl my mom used oil lamps all the time--we had no electricity a lot. At one point, in the early 70s, we were living in a dull, dark green, van while Daddy built a house--or, well, more like a shack for shelter--out of whatever pieces of wood he could find lying around or drag out of the mountains, usually with a bunch of complaining children helping.

While we lived in the van, my mom would often be awakened in the night by an old man, wearing a dark suit and a preacher's hat, staring in the van's window at us. I imagine she'd seen the movie Poltergeist one too many times and was having nightmares, but I don't think that movie came out until much later--besides we didn't own a TV--duh, what would we do with one and no electricity to plug it into? But, then again, my great uncle Claude used to see the same guy staring in a window at him, and I don't think uncle Claude owned a television either in his small, silver camper--we Lackey's weren't big on houses back then. So, who was the creepy, preacher-looking guy? A serial killer scared off by a family of six piled into a van snoring the night away? I kinda doubt it was anyone coming to save our souls.

Anyway, I've gotten way off topic. Where was I? Oil lamps, the Internet, and journal writing. Yes, all of those things will still exist in the far far future when we have floating cities, because we bred too much and ran out of earth space, but they will most likely only be found in some underground city where the paranoid, conspiracy-theorist are hiding from the government and extraterrestrials and who will only use non-traceable methods of sending out messages to other underground cities who own obsolete computers with Internet service. Holes, much, in my theory?

I cannot wait! Maybe Sam (founder of Wal-Mart in case you don't have a clue--yes, we're on first name bases--I shop there a lot) will build an entire store beneath the earth, which will sell oil lamps and journals--and TVs so I can watch scary movies about old guys dressed in dark suits and preacher hats. When I get scared, I'll just light an oil lamp, turn off the TV, and write something scary in my journal. Read closely, and you'll see the uselessness in that theory too. And,if I'm really lucky, I'll forgo the oil lamp and have fun in the dark--no, not with Sam. Besides, I think he died way back in 1992, and I'm on first name bases with a ghost. Back to topic. Ah, yes, fun in the dark--something that remains forever the same, limited only by your imagination.

At least, underground at night, creepy preacher-looking guys won't be able to stare at me while I sleep. Unless, of course, he follows me underground like the ghost of Sam Walton ...

Joe Frank (the pottery instructor) and I believe the Swain Center is haunted. We’ve both been there alone at night when no one else is around, and that’s when the ghosts come out to play. One night, Joe Frank had to stay until the wee hours of the morning (2:30 AM) baby sitting the high-fire kiln. On one occassion, he kept hearing someone walking down the hall. He’d hear the boot hit the floor and the jingle of keys. Another time, he heard the low murmur of a conversation between two people, but when he looked out into the hall, all was quite. That’s when he decided to crank up his music and drown out the creepy noises. My own experiences haven’t been as elaborate, but I’d often hear someone walking down the hall, only to get up and look and no one be there. I once had the strong feeling that I was being watched, and the urgent need to get out of the building. When the feeling didn’t go away, I did leave, even though my shift wasn’t over. Since then I haven’t had that urgent need to leave, but I often feel as if I’m being watched. Maybe we should get the ghost hunter guys from TAPS out there to investigate ;-) Think they’ll go for it? :-p

I can't decide whether I should like Dexter or not. It feels like a guilty pleasure. But he's funny and charming, and I try to overlook the fact that he's a serial killer .... Check him out on CBS Sunday Night at 10:00 PM. It helps that he only kills bad guys, and he's just so incredibly likable even though he doesn't really have a heart. I can't wait to see where this show goes ... it's definitely different.

Recycled Sanity
by Margaret Marr

Kick mosaic demons
out of my head
siphon noxious sulfur
with its malignant oder
and clear metaphorical air
from my breathing space.

Grip my hand
and drag me from
this unfamiliar territory
lost in the fog
of fuzzy memories
born in a cloud of darkness

Shower my racing thoughts
with Heaven's blessed rain
cleanse evil scenes
replaying like a demented movie
and bring down a deluge
of recycled sanity.

Recently my computer kicked the proverbial bucket and is now residing in closet heaven never to see the light of day again. Thank goodness I still have Internet access at work. Since it's impossible for me to afford a new computer at this point in my life, I've taken up watching television instead.

I keep catching snips and pieces of a tv show from the 90's called Twin Peaks. I can't decide if it's a comedy, murder mystery, or just plain supernatural. Maybe it's all of the above. I've just about convinced myself to buy the first seaon on DVD just to see what it's all about. I have a feeling I'm going to like it, but then again, who knows.

While surfing an endless sky of tv channels, I came across CHILLER. It has loads of supernatural series and movies, and I'm sort of bummed because I want to write a series of novels involving a ghost hunter, demon hunter, or supernatural hunter. I now see the market is flooded with this stuff, and now I have to come up with a fresh angle, or abandon the idea all together. I guess the dude in Ecclesiastes was right:  "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun." (1:9 King James).

In any case, below are my favorite among the demon/ghost/supernatural hunters. Not all of them are on CHILLER:

The X-Files - Mulder and Scully investigate the strange and unusual.
Supernatural - Two brothers on a quest to rid the world of things that don't belong here.
Ghost Whisperer - Melinda Gordan helps earth-bound ghosts to cross over.
Moonlight - A vampire plays detective and protects humans
Ghost Hunters - Jason and Grant and team  investigate haunted places.
Night Stalker - A reporter hunts demons
The Dresden Files - A wizard solves murder mysteries involving the paranormal

Shows like these tend to get very bad reviews, and I can't help but wonder if the bad reviews are coming from people who have no interest in the paranormal. In that case, why do they bother to watch and then tell everyone how much they hate it? hmmmm ....

...but it's the best place to find yourself.

If you get a chance, watch “Elizabethtown”. Cameron Crowe took death and turned it into life. I’ve never seen it done quite this well. In the midst of death there is life. Remember that. Also, when things fall apart, remember if it wasn’t this, it would be something else. Remember that Martin Luther King’s death was only the beginning of his victory. Take a moment in life and dance wildly in a circle, one hand waving in the air. Live life, breathe it in. Love it.

 

Drew Baylor (Orlando Bloom) lost his job due to a fiasco involving a shoe, which causes the company to lose close to 1 billion dollars. On the same day, his father dies. Drew puts aside his plans of suicide to be the strong one in the family and take care of the funeral plans.

 

On his way to Elizabethtown, Kentucky to bring his father’s body back to Oregon, he meets an upbeat gal named Claire (Kirsten Dunst). Her positive attitude teaches Drew how to live and love even when he doesn’t feel like it.

 

“Elizabethtown” will make you laugh, make you cry, but most of all make you want to live. I hope to someday go on a road trip between where I live in NC to the coast of California and back again. And I want to stop and visit history. Watch the movie and you’ll know what I mean

Last night in the wee hours of the morning my phone rings. After groping around on the wrong side of the bed looking for the phone—I’m still half asleep—I switch to the other side of the bed and grab the receiver. Some garbled form of hello falls out of my mouth, and then I hear, “Would you like to subscribe to our weekly magazine?”

I say, “It’s 3:30 in the freaking morning. NO!” Then I hang up and return to sleep while making a mental note to star 69 when I next awake, which would hopefully be when sunshine falls across my floor. How bizarre is that? I did remember to star 69, but the number wasn’t known. Prank caller? Probably. I had hoped it would be my boyfriend, because he sometimes calls at that hour—it’s the whole military thing—he has to call when he can.  I haven’t heard from him in two weeks, so you can imagine my disappointment.

The call was so strange, I’ve been wondering if I dreamed it. I mean what kind of prank caller asks you if you want to subscribe to a magazine? Then again it could have been a caller from another country who didn’t think about the hour differences. Not likely though—emailing would be cheaper. Then I thought maybe it could have been a company from the west coast, but there again it would have still been after midnight, and what company solicits magazine subscriptions after twelve in the morning?

I’m afraid it’ll remain one of those unsolvable mysteries … or maybe solicitors found a loophole in the Do Not Call Registry—like nothing was said about calling or not calling between midnight and 6 a.m.—revenge of the telemarketers! That’s just plain silly.

I’ve got it! I bet it was some poor guy who has worked for Time Magazine for over 10 years and has called prospective subscribers so many times he does it in his sleep, literally. Okay, maybe that’s just plain silly too.

Well, I'm taking my silly self off to bed and hopefully I won't be awakened by a mysterious nocturnal phone caller with nothing better to do than selling magazine subscriptions.