Wednesday - and I'm not sailing

I had good intentions. I even marked on my dateook, "sailing - take picnic lunch". But that memo was soon struck with a bold sharpie when meetings and deadlines took over. Over that sentiment is now, "meet with R at project, 5 PM".

As I dashed out of my house this morning - running late to meeting - I looked at my still water drenched garden and sighed. Such good intentions.

I soldiered on during the week, though. Even if I couldn't nurture myself with gardening and sailing, I could read about them. That's what well-intentioned people do when they are too busy to do the things they really want to do. Some read about relationships with their kids, some read about goals they should set. As I sat in my new coffee house haunt (where I had set intentions to write every day for 45 minutes before I started my day -- this is my first time), I lugged my "Fundamentals of Sailing". Whenever people asked about my weekend I would say (probably too loudly), "I WENT SAILING" to really impress people with how much time I had to do things like that.

I re-set the goal to go sailing. And therein lies the problem. Sailing - and gardening - -and other healing organic enterprises - cannot be neatly relagated to a calendar, squeezed between "take cleaning" and "pick up dog food". It is the meandering that counts, that really makes them do their magic. You bend over, you start weeding and three hours later you emerge with a dirty hands and a smile on your face.

My sailing instructor insists that sailing will add ten years to your life. He told us the story about a guy who had started sailing after a bad heart attack. Things looked pretty grim for him and doctors had little hope he'd really heal. After six months of sailing, he had lost weight and his life was returning.

I bet he wouldn't put off the picnic lunch for the meeting with R.

What I learned sailing

This post was to have pictures to accompany it, however, I lost my disposable camera about five minutes after I boarded the practice sail, so word pictures will have to suffice.

I have a friend who insists that some people are called to water because of theiry fiery intensity...that the water serves as a way to balance them. I think they may be right because this was my fourth of fifth time to be on a sail boat and the same feeling that I had from the very start was with me today - I simply cannot imagine anything more peaceful than sailing. It is a sport that is both ancient and modern, difficult and simple, challenging and relaxing.

I learned today that sail boats aren't so much pushed through the water as pulled (it's a math word problem, check with a physics instructor). I learned that a small craft is more difficult to sail than a much larger one - and you'll work your crew harder on a smaller craft than a large one (think of the life parallels with that one!). I learned that steering a boat is counter-intuitive...again, much like life at times.

But the most exciting thing I learned was that there are a ton of sailing terms that I've used all my life but had no idea they came from sailing but one in particular that was significant to me. I learned that "telltale signs" comes from telltales, which are small indicators that are positioned on the sail to indicate wind direction. They literally tell a sailor how to position their sails for optimum sailing.

I asked my instructor what he thought were the most important things one needed to do before launching a boat and he replied, "make sure there is plenty of beer in the cooler, make sure you have sunscreen and make sure you have plenty of gas in the engine to get you back when your sails luff."

Tomorrow is the test for certification and then, on to the next level of compentence.

Quick: how do you destroy a centuries old artifact using a couple of things from around the house?

Answer? You strap on stilettos and smack your gum.

According to the New York Times, the Odeon of Herodes Atticus is being worn away by women in six inch heels and guests that chew gum - and leave it at the ancient amphitheater.

"This monument is very tired, " says Alexander Mandis, the chief archaeologist overseeing the Odeon. "Poking it with six inch heels and scrubing the marble to remove dried gum makes it ache more." During a recent renovation, over 60 pounds of gum was pried off seats and aisles.

More than half of the Odeon's 250,000 annual visitors are women and since stiletto heels are strengthened by a metal rod, their heels and metal tips transmit more pressure per square inch than a 6,000-pound elephant, architects and archaeologists say.

In spite of a ban on smoking, painting, chewing gum or nailing elaborate props in the theater -- sixteen restrictions in all - Greece's glitterati continue to turn up at benefit concerts draped with sparkling jewels, flowing silk gowns and stilettos clicking against the Odeon's fragile floors.

This reminds me about a story I heard about WWII. During the war, the ammunition arriving at an army base continued to show up pocked and damaged. Allies were sure that someone was sabotaging the effort and spent much time investigating. What they discovered was surprising - the bullets were being "ambushed" by the factory workers who failed to wash their hands after eating peanuts on their breaks. The salt from their hands was transferred to the bullets during manufacturing and the salt created pock marks during the shipment from US to Allies base, rendering the bullets unuseable.

Some profound meaning exists here - something like small efforts create great results or something like that. For me, I think the significance is understanding why my feet hurt so bad when I wear heels. More pressure on my pinky toe than a 6,000 pound elephant? Who knew?

(Source: Sunday, July 8 New York Times, Vol CLVI, page 9).

After weeks of making lists and journaling - and actually doing some writing - I have returned. This is less of a post and more of a "blog-gasm" with a lot of stuff that I've been thinking about all rolled into one (probably incoherent) post. Just some notes from out and about in T-town this weekend...

First, if you're in the mood for great food, check out "A" Bar and Kitchen (sorry, no web site that I could find). It is located at the corner of 34th and Peoria and is now open on
Sundays. It is a perfect place to take a sunday newspaper (I took the NY Times) and relax. I had been wanting to stop there for weeks but usually was in my post-yoga workout clothes. Today, I went anyway and the wait staff was friendly and attentive but not in a hovering kind of way.

Here's what I liked:

1 - wait staff that was attentive but let me read my paper and journal in peace. I didn't even notice when my coffee (in a great, heavy, "real-coffee- drinker's- mug" was refilled).

2 - fresh flowers were brought to my table after I sat down. Hey, a girl loves flowers anytime. I think having flowers and a great meal brought to me is something that I could get use to.

3 - Small thing but a big deal to me - the cream for my coffee was in its own decanter - none of that "peel off and dump" stuff. Great coffee deserves great creamery and a great presentation. This is where I was completely hooked. Any place that takes time with small details like this probably goes the extra mile with my entree.

4 - More on the "small is big" category: special butter for my homemade rolls, fire burning in the dining room and lots of light for my table for reading. Even though busy street is right outside, I felt like I was in my own private dining room.

Can't wait to go back. The waiter told me that every Thurs, Fri, and Sat night there is live music. Worth the trip (construction still on-going) in every way.

Movies this week

I have this theory that the modern day movie house is to our society what the camp fire was to anicent civilisation: a place to hear stories, be moved by them and maybe even changed by them. It is where the village comes together to find out about itself and what its values are and where it may be going.

If my little theory is true, then I remain pessimistic about the summer's movie fare. Since the onslought of the "summer blockbuster" it seems that essentials for good movies such as character development and storylines tend to take a back seat to the explosions and chiseled features of big stars. My answer: find any movie that Pixar is doing and go see it.

I have no idea who is running Pixar but I maintain that the most creative movies come from this little workshop. Maybe because it is animation, the creators of "Finding Nemo", "Toy Story" and now "Ratatoulee" (sp???) have to find more than big names to tell their stories. They have to have a story arc and not just a great set of abs to make the point come home. Thank goodness.

I liked "Ratatoulee" because of the story: Who hasn't stood at the outside of a circle (in this case, a french kitchen) and wanted to gain entrance? Who hasn't doubted their gifts or been unappreciated for them? Who hasn't felt called to something outside their known world and wondered, "what if I could..."

I couldn't get past one main story line problem, though. Rats in a kitchen - no matter if they cleaned up well - didn't work for me. The animation is so good that even pretend rats in a pretend kitchen gave me the heebie jeebies. When your imagination is stretched by animation, that's darn good animation. Couldn't quite make the leap but the ride was worth it.

Less good, "License to Wed". What happened to Robin Williams and the films like "Fisher King" and "Dead Poets Society"? I use to rely on him to really transport me to deep proverbial truths and now what I get from him is comic schlock. Yeah, he's funny and makes me laugh - mostly from uncomfortable, political humor but I hope he'll return to more substantial roles that make me do what I go to the movies to do: think and be challenged.

I know, I know. It's summer and all we're suppose to want out of movies is entertainment. For some of us, being changed and challenged by art is entertainment.

Quote of the day

I just rec'd my newest copy of "Writer's Digest" and I've been inhaling it. Here's the gem that keeps me going - not only in writing but in so many life adventures..

"There are going to be moments of deep, deep doubts, and you have to have faith that your initial idea was good and just muddle through." (Ann Brashares)

Sailing

It's done! After waiting for the rainy spring to pass, I have finally mustered the courage to take my first official sailing class. This past week, I booked a 2-day sailing class held on a local lake. So in July, I'll be on the lake - and in the classroom - taking my first strokes in the art of sailing.

Sailing is on my list of "to do items before I leave earth". So is hot air ballooning, sky diving, finishing my novel. Somehow, sky diving seems less intimidating than the novel.

I became interested in sailing when I traveled to Mexico awhile back and had a chance to take a day cruise. Ever since then, I've been reading about it and thinking about how I'd like to learn more about it.

Bandit

Rituals are like prayers: they are things we do that keep us grounded and in place. I have a series of them, especially in the mornings, as mornings and I are not always on good terms. I shuffle to my kitchen, try to eat, do yoga and then go through my bank accounts online.

I have major issue with numbers. I have a friend, named Jim, whose neurons in his head run back and forth over numbers, gemoetry, physics like a superhighway. My number neurons are more like a dead end round in the deep south: the further you go with it the more lost you become.

This last Tuesday, I went through my morning ritual and quickly caught my breath. My account showed that I was overdrawn over $4,000. Moreover, it seems that I had purchased a couple of first class flights to Ohio, bought a boat load of flowers -- all while I was working in my yard on a rainy memorial day weekend.

I have heard a lot about identity theft but, like so many, think "it can never happen to me". But as I stared at the bright red text of my online bank statement, I realized that I had been ambushed by a cyber bandit.

I had so many questions. The first are obvious ones..."how could it happen?" "Who could have let it?" "How do I fix it.." After awhile, they gave way to ridiculous questions such as, "Who sends 3 bouquets of flowers all in one day?" I started making up stories about some sad guy who really needed to get a date and was so desperate he hacked into my (almost) empty bank account to try to impress his lover.

The girl at the bank was sympathetic but I was such a mess that I didn't give her much time to apologize. My main question was - and remains -- how could someone take money from my bank account that wasn't even there? What, when I have to get a signed affadavit just to cash a check at my drive in, what with the girl in the glass cage not even speaking English.

I couldn't shake the feeling of violation. I walked around the rest of the day with my shoulders hunched looking around corners, wondering if i could spot my bandit. But everyone looked very normal - if not concerned -- as I peered nervously around.

My questions remain and my concerns are now greater than before. It seems that traditional muggings are passe - now, intelligent cyber thiefs can scam us while we stand outside in the rain, digging holes in our yard and never knowing for a minute what kind of danger we are in.

Letting go

I have my checklist almost complete.

All day marathon of "Law and Order". Check.
Comedy station on my XM radio. "Check
Lots of dirt to spread around my (very wet) garden. Check.
Newest bestseller by Ann Lamott. Check.

I will need all of these tomorrow and the days following because around 5 PM I put our youngest child, E, on a plane that will take her to London. She'll be gone for 11 days.

It is hard being 17 and totally terrific. What with all the great grades, the constant athletic achievements, there is a lot of pressure. Also, it's tough to continue hating your mother, which is the first job of all teeange girls. I know. I did it, too. We all do it because deep down we're terrified that we'll become just like her. And most of the time we're so busy fighting that we do exactly that, become like someone we don't want to be. Who was it that said, "What you resist, persists?"

I've been trying to figure out something to say to her, write to her, lie to her and let her know that I won't be doubled over with grief over letting her get on a plane and fly halfway across the world - without even her dad with her.

I know I'm suppose to be in this generation that has all these enlightened views about parenting. I have a friend who is like Lorelei on "Gilmore Girls" and she and her daughter have coffee and talk all the time. I really hate her, sometimes, when she chirps about shopping and all that.

E and I tried shopping together. But I do all the wrong things. I do stupid things like pointing out stuff that will look great on her. I compliment her on her hair. I ask her opinion on shoes that I want to wear. She looks at me with those great, steady eyes and (not so) patiently will say, "Yes, mother.." just like I use to say to her when I dragged her through shopping malls and she pointed out stuff for me to look at. I was too busy, too often, trying to get home, get the dinner started, trying to "do" all those things moms do.

Funny, I just didn't see the moment when the roles would reverse.

I have one friend who has kindly said, "they have to hate you, otherwise it hurts too bad for them to leave you" She's had three daughters so she should know. Now she spends vacations with her daughter and grandkids and thinks it marvelous. So maybe that is in the future for us.

Tomorrow will be just another step for her to take and one that I cannot take with her, at least not in the same direction. She is going and I'm staying. She has a passport not only to another country but to another phase of her life, one that she has been headed all this time. And while I can be present, I cannot really be with her for that is the call of adulthood, to do it on your own steam.

I am, on every level, so deeply proud of her. She's a completey together kid. Often after she speaks in fluent spanish or solves some math problem that would stump NASA, her dad and I will look at each other and wonder how this force came from us. We kind of dumbly made our way into parenthood and we've been ambling around, making things up as we go.

Kind of cool to see that our missteps have taken at least someone in the right direction.

Rain and Roses

In spite of my best intentions, my garden sits in a bog, weedy and overgrown. I had high hopes for a Memorial Day Weekend weeding blitz, but alas, this morning there is more and more rain coming my way. Even though I tried to scare off the bad spirits by insisting that a dump truck load of dirt be delivered in the driving rain (the truck couldn't even get the dirt to my garden. Deep rifts of sod and dirt stretch across my yard where the driver attempted to fulfill my request) there is little hope that my garden goal will be accomplished.

Seeing that my plans were squashed, Dan wisely packed me up last night and drove me to the Tulsa Rose Garden. Most years, I'm knee deep in my own gardening projects and I miss the display of roses -- usually arriving a couple of weeks too late or too early to see the real beauty of this Tulsa masterpiece. Not this time. This year, I was right on schedule to see "Gizmos" and "Gidgets" and "Dolly Parton" and "Casablanca" all strutting their stuff and in full bloom. At one juncture I stopped in front of "Sheila's Perfume", it's large blooms bigger than my hand. I plunged my nose into its heady fragrance and I was undone.

The colors, architecture and fragrance of this garden can lift the dreariest of spirits. Go and see for yourself - but take your umbrella.

http://www.tulsamountains.com/gallery1/html/rose_garden_i.html

Garden re-do

I finally mustered the courage, after weeks of rain, to scour the damage of my garden. Last summer's drought coupled with this year's rain has made my garden something of a mess. Add the fact that major repairs were needed anyway to replace old pathways and you have a tangled web of crabgrass, leggy roses and out of control herbs.

It is sad, really, to think of all the work that has been done - and still needs doing - as I wonder amidst the broken twigs of my garden. I see the corner where I removed the roses that were suffocating under blackspot. I see the miscalculations everywhere: too big shrubs here, too little ones there. Why did I think Nandina would work besides the butterfly bush in that small spot? What prompted me to plant mint so near the borders of my perennials? Why did I think that pathway should go left instead of right?

It's enough to make one give up gardening for good.

Instead, I spent a good part of yesterday re-drawing the lines of the garden -- a new garden that I'll spend time re-creating this summer. Work begins this weekend with a load of topsoil that is scheduled to arrive later today. I won't get to it until later in the holiday weekend but just knowing that it's coming gives me hope.

Rebuilding is a daunting task and one that forces tough questions: 1) Why did the original plan go wrong? 2) do I rebuild? 3) and if so, then how? How to make it better?
How not to repeat the same mistakes? What have I learned from the work from before?

Not surprisingly, many of these questions go to the fundamental questions of structure which give life to the garden. Structure gives direction, calms the chaos and defines the garden. Get the structure wrong and you've got weedy paths and tangled vines. Not to mention unnecessary maintainance.

This is where the basics of art, design and color must have their place. It's where you strip back all the "fluff" and lay bare what is -- accept it and decide if you can live with it. As with life, acceptance is a big part of gardening: Can I change it? If not, can I live with it?

These are the thorny questions that make gardening so essential to living a good life. These are the questions that I find solace in, even in the midst of crumbling paths and falling fences.

Moving forward

A few months back, I renamed this blog, "Sacred Space" because I discovered the powerful force of creativity, namely gardening, in my life. I felt that my blog, along with gardening and a newly emerging creative life, were giving me back a life that I had forgotten I had.

Since that time, enormous changes have taken place. Yes, many have been life changes, including my kids leaving home. However, there is something about setting an idea "out there" and watching what the divine spirits do with a small, wobbly step of faith.

That simple renaming has given birth to a new life for me in so many ways. I am now the owner of a design studio where I can work amidst creative people all day, creating and thinking and then doing it again. Writing continues to be a huge part of my life, in fact, you can begin reading my monthly column at my new site where I will write on creating nurturing interior and exterior spaces. The first installment of a workshop was this past week and you can see a photo essay of that concept which will grow and change into other experiences.

I have also been journaling and writing on a book which sets the pathway for positive change and how to do it without say, losing every ounce of your mind. I first had the idea when working with volunteer opportunities and asked the question, "how do we change and why is it so hard?". Questions like that never lead to easy, neat answers and voila - I was initiated in my own life changing Q & A.

This all to say, though I haven't been writing here in this blog, I have been furiously writing and creating in other areas. And I'm wondering if this blog may have served its purpose -- that is being the ship that sailed me to this point, a new juncture of the journey? Either way, I'll keep it and may revisit it from time to time. So much of the change journey is painful and personal and frankly, these have been better posts for a quiet journal that has a lock and key on it. Maybe with a little editing they can emerge as helpful and interesting down the road.

To the creative life!

Only in Oklahoma

Backing out of the crowded post office parking lot a large truck barged in and completely blocked my exit. Oklahoma is a big truck state and so, at first, I didn't think too much about it. But as I waited there, stuck in my parking spot, I noticed that this was no ordinary truck. It towered over me with its bright red exterior with the words "DODGE 4x4, CUMMINGS Ram 2500 TURBO DIESEL" in big block letters.

As I was held hostage by this mammoth thing, I had time to think. I had mainly two thoughts: Thought #1: "Who needs a truck this big?" and #2: "What kind of person drives such a thing?".

I watched the door open up and then a small, skinny guy dressed in blue jeans, t-shirt jumped from the doorway onto the pavement. He stood about 5'4" as he stretched to get a package from the seat of his truck. As he made his way into the post offic, I caught the site of the back of his t-shirt which read, (and I promise I'm not making this up), "Testical Festival 06".

I laughed all the way through the rest of the day and in fact, shared my story with one of my friends. He looked at me with all seriousness and said, "Don't you know what that is?"

I confessed that I did not.

As it turns out, this festival is quite the event, held annually in Stillwater where folks come from miles around to the regional "calf fry". And yeah, they are frying up more than a few legs and thighs.

I have lived in many parts of the country, each with their own regional flair. And truthfully, I could have continued living in many of these cities -- New Jersey, Kansas City, Columbus. But I made a conscious effort and made my home back here in OK where I was born and raised. I could have lived anywhere and I chose here.

Still, days like this, I often wonder why.

I disavow any knowledge

I better get this out there before my brother does. This is me when I was about 12. It says more than a million words, so I'll just let it go.

This in the hands of my kids could be deadly.

Catching up

I've been a fickle blogger of late - only writing bits and pieces as I felt like it or as the mood hit. It's not that I've not been writing -- it's just that I've not been blogging. I think I said once before in this blog that sometimes it is not that you don't have anything to say, it's that you have too much.

We took our daughter to tour her very first campus visit. Again I underestimated the emotional whallop this would take on me. Like her dad, Ellen is a great student who leans towards disciplines such as science and math. As we toured the bio chem department Ellen and Dan were completely engrossed and acted as if they understood all the five-syllable words that the professor was telling them. As for myself, I got that same twitchy, nervous feeling that I often had in my chem labs in college. Give me an essay exam any day over numbers or chemical strings.

There are moments as a parent that you get caught up short, that you realize that your job is nearing completion and that while you know you have had some influence in your kid's life, you also know that they are who they are by some ingenious mix of DNA and divine hand. And you marvel at that thought, at how this person can be so much a part of you and yet so much their own person. As I watched Ellen begin her own journey towards her new life I was struck with just how much she has it together and I had to wonder, "how the heck did that happen?"

I called an old friend this past week who also has kids leaving for college. She was the one who gave me some good advice once. When we were getting ready for Ellen to be born, I worried that I could not love another kid as much as I did our first. I asked her, "can you love two kids the same?" And she said, "Of course not. You love them differently." At the time I don't think I understood what she was saying. Now, 18 plus years later, I think I am beginning to understand.

Going to State

This post will reek of "mom'isms", I'm afraid. I am just so proud, I could pop.

I could be proud that her team won and is headed to State Playoffs. I could be proud that she played through some difficult pain in her shoulder, but you had to look carefully to know it, if you noticed it at all.

But what I'm most proud is how she handles herself both on and off the field. She plays to win but not at all costs. She cares about her team and she plays unselfishly. And when confronted with players from other teams that may lack maturity, she plays her own game and refuses to be embroiled in showmanship or talking smack.

She continues to be a good student with numerous awards but again, it isn't what SHE DOES that makes me so proud. It is who she is and who she is becoming.

Go get 'em Rams!

Regionals

Occassionally, I am able to see my kid's somewhat objectively and, though I love them to death, I try not boast too much.

Today is not one of those days.

Saturday, my daughter's bball team dominated a well known team and took away the Regional Championship, a feat not done in a decade. I am more than proud of her and her teammates, not only for the score but more importantly how they handled themselves on the court. Even when they had the trophy, they waited until they were in the locker room before the hooting and hollering really started. And, they kept their cool even when the other team threw a few intentionals their way late in the game.

Some of the teammates have played together for over eight years and the synchronicity of their playing time together is a big advantage.

Next report: Area on Thursday against another tough team.

Sunday Movie

Some friends and I went to see "The Queen" at the cinema yesterday. It was not my kind of movie . I am always a bit suspicious of anything considered "historical" when the history in question is less than 20 years old.

Still, the royal family intrigues most of us and for my generation, the death of Princess Diana is much like the death of JFK for my parent's generation in that we all remember what we were doing when we heard the news. (For myself, I was tucking kids into bed and watching a remake of another movie, Cape Fear, when the reports came in.)

I believe there are much more important themes that underlie the death of Diana, which for all accounts and purposes is the death, if not symbolically, of the monarchy itself (a fact made real by an ingenious scene in the movie. See if you can find it). I don't pretend to understand the enigmatic charm that Diana had over us but I do believe that she was the one last chance my generation had to believe in romance and fairy tales. And believe we did. We believed with our whole hearts. We cut our hair to look like her, we wore ridiculous bows on our dresses to be like her and we dreamed of having her life.

What I like about the movie is that it avoided cartoon-ish images of the royal family and a particularly generous profile of Tony Blair is given throughout the film. The character in the film that is least likeable - and least understandable - is Prince Philip (played by the best evil man working in Hollywood, James Cromwell). We don't understand Prince Phillip's rage or bitterness, but a quick study of history helps. Who amongst us would like to marry a queen only to be given a dumpy old castle and not the kingship itself?

At any rate, I cannot recommend the movie on the merits of acting nor on storyline. The few moments when the film really starts to gel for me are edited quickly for another montage of flowers and bows and that smile that haunted us all.

From every angle...

Last weekend, we drove to OSU to visit Nathan and he showed us his latest projects. It is impossible to view anything your child does with any objectivity and so I won't even try. Here's some pics of his brilliance.

While his father can fully appreciate the complexity of the math/physics/geometry entailed, I had but one question: "Where's the kitchen?"

Download

I've been putting off blogging. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have so much. It's hard to know where to start, really.

I've been working on a new project that has been taking a lot of my time. I hope to share more about it soon.... it is very exciting and I'm working hard on it. For now, that's about all I can say.

Last weekend I saw, "Notes on a Scandal" and was bewitched by the deliciously evil Judi Dench. Her performance held me despite a storyline that failed. I've put her on my "Most Want to Meet List".

Basketball season is now in full swing and so a lot of my free time is invested watching my amazing daughter do her thing on the court. This topic has kept me busy writing in my personal journal because I just want to capture every moment of this time...soon she'll be packed away at college like her brother - a thought that immediately shakes tears from me.

And, I continue to fall onto the couch to watch reruns of my newest viewing addiction, "Scrubs". I absolutely love this show...I get completely absorbed by its lunatic poignancy. My favorite character is probably "Jordan" who is played by the the director's wife. Whatever - the alchemy of the script and actors is for me, first rate and a lot of fun.

Birthday with Brian

Today I turned 43 and so, luckily, the Brian Regan (www.brianregan.com) concert was tonight - -postponed from a couple of weeks ago because of the great ice storm.

The concert was held at the "historic" brady theater. Let me say something about this. Oklahoma became a state in 1906, therefore Tulsa is about 100 or so years old. 100 years, in the life of the cosmos, is not necessarily old. Yet, the "historic" brady theater sits in relative abandon. It does, in fact, make Roman catacombs look somewhat contemporary. The site could be one of Tulsa's most unique and artsy destinations, once it gets heating and hot water, which it did not have on Friday night

Despite being huddled under my husband's jacket, I could not stop laughing at this performer whose ability to handle hecklers--along with passing of distant freight train - hit every mark. I have seen many comics who cannot deal with interruptions in their act but Brian's best moments came at times when he ad libbed getting off stage and handling a freight train's whistle that happened mid-way through his act.

Another impressive component of Regan's act -- I heard nary a curse word nor one reference to any body part. It's not that the crowd was old ladies, either. I was probably one of the oldest there with many looking to be about my kid's ages. Brian takes ordinary life and spins it, twists it and makes it hilarious.

I have watched Regan a lot, have a couple of his CD's and seen him perform on Comedy Central. Still, most of what I saw on Friday was new material to me. Clearly he continues to work on his act in spite of 25 years of stand-up experience. This is refreshing in a performer where many in his league often re-hash old bits time and time again.

Regan can make even turning 43 a fun night.