I win again!

You have to take little victories wherever you can find them in life.

: )

Tonight, it was this contest I play every year about this time. At my work, as part of our Christmas bonus, we are given a $100 gift certificate for one of the local groceries. Which is a pretty cool gift, I think, although I rarely spend that much in one trip to the market. And even though I do not like the idea of not being able to find anything to eat around here (!!!), I am not so good about buy bunches of food.

I am more a one-meal-at-a-time kinda girl.

I was not even sure I was going to get to go on my annual shopping spree because I had not-so-conveniently (mis)placed my gift certificate in A Safe Place. Which, naturally, I could not remember (go figure!), but somehow, I recalled that the certificate expired Jan. 31, 2005.

Today.

Luckily, though, I did find it this evening, so: GAME ON!

OK, it is not really a game so much as a test of my mathematics skills. Mainly, addition: I make a basic list and then, without the use of any mechanism whatsoever (i.e. a calculator), see how close I can come to hitting $100 right on the dot when the cashier rings up my groceries.

Some years, the task has been very difficult because I will get distracted at least 3 or 4 times by people I know that I see at the store, who seem compelled to engage me in conversation. Plus, I am always trying to add it up, add it up, whilst also attempting to buy items that I need/want when my stomach is growling because it is suppertime.

The game is to try to get as close to $100 as I can possibly get, without going over ... because I really do not want to spend more than that amount. And you cannot go under because there is no change given from the gift certificate.

One year, I got within 3 cents of my goal. Usually, I will get close enough that I can grab something like a cold soda from the case next to the checkout lane to make it nearly even out.

This year, my total was $95.97. Which would seem like a loss, until you remember: Ice cream is only an aisle away.

I grabbed some Breyer’s chocolate ice cream. Which I clearly do not need, but ... hey, I couldn’t let any of the gift certificate go to waste!

: )

Grand total: $101.01. A numerical palindrome, even; gotta LOVE that!

: )

Speaking of calculators: Here on my desk, I have a SHARP Scientific Calculator EL-509. It has 35 keys and performs all kinds of functions (I would count them all up, but then I get confused by that 2ndF button!), including finding sines, cosines and tangents. Which I used to know how to do, and what those words meant, even, when I was in high school ... and for a little while beyond.

I remember purchasing this calculator at the Coast to Coast store in The Ville: I believe it was during my senior year of h.s., but it could have been my junior year. I spied the calculator in the display case and decided I had to have it, despite its somewhat hefty $14.95 price tag.

Mostly, now, I use it to balance my checkbook. (Which means I am usually using the minus key.)

: (

But if I wanted to, I could use it to do all those tricky trigonometric functions from long ago.

The thing of it is, I have had this calculator for at least 20 years:

AND I HAVE NEVER HAD TO REPLACE THE BATTERY!

(And no, it is NOT one of those solar-powered calculators!)

I find this amazing. I really do.

: )

Today was as gloomy as gloomy could be, weather-wise. Plus I felt like crap, all sinus-y and tired from the way-too-fast weekend. And it’s cold here, too, so I bid a fond farewell to January.

And because I need to see something colorful:

Mo Cuishle

Not as much time to write as I would like right now ... but only because I have been on the road all weekend, traveling to Indy for some quality “get out of town” time, which included a miserable drive on 25% snow- and ice-covered Interstate 57 (and I think IDOT meant to say “25 mph” rather than “25%,” because that is the speed limit I had to drive on the usually 65-mph highway for a portion of the journey!), and then zipping across Indiana and Illinois again, today, for a first birthday party.

And now, more than 30 hours after having seen Million Dollar Baby, I simply cannot stop thinking about it. And I smile, and my eyes tear up, and I think of Maggie and Frankie and other aspects of the film, and ... well, I want to go on for days about it, but I know it just went wide this weekend, and at least one pal of mine who drops by this place from time to time *waving to Paté* has most likely not seen it yet ... and I am so hoping she will, and not just for mo cuishle, but because it is a beautiful little film that everyone needs to see ...

And because I adore Hilary Swank even more right about now than I did before. And because Clint Eastwood gets better and better, every time out. And Morgan Freeman is amazing. And all of the people in this film, even the ones I felt like spitting on (character-wise), were so, so great.

So, to paraphrase F. Gump, that is all I am going to say about that. For now, anyway.

: )

Song in my head, right now: “These Are Days” by the 10,000 Maniacs (thanks, Jack).

: )

Newest mix: This is a mini-mix, actually.

1. Mi Mancherai (Il Postino) by Josh Groban / Live at the Greek
2. Latter Days by Over the Rhine / Lime Spider
3. Something about What Happens when We Talk by Lucinda Williams / Poetry Sung, Poetry Said
4. The Van Morrison Sweet/Suite: Sweet Thing, Warm Love and Jackie Wilson Said (I’m in Heaven when You Smile) / The Best of Van Morrison
5. Who Knows where the Time Goes by Nina Simone / Anthology

That Time of the Night/Week/Month (??!)

No, not that time of the month! Just that time of the night when I tell myself, OK, if you go to bed right now, you will be SO happy with yourself when 6 a.m. rolls around! And then, invariably, I stay up for another 2 hours, piddling, really ... and then I tell myself, OK, if you go to sleep now, you will still get 6 hours of “quality sleep” (providing there is no lying awake, thinking about anything ... and how often does THAT happen, really?) ... and then there is the whole issue of tomorrow being Friday and the double-shift and everything ... whew.

In college, I love love LOVED Thursdays. Yeah, those Thursday classes were a pain ... WHEN I managed to go, that is ... what with the 9:30 start times, plus they were, like, 90 minutes long, but I usually did not have more than one class on a Tuesday or a Thursday. First semester, freshman year, in fact: All my classes were on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And that semester, I never missed a class. NEVER! (We will definitely NOT speak about Spring 1984 through Spring 1987, however, attendance-wise.)

Anyway, Thursday nights, we would put the paper “to bed” — that is what it is called, when you finish editing all the stories and laying out all the pages and get everything done, pre-press — and then we would head out. Usually to the Uptowner, where all of the people I cared about would usually already be, laughing and drinking and yeah, waiting for me to arrive — and take my turn buying a pitcher, no doubt, or a shot of tequila or Stoli or whatever the drink du jour happened to be.

(For a long time there, I went on a vodka-and-grapefruit juice kick because I truly, honestly thought the Vitamin C would do me some good. I think I suffered more sinus infections that winter than ever.)

: )

I never stayed out all that late. Our bar would have last call around 12:45 a.m. and close at 1. Occasionally, we would hit an after-bars party, but more likely than not, we walked the 10 blocks or so back to our dorm. Sometimes, we would get a ride back, and for a while there, I thought it was perfectly acceptable to drink and drive, and so I would haul my friends in Felix the Wonder Car (he really was never referred to as “Wonder Car,” but he should have been, as it is a wonder we ever got ANYWHERE in that car).

Once in a while, back when Domino’s was still located on Sixth instead of Lincoln, we’d order a pizza, sit outside and wait for it, then scarf it down. Or we’d wait ’til we got back to the dorm and order.

Pizza never tastes as good as it did back then. I actually ordered Domino’s tonight, and it was pretty good, but not quite as good as back in those days. (Medium double-cheese, regular crust.)

: )

On a completely unrelated note:

Million Dollar Baby is finally coming to a theater near me, and I cannot stop thinking about it. I have been a HUGE Hilary Swank fan ever since I saw her in Boys Don’t Cry, though I’ll admit that I wasn’t overly impressed with the 2 movies I have seen her in since (The Gift, in which she had possibly the worst mullet I have ever seen, exceeded in badness by her horrible southern accent, and Insominia, in which she had a totally ho-hum supporting role) ... but I blame the roles, really, rather than her acting skills, which are superb.

I watched BDC again last weekend, just to sort of remind myself how great she was as Brandon, and then I happened to see her on Letterman again, and at one point, she said something to Dave, and smiled, and I thought of Brandon all over again.

There is no way to measure the impact that film has had on my life.

I am trying not to have too high expectations for MDB, but ... well, I do. I am expecting to be blown away ... and I am looking quite forward to it, actually.

: )

Today I was sent out to shoot a picture of another brush fire. I could not even find the damn thing the first time, and then, when I did, I realized it was nothing more than something you might find at a teeny-weeny weinie roast, so I did not shoot anything.

Until I got to the water, that is.



A thousand points of light, maybe? Hell, maybe more!

A Little D 'n' A

Right By Your Side

Give me two strong arms
To protect myself
Give me so much love
That I forget myself
I need to swing from limb to limb
To relieve this mess I’m in
’Cause when depression starts to win
I need to be right by your side

No one seems to touch me
In the way you do
Nothing seems to hurt me
When I'm close to you
I’m so full of desire
When you set my head on fire
I need to be right by your side

Every single one of us needs
Love, love, love
Everybody needs to give and receive love
Every single day can drag us
Down, down, down
But there’s nothing left to fear
When love gets into town

I’m so full of desire
When you set my head on fire
I need to be right by your side

— The Eurythmics

I prefer color.

I had a conversation with an old girlfriend (as if there have been hundreds) the other night, and she asked me to send her some pictures ... which I originally typed as “photographs” because, to me, that is a much more photography-sounding word than “pictures” — I mean, which would you rather be known as, a photographer (one who shoots photographs) or a picture-taker (one who takes pictures)? Of course: photographer. Right?

(Kids at the high school sometimes retured to me as “The Picture Lady.” Which I found kinda cool. But then, I am not sure how much of a lady I am ... but I suppose that is a whole ’nother topic.)

Speaking of “shoots,” though: I picked up a copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves the other day at the Fairview Heights Borders — the glorious Fairview Heights Borders, where I was finally able to find the Nina Simone CD I was seeking — and I’ll tell ya: The book really didn’t do it for me. And granted, I gave it a rather cursory thumb-through because, what the heck, what else is there for me, punctuation-wise? I mean, yes, I have too much fondness for the ellipsis ... and — let’s be honest — I would work a dash into every paragraph if it were socially acceptable. And if it didn’t diminish the intrinsic (??) power of the dash in the first place.

Anyhoo, I am not implying that I know all there is to know about punctuation, nor am I saying there are not a few (i.e. several) grammar rules in general up on which I could brush.

: )

I simply found the two passages I attempted to read to be not all that well-written and, quite honestly, a little confusing. And I am someone who knows good punctuation. Quite well, even.

And what is the deal with the ampersand in the title?

(Damn, how did I get this far off track?)

: )

Back on the topic: Cheryl asked me to send her some pictures, and then she immediately asked if they were black and white. And I told her that I did not really shoot any black-and-white photos ... although, to be honest, thanks to PhotoShop 418 or whatever version I happen to be using, I can actually shoot color and black and white, simultaneously. So I took a few of my pictures and grayscaled them and sent them to her.

One of them was a tulip from last spring.



Which, I admit, looks kinda neat in black and white. Even a little dramatic and unfamiliar, maybe, in part because of the camera angle and the focus and what-not. (I love to talk in technical, photography-sounding terms.)

And yet, still, I prefer color.



Speaking of color: Heard the song “Crystal Blue Persuasion” by Tommy James & the Shondells on my way out to the h.s. and, as always, the song made me smile.

There’ll be
Peace and good
Brotherhood
Crystal blue persuasion

And how incredibly strange is it that I woke up singing “Up, Up, Up, in a Puff of Smoke” (“and it ain’t no joke / how you broke my heart”) — and then, this afternoon, I went to take pictures of a brush fire-turned-house fire in nearby Buckner?

Shooting Tonight

So much sunshine today!

I thought I would encounter another great sunset, but ... first, I came upon a field of whitetailed deer. I, of course, have absolutely no deer-hunting skills; still, I thought I might be able to get a good shot from the hill overlooking the field where they grazed.

Naturally, they took off running as soon as they heard/saw me. It was pretty cool, actually, because the lead deer would stare at me, as if he (she?) were trying to size up the situation ... then, he would make his move, and the other deer would follow.

The white spots are their tails.



As I walked back to the car, I noticed all these feathers lying on the ground.



And, finally, I shot the twilight sky.



I have decided I do not like the Olympus as well as the Kodak. Not that it matters, really.

: )

Over the past several hours, I have had the following question to ponder: How do you measure how much you love/loved someone?

To be more specific: Is it possible to go back to a certain point in time and say, “On this particular day, I loved you more than you loved me”? Is it even fair for someone to ask, “How come you were never in love with me the way you are/were in love with _____?” And most of all, how do you respond to someone who says, “You did not love me as much as I loved you,” when you know, for a fact, that you, indeed, DID ... only not at the right time?

Bottom-line: Certain relationships are not meant to last. And you can revisit the feelings and talk about the emotions and remember the good times and smile, but mostly, you can be glad these are memories.

Which reminds me of a line from a Mary Chapin Carpenter song called “This Is Love”:

Just remember that the wrong things aren’t supposed to last ...

From the Stones in the Road album. On which 5 of the 13 songs are really excellent.

: )

I brushed my hair today for the first time in ... well, months.

And my hair was most definitely NOT happy about being brushed. So I took the towel and messed it all up and vowed never to do THAT again.

And now I have on my Cubs hat. Backwards. Lil’ Cubbie bear logo in the front.

And it’s Sunday evening. And I do not dread the work week, but I already look forward to next weekend. And I have mixes to make and photo projects to complete and writing to start.

And life is good.

: )

Soup

You know your day is off to a good start when:

1. You sleep in until 11 a.m., even though you did not turn off the ringer on your phone but, miraculously, no telemarketers have called! (OK, so I am a little slow about getting on that Do Not Call list.)

2. You wake up with an odd craving for a really good burger because you dreamt about one — in spite of the illicit dream an old girlfriend was hoping you would have (uhm, do not ask). After debating your options — a cheeseburger and a medium Coke from Mickey D’s ’cause that is just about all I have cash for at this instant, or a mini-road trip to the nearest Choke ’n’ Puke, which would necessitate a visit to the ATM and most likely result in a stop at a nearby mall to look at frames and end up spending even more money that I really shouldn’t be spending — you remember grabbing a can of Chunky Sirloin Burger soup on your way out of Wally World the other night.

Mmmmm, mmmmm good!

: )

Of course, the discovery would have been even more perfect-er had my favorite bowl not already had something else in it. Fortunately, I have other bowls.

: )

Oh, no: Confusion! A phone call from Le Lovely, offering me leftover pizza from last night’s trip to my favorite restaurant (without me!) ... so now, a quandary: Warm up some soup now and have pizza later, or eat the pizza now, have the soup whenever?

It’s not like I’ve even opened the can yet ...

OK. Pizza it is.

: )

Song in My Head

Right now:

All My Little Words

You are a splendid butterfly
It is your wings that make you beautiful
And I could make you fly away
But I could never make you stay
You said you were in love with me
Both of us know that that’s impossible
And I could make you rue the day
But I could never make you stay

Not for all the tea in China
Not if I could sing like a bird
Not for all North Carolina
Not for all my little words
Not if I could write for you
The sweetest song you ever heard
It doesn’t matter what I’ll do
Not for all my little words

Now that you’ve made me want to die
You tell me that you’re unboyfriendable
And I could make you pay and pay
But I could never make you stay

— Magnetic Fields

Perfectly sums up just about everything I feel at this exact moment.

Friday Night Lights

Nothing like a nearly 3-hour nap (from 8 to 11 p.m.!) to turn your night into a total grogfest!

(Hmmm, I see that now it is actually morning already ... though apparently Blogger time is Eastern time, which is not my time zone AT ALL! *making a slight readjustment*)

: )

Nothing like sitting in my chair at work for, like, 10 hours to give me a total butt-ache (had to throw in a possibly extraneous hyphen there; buttache seemed a little too much like attache, and just does not look right to me). A butt-ache to go with my wanna-be migraine headache. Damn.

However: It is SATURDAY!

And my: I DO love weekends!

: )

Weird week at work this past week. I do not like to write about work because ... well, I am not quite sure why, other than I do not. But this week ... this week, it seemed as if every day, I found a new way to fuck something up. Or, rather, to go about something wrongly, according to this person or that.

I used to be fairly meticulous about my work. I had my 2 pages for which I was responsible, every day, and that seemed to suit me just fine. Sure, I made my share of mistakes (hey, it is not easy to write sports stories when you really, truly are NOT a numbers person!), but as far as typos, misspellings, factual errors, etc.: I kept those to a minimum. To the point which, when I did have the occasional fuck-up (we all have those, right? right?!), it was kind of a big deal because it simply did not happen all that often.

Nowadays, though, as I spend a good portion of each day multi-tasking away, my butt set firmly in my aforementioned chair, it seems the mistakes are more frequent. And this annoys me, highly.

: (

Read a great post by Matt the other day. Reminded me of something I had reminisced about with my pal Lisa J.: My career as the lead singer in an air band.

I know I have written about it before and have posted the long-forgotten photo somewhere ... yet I cannot find it on this computer, and ... oh, wait a minute, here it is. Along with the story of my band.

Sometimes, I miss those days so much, my heart hurts.

But then again ... is that not what life is all about, in some ways? Trying to cram in so many memorable experiences, so much fun, so many great stories, that thinking back on them makes you smile and shake your head and, at the same time, miss them so much that you cannot fully comprehend, really, that they are memories. And that that particular time in your life, no matter what time in your life it happened to be, is never coming back?

These are the thoughts that make me feel, simultaneously, glad and sad and so damn hopeful and thankful, really, for every moment of this life.

(They also make my head hurt a little more because I think I just might need a good cry, actually.)

(Of course, it could just be the weather.)

: )

4 More Years!

Heard and then read some good quotes today.

The first was not a full-fledged quote, just a sound bite of President George W. Bush saying something about his upcoming “inaugular” something or other. (He might have actually said “inaugularal,” which is no more a word than the other one, best I can tell.)

: )

The second quote came from an Associated Press story about the latest duo, Jonathan and Victoria Baker, to be disqualified from The Amazing Race. Which I do not watch but find myself (amazingly!) in the running as part of a pool I am in with some of my pals, after having drawn Freddy and Kendra, the engaged models, as my couple (they are currently in 4th place, apparently).

“You have to see yourself at your worst to be yourself at your best.” — Victoria Baker

This is going to be my motto for a while.

Shopping vs. Sunsets

I take a mini-road trip w/The Lovely tonight, and after dropping her off, I head over to Jacques Pinay (sounds real fancy if you say/write it that way), but as I pull into the parking lot, I glance over my left shoulder, and I see a great big ball o’ sun. So, for a nanosecond (or less), I am thinking: Shopping? Or sunset? Sunset? Or shopping? And I know I only have, like, 90 minutes of shopping time — less, actually, ’cause she wants a gordita supreme, no tomato, waiting for her when I pick her up ...

Joel (from Risky Business) voice: Who was I to say no?

... but then, I know I only have about 5 minutes of sunset time!

I throw the car into reverse and drive off into the sunset — only I am honestly not sure of the best way to get to the sunset, or at least the best vantage point for the sunset. I drive past campus and eventually end up on this rural highway south of the city (which is actually just a big town, or at least one of the bigger towns in this portion of the state).

By this time, the sun has already set but this wonderfully colorful sky remains, and I keep thinking, as I drive, that I will find that perfect spot to pull over and shoot some pictures. However, there is no shoulder on this highway, and no good place to pull off, really ... but, my, there are some excellent hills, the kind where, had I been driving a lil’ bit faster, I would’ve lost my stomach at LEAST 3 times ’cause they were those kinda hills.

Blind hills, really, because as you’re cresting the top, for that split-second, you really aren’t quite certain whether there is going to be road below you, once you’re over the top.

(I went over a 7-foot waterfall like that once on the Chattooga River. Fell out of the raft, I did, on that “blind hill” ... although, upon further review, we all learned that I was actually pushed out of the raft. Still, I managed to keep my feet up, my glasses on and my paddle in my hands ... and I was quite determined to stay in the boat the rest of the trip. Which I did.)

: )

Anyhoo, during this drive I am not watching the road so much as I am watching the sky. To my left, the remaining light from the sun is keeping the sky a bright yellow-orange; straight ahead, jet streams criss-cross each other — and one of them is shaped, oddly, like the letter “C,” almost as if the pilot has decided, mid-flight, to fly off to a new destination somewhere north of here, rather than south; and to the right is a bank of purple, red-tipped clouds.

By this time, I also do not know, for sure, where I am. And certainly I am not worried, yet I have given up on the idea of getting these colors on film or disk or whatever, so I figure I might as well head back to town. I turn onto Country Club Road, still thinking I might get a photo or 2, but no: Some goofball decides to tailgate me about halfway back to the highway.

I did snap 3 shots and ended up with 1 that captured a little bit of what I saw this evening:



Now that I think about it, I was a little bit late for work this morning, chasing down a red-tipped blue-clouded sunrise.

: )

Made in France

The Lovely has this cool cheese grater ... at least, I think it is a cheese grater. I discovered it last time I made my world-famous deep dish burrito and needed something to grate the pepper jack.

Seems a little prehistoric (gotta be an antique!), but it gets the job done.



OK, maybe it is time to put away the camera for a few days.

: )

MLK

Sleep
Sleep tonight
And may your dreams
Be realized
If the thundercloud
Passes rain
So let it rain
Rain down on him
Mmm ... mmm ... mmm ...
So let it be
Mmm ... mmm ... mmm ...
So let it be

Sleep
Sleep tonight
And may your dreams
Be realized
If the thundercloud
Passes rain
So let it rain
Let it rain
Rain on him

— U2

: )

And so, today, I read about the mixed outlook on the part of the family of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. regarding gay marriage. And I did not read closely, as the topic simultaneously bores and infuriates me. (Is that even possible? Well, it does!)

I cannot get into a debate over whether gay rights are any more or less important than racial equality. What I know and believe and trust, in my heart and in my soul, is that no person should be judged or discriminated against because of the color of his or her skin, the country of his or her origin, the status of his or her family or heritage, the gender of the person he or she loves.

In my (still relatively short) life, I have seen good and bad marriages, good and bad relationships, love and hate, among whites and blacks and gays and straights and every color and mix of sexuality in-between. Is it possible to live in a world and be completely color-blind, at least in terms of loving your neighbor and your family and your friends and even your enemy? And so what if that person also happens to be gay?

So what?

(Does any of this matter, really?)

I think it does. I think it does, and it will, and it should ... until we reach the day where none of it really matters. At that time, then, every right that has ever been fought for (civil rights, gay rights, human rights) will have been won.

And then it will not matter because it will not be an issue.

It will, simply, be.

: )

I am not as angry, nor as bored and infuriated, as I might be letting on.

Truthfully, at this moment, I am counting my blessings. Not the least of which is the fact that I am able to do this: String together sentences in a semi-coherent manner (OK, I will be honest: some nights more coherent than others!), so that my thoughts and ideas are (relatively) understandable.

I wish I were as eloquent as I sometimes am, writing-wise, in Real Life. I wish I were able to say, always, exactly what I want to say, to whomever I wish to say it, at all times. Sometimes, it is so frustrating to know exactly what you want or need to say, only to be unable to say it, in that moment.

And it is frustrating, too, not to be seen for who you are ... or sometimes, rather, who you know you are, but cannot quite reveal, for whatever reason. (This is something I am simply going to have to work through.)

: )

In-between work and trying to keep up with the various scenes from something that must be written playing out in my head, occasionally, I am thinking of songs for my mix tapes. Which obviously will be mix CDs. There will be 2, and they will be titled: Grrls and Boyz.

And I found the perfect frame for the Keys Kollage that is just waiting to be assembled. (You really cannot beat J.C. Penney for these collage frames.)

This photo, from the window of a shop along my walk from Blue Heaven to 1800 Atlantic, just has to be included in the collage:



For no reason, other than I love it.

: )

A Little Nina Simone

I first heard this song a few months ago whilst watching The Dancer Upstairs, a sad and wonderful film directed by John Malkovich. The song is called “Who Knows Where the Time Goes,” written by Sandy Denny and performed by Nina Simone.

This is from a live session recorded Oct. 26, 1969, at Philharmonic Hall, New York, according to The Nina Simone Web.

The song is so beautiful, it hurts.

Introduction by Nina Simone

We are recording tonight and because we are recording we’re trying to do some things that actually I’m too tired to do. But as Faye Dunaway, I think it was, she said, when Bonnie and Clyde came out, she said she tried to give people what they wanted. That’s a mistake, really, I know. You can’t do it ... you use up everything you’ve got trying to give everybody what they want.

But I will learn my lesson soon, and then you will buy more records, right, ’cause you’re gonna see me.

Let’s see what we can do with this lovely, lovely thing that goes past all racial conflict and all kinds of conflict, it is a reflective tune. And sometime in your life, you will have occasion to say, what is this thing called time? You know what, what is that? The clock, you go to work by the clock, you get your martini in the afternoon by the clock, you have your coffee by the clock, you have to get on a plane at a certain time, and arrive at a certain ... and it goes on and on and on. And time is a dictator, as we know it. Where does it go? What does it do? Most of all, is it alive? Is it a thing that we cannot touch and is alive? And then one day you look in the mirror, how old, and you say, where did the time go?

We leave you with that one ...

Who Knows Where the Time Goes

Across the morning sky
All the birds are leavin’
How can they know
When it’s time to go
Before the winter fires
Will still be dreaming
I do not count the time
Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

Sad, deserted shore
Your fickle friends are leavin’
Oh, but then you know
When it’s time for them to go
But I will still be here
I have no thoughts of leavin’
For I do not count the time
Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

But I am not alone
As long as my love is near me
And I know it will be so
’Til it’s time to go
All through the winter
Until the birds again return in spring
I do not fear time
Who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?

— Nina Simone (Written by Sandy Denny)

Flurries

Through her window
I watch snow come down
Fluttering flecks of silver
Silvery specks of winter
Backdrop of ever green

: )

Temperature right here, right now: 17 degrees.

Three weeks ago, I was somewhere warmer.



What I remember, during the flight to Miami, when we were making our descent:

I had taken a couple of pictures of the clouds (and the moon, too; it was near-full that morning, full that night) whilst we were somewhere over a coast. Then, as we headed down, most of the clouds were gone, but for a split-second, I saw the shadow of our plane, on a cloud, encircled by a prism ... like a little rainbow circle with a tiny dark-gray jet inside.

Give me the window seat, every time.

: )

Poetry

One cannot write poetry on a computer.

At least this one cannot write poetry on a computer.

: )

Perhaps I simply cannot write poetry?

: )

Why is it that my mood elevates once Friday has moved into evening, but by then I am (almost) too exhausted to enjoy it?

I could use a nap, but it is almost 9 p.m.

I have many topics in my mind, all of them just waiting to be written (or forgotten) about, but at the moment, I cannot think of the first word.

Maybe tomor-or-or-row
Maybe someday ..

3,000 Words ... or Less : )

I would like to write, but everything is blurry at the moment. Not that that is a bad thing, necessarily, but it limits my ability to stare at this bright bright BRIGHT LIGHT! screen.

: )

Today I woke up after having gotten only 2 hours of sleep, at most, last night. Not exactly sure why, except that winter has begun to make its presence felt/known. Doldrums, etc. ... or maybe too much caffeine the night before.

I came up with a resolution for 2005 (OK, better late than never, perhaps?): I must avoid everything/everyone that brings me down. Life is too short, so ... why bother?

* Going into Bette Midler Mode *

There are 88 keys on a piano. You only use 5. Why bother?!

: )

These are from today. I went out to photograph rising water.







The beauty of PhotoShop is that it almost seems as if there were a sun present, somewhere, in the sky today; however, there was not.

Rumor has it the sun has taken up permanent residence in Orlando.

: )

Just Because

Ever buy something just because it makes you smile?



A package of 6 “recreational balls” (heh) for table tennis by SPORTCRAFT.

AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE A PING-PONG TABLE!

: )

Today, at work, I had to proofread my new business cards. I’ll probably get a box of 500, which will replace the box of old business cards, of which I handed out approximately 13 because about a week after I got them, we switched Internet providers, so my e-mail address was no longer valid.

I proofread the new cards, nitpicking, of course, because for some mysterious reason, the telephone numbers were listed as xxx.xxx-xxxx instead of (xxx) xxx-xxxx. I mean, WTF, if you’re going to adhere to AP style, then adhere to it correctly, right? What is that dot, anyway, mixed with the hyphen like that? And then, on the street address: The cards had the word “Street” abbreviated, but not the word “East.” Once again: Style! Get it right!

: (

I have decided I would rather hand out smiley-face ping-pong balls with my phone number and e-mail addy DIscreetly scribbled on the back in fine-tip Sharpie than distribute business cards, anyway.

: )

Now playing: “War on War” by Wilco. On REPEAT, on the stereo.

You have learn how to die
If you wanna wanna be alive ...

Yeah, baby.

: )

What is love?

Ten bonus points for anyone who, upon reading the title of this post, imMEdiately responded by singing, “Baby don’t hurt me / Don’t hurt me / No more.” Five more bonus points if you actually sang OUT LOUD, and 5 more if you visualized the dance floor in the episode of My So-Called Life in which this Haddaway song was playing. (Twenty-five-point deduction if, instead, you visualized those annoying-as-hell A Night at the Roxbury goofballs ... unless, of course, you are picturing them from the original SNL episode in which they appeared, in which case there is only a 5-point deduction.)

: )

This whole topic came about because I went to see Closer yesterday evening. Not that I would classify this film as a “love story” ... or was it? I cannot make up my mind; cannot even decide if I liked it. OK, so it had plenty of eye candy and a whole lotta potential to be a good movie, but ... nah, it really wasn’t.

Bottom-line: Not enough character development, especially in the Jude Law and Julia Roberts characters. I understand the physical attraction — I mean, let’s be brutally honest here: Who wouldn’t want to fuck either one of them? (OK, OK, so maybe I like both of them a little too much!) But still: I GET IT! I also understand the concept of love at first sight. I have even felt love before first sight: Yes, on at least one occasion (who’s counting?), I have fallen for someone before we ever actually met ... and on at least one occasion, when we did meet, I was (almost) overwhelmingly attracted to the person. So, it happens.

In this movie, however, Law’s character, Dan, falls for Roberts’ character, Anna, and for the life of me, I cannot see what made her more appealing to him than Natalie Portman’s character, Alice ... because, in this movie, Alice is way, way more interesting than Anna ... just as Clive Owens’ character, Larry, kicks Dan’s ass (onscreen and in terms of multi-dimensionality).

(Clive could become one of my favorites. He reminds me, somehow, of Dylan McDermott. Except for Dylan’s habit of basically never changing expression while completely over-acting. Which can’t be easy, but certainly is irritating.)

Toss in a rather implausible plot device involving a chatroom conversation, as well as not enough onscreen “action,” and I have to toss this into my “Don’t Bother (At Least Not ’Til It Comes out on Video)” category.

Of course, I haven’t had too long to think about it, really. I could become completely smitten with Natalie Portman the more I think about her performances in this and “Garden State” and decide, hey, it really wasn’t half-bad. After all, the ending was pretty cool.

: )

In answer to the question du jour, “What is love?”: Damn, I’m not sure I could even begin to put that answer into words!

But it does provide some food for thought. And leaves an open door for the topic to be revisited.

And speaking of food ...

It’s a good feeling when you’re driving around town, trying to think of something, anything, that sounds good for lunch, and suddenly, you remember that you have leftover Italian food in the fridge. And, OK, so it’s from Fazoli’s (apparently, the Classic Sampler includes enough food for 2 people ... or at least 2 meals), but still: Mighty damn tasty.

(Turns out my cat, too, likes fettucine alfredo. Who knew?)

: )

Happy hair is good hair.*

Damn, just found out that Best Buy does not accept gift cards for online orders. Here I have this $25 gift card burnin’ a hole in my pocket (actually, my wallet), and I find the Nina Simone Anthology I have decided I must have (mainly for “Who Knows Where the Time Goes” song I first heard whilst watching The Dancer Upstairs), and SMACK! (That is reality, slapping me in the face, again!): Gift cards not redeemable online.

And I can assure you, neither of the Best Buys within a 100-mile radius of me has the album.

Ah, well.

Walked around the nearest BB for 45 minutes tonight and had in my hands, at various times, The Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, something by Tegan and Sara (with an “h”? I do not remember), and Astral Weeks by Van Morrison, mainly because it has “Sweet Thing” on it, and I want to hear the song in the context of the original album, if that makes sense. (Well, it does to moi!)

: )

At this moment, however, I have this most beautiful song by Josh Groban in my head, after listening to it no less than 5 times in The Lovely’s car whilst waiting for her to finish a jaunt through Famous after tennis: “Mi Mancherai.” And I have heard it before, but tonight ... tonight, listening to the version of it on Josh Groban Live at the Greek (which I just misread as Live at the Creek ... which makes it sound as if it is something that could have been recorded in, like, The Ville or somewhere!), with the sweet, sad sound of the violin, and Josh’s voice ... wow.

I mean: WOW.

The talent of that young man. And he sings the song in Italian (though parts of it sound French to me, but what do I know?), so I had not a clue what he was actually singing about ... until my freetranslation.com told me what it meant: “I’ll Miss You.” No, wait: Actually, I found that out from Google; according to my free translation, “Mi Mancherai” means something like, “You Will Be Lacking Me.” (???)

Anyhoo. The Lovely said she actually prefers not knowing what the words mean, that it allows her simply to listen to and to enjoy the songs ... and now, I agree.

It’s a little like when I was on the train from Paris to ______ (the town next to Giverny, the name of which escapes me now and every time I think of the time I went there), and the people on the train were talking. Constant conversation on that train, none of it loud or harsh, but for the entire hour-long (or was it longer?) ride, people were talking, mostly in French but possibly in other languages I did and do not know. And then it occurred to me how soothing it is to listen to words when you have no idea what they mean.

: )

Yesterday I watched an amazing film called Aimée and Jaguar. I bought the book a few years ago but never finished it, barely started it, in fact. It is the story of two women — one of them the wife of a Nazi soldier, the other a Jew — who meet and fall in love during World War II. Must watch it again and reflect on it some more. Very romantic and sad, sweet and beautiful.

Yeah, I loved it.

: )

I played tennis this afternoon, and for a while, my entire body ached.

Damn, it is a BITCH getting old.

: )

* — Props to Jack for yet another essential truth.

Sunshine? Here!

Thank God ... and all the fine folks at The Weather Channel!

: )

I mean, how long had it been since the sun had shone here? I started counting back, and I know that, prior to Christmas, the sky had been completely overcast for, like, a month. OK, at least a solid week; I know this because we had all the gloomy days leading up to the big snowstorm on the 22nd, and then it had been gray and cold through Sunday, Dec. 26 ... and then when I returned, it was actually raining (and cloudy).

I need to drag out my Northern Exposure DVDs. Though the episode I am seeking is the one in which Walt is wearing the light-hat to help him cope with the period of eternal darkness in Cicely, Alaska. (Not to be confused with the episode in which Fleischman goes on a 24-hour-plus manic spree because of the constant sunshine!)

(Wonder if this new Numbers starring Rob Morrow will be any good? Truthfully, I am not necessarily up for taking on any new shows. Right now, I am contemplating whether to go ahead and get digital cable, and whether to get the whole shebang with Showtime AND HBO ... because I must have The L Word ... but I just might need HBO, too, finally ... and then there is the whole TiVo issue: Do I need it? Can I figure it out if I do have it? Is it even possible for me to waste even more time watching TV than what I already do?)

: )



Found this whilst walking from Duval Street back to our condo, just over a week ago. After having lunch at Blue Heaven, a place where chickens strut around the place whilst you are eating. Which is pretty cool and adds to the laid-back ambience of the place ... until you see one of the chickens raise up and shake its feathers, sending dust flying here and there. Still, the food was really excellent: The Lovely and I both had the luncheon tortilla with jerk chicken, and it was muy tasty. And I got me a brick-colored T-shirt with the Blue Heaven logo on it. (It has been quite a while since my ultra-cool brick-colored Nike T-shirt was finally laid to rest, so this was a welcome and actually much-needed addition to my wardrobe/color scheme.)

: )

The photojournal is in the works. I think. I mean, I created one; rather, I redid an existing but unused extension of this site (mainly because I detest configuring these things; just seems so time-consuming or something).

Sunshine? Anywhere?

Because I have not seen the sun in 6 days and am beginning to forget what it looks/feels like:



Here Comes the Sun

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say, it’s all right

Little darling, it’s been a long cold lonely winter
Little darling, it feels like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say, it’s all right

Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been here
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say, it’s all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ...
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes ...

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it’s been clear
Here comes the sun, here comes the sun
And I say, it’s all right

It’s all right.

— The Beatles (George Harrison)

a-whompa-chomp-whompa-chomp
whompa-chomp-chompa-whompa

(Apologies to Case and her cousin ... or perhaps on behalf of Case and her cousin!)

: )

William

And then, when you find yourself thinking about one thing, invariably you start thinking about something else, and then: a memory.

I was 14 the first time we went to John’s Island, the summer between my eighth-grade and freshman years. I hadn’t even planned to go, really, because it was a high school event, and all the high schoolers had worked the bake sales and the Sunday dinners to raise money. But then, as the time for the trip grew near, the h.s. group extended an invitation to any of the incoming freshmen who wanted to go.

And suddenly, I wanted to go. So, I did.

We went down there for a week to take part in a reading program for the kids on several small islands near Charleston, S.C. It was a great set-up: From 8 a.m. to noon each day, we’d spend our time going over English and grammar and reading with these kids, and from the rest of the day on into the night, we were free to play, basically. Go to the beach. Hang out at our dorm. Sing “Kum Ba Yah.” Et cetera.

Each morning, we broke into groups and took buses to one of the 3 islands: Kiawah, John’s and Wadmalaw. I went to Wadmalaw, and our group of students there was small enough that we were each paired up with one other student.

My student was William Ford.

William had skin dark brown as a buckeye and bright eyes, and from the moment I met him, I could tell he was a good student. He liked to talk, and smile. He was 10 years old, in fifth grade, he told me, but he didn’t care all that much about school. Still, we worked through our assignments as scheduled, and toward the end of the week, I had him write some sentences for me.

Then I read them, his handwriting loopy but neat, pencil on blue-lined notebook paper.

This was one of his sentences:

“Diana is very pretty.”

I smiled when I read it, and William watched me, his eyes on mine. I looked at him, and he was smiling, his teeth wide and even and white.

“Thank you, William.”

No one had ever said that about me before. Let alone written it.

CRAB!!!!

When I was in high school, I went to a place in South Carolina called John’s Island. Twice. John’s Island was one of the most memorable places I have ever been ... but that is not what this post is about.

This one is about my friend Kara, and how all these little fiddler crabs used to run around everywhere at our little place, the Esau Jenkins Opportunity Center, including the shower, and how, eventually, I took it upon myself to grab Kara’s cheeks and say, “CRAB!!!!”

This picture reminds me of that. It’s from Bahia Honda, Fla.



Sherry was afraid of this lil’ guy, but I think he’s kinda cute.

Pre-Game Boy

Back in the good old days, Mattel came out with a handheld battery-operated football game. This was around the time I was 8 or 9. I never had one, even though I was a tomboy and played all kinds of sports in real-life and would have loved the handheld football game. In fact, I know I loved it because one of my friends had one, and I can remember playing it a time or two, probably at recess on a rainy day, when we had to play indoors.

You had to have pretty good coordination, at least with your thumbs, to maneuver the buttons that maneuvered your running back (which was actually a small red blip on the screen) down the field, trying to avoid defenders along the way.

By the standards of today, the handheld football game of the 1970s was crude, at best. But to me, it was just like being in an actual football game ... well, minus the pads and the helmets and the turf. And the football. And the other actual players.

Then Mattel came out with another version of the handheld football game. Except in this version, you could pass the ball! Yes, once a defender crossed the line of scrimmage, you could push the PASS button and throw the ball downfield to your receiver (signified by a blinking blip).

I got that game for Christmas that year, and I can honestly say it was one of THE BEST Christmas gifts I have ever received. Ever.

(And, thankfully, I also received a battery charger, and believe you me, I kept that 9-volt charger hopping, buddy, yes, I did!)

: )

The object of both games, of course, was to score touchdowns. I suppose this would have been a great game to play against a buddy, but I do not recall anyone ever playing with my game, except me. So it was always Me vs. Me, at the Pro 1 or Pro 2 levels.

I have to admit, I got pretty good at the game.

And then, like everything else when you are a kid: I outgrew it. And I forgot about it.

Until a few years ago, when Mattel reissued the white (first) game as Classic Football ... and I got it one year for Christmas. And it was nice and all, but really: It could not compare to the green (second) game. So I played it a few times and tossed it aside, never to be seen again.

And then Mattel reissued Classic Football 2 ... and I got it this year for Christmas. Or, rather, this year that just ended, 2004. And I played it tonight for the first time.

I have to admit, I am still pretty good at it. Though the Pro 1 option seems slower than what I remember, and Pro 2 seems a little bit faster.

The Me running to the right defeated the Me running to the left 14-0 in the first game, 18-7 in the second. (Actually scored on a couple of safeties in that second game, who knew?)

: )

I also received handheld Boggle for Christmas. That and Classic Football 2 and the 20Q game I bought with the intention of giving it to someone as a Christmas gift should have had me all set for the flights to and from Miami last week ... but did I remember to take any of them?

Nooooooooo!

I have to say the Boggle game is kind of a nightmare. Letters are somewhat difficult to read, and you have to maneuver the cursor over the letters in order to record your words. Nearly impossible to compile a respectable word list in 3 minutes; however, the game does feature an untimed version, so who knows, maybe I will play it another time or two before losing interest.

Hibiscuses (sp?)

I miss all the green of the Keys.

I miss watching (and hearing) the palm branches swaying in the wind. I miss seeing all the plants that we grow in pots here up north that flower and thrive as trees, more or less, where it is warm all year long.

I could not shoot several hundred photos without snapping a few shots of flowers. My favorites, of course, were the hibiscus plants I saw from place to place. These are not the kind that basically bloom one day and close the next like my beloved hibiscus, the one I have been growing for a year and a half now, the one that survives in spite of my notorious green thumb. The ones I saw in Key West are actual flowers that grow on huge plants and stay open, soaking up as much sunshine as they possibly can.

Flowers that stay open long enough to fade, color-wise, their somewhat delicate petals battered, at times, by the tropical breeze.

I especially liked this one:



Before I had left home, I noticed that my hibiscus had a bloom in-the-making. Judging by its size, I figured it would bloom whilst I was away, then close up and perhaps even fall off the plant long before I returned.

My plant held on long enough for me to get back, and then, today, it bloomed. (Or, as my pal Tee-Hee who fusses at me for never writing a post about her would say, “bloomt.”) For the first time since late fall when I had to bring it inside.



And, quite frankly, I believe it is every bit as dazzling as the hibiscuses I saw in the Keys.

Perhaps moreso.



Even if it is only for a day.

Have I ever mentioned ...

... that I love dolphins?

Have ever since I was a kid. Used to watch Flipper every afternoon and wanted to be Bud, just so I could have my own motorboat. And my own dolphin.

These were taken last Sunday at the Dolphin Research Center in Grassy Key, Fla. Wonderful place to visit, especially if you like dolphins.

And if you do not like dolphins?

Wow. That is a real problem, indeed.

For you, that is; not me. I love them.

Bye-bye!

: )

Sweet Thing

This song has become sort of my theme song. Started when I was driving to Cincinnati, and since then, this song and “Warm Love” and “Jackie Wilson Said (I’m in Heaven when You Smile)” — 2 of Patti’s kids’ favorites — have been on sort of a 3-song rotation on the CD player in my car.

But this one, this one, is the one I am claiming.

Sweet Thing

And I will stroll the merry way
And jump the hedges first
And I will drink the clear
Clean water for to quench my thirst
And I shall watch the ferry boats
And they’ll get high
On a bluer ocean
Against tomorrow’s sky
And I will never grow so old again
And I will walk and talk
In gardens all wet with rain.

Oh, whoa, sweet thing, sweet thing
Hey, yeah, sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my, my sweet thing

And I shall drive my chariot
Down your streets and cry
“Hey, it’s me, I’m dynamite
And I don’t know why”
And you shall take me strongly
In your arms again
And I will not remember
That I ever felt the pain
We shall walk and talk
In gardens all misty wet, all misty wet with rain
And I will never, never, never
Grow so old again.

Oh, oh, whoa, sweet thing, yeah
Oh, oh, whoa, you sweet thing, you sweet thing
My, my, my, my, my, my, my

And I will raise my hand up
Into the nighttime sky
And count the star
That’s shining in your eye
Just to dig it all and not to wonder
That’s just fine
And I’ll be satisfied
Not to read in-between the lines
And I will walk and talk
In gardens all wet with rain
And I will never, ever, ever, ever
Grow so old again.

Oh, whoa, sweet thing
Oh, whoa, whoa, sugar baby
Oh, whoa, sweet thing
Sugar baby, sugar baby, sugar baby
With your champagne eyes
And your saint-like smile ...

— Van Morrison

On a bluer ocean
Against tomorrow’s sky ...



Yeah. My second sailing trip, ever, was on the Atlantic Ocean. On a sunset cruise hosted by Captain Bob. On the next-to-last day of 2004. Which, the more I think about it, was one of the best years ever.

One of the things I managed to write while I was actually in Fla. (I actually wrote it in my reporter’s notebook, in fact!) was a list titled “What I Did in 2004.” This was inspired by a topic thread over in The Orchard — a thread I did not contribute to, actually, because 2004 was not close enough to being finished for me to do so.

Anyhoo, I was really going to town on this list and was already up to 12 things — most of it work- or sports-related stuff; I had not even gotten to the really good stuff yet! — and then I suddenly realized I was going to end up with, like, 50 or 60 things, or maybe more, and that not one of them would have really mattered to me if not for the first 2 items on my list:

1. Finally totally truly accepted forgiveness from someone I had hurt.

2. Forgave myself.

The rest of the list? Well, most of it has been covered somewhere in the archives, anyway ... with the first part of the year included here. So no need for me to retype it all, really.

Puzzled in the Conch Republic

For anyone who requires further proof that I am, indeed, a geek:

Our first night in Key West, a.ka. the Conch Republic, Karl drags out this jigsaw puzzle. But it is not just any jigsaw puzzle; no, this one is a mosaic jigsaw puzzle. A 1,000-piece mosaic jigsaw puzzle of, fittingly enough, Vincent Van Gogh. One of my favorite artists, and certainly not a man without his own eccentricities.

(In case you are unfamiliar with a mosaic puzzle: It consists of about a zillion tiny pictures which, when arranged just so, color-wise and texture-wise and what-not, make up The Big Picture. My sister had warned me against them.)

So here we are, hundreds and hundreds of miles from the frigid, snowy Midwest, hanging out in a cool condo with a perfect view of the ocean — fucking paradise, really — and what are we doing?

Working on this puzzle.



Happily, we finished it early Thursday morning. Or maybe it was Friday. And thank GOD (and the people who put the puzzle together before us) there were not any pieces missing. For if there had been, I am quite convinced I would have sliced off an ear or two ... and Karl quite likely would have taken his own life.

: )

Key West, Part 1

Turns out I was wrong about a couple of things in my previous post. And being the kinda gal that I am, I am the first to admit when I am wrong. So, here goes:

1. The number of pictures I took during the Key West adventure? It was more like 400+ ... not counting the ones I deleted. (Have I mentioned lately how much I love love LOVE digital photography? And in case I have not plugged the Kodak 6490 recently: Go buy one!)

2. There was, indeed, a speck of snow left in this town (well, actually, the “suburb” right next to us). Several specks, actually: Yes, the Wal-Mart SuperCenter had a couple of small piles of snow that, somehow, had not yet melted as of last night. Proving, once again, that Wal-Mart does, in fact, have everything.

: )

Not quite sure exactly how to start my vacation babble, as it must also contain some moments from Christmas, which proved to be the best Christmas in at least 3 years (for various reasons), except that sometime during the Dec. 23-25 time span I managed to develop what my mother so eloquently refers to as my “winter hack” (The Lovely refers to it simply as “the crud”). But I cannot begin at the beginning of the vacation because, in my mind, I keep replaying my favorite moment ... though, occasionally, my second-favorite moment interrupts, and I imagine I will get to that one soon enough.

The trip to the Keys included me, The Lovely, her son Karl and his wife Sherry, and their 11-month-old, Kameron. And let me state for the record that I have never traveled with an almost-1-year-old, and after last year’s Disney trip with a 9-, 8-, 5- and 4-year-old, I was more than a little bit ... well, what’s the word I am looking for here? Nervous? Apprehensive? Uncertain? I suppose all of those would apply.

Interruption: Quick switch to The Food Network shows the woman someone called Martha Stewart’s “heir apparent” (yeah, rrrrrrrright!), Sandra Lee, wearing an avocado sweater (the same shade as some 1960s cars and early 1970s refrigerators) that, not so coincidentally, I’m sure, matches the curtains, glassware and a festive wreath hanging in the background. Yikes!

Anyhoo, I have spent quite a bit of time getting to know Kameron over the course of this year, but I had not yet been around him for extended periods of time. I quickly learned that almost-1-year-olds do not sleep, as they say, “through the night”; however, after a couple of wake-ups early in the week from Kameron in the room next door in our most awesome suite, I found myself able to sleep through the night quite easily.

I also learned that, of an evening, Kam tends to fight off sleep. Unlike me, who, according to my mom, quite happily took afternoon naps and enjoyed my early bedtime. (Go figure!)

Song in my head, right now: “I’m Only Happy When It Rains” by Garbage. S’posed to rain a whole inch today/tonight, and y’know what? I believe it!

So, when Kameron gets tired at night, he starts to go into what his parents (or maybe it was his grandma?) call “delirious mode”: thrashing about, babbling loudly, being fussy. One of them would then hold him until he calmed down and, generally, fell asleep; then, they would take him into the bedroom and lay him in his crib, at which point he would either continue sleeping or, more likely than not, wake up, begin crying and start the whole process all over again.

Midweek I discovered that when he entered delirious mode, he particularly enjoyed a game of peek-a-boo with me. Actually, he would make noises from where he was standing on the love seat so that I would look his direction, and then he would smile and laugh. As would I.

“Kameron knows that seeing Di means having fun,” The Lovely said, more than once.

(I, of course, have always known that I am all about having fun.)

: )

On New Year’s Eve, my gal-pal and I decide that we will enjoy an evening in, watching Kameron whilst Karl and Sherry check out the excitement on Duval Street. (And apparently, there was puh-lenty of excitement going on ... but I was not there, so anything I included here would be hearsay ... so use your imagination.) We watched TV most of the evening, saw a movie with Natalie Portman and Ashley Judd and some really cute boy I have seen in something before but could not tell you his name if you paid me (well, OK, if you paid me, I would scamper right over to www.imdb.com and look it up), and just before the movie ended, Kam fell asleep.

He was lying at one end of the love seat; The Lovely was at the other.

“Do you think you could pick him up and carry him back to his crib?” she asked.

“Sure!” I answered, knowing quite well what usually happened.

I slipped my left hand under Kameron’s head, and just as I slid my right hand under his little legs, his eyelids fluttered and his eyes opened wide. Instead of crying, though, he smiled and then, immediately, started laughing.

That. Right then. That was my favorite moment of the trip.

: )

The Bizarro World

When I left this town at approximately 3:05 p.m. Friday, Dec. 24, 2004, the temperature was 6 degrees Fahrenheit and there was a foot of snow on the ground.

When I returned at approximately 11:50 a.m. Monday, Jan. 3, 2005, the temperature was 60 degrees and not a single speck of snow to be found, anywhere.

Oh, and it is raining. And I have THE WORST mother-fucking headache in the history of headaches. (Tylenol 8-hour, do your thing!)

At the same time: I am just back from spending 8 days in Key West. I even have a (slight) tan! And I actually wrote a couple of pages of stuff whilst I was there ... and I took 300+ photos ... so there is lots and lots and LOTS to post. Soon.

Right now: I must nap.

: )