When I was a girl, I began writing as a source of release. Over the years I filled around thirty journal books with my private thoughts before I entered the mostly fun, but often laborious world of the internet. There are many advantages to both types of writing but at this time in my life I have come to value my privacy, or at least a little anonymity in what I think and feel.

I cannot begin to express my gratitude to those loyal readers who have been with me these last eight years. I am happy to say that my hate mail was always far outweighed by the flattery and to the very end new readers joined. It is a strange thing to have fleeting, yet meaningful contact with so many people around the globe. I sometimes feel this medium created a false sense of closeness with old friends and new. At the same time, our conversations have seen me through some of the most difficult times of my life and were it not for the milk memo mailing list, I would not be where I am today. Members of that list have led me to jobs, good advice and even the opportunity to move to San Diego where I met my husband.

As for pennyrene.com, I will leave the blog up for 1 -2 more weeks so that everyone has had a chance to pull off any photos they may want. I'm undecided about when I will remove the Milk Memos from the site. I hope that if you are relatively new to my blog you will take some time to read the old milk memos. Those were the days... (: Meanwhile, everything else come down with the blog. I'll still be hanging around, of course, commenting on various blogs and I'm sure I'll be more available now to answer my personal emails, so please do keep in touch. This isn't a permanent goodbye - just a long sabbatical.

I will also be closing my Myspace account. However, I am hoping my Flickr account will be more active than ever.

Again, thank you for reading. This experience has enriched my life.

Penny

Things I wrote over the years:

I put myself out here and I do it by choice. It’s not all narcissistic and angry. It’s about not giving up the search for the highest truth, even if it means exposing the ugliness of us, of me. I’m not a brilliant writer. I’m not even a brilliant person. But there’s no way I’m giving up, giving in or selling out. See, I’m okay with taking the fall, but I’m not okay with taking a fall for nothing.

I can't claim that I hold the secret
To life or flight or arts of peace and war
But I believe in God and third chances
Cause when you think He's done, there's always more

To look in the mirror and see that the person looking back is no one that you want to have dinner with is a terrible feeling. At the same time, it is wonderful, because then you can begin to tear that person apart and reveal someone so much more interesting that has been suffocating underneath.

Do you remember that old George Burns movie? What was it called? Anyway, this little girl started the campaign “Think God”. Brilliant. And everyone thought she was crazy. I can relate.

you say you don’t mind gays, that some of them are nice
like who is good or bad is your job to decide
yeah i bet you’ve got “some black friends” that you never hang around
just ‘cause they don’t ask you out or live on your side of town

I never have been able to sleep much in moving vehicles, but when you are sleeping on your luggage, for fear it will be stolen out from under you, it puts a whole new perspective on the traveling experience.

Picture this: Two hosts. One sarcastic, culture shocked American female; one jovial, ecstatic British male, and a Romanian “engineer” who had his own mike and an abundance of bad jokes. In the background were 2 other Romanian radio personnel watching French TV. (Translation: porn) I remember so many times during those shows, making myself laugh, thinking “Dear God, I’m a riot! I’m pulling out the lines of my broadcasting career and no one is listening! No one gets it.”

The year was 1983. Ronald Reagan was in the White House and people were talking about nuclear war like it was a scheduled event that we must attend.

Life is so silly, you know. Just when you are sure that you can throw a kicking fit from all the just punishment you’re getting, something brilliant and terrifying happens to you.

I do strongly hold one traditional belief. You can't know where you're going until you know where you've been. And this begs the eternal question. In the words of Devo "How did I get here?"

This is a drawback for people who have many interests. Call us well rounded. Call us experienced. But don't call us on our cell phone at 6 am and expect to talk long.

He has very specific goals for his life and there is little, if any, room for error. An error, if I understand him correctly, would be an emotional connection to a woman. I almost envy him for still believing he is in control of such a thing.

A few years ago I dated a man who was the first person to put my words to music. As a surprise, he sat me down in his studio and strummed his guitar while he sang my lyrics. I looked at his blonde hair, gold rimmed glasses and woodsy features and softly whispered to myself, “Wow. I’m dating John Denver.”

On my visits back home to the Christian Incorporated houses of friends in OKC, I did not mention who I knew from their CD collections and I told my stories of Nashville in first name only - leading people to believe I hung around unemployed dreamers, not working musicians whose images where on posters that crowd teenagers walls as perfect examples of "Cool Christianity".

There is no high like this. I have done nothing else that compares. Everything before this was prep and training for this part of our lives. THIS is what it's all about. We are so happy.

Clever. Am I so? To write the words that everybody knows.
If ever you need a friend, well here you go.

I read this band bio today that hit the nail on the head better than Bob Villa.

"This town won't bury its dead..."

There are mornings that you'll wake up and you'll realize that you don't want to go to work, you don't want to see your friends and you don't want to turn on the television to visit the world's problems on a flat, high-definition surface. The idea of leaving your room to go see a movie sounds trivial because each actor and actress on screen has had their drug problems and sexual liaisons captured and documented by this hour's hippest celebrity blog and for some reason, you just can't relate to another movie about a twenty-something coming of age and dropping out of college to pursue that crazy and always attractive girl from his old hometown.

You've lived inside cities and outside cities and still can't decide if people change based on their surroundings or if the surroundings adapt to accommodate each new face someone acquires. You've probably tried to move somewhere that your friends gave you endless grief about while their insides rotted with jealousy about how you might get somewhere before them.

Most likely you've told someone you dislike a song you've never actually heard.

You have enemies. You have triumphs and tragedies galore. You've had a first pet that you still miss after all these years. You've burned bridges only to rebulid them just to burn them down again. You believe in people until they stop believing in you, or at least stop acting like they do. You have at least three friends that want to "make it".

From Ghosts and Liars

Aaron could've been a cousin of mine from Oklahoma with his Golly-Shucks charm and his sweeter than southern iced tea personality. The kind of guy who would change a flat for you in 90 degree weather. I wanted to tell him all the bad things I knew about the Nashville music business and buy he and Caroline one way tickets back to wherever they came from.

Not long after we met Aaron bought a motorcycle, much to Caroline's dismay, and the four of us went for long rides through Franklin, TN. We stopped at mom an pop stores along the way and pretended we didn't have to pay rent or show up to work on time the following Monday.

Months before I left Nashville for good, Aaron got a long term gig playing with an unsigned band called Luna Halo. I remember the first time I saw him on stage with the band. He transformed from Golly Shucks into a mysteriously serious musician who made girls swoon and perspire with hope. It was shocking.

Luna Halo began touring the UK heavily. I went to a few shows and beamed with pride, watching him onstage. I couldn't have been more happy for him if he were my honest-to-god blood relative.

When I moved away, Aaron and his wife were two people I regretted not keeping in touch with. I think about them from time to time and hope that they found better reasons to stay in the music business than I did. I also pray that Aaron still gets tipsy after only a few beers and rambles on about how much he loves Caroline.

Luna Halo, with my dear Aaron, went on to sign with American Recordings/Columbia Records. They're worth a look and a listen if you have the time.

But the truth is, I don't have a lot to say about this man that isn't good. At the moment, I can't think of anything, though I feel like I should because today is his birthday.

Then she had son number two, Daniel. AKA, MJ's other half before he met me. That was when MJ discovered his perfect role in the family as Big Brother: Protector, Boss, Leader. This is a role he took very seriously as he ended up with two brothers and a baby sister. MJ would fret so much over their well being, in fact, that his dad had to remind him on a few occasions that he could calm down because he was not The Daddy.

There is an old family video which perfectly demonstrates MJ's brothering technique. How I wish I had it to post here. It's a music video, actually, of MJ and his siblings lip syncing a Run DMC song. MJ must be about seven or eight and you can see the stress on his face from trying to run the show. Danny appears to be obeying strict instruction from his older brother while Matt runs plays the guitar and Lauren pops in and out of the scene babbling. I have seen that look from my husband a few times and I adore that from the very beginning he was a creative genius with serious ambition.

UPDATE: Thanks Matt!

As it is well documented, MJ grew up and put his creative juices to good use. Lucky for me, because that is how I met him - at a design studio in California. A broad shouldered surfer who appreciated art and could talk a politician into a corner - he was my kind of man. I am still blown away by his talent and weakened by his charm. He is the only man I know who can practically fart on command and still be taken seriously. How can I not brag about that?

Happy Birthday, MJ. We should all be so lucky to have someone like you in our lives.

I felt very lucky when MJ and I were dating and we realized we were on the same page regarding food. I don't know where or when I started being very suspicious of the things I ate. But by the time I moved to California in 2004, I was plotting out a future of growing my own vegetables and contemplating becoming a vegetarian. In my fantasy life I wear only organic, well designed clothing, live in a highly efficient house made from environmentally friendly materials and my car is solar powered too. Being nice to the earth and your body is damn hard work sometimes, but we are trying.

My powers of deduction.

I don't want to brag, but after careful study of popular media, rock music lyrics, the Bible and the waistline of the general public, I have concluded that what we eat can kill us in grotesque, slow ways.

Or, it can enhance the time we have, making us lighter, smarter and prettier. It's true.

I know that in some areas organic foods are hard to find and often expensive. So when I am at the grocery store buying these items I like ask myself a few questions -

How much more expensive will our health insurance be if one of us has to fight diabetes?
How much money did I spend on Taco Bell in high school?
How inconvenient is open-heart surgery?
How much do I want to see my own grandkids?

You get the picture. This little dialog usually helps me shop with confidence in the produce aisle and I hardly make an appearance at a fast food restaurant anymore unless there is no where else to find food and I am so desperate that my stomach has begun eating itself.

Eating healthy doesn't have to mean eating organic or becoming a vegetarian. In my opinion (and we all know my opinion is of great value here since it is my website) the best thing a person can do regarding their diet is to read the labels of their favorite foods and poke around a little on the internet about what they are eating. Once you find out what is in your foods, you'll naturally make better decisions. Unless you are a stupid musician living in Nashville who would eat fried socks dipped in butter and smokes two packs of Camels a day. In that case, I cannot help you.

Because of my former gypsy ways, a lot of these people in my stories are now only photographs attached to memories. So many people I still feel close to, I no longer see and have not spoken to in ages.

MJ and I talked about doing a "Portrait Wall" in our house to showcase all our friends and family. As I contemplate over who to add to this collage I realize I can't add all these people I still think of so fondly even if the story behind the face is so interesting. It would just be weird. And I already have that label applied to me enough these days without strangers mugshots on my wall.

Still, their stories should be told.

Anyway - The person who finds the most words wins a little prize. A little something you can only get from me.
Just type up all the words you find in an email to me and whoever has the most legit words wins!

Some of my friends don't even know their fathers. Most people feel like their dads just don't measure up. Being a father must be hard. A mother (in the beginning) gets respect by default - she was the one who went through pregnancy and birth. But it's almost as if dads have to earn our respect.

You think no one prepares a woman for motherhood? Imagine being a dad. What training do these men have, anyway? Especially older men. For so long there was no emphasis on a man being a loving father- showing affection, spending a great deal of time with the children. My grandpa Russell is described as a man of few words who worked very hard. Sound familiar? So, somewhere between the age of 12 and 20, we see these people as they really are. Men. Not fortresses of strength and wisdom, but men -- some a little more vulnerable than others. It's a tough transition as a kid.

I remember once, running through a sticker patch in our suburban neighborhood, falling to the ground in agony from the thorns in my little feet. I couldn't bear to pull them out myself, so my friend yelled for help. My dad had just come home from work. Still in uniform, he strolled down the sidewalk to me. The stickers were gently removed, with a little giggle on his part, and I ran on my merry way as if nothing ever happened.

Fast-forward eighteen years to a dinner at my parents’ house after I had been home from Romania for barely a week. It was clear my dad did not understand why his baby girl felt the need to trot off to Eastern Europe, nearly wrecking her career in the process. His exact words were "People need you here in your own country. You could've done that here!" It was the greatest thing I had ever done and he seemed to think I had betrayed him for it. His words fell on me like a storm. Nothing compares to that disconnected feeling I had. He finished his dinner as if nothing ever happened.

Fathers. Dads. My daddy. Where bridges fell, we built new ones. I don't know how, but I suspect it has something to do with my own failures and my own hope that people will see past those flaws to who I really am.

A few years back I was sitting in the living room of my parents’ house, having a conversation with my dad, about life, travel and such. It was a bit strange, both of us adults now, discussing my childhood in matter of fact tones. As he was bent over fiddling with his shoes he said something like "I know I wasn't there for you kids when you were little. I should have been. I really regret that now, but you know I really love you. I thought I was doing what was best at the time, but I was wrong." His voice had cracked a little and I could see the regret on his face.

Every negative story I'd ever been told about a father seemed to come to a screeching halt in my head when my daddy sat there in front of me, apologizing for not being better for me and my brother and sister. For all the toughness, for all the absence, he had still emerged as my hero, providing a security for me - unmatched by any man I have ever known. The apology was accepted, and any thoughts of him "not measuring up", evaporated in that room.

I look at my brother, sister and I, and I know that we are blessed far beyond what we deserve.

Think back to the best memory of your dad. Remember how much you adored him? Now think about a child you love -maybe a niece or nephew, maybe your own kid. Think of how you would do anything for that child, how your love for him/her amazes you. Multiply that love by a million. Know that's how much your dad still loves you. No matter what. ...No matter what.

Penny René

__________________________________________________________________

"Baby brown plays with Frankenstein at the top of the stair
Daddy's catching a flight to who knows where
Another kiss and tell on the white house lawn
Give her one kiss and she'll be gone"

Penny René
-From Holiday
_____________________________________________________________

I suddenly remembered turning one of my gas stovetop burners to the low setting, but didn’t remember turning it off. Yep, that was it. MJ turned off the burner (which was still lit) and immediately opened the windows again. Unfortunately the alarms still wouldn’t stop.

MJ called 911 just to make sure we weren’t missing something and they told us to quickly evacuate our house, that they were sending a truck over to check it out.

In a matter of maybe three minutes, all three of us were wide awake in front of the house and scores of police, fire trucks and an ambulance were flashing their lights all up and down our street.
Carbon Monoxide poisoning is no small matter. Small children and pregnant women are especially vulnerable, so you can imagine how completely terrified and stupid I felt. Luckily, we were experiencing no symptoms but the EMTs checked us out anyway just to make sure we were OK.

While this was going on, several firefighters in full gear marched around our house and checked every corner for dangerous CO readings. Again, everything checked out fine.

I’ve never been in an ambulance, nor have I ever had the fire dept visit my house but I have learned that both these things are very humbling. Especially since it was my own fault that they were there. They were all incredibly nice. Aside from our kind neighbors, these guys are the best thing about Maybeery.

Sitting in the back of the Fire Chiefs truck, he took my blood pressure.
“102 over 60. That sound about right to you?”
“Yes.”
Under the circumstances he was very surprised. “You’re probably the calmest person here” he said. Calm under pressure, that’s me. I didn’t bother to tell him that sometime over the next month I will probably sob uncontrollably at a perfectly otherwise dull moment when it soaks in that I nearly killed us all.

Whoever installed these CO detectors in our house – may you live a long and rich life without having to ever want for so much as an ice cream cone on a hot day. Thank you.

Billy Joel - It's Still Rock And Roll To Me

What's the matter with the clothes I'm wearing?
"Can't you tell that your tie's too wide?"
Maybe I should buy some old tab collars?
"Welcome back to the age of jive.
Where have you been hidin' out lately, honey?
You can't dress trashy till you spend a lot of money."
Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound
Funny, but it's still rock and roll to me

What's the matter with the car I'm driving?
"Can't you tell that it's out of style?"
Should I get a set of while wall tires?
"Are you gonna cruise the miracle mile?
Nowadays you can't be too sentimental
Your best bet's a true baby blue Continental."
Hot funk, cool punk, even if it's old junk
It's still rock and roll to me

Oh, it doesn't matter what they say in the papers
'Cause it's always been the same old scene.
There's a new band in town
But you can't get the sound from a story in a magazine...
Aimed at your average teen

How about a pair of pink sidewinders
And a bright orange pair of pants?
"You could really be a Beau Brummel baby
If you just give it half a chance.
Don't waste your money on a new set of speakers,
You get more mileage from a cheap pair of sneakers."
Next phase, new wave, dance craze, anyways
It's still rock and roll to me

What's the matter with the crowd I'm seeing?
"Don't you know that they're out of touch?"
Should I try to be a straight `A' student?
"If you are then you think too much.
Don't you know about the new fashion honey?
All you need are looks and a whole lotta money."
It's the next phase, new wave, dance craze, anyways
It's still rock and roll to me

Everybody's talkin' 'bout the new sound
Funny, but it's still rock and roll to me

My life, once upon a time, revolved around music the way it is with the internet now. Sad. I've been turning on the radio during lunch these days, trying to get back into the beat of things, so to speak. My taste in music varies so drastically, however. I'm having trouble finding the right station. You know, one where the DJs actually know something about the music they are playing and like it. Do those people still exist?

Should Sirius be in my future? NPR Morning Becomes Ecclectic anyone?
Do you miss radio the way it was?

They are one in the same, I tell you.
And Ladies, Maurice is single...

I take note of this mainly because I have heard over and over how much my little girl is like him. It's a compliment, I'm sure.

Still, he managed to graduate from the University of Rhode Island last month with all his limbs attached and everyone was very proud.

We waited a very long time for the ceremony to begin. But once the procession started, an elated young man emerged from the crowd.

Thankfully, there was a lot going on to entertain "Mini Matt", aka August Moon.

She made some friends.

And took a little nap with Dada.

It was a long trip... with a toddler... in a car. We definitely enjoyed ourselves, but don't tell Matt. We are going to use it to manipulate him as long as humanly possible.

The cleaning part... eh, well, nobody's perfect. MJ and I have always been the general clean type of people. No one could say our place is dirty at all. That is, unless they look real close. Everything is picked up, put away, etc. But dusting and vacuuming - well, aren't there people who do that sort of thing? Shouldn't one of those people be stopping by here each week?

As I mentioned before, we live on a narrow street, lots of kids and SUVs parked on the street as well. You can imagine the problem, no doubt. So we, us and nearly all our neighbors, are fighting this restaurant which will not have enough parking and increase traffic on our street. Not to mention the new construction totally jacks one guys beautiful yard and will make a mess of noise for him too.
So that’s why the mayor was here.

I was impressed that she stopped by and stood in the sun with us talking about all this. MJ was too and he took the opportunity to ask her about the much-anticipated revitalization of our downtown and our train station. There are many problems there too, all of which have to do with a once small town managing traffic and maintaining the charm of a historic place. Parking, speeding, commuters, attracting new businesses, etc.

But let’s be honest. This is not rocket science. It’s been done before and is actually a major trend right now to breathe life back into small towns. Small towns are IN. They are what people want. They want Mayberry. And what could be better than Mayberry less than 40 miles from NYC?

Every argument we had for the improvement was rained on by her citing the various obstacles to change. (Obstacles that were overcome by many other NJ towns like Red Bank, which is a mere 15 minutes down the highway.) Then Mike finally asks her, “So what do you do then? How do you make this happen?” And do you know what The Mayor said?

"I don’t know. I don’t know what we can do."

Well thank God she’s the Mayor. Otherwise I might get worried the city is being led by a bunch of idiots.