Passion of the Vice

When is an apology not good enough?

I guess the answer to that is subjective.

I am having a hard time swallowing Mel Gibson’s apology for the mess he found himself in this past weekend.

The vat of shit he landed in was deep, wide and provided by no one other than himself.

• Driving drunk at an excessive speed, putting himself and anyone else in his path at great risk.
• Spouting a tirade of anti-Semitic declarations.
• Sexually demeaning name-calling of female officers and declaring he would f*** a deputy who was doing his job.
• And that ever-classic move of believing that who he is and his money are above the law and saying so. Out. Loud.

You can read all about it here.

We all battle our own inner demons that are implanted in us when we are children. ALL of us and those of you out there, who believe that you have none, are kidding no one but your selves. You’ve got them and they are affecting you and everyone around you, probably more so than those of us that introduce our demons readily to anyone close to us.

How can that be? Well, when we are honest and open about our demons then we give those close to us the opportunity to realize that maybe it really is us and not them. Not a built in excuse for either side mind you, but another angle at which to look at and work through a situation.

Hi, I’m Dawn and this is my dysfunction/demon.

I may still, from time to time, like to think that I can dress my dysfunction up in pretty clothes and disguise it or shove it into a closet and pretend it doesn’t exist but that usually results in some horribly gone wrong event where my dysfunction throws a demonic temper tantrum and will not be denied.

How big that tantrum is depends on how much is being pushed down and unacknowledged.

Of course when I fall in my shit, it doesn’t make the news. Thank goddess for small favors.

Should we blame Mel’s mess on the alcohol?

No. Full stop.

Alcohol doesn’t turn people into different people. It releases the binds that keep our inner censors in check.

Unless we believe that some other entity was in fact speaking through Mel, (call in the exorcist!), the awful things that came out of his mouth were indeed his alone.

Somewhere deep down where he kept them shoved and hidden they survived and bided their time waiting for a chance to rush to the surface and be known.

That chance came in the form of too may drinks.

So all that apology means to me is that he’s sorry that we caught a glimpse into how he really feels about certain things and people.

For me, everything he says he is and believes in, in his sober state, will be discredited.

Russell Crowe is an ass. But I’ll give him this, he’s an ass right in our face and we are not surprised by it in the least.


Embrace your inner ass Mel, your glass house has been shattered.

2006 ~ Dawn Marie Kelly ~ all rights reserved

Tomorrow People --- How Long Will We Last?

Past or future?

It comes down to which is more important.

That’s the question and the answer is unquestionably --- FUTURE!

The past is, of course, important, but insignificantly so compared to the future.






We need to know our past, own it, learn from it and then move away from it towards the future. With the faith and confidence that what we learned from the past will make the future different, better.

People invest in things called futures, on Wall Street--- there is not one thing you can invest in called, pasts, on Wall Street. The brains doesn’t even know how to wrap itself around that concept.












What are we investing in?

That 13.2 acres on Sinsabaugh Road is our future. We need to own it and I’m not talking about owning on paper and with money, loans etc... I mean in our hearts and souls.

We are being wishy washy and not taking control.
The universe can NOT read and fulfill wishy washy pictures. It needs clear, concise pictures in which to work with.











My point and yes I actually have one, shock-horror, is this:

The Hoosier— is my past. I no longer need it. It was bought with dreams and expectations put upon it that never quite blossomed. They had to do with my past life and a much younger Derek. That time is past and I don’t need a reminder of what didn’t happen.

When I picture making Christmas cookies, breads and all with our grandchildren I see a long ,rustic table covered in flour and too many bowls and utensils. I see that table being accessed on all sides by whomever wants to join in for a minute or the duration. Those watching and those participating.

An open welcoming expanse that is attacked with joy and without boundaries.

The Hoosier is a finite space. A private niche who’s time is past. It contains more bad karma than good and I want to let that go.








There must be so much more around here that we should do the same with.

One can’t move forward while still having one foot chained to the unfulfilled past.

I want to move forward.

Will you come with me?











Yes, bazillions of insects and all.



Dawn Marie Kelly 2006 ~ all rights reserved

Alone again, naturally.

I am tired. Bone tired. The kind of tired where there is no amount of sleep that takes the edge off, tired.

We have been moving towards this move, (see, tired), for so long that I can’t really believe it’s all happening. Seemingly fast and of it’s own accord. Or maybe not, since if it were, I probably wouldn’t be so bloody … wait for it … TIRED.

Let’s go back to The Hubster’s hiatus. No really, can we? This Sunday he headed back to NY after we had spent four whole weeks together. Mind you most of it was covered in sweat and dirt and mulch and then there were the times we were doing massive amounts of garden work. (See what I just did there? How I slyly made a reference to what you were thinking was yard work and then made it all seem … seemly and dirty and then I confused you and threw in garden work and now you don’t know where the garden work ends and the sex begins. Yes, sex. We are married after all.) That night after he left I didn’t sleep very well at all.


Took me forever to fall asleep and then I had a series of nightmares with one of them ending when I woke myself up yelling for the Boy Wonder to dial 911. Thank goodness he never heard me. I haven’t remembered a dream in months let alone had any nightmares. Although, if I had really needed BW to dial 911, I wouldn’t have fared very well I guess. Small blessing that every time I woke and I reached for Ozzy’s furriness, he was there every time. First time he’d slept on the bed since Hubster arrived home.



What a four weeks it was. Despite all the hard work we managed to do the little things that we miss out on during the other 11 months a year. Go out for coffee in the morning and plan the day, break for lunch together and then after getting things and ourselves cleaned up every night, we’d sit down to a fabulous meal and a good bottle of wine. Most every lunch and dinner was had on the back deck and conversation lasted into the night until the bugs braved past the Tiki torches and drove us inside.


Yup, it’s been a long two years of this married but alone 6 days a week, eleven months a year. Good thing I’m nearly 45 because at 25 this would have worked for about 23 seconds.

So we are more than ready for the move and when an offer was accepted on the acreage we’ve been dreaming about for the last six months I was elated. For two minutes. Then I went directly forward to the next six things that could go terribly wrong. Why? Because I am special that way. Deal with it, I have to.

I’m looking at another sleepless night tonight. Tomorrow I head to NY and meet with the bank that’s going to process the land loan and then later that afternoon we are having the closing on our home equity loan to cover the %25 down required for the land loan. Then we will be paying two mortgages between now and when we sell the house.

I need to get my hands on a Timber Frame builder as soon as the loans are both all set. See, we are going to live in the second story apartment I’ve designed while we take our time building the farmhouse up on the hill and we can get started right in with the horses, chickens, sheep and beef. I have absolutely no idea how long the process of getting the two story post and beam barn built and we can move in will take.

The good news? We can live in the crew house between the time the house sells and we can move into the barn. If living with two camera guys, the three of us, our four cats and one dog is good news.

I need to take another little nap.


2006 Dawn Marie Kelly ~ all rights reserved