who knew

"Someone said count your blessings now 'fore they're long gone..." That's a taller order than I can manage (even in heels). Yet, not being one to stand down from a challenge... As a side note, my new years resolutions next january includes conquering this darephilia!

So here is a shout out to the true friends who gave precious feathers so that I could have wings.

Heal Over

They tell me that my memories will travel everywhere with me. They tell me that you can have many homes. They tell me that pain and joy are constant companions of the other.

Drifting in on the breeze is a whisper to "don't hold on but don't let go."

How? I somberly ask. For the fifth time in two years I've packed myself into suitcases and boxes. And I want to know when it'll end...but that knowledge is the forbidden fruit and I'm reluctant to imbibe.

But the breeze carelessly pretends to not hear and lazily plays in the leaves.

Frustrated I turn back when a friend quietly holds my shoulder and stays my step. "Listen!" I grasp the second chance and the soft wynd smiles.

for 15

wait for the lyrics
that aren't your own
believe in the story
if it's sadder than true
search for a drumline
and though it won't come
don't cry 'it's over!'
when we've nearly begun

Its Raining, Its Pouring

The old man is probably snoring...

Snoring is the prerogative of the elderly, so we ought not to grudge the old man that. Instead, we can work together to find solutions (ie. sound proof rooms). While I'm on the subject of nasally grunting noises, let me once more assure the world that I am still NGN free (except when laughing... it appears that I snort now). Despite the testimony of a certain petite, albeit outspoken, redhead... I don't snore. Not only can I prove how invalid her scientific sample was, I can also provide ample evidence to the effect that all the tales she has brought forward regarding my sleeping habits are in fact "lies". Come to think of it, I have a reasonably strong counterclaim that she just doesn't share well. (See respective appendixes D & B for further details about cockroaches and teaching little children not to share.)

I'm not sure how I got on this rant... Oh yes, that silly rhyme!

So anyway, its quite a glasweegee day-- rain, wind, more rain, more wind.

Before I mercifully end these ramblings, in anticipation of the rebuttal I remind the rebuttee to remember that my leg was thoroughly busted, making it impossible for me to turn over any other way. Thus, I'm sure that even Rudy would agree to the existence of extenuating circumstances!

look ma! can I keep him?

I bonded with this kid right off. We seemed to have so much in common and totally didn't run out of things to talk about.

There is the matter of smell but I'm hoping the fruity soaps will take care of that... and as to the food on the mouth, well I too have been known to have hay stuck on my face. I ought not to judge. Besides, he cleans up well.

So, I was thinking... can I keep him?

just not here

Contemplating the extent of my homesickness while simultaneously developing my overhead serve, it occurred to me that when I grow up I should invent a process that allows me to be in two places at once. That way I wouldn't miss the school ceilidh, the frighteningly hot scottish summer, or the Dr. Seuss bike but, I could still enjoy the company of family, friends, pets, and my favorite set of sheets. (A little known factoid is that the aforementioned sheets were intentionally left in the states in order to ensure my eventual return -- aren't I clever?)

On second thoughts, I think there may be a slight snag in my highly creative solution; I have about as much engineering ability as I have volleyball skillz. And, despite having just spent the last couple hours batting a balloon around, the latter is still, well, rather non-existent. However, hope is not entirely lost seeing as there is a sufficient low-tech solution already in place. Some people call this "money," which is certainly descriptive. Perhaps when I'm old and bored I'll be able to afford this technology (reason no. 484 why I need a lawyer's salary).

In the meantime, I'll just keep listening to homesick-inducing music. And maybe go out and watch some grass grow...

enough is enough?

I used to wonder whether the kid who got everything he wanted for christmas was happy. [It was always a "he" because in my ideal christmas I would be transformed into a boy.] Would he fully recognize his good fortune? Or would the memories of past, imperfect christmases somehow sour the ideal one? Would the uncertainty of a less than perfect future embitter?

Never having experienced perfection, in any of its manifestations, I can't pretend to know what it feels like. However, I am convinced that it just doesn't matter. If divorced from our pet expectations, even if only for the briefest of moments, we would see that the logarithmic function of life brings us exponentially closer to fulfillment than we ever imagine.

Of course, this means that we can't ever actually touch it. But, if there is an upside to imperfection it is this: the certainty that the quest to approach zero will always remain.

And I realize, being a sink with an open drain isn't so bad...

dinner for lunch

Why is that we say it's all in your head when what we really mean is that your stomach is fast approaching your throat? Perhaps by focusing on psychological phobias one hopes vainly to be distracted from the resulting physical phenomena. Or maybe it is because from childhood we have been raised to distrust our gooey grey matter.

Whatever the reason, I'm thinking its high time to prettily curtsy and concede to my fear of heights, or more specifically, my fear of falling from heights. Which is to say, I'm hoping that sometime really soon I will no longer feel the need to "challenge my phobias" and instead, contentedly keep my feet firmly planted on the ground (or wheresoever they be planted).

What good will "running from the fight" accomplish? Not much! But, perhaps in time, I'll be able to close my eyes without visualizing the terrifying image of scooting down the steep slopes of Scotland's wee hills. Until then, I'll spend a fortune calling my tribe. (Reason no 342. why I need a lawyer's salary.)

coffee mugs, aviators, & tweed jackets

Dan-the-Man is back and all is right (again) in Glasgow. We have returned to our place at the center of the universe. Sadly, our gain is once more north america's loss. Just goes to show that dynamic efficiency ain't all its cracked up to be.

Of course, my pet theory is that all this traveling is the only way to ensure that a given region doesn't reach assimilative capacity of southern coolness. After all, dilution is de' solution...

So Dan, thanks for diluting, being cool, and returning to the crazy farm.