Fran's Ramblings

Shaking things up

On FaceBook, I threw out the idea of having a guest blogger every Friday.  I've been at this for about three years now, and it occurs to me that maybe I'm getting stagnant.  I know I've hit a block on topics.

This Friday, a lovely lady named Kathy Collings has stepped up to the plate, and I know you'll make her welcome as you have all my guest bloggers.  Who knows what she'll talk about -- I can't wait! -- and while she and I don't know yet if it'll turn into a regular gig, it's a start.

And if anyone else out there has had something floating through his or her head that you'd think would be a decent, timely, provocative or funny blog entry, feel free to let me know and we'll work things out.

But what's been interesting to me during this last two days off is the fact that I missed writing.  I didn't have much of anything to say here, but I did miss the actual sitting down and typing part.  I've even talked to Lillian about finding some of my previous stuff which is trapped somewhere on my old hard drive and pulling it out to read through and polish up.

I can't help thinking this is a good thing.

We're going into a new year, and change is a part of life.  I'm not good at accepting changes; I'm generally the one in the corner, eyes scrunched closed, fingers in my ears, hollering "Lalalalalalala!" and pretending things are the way they always were.

But the fact is, change is inevitable and good. Well, I'm hoping it's good. 

Anyway, I'm giving this a shot.  Maybe it'll work, maybe it won't.  But I do feel that I've gotta do something to shake things up a little, and having Kathy in to take over for at least one post is a small step.

I can't help thinking that there are big changes afoot for the new year, and I'm all for ushering them in.

So any feedback you've got is appreciated, or any suggestions you've got for shaking things up, either here or anywhere, shout it out!

Have a great Monday, y'all!

The season of. . .eh.

I was chatting with a friend on FaceBook and he asked for our address because he and his fiancee' were doing their Christmas cards and he wanted to send me one.  I was flattered and surprised, not just that he wanted to include us in their card generosity, but by the cards themselves.

I was totally unprepared for it to be Christmas card time. 

Sure I'm aware of the calendar date -- HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIL! -- but somehow it never gelled into Christmas/holiday/festivities.

This year I'm sort of removed from the whole thing.

We've got lights up at the shop and a holiday book display that takes up the better part of one wall.  We've got cards coming to the shop and I've got them up in their usual spot.  We've sorted out the whole holiday schedule insofar as we can, and it's just like any other year.

But I'm not really a part of it.

Tonight Lillian and I walked into the grocery store past the trees and wreaths and I thought, "Pretty" and "Smells nice" but I didn't feel an overwhelming urge to get either.  I like wreaths, and I think we've got a spiffy holder for hanging one.  We've always gotten a tree, and we even know where we want to put it.

But. . .eh.  Why bother?  It's a hassle.

If Ryan wasn't living here, I suspect it would be a complete non-issue since I get the feeling that Lillian's on the same wavelength, although we haven't talked about it. But he is, so we're gonna have to address it, probably this weekend.

And it's not a financial reticence either.  Okay, not entirely financial, although that is a component.  For some reason this year I'm disinterested in spending money on foliage.  I'm not even entirely sure I want to expend the electricity on lights in the window, and up until now I've LOVED lights in the window!

I'm not sure what's going on, honestly.

I know I'm kinda flirting with an aspect of depression and have been for a while, but that's not entirely it.  Somehow the Christmas spirit has passed me by this year.

And the thing is, intellectually I'd seriously love having the big ol' Douglas fir or blue spruce with branches so thick and full that you've gotta wedge the ornaments in, doing up the house with the usual holiday frou-frou that we've accumulated over the years.  I'd love to have the whole damn family here so I could bustle around all Christmas Day cooking and recycling wrapping paper and gathering up bows, listening to Christmas songs (I have 5.5 hours of Christmas music on my iPod), watching holiday movies and generally being the Norman Rockwell, 21st century edition, family.

But my heart's not in it.  Even if Ty and Liv were up here, I'm not sure I would be, although seeing them would be so exciting that it might jump-start things.  But they're going to be in their new house and I know they're going to be having a blast. 

Is that part of my incipient depression?  Maybe.  But I never thought we'd see them this Christmas, so it's not like it's a let down.  It is what it is. 

Maybe that's why I keep whining about wanting it to snow.  Perhaps I believe that if it snows, I'll feel like it's really Christmas.

I dunno. 

But I do know that I haven't even thought about Christmas cards this year, so I think I can safely tell you that you won't be getting one from us.  I could be wrong, of course.  I might wake up tomorrow with my sense of Christmas purpose fully functional and raring to go.

Right now though? 

Eh.  Not so much.

Is anyone else experiencing Christmas ennui?  Or is this just my little slice of the world right now?

Anyway, happy Friday!  I hope you have a good one, and have a great weekend too!

Let it snow -- and brain damage too!

It's a cold clear night, and I wish like hell it would snow.

Oh sure, some of you are experiencing blizzards and you think I'm insane, but I have my reasons.  I do.  No really, I do!

Mostly because if it's snowing, that means that particulates are coming OUT of the air and the burn ban will be lifted and we can have a fire again.  Right now I'm bundled under both Lillian's and my qwillows, I have my heated gloves on, and I talked Lillian into turning up the heat in the house. 

But I'm still freezing.

So I want it to snow, because if it rains at this temperature it'll just freeze and then I'll slip in the driveway and bust my butt.  And the only other way for the smoggy gunk in the air to be removed is wind, and that means wind chill, which means even colder temperatures. 

So I want it to snow.  Which means, of course, it won't. 

See?  You thought I was nuts.  I have my reasons. So there.

Besides, I like snow.  In smallish doses.  One blizzard is kinda cool.  An entire winter of them is just freakish.  Or the upper mid-West.  But you'll notice I don't live there any more.  There's a reason and it wasn't the mosquitos.

So here I sit, bundled up, wishing like hell for snow. 

And thinking about Andi's comment to my post yesterday, because, of course, she's right.  My neurons do misfire.  I know this.  I'm cool with it.  Sure, part of it's genetic -- my brother has similar issues, as I recall -- but part of it I blame on religion and brain damage.

Yes, I said it.  Religion is to blame, at least in part.  Although I can't prove it. 

See, I'm brain damaged.  Oh sure, yeah, some of you say you've known that for years, smart-alecks.  Don't think I don't know who you are! 

And it's not the Bill Cosby sort of brain damage, although I'm certain he's right. 

 

No, this is probably scientifically provable.  Here's the story.

My maternal grandmother was a devout Christian Scientist.  So my mom was raised that way and, obviously, I was to follow in their footsteps. 

You see where this is going, right?

Long story short, I got rubella (also known as German measles) when I was younger, but instead of getting a nice rash and a light fever, I ran a kick-ass fever for about three days.  Well over 100, and as I recall being told, up to 104 on more than one occasion. 

But with no medical attention, since everyone was praying it away for me, there were complications.  Most of the calcium from my teeth was leached out to save my bones, for example.  And I can't help but believe that there were bound to be some small burps in my mental capacities because of it.

So my neurons don't fire right all the time, and I smell things that aren't there, and don't always smell the things that are.

Still, that's no reason to pick on me for wanting snow! 

The weather folks say there may be snow flurries here in the next couple of days, anywhere from tomorrow to Sunday.  I don't believe them.  Bah, say I.  And humbug too.  I think they're lying to make me forget about the fact that it's cold and I am sitting here fireless.

Nasty liar-heads.

Anyway, that's why this was intended to be a short post, but I guess I got a little distracted along the way. 

Look!  Something shiny! 

That isn't snow.  Ah well.  At least with the furnace kicking in, my gloves on and two qwillows trapping the heat, I'm getting warmer.

I hope you're warm where you are, and if you have a spare snowflake or two, you could send it up to me!

The nose. . .has no clue

I have a genetically disfunctional sense of smell.  It's what's known in our family as  "the Tenzler nose", not because of its shape, but because it works by its own set of rules.

It's not that I have no sense of smell.  I do.  But it took years to figure out that the things I can and can't smell aren't quite the same as everyone else's.

Have you ever gotten drunk and had that deep, incredibly boring conversation about "is the color blue you see the same as the color blue I see"?  It's like that.  Are the receptors in my nose interpreting that smell of baking bread in the same way yours are?  No idea.

So how did we discover I've got the family oddity? 

Because there are some things I can't smell.  They simply don't register for me. 

Like spoiled milk.  I can't always tell if milk is spoiled.  In fact, unless it's completely curdled, I probably can't, and even then, I can't always tell.  That's led to some horrifically chunky glasses of milk.  Yeah, I know. 

I can't tell you how many strange looks I get when I open a carton of milk and then offer it to someone else and ask them to sniff it.

But, on the upside for everyone else, that means that I'm the one who gets to clean the fridge. 

People ask me if it affects my sense of taste, since smell and taste are so linked.  My response is always, "How would I know?"  I've had this all my life.  I can taste things, certainly.  I love food.  But there's that pesky unanswerable question again.  Is the taste of the apple I'm enjoying the same as the one you are?  No clue.

Are there things I can't taste?  I'm sure there are.  But if they're components in a dish, then they are invisible to me.  And I don't go around tasting individual items just to see if I can. 

However there is a strange aspect to having this weird sense of smell: I sometimes smell things that aren't there.

Lillian's gotten used to me asking, "Do you smell that?"  And I'm completely comfortable hearing that no, that smell isn't around.  But it's either annoying or amusing to be unable to trust what I smell.  Still, I'm used to it.

And you have to admit that there are some strange smells out there.  I know a lady in Denver who swears she knows when it's going to snow because the air smells like cow poop.  I have no idea whether or not that's true by everyone's perceptions, but I'm positive she knows what she's talking about.

Once in a while, though, my sense of smell leaves me bemused. 

It's been very cold, by Seattle standards, and walking in the crisp, very cold air has convinced my nose to, I dunno, either go on strike or overreact.  I can't decide which.

Tonight on the walk home from the bus stop, I discovered I was thinking about Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners.  There was a smell in the air I associate with either or both.  Three blocks, this smell haunted me because I couldn't put my metaphorical finger on it, except that I associated it with holiday meals.

Not turkey.  Not sage from stuffing.  Not mashed potatoes or fresh baked rolls.  Not pumpkin pie.

No, for three very long blocks, all I could smell were black olives.

So be aware, if you ask me to smell something, remember that you can't trust my answer!

 

Rays of hope

I've been trying to come up with a blog post about the upcoming legalized slaughter in Uganda, but I can't find anything to say that hasn't already been said.

For those who don't know, there's legislation pending in Uganda that would make being homosexual a crime, which is nothing new, really.  But the penalties?  Those are nasty.  To participate in a homosexual act will land you jail time of up to 14 years. "Aggravated homosexuality", whatever that may be taken to mean, would receive the death penalty.  There are jail sentences of up to 3 years for failure to inform on someone who is gay, and any Ugandan who participates in homosexual activity outside of Uganda is subject to extradition and punishment.

From what I've read, there's a serious push to consider most gay action as "aggravated".  The feeling is that if all the gays are killed off, problem solved.

This legislation has been weakly denounced by the religious right groups who have some influence over in Uganda, and the silence out of the White House is deafening.  Only last week did the State Department begin to take notice.

It was observed on the Rachel Maddow show that one of the most consistent exports the United States has is homophobia.

But there have been some points of light in the last few days, and I think it's important to acknowledge them, celebrate the good things.  Don't you?

For example, Reverend Mary Glasspool has been appointed as a associate Episcopalian bishop in Los Angeles, and she's gay.  You go, Rev. Glasspool!

Pastor Joseph Tolton of Rehoboth Temple wrote, " “For those of us in faith who have always loved the black church, the defining issue of our lives has been the church's damning stance on homosexuality. As children, the condemnation broke our spirit. As adolescents, this ridicule broke our hearts. As young adults, this disdain has attempted to drive us to the brink. Spiritual violence is wrong and it kills the spirit. The black church must find new ways to talk about sex and sexuality."  Thank you, Pastor Tolton!

It looks like DC will have marriage equality, and in New Jersey, the Senate Judiciary Committee approved the "Freedom of Religion and Equality in Civil Marriage Bill", which may very well pass, and since Jersey doesn't indulge in referenda, once it's there, it's there.  Wahoo!

And in the Twin Cities, the Quakers there have decided not to certify any more opposite sex marriages until they are allowed to certify same sex marriages.  They said, ""We're simply trying to be consistent with the will of God as we perceive it," said Paul Landskroener, clerk of the Twin Cities Friends Meeting, in an interview with MPR's All Things Considered on Monday."  What's especially important to note here is that this is a decision by the congregation.  The Friends don't have pastors or preachers or things like that.  It's just the group, making decisions.

Southern Utah University's board of trustees voted UNANIMOUSLY to extend protections to LGBT students against discrimination.  Utah, folks!

And so has the Ohio Council of Churches, insisting that fairness is important.  It gives me hope!

So yes, I do hope that people in power start standing up to Uganda, that the United States government takes a stand for civil rights for all people, not just the popular ones.  I hope and pray that Uganda's government will modify its proposed legislation.

But I take heart at the great steps, however small, that are being taken here too.  Thank you, everyone who's standing up in the hurricane and doing what's fair, simply because it's the right thing to do!

Now, on a different note, J. D. Rhoades is conducting a survey over on his blog about how you've been treated in the "Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays" controversy.  He's a nice guy, so pop on over and put in your two cents' worth, please!

 

 

Presentation isn't everything

Yesterday we had dinner with Andi Marquette and Joan Opyr after Andi's signing, which was fabulous.  She's a star!  Well, okay, they both are, and we had fun all the way around.

If you haven't read their books, do.  Just sayin'.

So we went to this Fairly Nice restaurant.  Not one of the Incredibly Spendy ones, but better than, say, Dennys.  Linen napkins and water with lemon.  You know.

It was cold for Seattle yesterday, has been all weekend, come to that, and I was teasing Joan (who's from Idaho and has had to deal with snowplows already) and Andi (who's from just south of Denver and has had to deal with over 18" of snow last month alone) with being wusses because they were freezing here.  Sure it was about 35 degrees, but it wasn't even raining!

Still, they maintained it was a "wet" cold and they were used to "dry" cold and I could just shut up.  I laughed. 

So at the restaurant, they specifically asked for a table away from the wind chill from the opening door.  And the hostess smiled brightly with those teeth you see in commercials and seated us at a table that wasn't directly in front of the opening doors, but just kind of obliquely to the side.  So the wind eddied around a bit before it climbed up everyone's neck.

I was the only one not freezing.

Now this particular restaurant is an "a la carte" restaurant, which means you pay for each individual dish.  You want an appetizer?  That's $6.  A salad?  $7.  Your entree?  $21.  Side dish?  $8.  These prices may vary with item chosen.  It can add up if you're not careful, which is kind of the point.

So we all perused and discussed.  Andi and I had more adult-type beverages than Joan and Lillian, and we chatted and laughed and finally ordered.  I had a salad and an entree, Andi and Lillian had an entree and a side each, and Joan had an appetizer and soup to be served simultaneously.  All well and good.

More laughter, more chatting, more and more glares at the door while Joan hugged her hot tea and Lillian snagged my polar tech sweater.

Then they brought out my salad.  Okay, so I ordered a wedge of lettuce with Roquefort dressing.  Simple, right?  It would be smallish and would complement my rainbow trout beautifully.

So the server comes up with this huge bowl, one of the ones Joan's soup would later be served in, with a deepish, wide bowl and a three-inch lip around it so it's as big as a platter.  In this was a quarter head of lettuce and three tomato slices artfully placed to the side.  Covering it was the required Roquefort.

Which would be perfect, if enormous, but there stands the server with one of those little trio-containers, a little stand with three cups sprouting out, and I have the choice of more crumbled Roquefort cheese (yes, please), crumbled bacon (everything's better with bacon, right?) and diced celery (sure, why not?).  Then she added a few twists with the black pepper grinder and my salad was ready.

Who knew a hunk of lettuce with dressing was such a big deal?  We half expected a chorus to announce each step!

Let me tell you, it was worth the $6 or whatever.  That was some kind of yumminess, although I began to wonder if I'd have room for trout.  We're talking a HUGE hunk of lettuce!

So we chatted and laughed and observed that the folks seated near the windows were keeping their coats on, so it wasn't just us being cold.  You'd think a fancy-schmancy place could afford heat, but apparently not.

Then they brought our meals, and the next production number was Joan's.   Her shrimp cocktail was a single piece of lonely shrimp on a bed of ice with a lettuce leaf that had escaped my salad, a sprig of parsley, and a square ramiken with cocktail sauce.  Definitely NOT worth the $7 or whatever it was.

But her soup! 

She had the same kind of bowl that my salad was in, and when it was placed before her, it looked. . .odd.  There was this little forlorn looking mound of what looked like crab cake but was shrimp cake of some sort sitting in the bottom of this big ol' bowl. We all stared.

Then the server poured the cream bisque around the little cake thing.  She poured this incredible amount of beautiful soup out of a pitcher with a deft hand so that it surrounded the little mound like a moat around a baby castle.  And the bisque was so thick it almost stayed in place as she moved in a circle around the little cake.

Joan later said that she could've just poured the soup down her throat without bothering the bowl, it was so yummy.

Andi's garlic mashed potatoes came in a fairly large square bowl, and Lillian's broccoli had shaved parmesan draped artfully across it.  As it turns out, my trout came with a small helping of broccoli and green beans, so I did get a small side anyway. 

And we laughed and we ate and we chatted and we stayed and stayed and stayed.

And I began to think it was getting a little too warm in there.  No one else seemed to think so, but I did. 

Then my stomach began to feel a little iffy, so I went to the ladies room (you have to have an escort like we do at the shop because it's way hard to find), and I felt better in afterward, so life is good, right?

I went back and we were still chatting, but from the time I sat down, it was obvious to me that things were still Not Right in my world, so when the server told us that they needed our table for a big group coming in but she'd move our stuff to the bar if we liked, we thanked her and declined. 

I was ready to go outside, hoping the cold night air would stop the wobbly sickish feeling that was growing in me. 

So we left and were standing about in the cold air, and it occurred to me that I should probably find someplace fairly secluded, away from the main view of the restaurant's windows, because I was definitely going to hurl.  Andi and Joan beat a safe retreat,  bless them.  Wise decision.

Because I did.

Right in front of the restaurant on the tree.

I just bent over and puked up everything I'd just eaten.

Lillian went to warn Andi, who'd had a bite of my trout, just in case she had a similar upset, and I stood there and shook.  The manager/concierge/maitre'd came hustling out, offering me a chair, a glass of water, very concerned since it was obvious I'd just spewed up their fine cuisine.

I took the glass of water, wasn't about to go back inside, and just panted for a bit.

Lillian came back, we got me home and into bed where I slept for the next 10 hours. 

My tummy's still a little shaky at times, but all in all, whatever it was didn't get a good solid hold on me.  I expelled the yuckiness in a timely manner, apparently.  Much, I'm sure, to the chagrin of the manager.

So what started out as a fabulous, if chilly time, ended with cold sweats and a definite need for ginger ale.

I kind of think the next time the ladies, either or both, are back in town, we'll perhaps go to Ivars instead. 

 

Weekend!

Darlings, I haven't had a day off in almost two weeks, excepting Thanksgiving (yay!), so I'm going to take today and tomorrow off from blogging (unless something seriously cool happens at the signing or when we go to dinner afterward), and I'll be back Sunday night/Monday.

However, Lillian DID get the CDs I've been stressing about copied, so I'm a very happy camper in that regard.

Have a totally mahhhvelous weekend, my dears, and I'll talk to you on the other side of it.

Barring really cool updates, of course!

Stream of consciousness weirdness in my brain

I do worry about the way my brain works sometimes.  Okay, more often than you might think and yet probably not as often as other people wonder about me.  I'm cool with that.

But honestly, sometimes my thoughts are so stream-of-consciousness I find myself sitting back and staring at what's going on in my head.  I have total sympathy for Robin Williams and his odd ramblings.  I wonder if I laugh at them because they're funny, or because they make sense to me.

Do you like his comedy?  I generally do.  Strangely enough, I'm very fond of the stand-up comedy of Bobcat Goldthwaite, which I never thought I'd like, but I do.  Despite his scratchy voice and obnoxious delivery, I discovered he has some important things to say.

Then again, I like Blake Clark's stand-up, and he's just a good ol' boy.  But you gotta admit, Robin's classic.

See?  There I go, off on a tangent.  I'm just like that.

And I went to YouTube to see if I could find an appropriate Robin Williams clip -- if you can use the word "appropriate" coupled with Robin Williams -- and got sidetracked by him created a Spore creature, and just lost 10 minutes.

Back now.

But I do, sometimes, marvel at my brain's ability to leapfrog in all directions at once. 

For example, I'm reading Andi Marquette's science fiction novel.  It's entitled Friends in High Places, and it's really good so far.  But every time I set it down, Garth Brooks keeps running through my head.

Andi?  I'm gonna thump you on the arm on Saturday, just so's ya know. 

Then again, I was going through the TV Guide listing looking for something to watch, and in scrolling past I saw a show called BBQ Pitmasters and right below it was The Polar Express.  So what did my brain see?

The Bi-Polar Express.

I know.  I probably need therapy.

That's right up there with seeing the sign for the real estate company in Las Cruces that was Realty Consultants and always, always seeing "Reality Consultants".  Which I probably need.

And while I haven't managed to copy those CDs I've wanted to copy (and Bill, if I don't get it sorted out this weekend, I may send them your way Monday, just so's ya know), I do have all four on my iPod, so I listened to them, just to be sure they copied okay.  Which I knew they did, but still.

One of the songs, written by the inestimable Tom Kelly, is a little ditty that somehow has become stuck in my head, fighting with Garth for play-time in the jukebox in my mind.  Tom's song?  "You Make My Butt Sweat".

Yeah.  Just what I want floating around in there.  Did I fixate on "Depoe Bay" or "I Love the Roses"?  No.  "You Make My Butt Sweat".  And for those of you who aren't familiar with this charming little ditty, those are the whole lyrics.  The rest is Tom and Pam playing kick-ass guitar.  So that's not so bad, I guess.

Then too, Lil and I have been talking about the fun that Bridget Steinberg a/k/a Nancy Lawrence Maitland a/k/a Elyse Keaton all of whom are really Meredith Baxter has come out of the closet and has joined us in the ranks of lesbianhood.  Although, apparently, she's been out for several years but no one noticed.  Well, except her partner and her friends and family, of course.

But Lil and I have had a great time with lesbian stereotypes.  Did she get the obligatory toaster oven?  I want to know if she got the pink Glock!  I never did!  Ah but then I never got the manual either, so I'm feeling a bit deprived here. 

So now I've got this weird creature that Robin Williams created bouncing around singing "You Make My Butt Sweat" while wielding a pink Glock, and nagging in the back of my head is the fact that I don't play any of the games on Facebook, and I wonder if I should be building a farm and collecting eggs and cleaning a fish tank and killing off vampires and mobsters. 

I'm torn.  Am I missing out on a serious cultural exchange?  Or by not playing THOSE computer games but playing others, am I deluding myself into thinking I have a life, when in fact I should be out running a farm, collecting eggs, cleaning a real fish tank, and shooting at things with my pink Glock?  Which I never got anyway?

See?  This is how my mind works.  It's astonishing I get anything done at all.

 

 

Things I'm thankful for (and some I'm not)

At 12:01 a.m., Lillian and I, along with 13,080 or so others, will have equal rights here in Washington State.  We're relieved, on one hand, and resigned on another.

We're pleased to have equal protection here, at least on a State level.  It's a weight lifted.  But watching New York Democrats shoot down gay marriage in New York, listening to religious leaders telling us we're doomed and damned, and then knowing that political leaders are listening, thereby blurring any separation between church and State, well, that's disheartening.

Still, baby steps I guess, and at least we're protected here, so I'm thankful for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've been trying to make copies of the CDs I have of the band Lou used to be in, the concert at Ginny's Coffee House that Bob P. recorded all those many years ago.

And I'm thankful that you did, Bob!

I had the tapes converted to CD but somehow they're not copy-able.  No idea why, and it's making me cranky.  But I'm sure they will be.

Because I have some people who want copies, and I want to be able to oblige them.  I'm planning on being thankful for that.

But I am thankful to have the music available.  It's nice to hear Lou sing again, and the harmonies are sweet.

****************************************************************************************

Which leads me to, of all things, Facebook.  Who knew I'd be thankful for that?

But I get to keep up on what's happening with friends I don't get to see every day.  It's nice to check in, see what they've posted which lets me know that they're hanging in.  Sometimes that's the best you can do, and sometimes that's enough to be grateful for.

And it's let me reconnect with people.  Yesterday's poem was inspired by something a friend said, and the only reason I know about it is because we caught up on Facebook.

Then too, one of the singers from the band Lou was in has been in touch.  It's great hearing how she's doing -- and it turns out she lives up here with her partner, so we'll get to be in touch in person too.

Of course she wants one of the CDs, so they will happen.  It just takes computer knowledge. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And of course I'm thankful for my friends and family.  Especially in this crazy holiday season, I'm wicked thankful!

Okay, and then I'm thankful for this video, which is too cute for words, and I'm thankful for the abundance of cuteness out there.

 

So then, what are you thankful for?

Reflecting hearts

I have a friend

   Today she's scared, heartbroken, wincing away,

Afraid of the future ahead of her that seems to spiral back on itself,

Feeling like she's chasing her past

By chosing a future that's always the same.

 

Reflections of her life,

    The mirrors from behind her lighting her way

So that she ends up where she began,

   Like Alice trapped in a moebius strip.

 

But she's strong, brave, a courageous heart and spirit,

   And she's looked into the mirrors,

Seen the dark light that's been choosing her steps for her,

Leading her from one damage to another,

   Reassuringly similar with the painful joy of recognition.

 

And she's said, "No".

    She's said, "No more."

She's taken a new step, in a different light.

 

Today I have a friend who's terrified but quietly hopeful.

She has begun a new path.

She'll make mistakes, she'll go back into the comforting darkness,

  But it can never own her.  Never again.

 

Today my friend has learned that a broken heart,

A fractured and splintered soul,

Is the one through whom the light shines brightest,

   Showering rainbows and crystal hope

Shimmering as a beacon to others who walk a dark path.

 

And I am proud of you, my friend. 

    The light you walk in is light I recognize,

Hard at times, bitingly clear and yet gently soothing.

   The kaleidoscope of your love will be your home.

 

When you find your joy, it will illuminate the world.