the present and the past

2008

If you know me, you know I love two types of cars -- Toyota and Jaguar. My lottery fantasy of owning two cars (how extravagant) has always included a Toyota SUV (old dream, 1988 4Runner; new dream, 2008 Highlander hybrid) and a Jaguar (old dream, 1975 XJ 3.4; new dream, 2008 S-Type). There is some flexibility in there. I like my current Scion, and Ted's Prius is pretty darned cool. And it's impossible for my head not to turn at the sight of the new Jaguar XK (rrrrrow).

Other automobile makers occasionally earn props on Kelly's Opinion of Cars. When I lived in Connecticut, I regularly saw an Aston Martin DBS that was jaw-droppingly beautiful. I like the new generation Mini Coopers. And someone in the town where I live now drives an orange Lotus Elise in nice weather (i.e. not for the last three months), which is certainly eye-catching (though I would personally never want one, and would certainly never fit into one).

Tonight, I saw a Mercedes Benz CLS 55 AMD in a parking lot, and holy guacamole, it is one pretty car. I've never been a big fan of MB, perhaps because, despite their luxury reputation, most of their designs were just boxyugly when I first started ogling cars in my youth. In any event, it was lovely, and I just thought I'd mention it.

How this car rave segues into reading old journals, I can't tell you. I just started wandering through the first of my entries when I began electronically chronicling life, which occurred just as I moved myself 'cross country. Here's a smattering from June 1991. For me, it's interesting to read because I see some aspects of my personality that are exactly the same nearly 17 years later, and others that are now completely different. It's also cringe-worthy for its mundaneness and complete lack of creativity.

A brief primer in preparation for this.

• I moved from Maine to Seattle, where I had no family, friends, place to live, or job lined up.


• The trip was 5000 miles instead of 3000 because I "detoured" to Los Angeles to visit my brother.


• Current cost for a room at the SeaTac Motel 6 is $44.99 per night, plus tax.


• "Sisters" turned out to be one of my favorites shows.


• Although upon arrival I expressed frustration at the concept of still being in Seattle after six months, it was all I could do to pry myself away from that wonderful city nine years later.


• Anyone who tackles a long drive should read "On the Road."


• I did not get the job at the Seattle Art Institute.


• The house where I first rented a room contained roommates, Bean, Mike, and Dave.


• Dave drove a bakery truck at the crack of dawn, and his spare time was spent at his "second job" (i.e. the race track, which he called "the plant").


• The money that funded my trek was a cashed-out pension.


• I lived in Seattle for one year before getting a television. During that first year, I became a regular at the Lake City Library, where I not only read lots of books, I used the communal computers one hour per night to journal and work on my resume, and Mavis Beacon taught me how to type correctly.


• Priscilla and Phoenix (my cats) ended up staying with my parents for nearly a year. I brought them back to Seattle with me when I returned from my friend, Pam's wedding in 1992. Phoenix never adjusted. She ran away in 1993. Priscilla remained my precious kitty love until she died in October of 1998. It is her picture below, taken from my dining room table (she was on the skylight above).

1991

June 21, 1991

A trip cross country, almost 5000 miles in 2 weeks, gone by. And I didn't write an ounce of it down. I rationalized that everything would come back easily enough when I look at the maps, motel receipts, and pictures. But I was frustrated that I couldn't write or tape things as I was driving. There were many inspirational sights, sounds, smells and events which conjured up creative literary images.

For some reason today, I decided it was time to write now. Time to write everything. I have encountered so many thoughts and emotions. If I'd written them down (or somehow recorded them), I would have filled a lot of paper space or blank tapes. It may have helped me to organize some of these many, overwhelming, and often confusing ideas.

June 22, 1991

This morning, as I was waking up, I realized where I am (Motel 6 on South 188th in SeaTac), and when that happened, it suddenly made me feel ALONE. None of my friends or family is here, and I'm having a challenging time trying to get started (anything -- job, apartment) because everyone I talk to is a stranger.

I have to go brush my teeth, throw on some clothes, and ask the girl at the desk the location of nearest laundromat when I pay another $32.02 for this room.

June 23, 1991

I was watching a show called "Sisters" last night and thinking about how hard it is to be here with my family and friends in New Hampshire, Maine, etc... . One line in the show was a younger sister saying to an older sister who was leaving town "there's nothing you'll find out there that you don't already have right here."

I've thought about that. I had it good where I was. A comfortable job, a nice apartment full of furniture and other necessary implements, close access to my friends, and regular visits to my family. It was good. Obviously something was missing, or I wouldn't have left it all behind, right? Hmmm.

I'm looking for a job and an apartment. I wanted to be idealistic and find a job I would really enjoy -- preferably in the music industry. It's tough not knowing exactly what I want. And my money's not coming from a never-ending source, so I've just got to find employment.

I interviewed at a place called Mills Music in Bothell on Friday. It's a store which sells and rents musical instruments, sheet music and supplies. A nice man, James Mills, and a beautiful store. Of course, I went in after he talked with Isaac Meyers -- grandson of the man who ran Meyers Music... a legacy in the instrument world in Seattle. James was kind enough to tell me that I was up against some pretty stiff competition. Oh well... even if I don't get hired there, I know that I can rent a piano for $39. a month!

I have an interview tomorrow at Promotions in Motion, an advertising agency. I'm hoping to be hired on the spot. Talk about optimistic. I want to start working THIS WEEK... I NEED THE MONEY! I also think it will help me to find an apartment once I'm employed.

June 24, 1991

I had it great. I had a comfortable, secure job, opportunity to be published bi-weekly, nice apartment... . I've been through this before. I'm just frustrated that I left it all behind to find something better. I know what is said about hindsight. I could have used that time to develop my writing skills and apply to other careers while employed in a stable job. But I could only possibly appreciate that opportunity after giving it up and moving 3000+ miles away.

I'm trying to find an apartment. I am now running low on money, so I want to get into a place soon. AAARRRRGGHHHH! Now I just want a job so I can pay everything off. Now I'm going to watch Nightline, about unemployment and overwhelming debt.

½ hour later...

Someone mentions that Christmas eve is 6 months from tonight and what rushes through my mind is how I'm going to buy presents and why the hell I would still be in Seattle.

June 25, 1991

Jack Kerouac never anticipated the 90s.

June 26, 1991

OK. I have a place to live. It's a little room (not that little, but not huge) with a corner window (a cool thing) in a house with three other people. I've only met one of them. It's kind of strange, but as long as nothing unusual happens between now and tomorrow when I get my keys, I'll be OK.

Now I just have to find a job. I want that job at the Seattle Art Institute. I want that job at the Seattle Art Institute.

I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE
I WILL GET THE JOB AT THE ART INSTITUTE OF SEATTLE

June 29, 1991

Saturday. What did I do on Saturdays in Maine. I think I went to New Hampshire enough that when I actually stayed in Maine, I allowed myself to vegetate. Watch movies, listen to records, clean the apartment, drive somewhere. Today, I slept til 10:00 (not really, I kept waking up 5:30, 7:00, 7:30, 8:00, etc...). Then I had an English muffin for breakfast. I talked to Dave for a little while. His 1974 Barracuda passed the state emissions test. Then he went to the track.

Bean wandered up and down for a little bit, altering (her client) Barbara's polyester skirts. Then, she went to a conference.

I ended up reading "The Carousel" by Rosamunde Pilcher, the author of the runaway best seller "The Shell Seekers." It only took 3½ hours to read. It was a good-but-predictable story. It did make me realize that if I want to write professionally, I need to be reading more often. If I read more and diversified things, I'll have a better grasp on the styles I do and don't want to emulate. I've been reading the newspaper every day for a couple weeks now. I quite enjoy it. I never bought the paper in Maine, because I never needed or wanted to.

Right now, I want to be employed more that just about anything. I'm thinking about the influx of bills I'll be getting in the mail on Monday (Mom's forwarding them to me). The only thing which allays my fears of unpaid bills is that I paid (and in some cases overpaid) all my bills before I left a month ago. So, at the most, I'm a couple weeks behind. And everything from Maine is paid --electric, phone, cable, oil, etc... . My auto insurance will be due in a month.

Anyway, I do need to start working this week. The sooner I start, the better! It's hard to imagine that on June 6th, I had $1600. cash, and as of June 29th, I have less than two dollars in loose change. I'll have to go through my receipts to figure out where it all went. I know that 17 or 18 nights in a hotel adds up quickly (17 x $30 = $510. approx.), plus $400 to move into the house. Plus gas, food, film, tolls, crates, hangers, etc... . That's where all that money went. It's not like I was being extravagant and buying souvenirs everywhere I stopped. In fact, the only things I bought for myself are postcards. I bought a gift for Gerry, and paid for gas for Denise when she drove me to Idyllwyld and back. Regardless, I knew that I would spend that money: that's what I planned to do.

I just expected to be immediately employed, and if I had been, I'd probably have my first check by now.

What a boring life I lead. I was just talking to Dave about various things, mostly rock 'n roll. It started because "Alone" by Heart was on the radio. He said "Heart: Seattle's Biggest Embarrassment." It struck me as really funny, and I howled! He said he'd met Ann Wilson about 10 years ago at a party, and she was doing major coke. The conversation led to artists, musicians, actors who invariably get involved with drugs and alcohol. It's almost a prerequisite that if you're remotely famous, you have to have a slightly scandalous lifestyle. Which leads me to the conclusion that I will never become famous due to my past, present, and presumably future straight-as-an-arrow lifestyle.

Anyway, nothing makes me feel like I’m me here. I no longer have my job, home, alma mater, family, or friends to support my sense of myself. It has been largely based on those things for a long time, so when I took them all away, I struggled with my identity. When I first got here, all I was was an unemployed nomad in a city full of strangers. It is my task to affirm myself (as a person -- not as a job or a home) within these circumstances.

It's amazing, the thought process that occurs in the absence of television. Dave has a TV in his room. He put it out in the living room for half a day, and I watched in mindlessly. But it's his TV, it's always been in his room, and unless I buy a TV, I'll be watching none of it. That will be a very good thing. I won't have to pay for cable. Although that would probably be nominal ($6.00 or so), it will be that much less to budget. I will be forced into other alternatives, such as reading, writing, and getting out and about.

Look at everything that I've written just because there's no television.

June 30, 1991

I'm not getting my cats. I just talked to my parents. The conversation was going along normally, then my mother asked if I minded if they had the cats declawed. So many things rushed through my mind that I forgot to say anything. It was obviously a longer pause than I thought, so she asked again -- or said something relative to shake me back into reality.

The things that went through my head:

• I found a place to live that would allow me to have cats so that my parents didn't have to house them for any longer than necessary.


• If they're declawed, they're going to be angry, and I won't be there to help them through recovery.


• They won't be able to travel for a couple months, probably.


• These cats are my children, and I feel like an uncaring parent who has abandoned her babies by moving cross country and leaving them with someone else to care for them.


• They are one of the few stable things in my life, and I've been shifting them around ever since I got them. Moreso, in recent months.


• My parents think I'm a freeloading, spoiled brat, and they need to be totally responsible for them.

astonished

This morning, after Ted opened the store and I set up my Twitter account, we ran a couple errands and went to IHOP for breakfast. We hadn't been there in a while, and I woke up craving cheese blintzes.

Now, I have to go backwards.

I am fat; have been most of my life. I fought it for many years, but repeatedly dieting only ever made me temporarily smaller before making me permanently bigger. I made a conscious decision to stop all attempts at weight loss when I was 22 years old, and with the exception of one moment of weakness in 1991 (old habits die hard, especially in the face of constant bombardment), I haven't dieted since.

I believe that dieting is worse for my health than fatness ever was or will be. I eat intuitively. Such a concept flies in the face of an industry that creates unfathomable methods and imposes insane rules. Luckily, I love nutritious food, so it makes up the bulk of what I eat every day. The net result is that I am simultaneously fat and healthy. It has confused every marginal health care provider I've ever had, and pleased the good ones.

Don't get me wrong. I totally love sweets, too. I have them when I want them. As my mother (and her mother, and her mother's mother) said, "all things in moderation." Smart women (of which, I count myself). My old job had a company-subsidized cafeteria, which was extremely convenient. This resulted in a nearly daily routine of a fresh salad, a can of Fresca, and a chocolate chip cookie for lunch. The diet industry and all those who have been brainwashed by it would look at that lunch and say, "Oh, you were doing so well until you added the cookie!" My intuition (and previous experience) tells me that the one cookie after my salad was perfectly acceptable (not to mention enjoyable), and probably prevented me from stopping at the store and picking up a box of Hostess cupcakes to eat in its entirety within the next 24 hours (an old trick from before I was so smart).

It was not easy getting to this point. In addition to the food aspect of this change, I also had to learn to accept myself without reservation. Although this is a lifelong process that every intelligent human must endure, I have found it to be tricky at times because world is constantly telling me that my size makes me unacceptable. It forces me to be defensive, a posture I've never embraced (hence my claim of being a "passive size activist"). That said, I had a good foundation of parental esteem-building, and once I had my own personal epiphany in 1994, most of the external barbs went away. Once in a while, a complete stranger is compelled to say something brilliant to me, but it usually the exception now, not the rule.

So back to this morning. Ted and I are two of a hundred people at the very popular pancake restaurant. The place is bustling. There's a crowd waiting in the foyer, and people standing outside. We are seated, enjoy our breakfast, and head out. Ted opens the door for me (how chivalrous!), and I keep walking toward the car while he stands in place for an elderly woman who had just been dropped off at the front door.

She said something to him, I didn't hear what. When I turned around, he was just standing there confounded, with a look of utter disbelief on his face. This stance lasted a couple of long seconds, while the old lady stood in front of him and looked at him with what appeared to be eager, nay gleeful, anticipation of an answer. I headed back toward him, and he said "I left the table" while shaking his head. She turned and walked into the restaurant.

He turned to me and said something to the effect of, "What the hell was that?" I asked him what she'd said. She said to the kind man who was holding open the door for her...

wait for it...

"Did you leave anything for me?"

Not "Good morning."

Not "Nice day, isn't it?"

Not "Thank you for holding the door for me, young man."

No. Instead, she cracked herself up with a joke that the fat man must have eaten all the food in the restaurant before she got there. I might have been able to shake that off as the type of politically incorrect thing that the elderly sometimes say because their ability to filter such things has diminished with old age. But hers was not just a rhetorical question asked for the sake of comedy. She stood there and waited for him to answer her. Usually sharp-tongued, Ted stumbled because he didn't want to be rude to her -- leading to the long pause and his "I left the table" response.

Upon telling me this story, my first response to his query ("What the hell...?") was that she was rude, plain and simple. Then I said he totally should have looked her in the eye and as seriously as possible said, "No. I ate everything. Go somewhere else." No, I wouldn't have been able to do it, either.

The whole thing left me hacked off for a while afterwards. It's interesting timing for me (which is silly because it didn't happen to me, it happened to Ted) because I have been entangling myself in the Fat Rights movement more and more these days. I have dramatically expanded the "Blogs I Read" and "Size" lists on the right side of my blog, after having spent countless hours reading them. I joined the COFRA website, and have even committed to attending the next BFB Think Tank in Chicago (circumstances allowing). I've been building myself up to see if I can shake the "passive" off my size activist descriptor, and then something stupid like this happens.

I have no neat and tidy end to this anecdote. So with that, nearly four hours of writing, editing, and otherwise formatting this silly entry, I need to go to bed. I must be up at 5:30am.

swinging shingles

It's not snowing at the moment, though it has snowed a couple times earlier today. In fact, it's snowed (to some extent) pretty much every day in the past week. There was some "wintry mix" too, and one whole day of rain. We haven't had the monster storms like the ones in December. So no giant new snow banks or parking bans. Just perpetual, daily precipitation.

The Weather Channel advises us that, although there will be a little more snow overnight, the real story now is high winds and bitter cold. I hadn't really perceived it before peeking out the curtains about 20 minutes ago, when I discovered that the lawyer's sign across the street was nearly horizontal for the wind. It's really the only swayable item in view from our front window (no flags, no trees), but it does a fine job of indicating just how much the air is moving out there.

When the wind blows, our apartment gets very cold, very fast -- especially when we set the thermostat to 60°F at night (neither of us sleeps well if it's too warm). The building is old, and the brand new, double-paned, winterized windows only partially make up for what seems to be a complete lack of insulation in the walls. Bonus, the whole building shakes in the wind. Sometimes, it shakes even if it's not windy.

The forecast says that it will be below zero in the morning when Ted leaves for work. Not below freezing: that would be a balmy 31°F in comparison. Below 0°F. I'm tiring of winter tremendously. Oh, Phil, why do you curse us so?

conflicted

Here are some things that I've thought about in the past few days, any of which I could write up in detail were I capable of allowing it to stand apart from the pack. Alas, they all mix together in a confusing and perplexing manner.

1. Virginia Tech massacre. There is nothing I can say about this without merely repeating all the sentiments of horror and disbelief being broadcast by every medium in America. The high school where two of my nephews and one of my nieces attend was locked down yesterday because of a bomb threat. Scary, scary. And so very sad.

2. Everest: Beyond the Limit. I just spent three days watching this series, which we TiVo'd last year, and have been dreaming about it every night. I came to two conclusions about these climbers: [1] They are all insane, and [2] If they survive any portion of the attempt, whether or not they summit, they are among the toughest people on earth. Still insane, but tough.

3. Planet Earth. Another riveting series (no, I don't just watch TV).

4. Hygiene, etc... . I no longer use any post-shampoo product (conditioner, mousse, hairspray) and do not blow dry my hair. I only apply make-up if I'm meeting someone I know. If I do not need to go out of the house for the day, I also save showering (but only for one day, never for two). I will not get my hair cut or colored until it's time to start interviewing. I am also only wearing my casual clothes (see next point), so as not to increase any wear and tear on my "professional" wardrobe. This may be mildly useless, as I hope to procure a new wardrobe before I re-enter the work force.

5. My recent housewife-ish day. I met a friend for lunch, then went to the grocery store, Costco, the post office, gas station, and Trader Joe's. I did household chores, cooked dinner, cleaned up afterwards, and spent a lovely evening with my husband. I was a marvel of domesticity. I went out in public wearing a sun dress and keds, but the chilly air required more so I threw on my suede jacket. I thought it was a weird combination, until I saw a woman at Stop & Shop wearing lounge pants and a fur coat.

6. Food fight. It's hard finding anything with less than 140 milligrams of sodium per serving. Go ahead, try it. Look at every box, bag, or can in your pantry, fridge, and freezer, and tell me how many you find. And I'm not even talking bout "bad" food. Try finding spaghetti sauce, cottage cheese, deli meat, or soup. "Reduced sodium" in Campbell's world means 660 mg. per serving (because regular soup has 900 mg.).

7. Christmas gifts. I have procured my first eight Christmas gifts and approximately 20 stocking stuffers. Only 251 days 'til Christmas.

8. House dreams. There is a house for sale I can't stop thinking about, even though its asbestos roof needs to be replaced, along with every single drafty, 80-year old window (about 42 of them, if I'm counting correctly). I want to live in this house. Oh yeah, and we both need new jobs as this house is approximately 200 miles from our current location. Minor detail.

9. Sanjaya was finally voted off last night. It was just wrong that LaKisha and Blake were in the bottom three. Interestingly, they seemed to be very close -- first holding hands while center stage awaiting the ejection, which didn't seem out of the ordinary (other than the fact that LaKisha was not also holding Sanjaya's hand), until we saw Blake wiping away LaKisha's tears while Sanjaya sang his goodbye. Isn't it interesting how a quick camera shot here or there can create an impression all its own, even if it's not the right one?

10. Our cats are incredibly cute. Recent evidence includes Woodle's routine of snuggling up against my bed pillows mid-morning and staying there all day long, the tuxedos performing simultaneous head baths, and Sadie randomly waking from her naps to chirp a request to be petted.

11. It's way too late for me to be up and rambling about the juxtapositions in life. Good night.

Song: "Seven Days" by Sting
Reading Material: "The Audacity of Hope" by Barack Obama
Other: See above list

the truth

Harvey Fierstein offers a sharply written op-ed piece for the New York Times. It is full of brilliant insight that should really just be common sense for everyone, but isn't.

In the midst of the whole Don Imus situation, I've found myself in a wide range of conversations with a variety of people. And I have to say, some of the points trotted out were enough to make me shake my head in amazement.

Mr. Imus seemed to rest happily on his "it was meant to be funny" apology. But it wasn't funny. What was funny about it? All it was was three powerful insults packed into three little words. I'll let Harvey take it from here.

OUR PREJUDICES, OURSELVES
By HARVEY FIERSTEIN
April 13, 2007

AMERICA is watching Don Imus’s self-immolation in a state of shock and awe. And I’m watching America with wry amusement.

Since I’m a second-class citizen — a gay man — my seats for the ballgame of American discourse are way back in the bleachers. I don’t have to wait long for a shock jock or stand-up comedian to slip up with hateful epithets aimed at me and mine. Hate speak against homosexuals is as commonplace as spam. It’s daily traffic for those who profess themselves to be regular Joes, men of God, public servants who live off my tax dollars, as well as any number of celebrities.

In fact, I get a good chuckle whenever someone refers to “the media” as an agent of “the gay agenda.” There are entire channels, like Spike TV, that couldn’t fill an hour of programming if required to remove their sexist and homophobic content. We’ve got a president and a large part of Congress willing to change the Constitution so they can deprive of us our rights because they feel we are not “normal.”

So I’m used to catching foul balls up here in the cheap seats. What I am really enjoying is watching the rest of you act as if you had no idea that prejudice was alive and well in your hearts and minds.

For the past two decades political correctness has been derided as a surrender to thin-skinned, humorless, uptight oversensitive sissies. Well, you anti-politically correct people have won the battle, and we’re all now feasting on the spoils of your victory. During the last few months alone we’ve had a few comedians spout racism, a basketball coach put forth anti-Semitism and several high-profile spoutings of anti-gay epithets.

What surprises me, I guess, is how choosy the anti-P.C. crowd is about which hate speech it will not tolerate. Sure, there were voices of protest when the TV actor Isaiah Washington called a gay colleague a “faggot.” But corporate America didn’t pull its advertising from “Grey’s Anatomy,” as it did with Mr. Imus, did it? And when Ann Coulter likewise tagged a presidential candidate last month, she paid no real price.

In fact, when Bill Maher discussed Ms. Coulter’s remarks on his HBO show, he repeated the slur no fewer than four times himself; each mention, I must note, solicited a laugh from his audience. No one called for any sort of apology from him. (Well, actually, I did, so the following week he only used it once.)

Face it, if a Pentagon general, his salary paid with my tax dollars, can label homosexual acts as “immoral” without a call for his dismissal, who are the moral high and mighty kidding?

Our nation, historically bursting with generosity toward strangers, remains remarkably unkind toward its own. Just under our gleaming patina of inclusiveness, we harbor corroding guts. America, I tell you that it doesn’t matter how many times you brush your teeth. If your insides are rotting your breath will stink. So, how do you people choose which hate to embrace, which to forgive with a wink and a week in rehab, and which to protest? Where’s my copy of that rule book?

Let me cite a non-volatile example of how prejudice can cohabit unchecked with good intentions. I am a huge fan of David Letterman’s. I watch the opening of his show a couple of times a week and have done so for decades. Without fail, in his opening monologue or skit Mr. Letterman makes a joke about someone being fat. I kid you not. Will that destroy our nation? Should he be fired or lose his sponsors? Obviously not.

But I think that there is something deeper going on at the Letterman studio than coincidence. And, as I’ve said, I cite this example simply to illustrate that all kinds of prejudice exist in the human heart. Some are harmless. Some not so harmless. But we need to understand who we are if we wish to change. (In the interest of full disclosure, I should confess to not only being a gay American, but also a fat one. Yes, I’m a double winner.)

I urge you to look around, or better yet, listen around and become aware of the prejudice in everyday life. We are so surrounded by expressions of intolerance that I am in shock and awe that anyone noticed all these recent high-profile instances. Still, I’m gladdened because our no longer being deaf to them may signal their eventual eradication.

The real point is that you cannot harbor malice toward others and then cry foul when someone displays intolerance against you. Prejudice tolerated is intolerance encouraged. Rise up in righteousness when you witness the words and deeds of hate, but only if you are willing to rise up against them all, including your own. Otherwise suffer the slings and arrows of disrespect silently.

Song: "Always Got Tonight" by Chris Issak
Reading Material: May issue of "Reader's Digest" and April 23rd issue of "Time" (still working on the book, too)
Other: Hosted a friend overnight whose building was flooded by the Nor'easter. She had a long night of our cats jumping on her, standing on her pillow and staring at her face, and even pulling curtains down which landed next to her head. I'm betting she never stays here again.

the answer

The number of questions I have asked in the last couple months is incalculable. I've wondered and doubted and worried, considering possible outcomes and repeating them countless times. The truth is that the answer has been amongst my ruminations the whole time. I just didn't recognize it as the right answer until last night. When I did, it felt like I had been released from inevitability. I thought about blogging at that moment -- to revel in my discovery, share my exuberance, quote a Queen song.

I decided to file our taxes instead.

Anyway, it was too late to talk with Ted about it: he was already asleep. So, when he headed out for work at 5:30 this morning, despite my mere 3½ hours of sleep, I bounded out of bed, became instantly focused, and followed him through the house and out to the garage, telling him every detail. He must have thought I was sleepwalking. I wasn't. I was so energized, I almost stayed awake. But I decided it made more sense to get a full night's sleep. A decision made easy by my discovery of the answer. I slept incredibly well, and woke up (again) energized by the thoughts of my next steps.

It's still scary. Don't get me wrong. I've been through major life decisions in the past, and my experience has been that the longest and most excruciating part of them is the constant contemplation leading up to the decision. Everything that follows -- as uncertain as it may be -- eventually leads to the right direction.

So, most of all, I'm relieved to have made the decision. Now, I'm also excited, nervous, petrified, and excited. Did I say that twice? The second time is for maybe being able to actually reveal all this mystery here on sanguinary blue. It may come sooner than I ever thought it would.

auf wiedersehen, adieu

“I recognize happiness by the sound it makes when it leaves.” Jacques Prévert

Is that too depressing a sentiment upon which to begin a new year? I guess I don't really care. I was going to blog late last evening, toasting in 2007 and bidding a sparkling farewell to 2006. Somehow, I changed direction long before an improved-but-still-working-on-it Dick Clark rocked in the new year.

The truth is that I go to great lengths to keep myself, my life, and this blog as upbeat and focused on the positive as possible. The simultaneous and unvarnished truth is that, sometimes, things are not so cheery. But who wants to hear about that? So, I craft and polish and hone in order to present the most chipper accounts of the most innocuous anecdotes. Oh sure, I occasionally rant, and the intermittent complaint slips through. But for the most part, it squeaks for its cleanliness.

There are reasons for that, both obvious and not. I think that a lot of it is the construction of self-fulfilling prophecy: if I act happy, I will be happy. I actually believe that it works much of the time.

Admittedly, another part of my reticence is protection. Personal struggles -- no matter how reasonable, justified, or tame -- wouldn't advance my cause should certain people read of them. I wish I could be brave. I'm not there yet. Too much depends on me keeping up the appearance. Especially now.

So, why the sour puss? My long, holiday weekend was dampened by a nasty cold. I'm still hacking and sneezing and blowing my nose beyond raw. But that's really just the icing on the cake. The cake itself is comprised of two ingredients. My symbolic window -- which I've repeatedly attempted to wrest under control in the past year -- has recently turned the tables and flung itself against me, smashing into shards, puncturing and cutting, bloodying me. A second window of a completely different sort quickly stepped into the spotlight (one day after the first attack) and similarly shattered in my face.

Clearly, the timing of these two incidents (mysterious for the purpose of this medium) are a sign that it's time for me to wake up and pay attention. I defensively assert that I had been proactively attempting to make changes for some time, albeit unsuccessfully. Irrespective of the level of my involvement in these matters now, my life (and that of my husband) will undergo significant change during 2007 because of them.

As much as I believe that the place we land will be better for us, it's remarkably difficult to remain optimistic when faced with two major life changes (one of which may create a third major life change) at exactly the same time.

I must get over this pessimism in precisely nine hours and three minutes. Don't expect much in the way of updates here. Maybe there will be a day when the true identity of the windows can be revealed. Until then, I'll crank up saliva production and grab a polishing rag so that future entries will be spit-shined and spiffy.

~~~
Completely not related. During the holidays and my maniac music uploading, I ended each entry with the song that was playing at the time. There's no specific need to do that anymore (not that I needed to do it then), yet I'm compelled to continue with the practice.

Having finally uploaded every song I own on CD (song count: 16922) and having completed the annual ritual of holiday music immersion, I now get to listen the whole of my non-holiday library and tend to little details -- song titles transposed, missing album art, other details that need to be fixed in the database. One of the more pressing tasks is to rate the songs on a 1-5 scale. This will allow me to create smart playlists of only my very favorite songs by genre or other such combined criteria (I love iTunes).

Sometimes, this is more difficult than it should be. I think it should be a scale of 1-10. Three is too broad on the 1-5 scale. If "5" is classic, and "4" is excellent, then "2" is mediocre, and "1" is bad. The "3" star rating has to accommodate both songs that are perfectly good and those that are better than mediocre but not among my favorites. Yes, the scale to 10 would be better.

Moot point because I can't change it! So, the song playing as I finished my entry needed a rating. It's from the 70s, and thus has been around long enough that (providing its innate quality as a song) could be categorized as "classic." But it's one of the more sweet, gentle (dare I say, cheesy?) songs of that decade (or ever, really), and the critic in me debates the fifth star under those circumstances. It clearly deserves the four stars, for its staying power and quiet insidiousness. Hmmm. An interesting conundrum.

For your listening pleasure, here is "Diary" by Bread.

this can't wait

I don't blog at work. Ever. Well, a couple times during lunch when I first started blogging two years ago. But since then, never.

It's snowing. Just the teensiest bit. Minuscule flakes blowing around madly, like confectionery sugar in a blender. Last night, after seeing the Seahawks beat the Broncos (but just barely, and I reassert, Josh Brown rules!), the New York network news said potentially significant snow was on its way, but the Connecticut network news said it would miss us.

What is falling now seems to be somewhere in the middle of those predictions. Or it's just the beginning. In which case, I should have listened to the New York news because, not only do I not have my heavy coat, scarf, gloves, or other winter accoutrement, I'm wearing sandals. Yeah. Sandals. Oops.

Interesting thing is that this past Friday night, it was so warm, we turned on the air conditioning. In December. The whole world's gone kooky!

Sure is pretty, though. And festive. I guess I'll tolerate the cold toes for today.

"What Christmas Means to Me" by Paul Young (via the iPod, in the Logic 3 iStation in my office)

give me the stuff, part i

This music uploading thing is like an addiction. I love it and can't pull myself away. A CD goes in, magic whirling occurs, and when the chime sings (indicating that all the tracks have been imported), I must remove the disc and start all over again. There's never a time when the chime tells me, "this is the last one for now, Kelly, go and take a break."

So obsessed am I with transferring songs that I decided to forgo my extra half hour of sleep this morning, and I got up at 5:00am to move more music. I should have left for work at 6:30am: that still would have been a reasonable amount of progress for so freakin' early in the morning. But I couldn't stop. I left at 7:15am. And as soon as I got home tonight, I hastily gave my husband a kiss and the cats some ear scratches on the path to my desk for more uploading.

Thankfully, the lure of baked salmon with pesto, rice pilaf, and fresh broccoli, cauliflower, carrots, and green beans was strong enough to take me away from it for a while. Ted and I chatted while enjoying our repast, and then we caught up on TiVo. As soon as Prison Break was done, guess where I went? Um, to where I came? That is, where I am now?

Yeah. I'm here. At my computer. Uploading more discs. I can't write any more tonight. I have to get some sleep, in order to be able to wake up at 5:00am and start all over again. Maybe I could just sleep at the desk, in three minute increments.

Song count (at this moment, but constantly increasing): 6935. In case you were wondering, that's 882 songs... today alone. And 2852 since I started counting one week ago yesterday. Yep. I'm addicted.

"Mr. Solitaire" by Animal Nightlife (an alternative 80s flashback of epic proportion)

saturday stuff, part ii

It's just wrong to have this much energy on a Saturday morning. I'm blazing through my list, tasks falling to the strikethrough of my PaperMate stickball pen. Silly, to be this excited about doing chores. Hmmm.

Anyway, I'm not going to address in this entry any of the more thoughtful topics about which I'd hoped to blog. That would require too much distraction from the joy of housework! I'm certain my energy will wane later today, and contemplating deep thoughts will be a nice respite.

Instead for now, I'll just make this observation. As I listen to the shuffled songs of my iTunes library, I am struck by two simultaneous thoughts.

Thought 1A. It's great to hear the songs that, to this point, have not been on iTunes/my iPod (which I use at work). It makes the random combination that much more interesting, and I get to listen to music I like that I just haven't listened to much.

Thought 1B. The new additions to the shuffle seem to intensify my awareness of all the music that hasn't been added yet. I hear a recently imported track, and it makes me think about another album by the artist or a different artist.

It's a paradox. But I'll survive. Thought 1A is strong enough to get me through. Current song count: 5138.

"Holding Out for a Hero" by Frou Frou (interestingly, another cover song... this one a Bonnie Tyler song)

ear drums

Sometime circa 1998, when I worked in my company's Costco account office in Issaquah, Washington, I had a weird experience. In our long, narrow space, everytime I walked down the hallway by the photocopier/fax area in the middle of the office, I heard this high pitched tone beeping at even intervals. I inspected all of the equipment and questioned the admin sitting there if she could hear anything. She couldn't. I went back to my desk at the far end of the office and forgot about it.

That is, until I had to walk down the hallway and past this same spot again. This noise made me realize just how many times in a day I walked back and forth in the office. On the next day, when I discovered that a dark evening did nothing to abate the sound, I started searching the perimeter. Not wanting to be too intrusive, I inquired of each office's resident. Could they hear the noise? Might it be a cell phone or pager or watch with an alarm? In a briefcase or coat pocket?

Over the next couple days, after interviewing everyone (one by one, spaced out so as not to be obsessively pursuing the answer to the neglect of my job), I was at my wit's end. On Friday of that week, I realized that I had not looked in the office of my friend, John, who was one of our account managers and was traveling on business that week. I don't know why I didn't think of it because it was right across the narrow hallway from the area where I'd best heard the sound all week. When I went into the office, the noise got noticeably louder! I was finally onto something!

I casually looked around -- again looking for a forgotten watch with a relentless alarm -- and found nothing. Later that day, John called, and I interrogated him over the phone. He could think of no such device that would be making a noise, and invited me to go through any unlocked drawers or cabinets to see what I could find. He had a lot of product samples, so it was possible there was something there that he'd forgotten about.

I conducted my authorized search and still came up empty-handed. Resigned, I went home for the weekend not knowing the source of my week-long irritation. All my office-mates were confused: not a single one of them could hear it.

When John returned to the office on Monday, we paired up to do an in-depth search. We eventually ended up at a very small piece of plastic that was plugged into an outlet on his office wall. I had seen it and presumed it was a sample air freshener. Once up close, it was clear that this thing was beeping high pitched tones at even intervals. Upon this realization, John exclaimed that he knew what it was!

This device was a sonic insect repellent. It sent off high frequency beeps that -- theoretically -- only bugs and mice and other pests could hear. The beeps would make them crazy, and they would leave the building. Hmmm. I guess that meant that I wouldn't be buying that particular product, as it would have driven me crazy!

Now, fast forward seven years or so. A product was created by a Welsh security company that employed a high pitch tone to repel a different kind of "pest" -- teenagers! Used by shopkeepers to drive away the youth loitering in front of the stores, the device's tone could not be heard by most adults. I remember reading about this last year, and found it intriguing (especially in light of my own high frequency encounter). Then I forgot about it.

But a New York Times article today reports that the teenagers now have their revenge. The sound has now been turned into a ring tone. So they can have audial confirmation of a text message or incoming call on their cell phones while sitting in class. And although their friends will all know it, their teacher (in many instances) will be oblivious. This cracks me up.

This article is the most emailed article for the Times today, and I think I know why. It's not really because parents want to be well-informed as to what ruse their kids might be employing to deceive them. It's because the article includes a link where you can play the tone. The trick, of course, is that those of a certain age will not be able to hear it, even though there's visual confirmation that the sound file is playing.

Naturally, given my bug repellent experience, I had to try it out for myself. Not knowing what the frequency of the bug repellent, I'm at a slight disadvantage. And the fact that I was 32 years old at the time of that incident muddied the experiment further. So, the fact that I could not hear the ring tone merely confirmed that my ears are on par with other 40-year-olds. Ted couldn't hear it either. I'm tempted to play it and see if the cats react, but they're all sleeping so peacefully, I can't bring myself to do it.

To segue from that thought to a separate topic, our friends at Cute Overload are doing it again.
Check out some of their recent kitty coverage:

OK, here is where I'd be inserting pictures. But, although I was finally able to put my pictures into the "seattle, part i" entry tonight, Blogger is no longer allowing me the privilege. So, until that honor is returned to me, you'll simply have to following these three links.

Marmalade kitten on white blanket... wait, that's not a blanket!
Siamese wrestling cats
What kind of games does your cat play?

I have to go to bed. Between Blogger kinks and my crappy computer, it takes far too long to put together a pathetic little story like this one. At my current rate, I'll be on my next vacation to somewhere interesting (Europe? Montana? back to Hawaii?) before I finish the recap of this past vacation.

Good. Night. Harrumph.

dad and the 'stang

I love this piece. Even more, I love that the Times resisted the urge to wait until Fathers' Day weekend to run it.

earthling jerks

Leave it to us humans to brazenly lay claim to territory that so completely isn't ours. It wasn't bad enough when we first stepped onto the moon's surface, hitting golf balls and planting the American flag. Now, we're actually going to crash forcefully into it without regard for the damage we'll inflict upon it.

Why? Because it serves our purposes. Because we think we have a right. Because we're too obtuse to think that other living creatures might already be there (even if they don't meet the narrow criteria for "life" that we've established as absolute). Because we're cocky and overconfident and brash. Because we got away with forcefully taking land we wanted before (even if it did decimate indigenous cultures like Native Americans and Aborigenes).

Maybe it's the poet in me. The moon is beautiful and mysterious, and maybe I think it should stay that way. Maybe it's the Trekkie in me, thinking it's best not to interfere. Maybe it's just too early in the morning for me to be reading about this sort of thing.

Off to work for me. Maybe I'll see the moon, translucent in its morning descent, lazily heading off to its daytime sleep.

Click here for an explanation for this photo of the moon.

too ambitious?

One of the judges on AI said it well tonight... "that song was too big for you." That happened a lot because they attempted to take on Queen songs. Freddie Mercury's shoes are just not easily filled. I'm reducing my comments tonight, not only because the performances weren't collectively all that interesting, but also because my whole life is condensed these days. 16-hour work shifts wreak havoc with personal interests.

So, in a nutshell, here's my American Idol banter for April 11, 2006.

Elliott Yamin still amazes me. I love love love his voice. He was one of the few people able to pull off Queen, largely because of the specific song he chose ("Somebody to Love"). Again, my age is betrayed when I find myself completely surprised that the contestants don't know a song at all (how can you not know this song?), but despite his newness to it, he did an excellent job.

And Taylor Hicks returned to form with a kick-ass version of "Crazy Little Thing Called Love." Sure his microphone stand kicking routine didn't go to plan, and he did look a bit manic jumping and running and spinning and such. But he embodied the song with every fiber of his being, and did a fine job of infusing his own personality while giving appropriate homage to Queen.

Those were my only two votes tonight. Bucky did well in his own Bucky style, but still doesn't hold up for this competition. His hair, however, is gradually becoming TV commercial beautiful (when it's down and the shaved part isn't visible). Ace was eh-all-right. The notes were there, but the spark was missing. Kellie Pickler was like some weird Frankenstein monster -- a blend of Lita Ford, Bonnie Tyler, and any random domanatrix in high black leather stiletto boots. And she was in way over her head with "Bohemian Rhapsody." Katharine McPhee was surprisingly off-key (or as the judges say, pitchy) and a bit intense. Paris Bennett looked like she was playing Tina Turner dress-up. She looked afraid that someone was going to catch on that she was in disguise. That said, the singing was fine but nothing tremendous. Who am I missing? Oh, Chris Daughtry. He did well, in the familiar style he's gotten us accustomed to. I agree with Simon Cowell that it was a bit indulgent. And of all the Queen songs to choose, he picks "Innuendo." Huh?

That's it for AI tonight. I wonder why Ryan no longer closes with "Seacrest out."

Random observation of the day. As if it weren't interesting enough that Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin's first baby was named "Apple," they have just had a second, a son, and named the poor child "Moses." And I thought Freddie Mercury's shoes were big to fill! I discovered that there's some history with that name for the Martins. Or maybe they were inspired by the current showings of "The Ten Commandments" (both new and old). Who knows.

OK, time for sleep. Some day in the future, maybe I'll write about water and warmth and the wonderful new Take 6 album. Or I'll come back around to windows (I'm still fingering that rock). Or I'll post pictures of all the marvelous spring blossoms -- forsythia, magnolia, crocus, hyacinth, daffodils -- if I ever get around to taking pictures. Some day, when life is slower.

mad at the sun

My desk faces four very large windows. I love having windows in my office. I understand why people try so hard to get offices when this is one of the benefits.

I've had to adapt somewhat as the afternoon sun blazes a trail from left to right. There are curtains I can draw, but for some inexplicable reason, they've been fashioned from extremely loose weave linen. So their effectiveness is blocking out glare is limited.

Usually, I can rearrange myself in such a way as to be behind one of the window frames with just enough width to cast a shadow on my eyes. Sure, I have to slowly move as the sun does, but it's no big deal. Today, however, perhaps because of a combination of crankiness and weather, I can't get a handle on the sun situation.

There are fluffy, misshapen clouds being blown about at such a high rate of speed that the sun has effectively become a strobe light. It shines, it hides, it shines, it hides, it shines, it hides. Because of the thin edges of the clouds, it's not so drastic as a light being turned on and off. It's a dimming and brightening. It shines, it hides, it shines, it hides. I have work to do, and it's a terrible distraction. I'm too impatient for the sun's playful antics today.

an opinion about christmas

I love Christmas. I cherish the traditions and luxuriate in spirit of the day that literally lasts more than a month for me. This is easy for me to say. I was raised a Christian. I am also fortunate that my father is one of Santa's most dedicated helpers ever.

This year, it's been hard to listen to the debate raging over the use of the terms "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays." Are people really fighting about this? Yes, they are, and with every fiber of their being. I found one site with some interesting perspectives on both phrases. I've read countless articles and heard news pieces on NPR about the contention of the day.

Here is my opinion on these phrases.

When I say the words "Merry Christmas" to someone, it is with the hope that I might share my joy of the season. I say it confidently to people who I know appreciate and accept it and will not be offended by it. If I encounter someone whose religious affiliation I don't know, I use "Happy Holidays" (or some variation such as "I hope your holidays are nice"). I have always found this phrase to be particularly inclusive, as it can cover Christmas, Hanukkah, or any other religious or cultural celebration that occurs in December. Bonus that it throws good wishes for the new year, too.

I understand that some Christians may feel slighted because Christmas is not embraced in the public arena as it was years ago. But I also understand the reason for that. It is about inclusivity again. Our country was founded on the right to religious freedom. It has attempted to build on that by creating a structure of government that is separate from religion (although it doesn't do it well, but that's a rant for another day). To me, it makes sense when the President and First Lady send cards in December that say "Happy Holidays" because, no doubt, some percentage of the 100,000 recipients is not Christian.

Where I cease to understand what's going on is when people insist that the phrase "Happy Holidays" is somehow slighting Christmas. That by addressing all religions, it is excluding Christianity. That doesn't make sense to me. It is including all religions.

There are those who are literally fighting to force people to use the phrase "Merry Christmas" because they feel attacked as Christians by the insult of "Happy Holidays." Let's repeat that: they want to force people to say "Merry Christmas." Have they thought about how they'd feel if a vocal group of Jewish people strong-armed "Happy Hanukkah" into the parlance?

These same people want to force government buildings to have Christmas trees. I love Christmas trees. Love them. I think it's beautiful and wonderful and grand when City Hall lights up a huge spruce tree in the front lawn. But if the municipality in question doesn't want to single out one religion, can't it simply attempt to embrace all the appropriate religions who celebrate a holiday? What's wrong with having a nice Star of David on the front of the building, behind the Christmas tree? One does not negate the other. What if that vocal group of Jewish people strong-armed the Star of David in lieu of the Christmas tree?

Personally, I respect that there are people who don't celebrate Christmas. I still want to share my joy of the season with them, and am happy to wish them well with their own religious celebration (plus those good tidings for a happy new year).

I think nothing but good can come from wanting other people to be happy.

I'm amazed that the desire to spread joy has degenerated into religious squabbling. It's no wonder people are cranky instead of happy this holiday season.

shhhhhh

it's snowing here. just the teensiest bit. it'll never stick, 41 degrees. the wind intermingles flakes and leaves and flings them all about recklessly. now it's harder to see the white bits from the brown bits. bound to end at any second. meteorologists forecast nothing about it. distant patches of blue reveal hints of sunshine. there will be no evidence remaining of this precipitation. it's my little secret. winter is here.

hurt and hope

I've had this picture saved for a couple weeks, since it ran in MSNBC's The Week in Pictures. I haven't posted it because other things have been going on. Well, here it is now.


The caption said, "First-grader Derrius Richardson, right, comforts Magan Franklin on Oct. 3 on the first day of school at Harahan Elementary School in Harahan, Louisiana. Magan was forced to leave her previous school, Chalmette Christian Elementary in St. Bernard's Parrish, because of the effects of Hurricane Katrina. Her home was also flooded. She spent much of her first morning at her new school crying."

This picture affected me on a few levels. I can relate to Magan: she looks like I did at that age, and like a couple of my nieces not long ago. It breaks my heart to think of what she's going through, and how hard it must be for her comprehend everything that's happening when there's a country full of grown-ups who don't understand it. It also breaks my heart that this aching photo shows just one girl going through that pain, when there are hundreds of thousands of other people in similar predicaments.

The other side of the coin is in Derrius. I can relate to her, too. Her friendly face reminded me of when a new kid showed up in my first grade class, and I befriended him as if he'd been there all along. Her eyes seem simultaneously full of hope and compassion -- and she's six years old.

Every time I look at this picture, it brings tears to my eyes. For the hurt of Magan's pain, and for the hope of Derrius's friendship.

~~~
Real post time 12:49am

unfallen

Connecticut experienced a long hot summer this year. It started in early June and finished in mid-October, with plenty of swelter and misery in between. Electric bills have been high heading into a fifth month to keep the house cool. Yes, there was the occasional reprieve, but as exception not rule. There hasn't been a frost yet. The result is almost a complete lack of autumn thus far. By the 22nd of October, we should be hurtling toward (if not entrenched in) peak foliage, but things are barely starting to change.

The harbingers of autumn began turning in mid-September, and more than a month later, even they are not even in full color. The heavy rain of the past two weeks has beaten other tree bits off, mostly pine needles and dead leaves from the weak trees. Everything else is holding on for dear life.

Temperatures have started to drop recently, and the transformation should speed up now. But I wonder if it will just be a mass exodus with leaves turning, dying, and falling in an abbreviated period of time. There are predictions that the upcoming winter is going to be very cold and snowy.

I fear the autumn will be lost.

Christmas is only two months away, and I'm way into it. There are still a few gifts we need to get, and I'm finishing up the stocking contents. I've started our annual holiday newsletter, and have even allowed myself to listen to a few Christmas songs on my iPod. It would be nice to prepare on chilly autumn days where shopping trips are punctuated by crisp fall air and drives down winding roads lined with vividly colored trees. I may have to deal with a different reality and adapt accordingly. But I'll miss autumn.

the things that can't be seen

I have a cold. Big deal, right? Everyone gets colds. The drag for me is that a bout with EBV about nine years ago permanently damaged my immune system, resulting in the ability of this little cold germ to hang on for months. If the past eight winters are any indication, chances are I'll be blowing my nose until about April.

Here's a fun Kelly factoid. In 2001, a local grocery store was going out of business. In the process of clearing out the inventory, 3-packs of my favorite tissues were sold for a ridiculously low price. Ever the bargain shopper and deserving of my husband's nickname for me, "Boogie Girl" (which has nothing to do with dancing), I proceeded to purchase every single one -- 108 full-size boxes in all. Several shelves on our storage rack in the garage were dedicated to housing them, and it was the kind of year for me that required regular restocking trips to that rack. Although it was interesting and even a little fun not to have to buy tissues for almost a year, when we did the numbers, we realized that I was going through one family-size box of tissues about every three days.

So, am I doomed to another winter of a constantly uncooperative nose? Or might I be able to shake it in the standard 1-2 weeks?

I need to just pipe down about the itty-bitty inconvenience of a cold that could possibly last six months. As I've said before, if [insert_current_issue_here] is the biggest thing I have to worry about in my life, then I am spectacularly blessed. Still, it's too easy to get caught up in personal minutiae. Since Times Square's Waterford crystal ball descended into the year 2005, life has been particularly challenging for me. A couple months into it, conversations with family, friends, and co-workers uncovered the fact that I was not alone in having a challenging year. With this kind of concurrence, I usually attribute it to the alignment of the stars. Makes as much sense as any other explanation.

Now tsunamis, hurricanes, floods, earthquakes, mudslides, drought, the melting ice cap, avian flu, and other various natural disasters seem to indicate that, in fact, the universe itself is having a challenging year. Maybe it really is astronomical. Maybe it's all just cyclical. Maybe there's some greater force behind it all -- hidden to those of us who either experience the pain or witness it.

A few months ago, Ted and I visited a small town in New Hampshire we'd never been to before. It wasn't just a town we happened to drive through, it was our destination. We admired it for the pretty trees and lake, the one-intersection downtown, and the lovely quiet. Last week, in the midst of a long, rainy spell in New England, that town was all over the national news because its lake overflowed, the dam broke, the whole town became submerged in water, and numerous houses literally floated away. Every byline on every story about the weather in New England was from this town. We had nothing to do with that town before our visit, but somehow this disaster feels personal. Our thoughts and prayers are with the residents of Alstead.

Ick. Too much ick this year. I have to go to bed. NyQuil, Vicks VapoRub Cream, and a box of tissues await me.

~~~
Real post time 1:17am. No mariachi band tonight. Downright quiet, short of my coughing outbursts.