Pied French Bird Dogs Named FiFi

Am experimenting with Dragon Naturally Speaking (voice recognition software) to see if it can be beneficial to my writing. It's an acquired skill, apparently. Here is what it typed, followed by what I dictated. Funny stuff. Maybe Dragon is funnier than I am!

Dragon version: The truth of it was that she rarely is more than a mouthful of anything, she drank like a fish, and inexistent by and large on pell-mell nonfiltered cigarettes, fringe, and gossip. The only love of her life had been a repugnant pied French bird dog named FiFi.

Ginger version: The truth of it was that she rarely ate more than a mouthful of anything, she drank like a fish, and existed by and large on Pell Mell non-filtered cigarettes, bridge, and gossip. The only love of her life had been a repugnant pied French bulldog named Fifi.

On a more personal note, for anyone who's been following my quit smoking saga...today is the thirtieth day without cigarettes. So far, so good! I'm pleased. :)

25 Days Without Nicotine...on the wall?

I feel like singing. Singing something silly like "99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall." Except I want to change the lyrics to go with "25 days without nicotine" to celebrate nearly three weeks smoke free. I still think about cigarettes, but not too much. Outside waiting for my ride today, everyone around me smoked and I got a heavy dose of second-hand smoke. It still wasn't too bad. I remember wondering if I would smell like cigarettes, and hoped I didn't. The cigarette smoke doesn't smell terrible to me like I figured it would by now. Been working on my novel most of the day while not in class. It's coming along, s-l-o-w-l-y but surely. Right now, I am doing a lot of write/revising as I go along. Instead of free flow, stream of consciousness writing, I am laboring over word placement, usage, diction, blah blah blah. I'm just trying to accept it (for now) as less work I'll need to do later.

Last night, my novel writing class professor likened what he's read of my novel so far as being written in the styles of Kurt Vonnegut and Joseph Heller. I was touched, moved, tickled and honored. I admire both of them very much. I actually chatted with Joseph Heller online several years back. He was fun to talk to -- dark, sad, depressed but clever and kind. If I could only write half as well as he did, I'd be thrilled.

Hey Sailor, How 'Bout A Cigarette?

Tomorrow is my 14th day of not smoking. The past two days have been a little difficult. I find myself wondering where my cigarettes are. My fingers feel empty, vacant, devoid of their beloved cylindrical darlings. My mind has started to play tricks on me. "Hey, psst," it whispers. "You forgot to buy cigarettes. Better go correct that -- NOW."

The literature assures me I have long since passed the physical withdrawal period and am now into psychological warfare. Go figure. I can attest that this is, indeed, tricky stuff. I expected too much too soon. I take a bunch of meds for my COPD and stupidly assumed I could stop taking these meds or at the very least, wouldn't require them as much. Not so much, not yet anyway. I did notice today that I could inhale much more deeply when I took my Advair. That made me happy.

The Surgeon General's 1990 report says that 1-9 months after cessation, the lung's cilia start functioning again. Unfortunately, my COPD specialist tells me this ain't so. Not only that, but the cilia in my nose won't ever work again either. But my circulation is supposedly already improved after 13 days of not smoking. And my lung function is supposed to be improving daily. I had it tested earlier this week, or maybe it was last week -- I can't remember. Regardless of when it was, my lung function had not improved whatsoever. My capacity was somewhere under two liters (1.8) with normal for someone my age/size/gender being about 4.2. So, you can see that I function with somewhat less than half my potential lung capacity.

If I'm lucky, my lung capacity will improve. If I'm really lucky, it could return to near normal. Here's hoping. Breathing. It's a good thing.

Mick Jagger is Not Jim Morrison, and I Don't Want to Do Your Dirty Work

All these years, I've mistakenly assumed "Hello, I Love You" was sung by The Rolling Stones. I was only 10 when it came out, so I can be forgiven for my error, right? Please say yes. I would feel so silly otherwise. :)

Morrison was some poet! Check out the visuals in this verse:

Sidewalk crouches at her feet
Like a dog that begs for something sweet

That section just amazes me. A sidewalk, crouching. Just that image alone is phenomenal. Then it's crouching at her feet. Realize that women in 1968 wore skirts for the most part. So this anthropomorphic sidewalk is now crouching at a woman's feet, looking up her skirt. And it is like a dog, begging for something sweet. Wow. That just blows me away.

While I was musing about all that, the song "Dirty Work" came on the radio. It was sung by Steely Dan. I also didn't realize who had sung "Dirty Work." I don't know who I thought sang it; I just didn't connect it with Steely Dan. The narrator in "Dirty Work" is a backdoor man, a man who slips in and pleasures the woman when her man goes away. He is unhappy with this relationship.

When you need a bit of lovin'
Cause your man is out of town
That's the time you get me runnin'
And you know I'll be around


I don't know why, but this song just about broke my heart today. I relate to it in no way whatsoever; I'm not involved in a secret love/sex relationship, and I never felt the way the narrator feels:

I foresee terrible trouble
And I stay here just the same

Just wow. The emotion in this song is so strong. My heart broke for that man. Worst of all, I have no clue why it affected me so much.

Nine Days Smoke-free: I Need A Drink

I am wrapping up my ninth day without cigarettes. I bought one of those e-cigarettes but never took it out of its packaging. I just knew that with my addictive tendencies, I'd get hooked on the fake ciggies which cost a dollar per pack more than the real ones. My skinflint heart just couldn't take that.

So I quit cold turkey. Just read a study that was released a few hours ago about folks who quit cold turkey. The study says they were as successful as those who used medication (nicotine patches and e-cigarettes) to quit. Well, let me tell you something: The first few days were easier than the past two days have been. In fact, I think I do need medication. Preferably liquid medication. Like a piña colada. Or two.

Going to concentrate on working on my novel tomorrow. Wish me luck!

I Am Significant

"Pruning" up at Fried Chicken and Coffee

Rusty Barnes of Redneck Press with Fried Chicken and Coffee kindly featured my creative nonfiction piece "Pruning" today. CLICK HERE to read it.

It feels good to be published again. :)

Traveling Alone/Together

We are on a new path. For years, we traveled together shoulder to shoulder, working together for common goals. Now we find ourselves with diverse interests, dichotomous goals. The trick is to weave our lives together using separate threads, avoid tangles and knots, and to end up with a cohesive product pleasing to each of us and both of us, that still satisfies our individual goals.

“You suffer because you cling to the world.” I suffer for you, because you cling to the world. But I respect your choice. “Give up desiring as much as you can.” Only up to the point to which you are able. That is the premise of Buddhism. It is the Middle Way. “Don’t desire to give up more desire than you can, and if you find that a problem, don’t desire to be successful in giving up more desire than you can.”

Day Five

I'm on my fifth day without smoking. It's been amazingly easy and for that, I thank Heavenly Father and Mother and the Stop Smoking spirits and whoever else is applicable.

I have been eating like there's no tomorrow. I'm sure that will tell on me eventually. But for now, I'm just relieved that I've had so few withdrawal symptoms.

I have smoked for over forty years. This is no small thing I'm accomplishing.

I must admit; I'm not stopping smoking out of any great conviction other than the fact I can't frigging breathe any more. Very simply, if I could still breathe, I would still smoke. I enjoyed smoking. It is part of who I am. It just happens to be killing me. Even that's okay as long as I could still breathe. Trouble is, I couldn't breathe well enough. So I had to stop.

Voicemail Hell

I made it through 48 hours of not smoking. Had a small episode of tearfulness and irritability when I realized I'd lost my wallet and we were not going to find it, ever again. I called one of my card companies to cancel my card and have a new one issued, and fell into Voicemail Hell. For some reason, as soon as the "System" determined who I was, it transferred me to a dead voicemail link. I called and got lost in the "System" four times before figuring out how to contact a "Human Being," who then informed me the "System" had my mailing address wrong and I needed to wait until tomorrow and phone the local office so they could change my mailing address in the "System."

The minute that I disconnected from this phone call, my husband found my wallet between the front seats of the car.

New Year's Resolutions

Repeating resolutions I made for 2005. Note: These are copyright by Ginger Hamilton Caudill. All rights reserved.

My spiritual self
I resolve to continue my spiritual journey, receptive to gifts along the path. I will welcome gifts with open arms.

My creative self
I resolve to allow my creative expression the freedom and space it asks in order to fully articulate itself. I will indulge the muse.

My physical self
I resolve to respect my physical being and treat it at least as well as I do my other antiques. I will care for my body.

My relationship self
I resolve to remain true to myself while considering others’ feelings and desires. I will respect myself and be treated with respect.