Enter, October

I love October and always will. I just wish it felt the same, carried with it the same meaning that it once did. Or twice. In college it was Bre and that bittersweet first love and loss. Euphoria, foolishness, naivete, wounded pride, ego, hurt, emptiness. But after a very short time all I really remembered was (and still is): our first meeting at the picnic table, the others filing off one by one until it was just Bre and I. Outlasting the other guy interested in spending more time with her. Her incredible smile. Mischievous, inviting, and warm. Walking out of Fuller, feeling the cold air hit our face, holding her hand as we made our way to her dorm, our breathe misting in front of our faces; the stars, the moon, and a 19 year old's certainty of first love's happily ever after. I found out she had been diagnosed with cancer in another October, a quarter century after that first meeting.

My family makes its annual pilgrimage to some local mountains (hills) and in two weeks it will be the 22nd consecutive trip for some of us. During that time it has ranged from a day spent with my Uncle to a gaggle of us, feasting, cycling, playing tennis, huddled by the fireplace, telling and retelling stories, laughing, solving the world's problems, and sharing some of the best of memories. For four years there would be letters or emails waiting for me from my dear long distance friend, catching me up on what had happened in her world that week, telling me how much she missed starting and ending each day with silly &/or thoughtful messages from me and then the year that she planned to join us for our journey. Now this will be the fourth year that there is only silence that will greet my return. I know four years is way to long to waste wondering why but I still don't understand it and I know I never will.

I love this month, always will, but nothing cuts into my soul like October.

happiness is...

an Airedale rushing toward you, as if your presence is the among the greatest joy she knows.

Penguin ban

There are several ills in this world and it didn't kill anyone or spread any disease but the Washington Post pulling the last two "Opus" strips reeks of the same type of censorship that the press usually (justifiably) rails against. The strip for Sunday, Sept 2 was one of the best jabs at American society as well as a commentary on a dogma.

mid Sept (already)

I am afraid inspiration still has eluded me. Actually she is doing an excellent job of hiding. Which you'd think would mean she'd be in my brain, because that is absolutely the last place I would think to look for anything. And the way things are filed there if she was in there it would be impossible to find her among the grey mush.

On the real life side, Dad's back is getting worse, to the point of meetings with surgeons. I went to clinic to give blood for an ALS research project. On way back drove passed the old homestead (this blog is named after it). Place was run down, yard in serious need of mowing. The dogwood at the curb is dead. Each Easter Dad would take pic of Mom, the girls and myself. Each year my Easter suit is more hideous than the prior year. I still loathe shopping for clothes. At the time it was mainly just boring. What kid wanted to spend a perfectly beautiful spring Saturday in JC Penny looking for the most psychedlic suit in the state. Actually shopping with Mom ended on the annual quest for the Easter suit. I have heard a similar tale from a comedian once and I'm not sure if he had somehow tapped into my own life or if this is perhaps more common than you'd think. It was one year when we splurged, which meant we were in Sears rather than JC and I was trying on the suit. The first sign that things were not going well was when I heard my Mom's voice from inside the dressing area. Evidently I was taking too long to try it on or perhaps she thought I had been abducted. Then when I finally came out for display, just as I thought it was over and I could go back and change she spotted a loose thread, in the crotch. She pointed it out to the sales clerk and before I could voice my objection he was shoving some senior sales personnel toward us. The older man actually put on his glasses and there I am in Sears, with my Mom and two sales clerks squatting in front of me staring at my crotch as other shoppers pass by wondering what in the world is going on. I still haven't forgiven Mom for that one.