B and C are for Bike Week and Classic Cars

Once in a while there is an advantage to procrastination. Sure. I need to double up on the posts to catch up (I mean that literally. A lot like this post), but it also means B and C can be about what happens when Bike Week and Cruisin’ on Central collide. Not literally, though. There was already enough traffic, smoke, screeching, and police presence.

Yesterday, I did something that made no sense to me. I trimmed my hair into Bettie Page bangs and took the train down Central Avenue in Phoenix, Arizona. I had no idea why. I had no idea where I was going. When the Park Central Mall stop was announced, I could hear a roar of an engine. Looking up, I saw one, then two classic cars driving by. My sleepy brain awoke and I realized what was going on. There was a second’s hesitation, then I was out those train doors and on the platform.

If you love cars, then you can imagine the euphoria I experienced when I smelled the air. Or, it may just be the engine fumes were getting me high. After all, it was starting to remind me more of sweet perfume and pine, rather than motor oil, after a while. Either way, I was  a little girl running around complimenting the cars, taking their photos, and asking about their stories.  I took one photo of a gorgeous green Ford when her owner asked if I wanted to have my photo taken, too.

 

One older gentleman kept riding around on his motorcycle. In a crowd of happy people, he was the happiest.  He stopped ahead of me and I said to a guy standing by me, “I really want to get a picture of that guy. He’s the happiest one here.” So, my wish was nearly granted. Only Harry (because that’s his name) said, “You don’t want a picture of me. My face would break your camera. How about you take a picture with the bike?” He steadied it, helped me on, and he and the other guy (his name was Larry. I couldn’t make these things up) tried to get me to make a mean biker face. It obviously wasn’t working out.

 

Especially, when I was so giddy happy about the atmosphere. Being about to sit on that vintage racer bike (Look on the side and it says Manzanita Raceway Phoenix, Arizona) made me giddy as can be.

 

 

 

 

 

The happiest place on earth is supposed to be Disneyland. To me, it’s a car show. I have, yet, to come across a car show where I didn’t see people smiling and happy to talk about what they love.

Classic Cars are like people. Not just because I compliment and talk to both. But, any car or person who has been around for decades has stories to tell. The cars that are highly polished I love to look at, but when I can’t touch it or it has to be gently handled with a soft duster, its beautiful, but not what I want.
My favorite car was this Caddy. 

Rugged with potential, but not highly polished or untouchable. In fact, it’s perfect, as is. If I had the money, I would buy it right now. You can tell she has a personality. That’s best part. Perfectly imperfect in every way.

For more photos from April’s Cruisin’ On Central visit my Instagram at http://www.instagram.com/magicquillinc

 

 

A is for Arbuckle

Ask people, these days, who the great comedians of the 20th century were and you might get answers like Dick Van Dyke (this will be under D), John Belushi, Lucille Ball, or other names we recognize from reruns of movies and television shows.

When I think of great comedians, I think of Sir Charles Chaplin (true story, I thought “the Little Tramp” was repulsive growing up. It was Robert Downey, Jr.‘s portrayal of Charlie Chaplin that got me interested in Charlie Chaplin. While not the most moral fellow, I appreciated him so much.), Buster Keaton, and Roscoe Arbuckle.

The sad part is Roscoe Arbuckle‘s life was brought down by Hollywood’s first scandal that was not his doing. When he was just starting to get his life back in order, when he died in his sleep.

Roscoe Arbuckle had a sweet and comedic presence that makes me think of the Silent Era’s John Candy.

Enjoy one of the most adorable tributes to Roscoe Arbuckle and his dog, Luke. This is the video that made me love bully dogs.

 

 

Weekly Update: #AtoZChallenge

Happy Monday!! Hope your day is awesome! Updating for the #AtoZChallenge . Keep up-to-date and more blogs are coming up soon.
How do you like your coffee?

 

What Motivates You?

Spent all morning trying to make a vlog for my Work With Me page. After frustration, hiccups, nervous burping, and tears, I decided to go a totally different direction.

Welcome to the first Coffee Time. There was coffee there. You just didn’t see it.

 

 

A Letter to My Father’s Murderer

 

In November, 1994, I was married and about to celebrate my first Christmas with my husband and our new baby. Instead, that year became a flurry of media interviews, police questioning, and a funeral. Every Christmas season, and my life  since, has been influenced by what happened on that date: Monday, 28 November, 1994.
My daddy, John Magoch, was a driver for Wells Fargo. The day was the Monday after Black Friday; the biggest pick up day of the year. He drove to Arrowhead Mall, parked outside of Dillard’s, and that was the last anyone saw him alive.  When his messenger, David Mauss, returned, the van and my father was gone.
What followed over the years was a drama that I would have enjoyed writing, had it not been way too real. It is material with enough twists and turns that it sounds like the plot of any late night crime drama.

The 1994 Wells Fargo Heist  made headlines for months. Today, most people have only a vague recollection and my father’s name is now part of every first year law student’s text book on Criminal Justice cases brought before the United States Supreme Court. Three months after the heist and murder, the arrests were made. These three names that would forever be remembered as creatures (I dare not call them men) who changed my life: Timothy Ring, James Greenham, and William Ferguson.
Timothy Ring was the main shooter. In 2002, he filed a case that went before the United Supreme Court.  Janet Napolitano, who was the Arizona Attorney General, at the time, represented this case herself. In truth, I felt a bit used, since she was just about to start her run for governor. Especially when she did not have time to speak with me, herself, about the case that was about to be presented.

Written in 2000 to Timothy Ring  Letter to my Father’s Murderer

 

 

In a 7-2 decision, the USSC decided in favor of  Ring and  Ring v. AZ changed the court system in nine states. Originally, judges, not jurors, decided the final sentencing in Capital Murder cases. Ring v. AZ upheaveled every death penalty case in those nine states and required a jury re-sentencing.  Many of these were high profile cases. Some involved the deaths of children. The guilt I felt over knowing these had a chance of a reduced sentence (thankfully many remained the same) was astounding. Even knowing I had nothing to do with the outcome. The feeling was still there. When I saw the juror sentencing issues with the Jodi Arias trial,two summers ago, all I could do was put my face in my hands and shake my head, knowing Ring v. AZ was the cause of this extra drama.

When Tim Ring’s re-sentencing came up, I was asked my preference. The decision was a choice of going through what resembled a retrial or there was a plea agreement option. The plea agreement would take him off of death row, but would keep him in prison for the rest of his natural life. (Personally, I preferred the original sentencing of death + 99 years, but that’s, obviously, emotionally charged.) By the time I had the chance to speak my piece, I was tired. I was once told by a woman,whose sister’s murderers still sit on death row, that there is a point where you wish they would just disappear into the system and never be heard from again. Because, every time the death penalty debate comes up, these same voices are heard over and over. The victim’s family gets to relive their loved one’s death every–single–time.

I prayed and pondered about the decision. After all of the emotional turmoil and anguish caused by this, what was the best course of action?  My response back was, “As long as you can guarantee he can never be released to hurt anyone else ever again.” The court couldn’t make that exact promise, but they pacified me enough that there would not be a re-sentencing by jury.

No matter which side of the death penalty debate you are on, the most important thing to remember is those who were murdered weren’t just a story. They had real lives and real love. They were not just an ideology.

Sadly, I am one of the fortunate ones. Only because I know what happened. It’s not exactly closure, but there isn’t the constant wonder of who, why, and wondering if “those people” might do it, again. This is the case with another security guard, Jeffrey Bellemare ‘s family and thousands of others with open cases. It is a hell I do not wish on anyone. No matter what happens in life, there is always that small reminder of what could have been. If only….

While the world focuses so much on the lives of those who commit the murders (I admit the psychology behind it is fascinating) the victims are so often forgotten. What I want to see are the stories behind the people whose lives were stolen. These real and beautiful lives that were taken too soon from their families and friends. They aren’t just “the victim”. They were your family, friends, and fellow human beings. While the justice system gives chance after chance to those behind its walls through hearings and parole, those lives lost never got that second chance.

The Story of Magic Quill Inc.

The story of Magic Quill Inc. starts with a peacock feather. The letter was written 17 January, 2009. It was the last letter I ever got from my Great Aunt Sally. “The Great One”, my daddy used to affectionately call her. He said she was the kind of lady who could walk into a room and her presence would take it over. He said, because of this, people sometimes saw her as bossy or overbearing, but he always adored her. She was his second mother.
Some time in the 1970s my daddy lost touch with a majority of his family. Then, he had this over determined daughter who always wanted more family and loved the history behind everything. So, she contacted the family she could find. That is how I brought “the Great One” into my life.
When my daddy was killed in 1994, Sally took it upon herself to look after her favorite brother’s granddaughter. She wrote me letters and sent me presents as if she were my grandmother. Some of her statements, over the years, made me wonder if that is how she really thought of me.
She was also my first mentor. When I realized there was a word for what I do (empath) and not everyone has the same kind of experience, I was happy to find that the Magoch family were known for these oddities. In fact, Aunt Sally had a degree in Metaphysics and her son is a Shaman.
Back to the letter. The day I received this letter my cats, Shadow and Abigail, were acting odd. They spent the day surrounding me and cuddling with me. Tabby does this every day, but those two cats only display this behavior on special occasions. Especially when someone is sick.
I was very excited to get that letter– at first. Letters from Aunt Sally were always special. This one had a peacock feather in it. The letter thanked me for finding the missing link in our family and getting her in contact with the niece she had not been able to find for over 75 years. How happy she was to be able to talk to Helen and tell her the real story about her mother, Laura, and how Helen was not allowed contact with “those gypsies” after her mother died of tuberculosis.
She also told me this was her last letter to me. She had bladder cancer, was 96 years old, and was getting her affairs in order. She wanted me to keep the peacock feather as a reminder of her.
The original peacock feather disappeared and was replaced. The replacement now sits on a shelf in my boyfriend’s room, because it’s the kind of favour a queen would give to her champion.
A year after the letter, I decided to pursue my dream of being a writer. The name, Magic Quill Inc. is my remembrance of Aunt Sally and the Magoch legacy.
“Magic” is a variation of my name. Magoch in Hungarian etymology refers to the Sanga (which refers to either the cattle or the people) or yellow mage. Hungarian mythology makes reference to the Magus Magoch, who were the high priest “keepers of the flame”.
The colors of the logo always refer to Aunt Sally, because her favorite colors were purple and green.
The rest is all about the peacock feather.

 

The Day the Music Died

“Because Ritchie Valens WAS the real deal. He was only starting, but in the time he spent in the business he made big impact. I don’t know if anybody could have made a bigger one.”                                    -Waylon Jennings

“Death is very often referred to as a good career move.” – Buddy Holly

 “Their airplane registered on the radar of the 789th Air Force Radar Station located near Omaha for a few sweeps. Long enough for the Search Radio Operator to contact me and notify me of the appearance of a new target. As movements and Identification Operator my job was to identify every radar return as Friend or Foe. I had enough time to realize the blip was moving away from our site, so it was a Probably Friendly, and before we could set up a track on the board, the blip faded from sight. Some time later, before the crash site was found, we were asked if we had seen it. The last location was given and in effect, we were the last to see Rock and Roll, before they and their music died.” – Willis S. Cole, Jr.

I’ve Got that Chocolate Craving

Ladies: You know what it’s like. Grand ambitions of homemade chicken soup, soft, buttery rolls (or at least French bread from the store), and chocolate chip cookies for dessert. Then, you get home. Your body feels like a giant cramp and all you want to do is curl up in bed with a hot cup of coffee and a sweet bunch of chocolate. Since my boyfriend has some resemblance of a life and can’t hear my cries for chocolate from this distance, I waited two hours after sending those smoke signals he never saw (or he did and just thought someone’s house was on fire) and made my own chocolate chip cookies.

Originally, there was going to be oatmeal involved, so I could pretend I was being healthy, but I couldn’t find the quick oatmeal. I’m supposing my children used it the last time they raided my pantry to make sweeties.

In life, we all have our set in stone rules and our exceptions.  One meme says, “Life is too short for fake butter, fake cheese, or fake friends.” The same goes for vanilla. If you’re baking use the real vanilla. If you can’t afford it, Wait!!  Go buy a chocolate bar for the same price as the imitation.  Always use real vanilla.
But, I made an exception on the brown sugar.  I substituted by upping my quantity of granulated sugar. The cookies taste the same. Their just very blonde.

Speaking of blonde… I had the temperature at 375 degrees and was all set to put the dough on the cookie sheet. Does something about these chocolate chip cookies up there look really wrong?

That’s right. It’s not chocolate chip cookies without the chocolate chips.

Better? Meh… Almost, but not quite.

Now, that’s more like it.

Just to show you how much chocolate there is, I think I’ll blur up the lens a little, then wonder why I can’t get anything into focus for the next 20 minutes.

I may be a bit foggy, but everything still came out great and I didn’t even come close to burning down the apartment.

And, there’s the other half  that’s missing from the pan.

What do you make for your chocolate cravings?

Name Your Price

In Celebration of getting Magic Quill Inc. off the ground, I am offering a Name Your Price special.  If you need help with your blog, web page content, brochures, social media posts, public relations, etc. you can name your price for my services.
This doesn’t mean you can expect to hire me for $5 (although, that would get you a decent status update). All reasonable offers will be considered and accepted.
Look forward to hearing from you soon.

Hand Knitting For Sale

Today’s Fashion Friday is a Promotion Day. My daughter and I have been knitting for about five years now. Of course, she outdoes me every time and here is the proof.

I could say more about these, but they speak well for themselves.

 

 

 

Slouch Beanie $15

       Hand Knit Bag $25

Want your own?  Leave a message on the Contact page, so you can pre-order. Or, leave a comment here and we’ll let you know when our Etsy store is back up and running.