Holidays Loom Large

I'm thankful, you're thankful, we're all thankful.  This week we especially think about giving thanks for our loved ones, our groaning tables, our ease of life compared to everybody else in the world.  Yep, we sure know how to be thankful at Thanksgiving, don't we?

So after you've been thankful for a while, give some real thought to people you know who have lost someone they loved this year.  The holidays, birthdays, the Hallmark moments are really tough.

Do those friends a favor: Send an email, or better yet, sit for a moment and really think about what it means to be them right now.  Then write them a note.  Say, "I'm thinking about you," and mean it. Call them up and tell them you're available if they'd like to talk about their loved one and holidays past.  Give them a tidbit of memory about their loved one from your stash.  Make them laugh. Do it again next year because even if most people have moved on, they are still hurting.

They'll be thankful.

No Regrets

Some of my newer readers may not have read posts about our boat.  Times are tough, and it seems extravagant to have it, but we bought it when times were good.  It has been a gem of a boat.

One of the wonderful things about owning a boat is that it's always waterfront.  For the price of a slip, you can live anywhere in the world.  We've kept ours in North Carolina.  A couple of weekends ago we decided to move it from Southport to a new marina.

It takes much longer to float than drive so the first night we stayed at the original marina where we kept the boat.  A lot has changed at Wrightsville Marina since we bought the boat in 2001. Many of our boating friends have sold their boats, and most of the beautiful Carolina fishing boats don't go out much any more.  Normally this time of year the transient dock would be full of large yachts being moved south for the winter, but that weekend there were only a couple of boats from Holden Beach.

My husband took the boat and I took the car. I had time to visit with my aunt and uncle who live on Wrightsville Beach.  They have been boaters all their lives, living for a period of time on one, and it is the two of them who inspired us to try the boating life.  As we ate breakfast, I told them that I felt bad that we had been extravagant during the boom years instead of saving money for these lean times.  I expected my uncle to agree and was prepared to be contrite, but he surprised me by saying, "Aren't you glad you did it?"  I've thought about his question since that morning, and I have to say that I am glad we did it. That boat has given me a place to go where I can completely disconnect from my worries and obligations, and has taken me places I would never have seen had we not had it.

We are once again docked in Oriental NC, a place that I love.  I've said before that it has the feel of the 50's at the beach and there is so much water to explore in the area.

In an earlier post, right after 9/11, I told of going to the boat for a few days to get away from the television.  I was in shock - we all were - and one afternoon we went on a cruise down the waterway at Wrightsville Beach. I said, "God, give me a sign that it's all going to be all right," and when I looked up, there was a cross way over on the land. It was a tiny bit of hope in the great waters of the tragedy.

Soon, it may be time to sell the boat.  I'm going to enjoy every minute that I can on it, filled with gratitude that I have been able to use it all these years. That it has brought me comfort, that it has taken me to places so devoid of people that they felt primordial.That I have met people I might never have met, that I was able to share the adventure with friends and family. That I've danced with my husband on the back of the boat. That it has seen me through one crisis and another and another. That I've been rocked to sleep by rain and waves and that the sun has shone down on the Coatimundi and me.

Show and Tell

Anyone who has ever written a story has heard the admonishment, "Show; don't tell."  Don't say the person ran to the mailbox, show how she ran, what expression she had on her face; have her think about what she expects to find there.

The other day, another way of looking at "Show; don't tell" occurred to me.

I was sitting in a restaurant with a friend who had recently suffered a loss.  I asked her how she was doing and she told me.  I listened, but in the back of my mind and then out loud I shared an experience similar to hers.  My intention was to let her know that I knew how she felt.

After we went our separate ways, I realized that she probably didn't want to hear me talk about my loss.  She wanted to talk about hers.  And there were ways to show her that I empathized without butting in on her story.

One way is through body language.  I could look her in the eye, nod my head, touch her in a comforting way if I thought she would be comfortable with that.  I could ask questions from my deep knowledge of the type of sorrow she was experiencing that would show her that it was safe to talk because she was with someone who had been there.  Questions like, "That was hard, wasn't it?" and "It's different when you lose a parent/sibling/spouse when you're old/young, isn't it?"

I could find out what she needs from me and other friends, drawing on what I needed.  "Can we bring food, go out to dinner or a movie?" It wouldn't be too much "telling" if I said, "I loved getting cards/calls; do you find that comforting?"

The bottom line is this: who can really understand another's sorrow or illness?  If you were to ask the five children in my family to talk about my father's death and what it meant to them, you would get five different stories. You might even wonder if we're all talking about the same person!

Mostly I think that when people are having troubles--and they seem to be more common as I get older--they just want someone to listen. They want to talk about their loved ones months, years even, after they're gone. They want to enjoy the care and attention they felt during an illness when they're feeling better.  They want to think that what they feel is important.

I'll end with a wonderful quote on listening that I have on my refrigerator:

"Listening is a magnetic and strange thing, a creative force.  The friends who listen to us are the ones we move toward.  When we are listened to, it creates us, makes us unfold and expand."
                                                              -- Dr. Karl Augustus Menninger

Planting Seeds

I am a Capricorn which is an earth sign.  I like to garden some, but I'm not a fanatic about it.  It occurred to me this morning though that I love to plant seeds and see what comes up in a different way.

This planting can take many forms.  I might have an idea, mention it to someone or a group of people, and see what kind of reaction I get.  This might be compared to testing the soil.  Is the group ripe for growing the idea?  Is the person I'm collaborating with fertile with more ideas around mine?

I could be planning an event, setting the scene, roiling up my space to sow seeds of creativity.  I change sheets and clean bedrooms for guests, get out dishes to set a table for eight, pull in a fabulous facilitator, enroll some friends or acquaintances, make a circle of chairs.

I sign up for a class and anticipate the fertilizer it will provide for my future work.

This sowing of seeds has the same sort of anticipation of growth that real planting does.  The table is set, the idea is spoken, the rough draft is written, and now I have to wait to see what comes up. In fact, I might say that my new drug is anticipation.

It's the anticipation that the mail will come with a letter, anticipation that my family will call, anticipation of a workshop or a weekend trip with my husband.  Anticipation of my story being accepted (or even rejected).  Anticipation of nighttime when I grab a book that I've wanted to read all day.  Anticipation of reading my writing to my writing group and hearing their feedback.  Anticipation as the printer reveals one of my photographs on paper, anticipation of a friend receiving a card that I've mailed.

This is not frittering away the present for the future.  It is using the present to make the best of what is to come.  My stomach is kind of churning right now from writing this post.  I know it's because I'm nervously anticipating green shoots from my "garden."

Louisville, Part I

This past weekend, my sister and I went to Louisville KY to see one of my mother's childhood friends, Lucy, and her daughter, Melissa.  I had no idea that Louisville was such a wonderful place to visit:  Churchill Downs, Cave Hill Cemetery, sheikhs' palaces and horse country, some of the best food I've eaten in a long time (something about more restaurants per capita than...).  Louisville is an architectural heaven; almost every street has interesting buildings and houses.  Even the shotgun houses were worth cruising by.

We met Larry, Melissa's husband.  Larry was a wonderful host too and took us on a couple of driving tours of the city.  He works with the governor of Kentucky, and I can say that they are lucky to have such a friendly and gracious guy working for them.  Among other things, Larry is a Vietnam vet. I was interested to hear about his experience there and to talk about books we've read like Matterhorn and The Things They Carried and how truthfully they depict the war.

 At Churchill Downs, we saw the amazing hat exhibit, watched one of the family's horses come from behind to win the Derby in 2009 on the screen that had replays of past races.  We sat in a surround sound theater and I cried when the horses pounded around our heads for the two minute race.  I asked Melissa if the races are that intense in person and she said, "More than that."  Wow!

We stayed at the historic Brown Hotel.  Somehow we got put on the club floor and in the mornings there was breakfast and coffee and in the afternoons wonderful appetizers two doors down from our room.  Not that we wasted any time hanging around in the Club Room; we had places to go and good food to eat!

The real purpose of our visit, though, didn't have anything to do with the city of Louisville.  It had to do with our mother and this friend of hers.  And that is the post for next week.  Stay tuned.  In the meantime, here's a photo of the very beautiful friend and her very beautiful daughter, the best finest people in the best finest most famous, wonderful place in the world! :)  It was a terrific trip.

Scottsdale AZ But Our Minds Were in NC

This past weekend my friend Elizabeth and I went to see her mom and sister in Scottsdale, Arizona. We stayed in a beautiful hotel, The Scottsdale Resort. I don't believe I've ever had a finer experience with a hotel. The staff was accomodating in every way imaginable, all the amenities were either free or reasonable, and it was convenient to where we had to be.



Unfortunately, there was something going on back in North Carolina (and up the east coast): Hurricane Irene. Elizabeth and I would get up in the morning, grab our coffee and start reading or watching the television for news of the storm. I have daughters and other family at various intervals along our eastern border and I was in touch with them too. Elizabeth was talking to her husband often as they live in Pamlico County in NC.



The news was everywhere and the challenge was to separate the hype from the reality of the situation.



Meanwhile in Scottsdale, things were hot and brown. One hundred fourteen degrees all three days. My favorite expression of the weekend when we walked outside was, "Great! The heat's on!" I've never experienced heat like that. Is dry heat better, as they say? I can only say that anywhere that you are so hot the sweat dries as it pops out is too darn hot!



We tried to distract ourselves. We had drinks in the cabana where cool mist sprayed on us periodically.



We swam in swimming pools.



We had manicures and massages.



We took an early morning hike at a nearby park.



Modern communication methods were a blessing. In Elizabeth's town, there is an online news site, and she was able to follow day by day what was going on. However, it was very distressing for her to scroll down and see her house and office being flooded.

The last morning we were there, we had a wonderful brunch at the hotel. We smiled for the cameras, but I know Elizabeth was anxious to get home and see what had happened to her hometown. They are in the process of cleaning up and assessing the damages, as are thousands of others. There wasn't much she could have done while we were out of town, and I hope in some way that the trip was a diversion from what she faced on Monday morning.



On the plane going home, my IPod played Let It Rain by Luciano Pavarotti and Jon Bon Jovi. I began to cry, Pavarotti's beautiful voice the catalyst. Once I got home, I looked up the lyrics. They seemed fitting for the weekend of the storm and the time with Elizabeth's family.

Last night I had a dream; that there would be a morning after.
Long days, sunshine and peace;
Long nights of love, forgiveness, and laughter.
Maybe it was just a dream, but it could be reality.
Children are like planting seeds, you’ve got to let their flowers grow.

Fà che piova, (Let it rain)
Fà che il cielo mi lavi il dolore (Let heaven wash away my pain)
Fà che piova (Let it rain)
che sia la pace il nome d'amore (That peace would be the name of love)

Weekend

(This photograph was taken at a previous exhibit.)



Friday night was the reception for the new photographs we hung in the Long View Gallery. The theme was renewal. You know how when you go grocery shopping and you're thirsty you buy a lot of drinks? And when you're hungry you buy more food than you would normally? I must be tired because three of the photographs I chose to hang were of sleeping people.

Saturday was the day I began the physical dismantling of my father's house. I brought back four or five pieces of furniture and boxes and boxes of photographs, Bibles, news articles, scrapbooks, etc. Last night, this is what my dining room looked like:




I had to get rid of a piece of furniture to bring one back. And in order to accomodate the large amount of archival materials, I had to clean out some cabinets. I got rid of bootleg tapes and old clothes and reorganized spaces to make room. The furniture looks beautiful in the new places, and I feel so happy about my choices.



It was a very emotional couple of days, made all the more so by the death of a very dear friend. In honor of her, I'm ending this post with a poem by e. e. cummings that was part of the gallery exhibit:


I Thank You

i thank You God for most this amazing
day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky; and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday; this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings: and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

--- e. e. cummings

Weekend with Friends

I spent this weekend with seven friends from high school. Two of them I haven't seen since college. We caught up on our families - the deaths and births, marriages and divorces. We caught up on our jobs and retirements. We talked about rifts and repairs in our family dynamics. We played games and ate good food. We shopped. We walked dogs and rode bikes.

In high school, there was this person. Mamie. I had some characteristics that were good. I was outgoing and did well in school. I was a friend to a lot of different kinds of people. I wasn't beautiful, but I think people probably thought I was cute.

But there were some characteristics that weren't so good. And rather than go into them, let's say for the record that I've spent a lifetime working on those negative quailites. And let's say the one that arises whenever I "go back to high school" is insecurity. About a lot of things.

But these friends are friends for life. And throughout the weekend they let me know that they loved me - then and now - and that they're proud of the changes I've made. They didn't expect me to still be the person I was then. They allowed me to be the new and improved, grown up me.

I'm grateful for their friendship. It's lasted for over forty years for some, almost fifty for one of them. Their unconditional love is amazing, and I am renewed for sharing this time with them.

Going Away Party

I drove to the grocery store today, that most mundane of tasks. On the way I passed a teenage boy yawningly walking his dog, a few runners, children playing in the park. I passed a church where people stood in the door hugging and greeting each other, anticipating their spirits being lifted. The lines at the store were so long, people buying chips and beer and wings in preparation for the Super Bowl. I bought convenience foods and fruit and milk. Eggs and bread. Ho hum.

Meanwhile my friend is dying.

We went to see her today. At her house, she was holding court. She is always the person living life to the fullest. When my husband's band plays, it's not a party until she runs into the room and on the dance floor where she and her husband dance with proverbial wild abandon until the last song plays. She rides horses, reads book after book, sails and sits on the porch of her beach house. On New Year's Eve we are among a tableful of guests that she treats to a catered dinner. At midnight we all kiss each other on the lips and laugh and dance.

I shared with her daughter that my mom died when I was young too, and she said, "Yeah, we've been robbed." I remember her son, one of my favorite children in Mother's Morning Out. My friend would drop him off with a huge hug and kiss and let him know she'd be back soon. He would sit quietly for a few minutes, not crying, but tears falling down his cheeks. God he loves his mama.

Over the course of her illness, I've sent her many cards, called and emailed. I didn't realize how she'd come to expect this reaching out until she told me the other day that she was upset when she didn't hear from me "on Monday". Turns out I'd inadvertently gotten in touch most Mondays. And luckily for both of us, the mail had come late Monday, and one of my cards was in the mail. It mattered, she said in her email to me that night.

I've cried as much in the past eight months as I've cried as an adult. My heart is breaking that I'm losing this dearest of friends. I don't think the party can go on without her.

Reunion Weekend

This weekend I went to my 40th high school reunion. And for all the pictures I've taken over the past few years, I didn't not take one photograph the whole time I was with my friends. Thanks to all those who did, and I look forward to seeing them on Facebook.

I love, love, love my reunions, getting lots of hugs and kisses being one of my favorite things! I can understand though, those who shy away from them. It takes guts to go to one. First of all, we all look just enough the same that the face is familiar, but I have to glance at the name tags to be sure that I have the right person sometimes. You cannot be a wallflower at a reunion - you have to put yourself out there time and time again.

For the first time, I didn't agonize about what to wear or what to say about my life. I feel great about me, even if I don't weight 120 pounds anymore, and I've pretty much reached my peak professionally. I have interesting hobbies, talented and beautiful kids, and a husband who looks good standing by my side. And for the first time in forty years, I only put my foot in my mouth once, thanks to the fact that I wasn't drinking!

One of the most moving moments of the weekend was my visit to the memorial table. The organizers had taken some time and given some thought to this presentation, and there was a candelabra and small white place cards with each deceased class member's name. Some people I knew had died, but others were a shock. I knew the first person in our class who died, Ricky, and the most recent, Steve, since the second grade.

Seeing everyone made me greedy to see them more. We have moved beyond the facts - where we live, how many children/grandchildren we have, the lives and deaths of our parents, whether we're retired or still plugging away. We could get into some depth now, if there was only more time.

Yesterday my husband and I did a little cleaning at my dad's. It was very hard to walk into his house on Friday; his absence was palpable ("Dad? DAD?" "Hey!"). But as the weekend progressed, I distracted myself with family and friends and found it easier to be there. One excellent moment (you know how I am about numbers!) was when I noticed this clock on the yard sale pile:



It was a weekend of friends, nostalgia, sadness, longing for our youth and reveling in our present age. Thank you, friends.

Whoa, doggies!

Today is the day it dawned on me that I really don't know alot about having a gallery opening. And I also found out that even if you try to ask the right way, all the things you ever wanted to know about a gallery opening can't be found on the Internet.

I have a beautiful gallery space and I've sent out postcards and posted on Facebook. I have my photographs named and framed, I have the video almost done, I have a play list for the ambient music. I've put together some information boards to tell about the artists and the Moore Square neighborhood. I have a menu and lots of wine; the other artist's husband is making home-brewed beer; a friend is making desserts.

But the thing I realized I didn't know today was this: How does one conduct the sale of photographs at an opening?

So I sucked it up and called an artist friend who loves and doesn't judge me and asked the question. I was embarrassed, really, to admit that I was having this great event and didn't know one of the most basic things about conducting it. She didn't laugh at me (thank you, dear Nancy) and went about giving me all the information I needed. And I had dinner with another friend who augmented my knowledge.

So now, even though I have a new to-do list, and quite extensive, I am prepared to make this show what it needs to be. I want it casual but professional, and I feel confident that on opening day I'll have all the tools to make it just that.

As always, my friends came through.

What Did You Say?

Some of you know that I spent this past weekend with four friends from high school. And yesterday I had lunch with my college roommate. Both times I heard something that astounded me.

Almost ten years ago, I was in the hometown of one of the high school girls. We tried to hook up with her, and she had already left by the time we arrived at our meeting place. After the trip, she tried three times to contact me, by phone and email. For some reason I didn't get back to her all three times. We usually met in our hometown over the Christmas holidays, but for the next few years after that, my family gathered elsewhere.

My college roommate wanted to rekindle our friendship. We made a couple of attempts at getting together and I had to cancel both times. And though we've danced around each other - mutual friends and careers - we haven't gotten together.

Both of these people apologized to me this week because they thought I was angry and upset with them. And that my feelings were what kept us apart. This stopped me in my tracks, because feeling angry and upset with them was the farthest thing on my mind. But for several years, they have felt that I didn't want to be with them.

The simple truth is that their phone messages and email messages got left to be answered when I could give them more attention, and in the daily shuffle they got erased or deleted. And I carried on my little life of children and work and other friends and activities totally unaware that they were hurt by my neglect.

Girlfriends, listen up: I never hold a grudge. I never stay mad. So please oh please don't ever assume that I don't love you anymore. And this goes for all my friends, present and past. I'm not ignoring you, I'm not angry with you, I'm not irritated that we haven't seen each other in a while. I hold each and every friend, their problems, their families, the love that we've shared for umpteen million years as preciously as I hold my family. And most times, most times, if I'm in a snit, you'll know it. Quickly. Zip zip and then it's over.

I'm sorry that I hurt these people, and I'm going to be more conscious of responding to emails and calls in a timely manner. You can't let a good friend fall by the wayside. There are just too few of them.

Weekend in Pictures

Writers Around the Table

Last night a friend and I hosted a Winter Solstice Reading Night. My friend made all the desserts and I got the tables ready. My part was the easiest as she made coconut cake, tropical fruitcake, sweet potato cake, chocolate cake, and two different kinds of cookies (did I remember everything?).



The table was set and the fire was laid. All that was missing was the friends. There's something very exciting about a waiting room, the anticipation of the evening a palpable presence.



Everyone arrived within a few minutes of each other, and bringing our happiness at being together, our excitement about reading our work to each other, and the inevitable sugar buzz from all those goodies, we sat down at the table.




After reading our wonderful words, we discussed publishing and news media and the future of both. We shared our favorite books of the year, a very diverse list ranging from the Anne of Green Gables to the Twilight series to Dickens.

For me, it was the beginning of the celebration of the holidays, a time to sit and listen and be simply present. We decided to meet again soon. It was definitely about sharing as writers, but I also think it had a lot to do with the desserts!

Being with Friends

Tomorrow I'm taking an overnight trip to Oriental to be with friends. Normally, I would spend the whole weekend there, but because of obligations on Saturday I have to come back.

I used to spend every Thursday night with these women. When we first started getting together, we committed to a year of once-a-week meetings and used Cheryl Richardson's book, Life Makeovers, for our discussions. I fixed dinner and we sat around my dining room table or on my deck. I took Wednesdays off to shop and fix the food, and a lot of love went into the preparations.

After the first year, we did another self-help book, Get Out of Your Own Way, and dug a little deeper into our lives, learned a lot about each other even though we'd been friends for many years. After that book, we tried several others, but a few of the women weren't really interested in continuing in the self-help/exploring vein. They wanted a place to come, relax, have dinner, and be with friends.

About the time that this was happening, I quit drinking. Then a year later, I quit smoking. And I realized something: as much as I loved fixing dinner and being with my friends, I loved learning about things too. And I also realized that a good deal of my motivation for setting up the gatherings was so that I could drink.

Fairly abruptly, I quit hosting the weekly gatherings. I don't know how my friends feel about my doing it--no one has said--and we started getting together once a month at different houses. It's a relaxed atmosphere, no agenda, snacks or light dinners prepared by the hostess.

It worked out for all of us, I guess, and I've involved myself in photography classes and writing class and am keeping an eye out for people who might want to form a book discussion group. For now I'm content to be at home on most Thursday nights when my husband plays music, and enjoy the solitude and quiet, and once a month relax with my friends.

It's going to be different this year at the Oriental Spirit of Christmas gathering because one of the regulars won't be there. We're going to miss you, Peetro.

With Friends

Remembering one's youth is fraught with emotion. My friends and I immersed ourselves in memories this weekend.

We confessed our deepest insecurities, replayed our riskiest moments, realized that all our families had their hidden (and not-so-hidden) demons. We reveled in our luck at making it to fifty-seven years in good health, without unbearable loss. But we counted our losses too: parents, friends, babies. We discussed the other kinds of losses we'd suffered, those harder to measure their absence: close relationships, innocence, love, trust.

It was hard to part with these friends who have known me for so long, for the safety they afforded me this weekend, for the unconditional love we have for each other. I felt their loss as soon as they drove away. I honked twice, they honked twice, then they disappeared around the curve to their respective cities and lives.

It made us want to get more of our old friends together, this small taste of memories. We're already planning. I know it won't be as long this time, because it's clear from our remembering that we don't have all day anymore.

At the Table Again

Twenty-four hours from now I will be sitting at this table with five other women:

Betsy, who was my best friend in the fourth, fifth and sixth grades. Her father died of cancer the year we met. We had our first boyfriends together, Joey and Mike. I wanted to dress just like she did, so when my mom bought me a madras skirt and a navy blue oxford weave shirt, I wore it as many days as I could get away with. It was about this time that I realized that everyone's mom didn't make their clothes.

Madeleine, who walked up to me on the steps as we waited for the doors to open on the first day of eighth grade. She was new to our school (fresh from parochial school) and a little wisp of a thing. She asked if I was Mamie, and I don't think I know to this day how she identified me, but we've been friends ever since. We went to college together also.

Emmy Lou, who used to drive me around in her blue Camero so I could smoke cigarettes. She was definitely my most level-headed friend, a great confidante. And she lived in a big, beautiful, interesting house near the country club. She was my best friend in high school.

Lisa, who was a twin, and ran with a different crowd than I in high school. I lived with her and her boyfriend (now husband) after college. She and I live in the same city and see each other at parties and around town.

Trish, my dear sister-in-law, whom I've known since I was twenty years old and started dating her brother. One of the most beautiful women I know, with a heart of gold, she and I are friends as well as relatives.

It's going to be a weekend of reminiscing, laughing, catching up, eating well, listening to oldies. I can't wait.

Happy Birthday, Jim!

Today is Jim's birthday. Jim and his wife, Nancy, are owners of Quail Ridge Books in Raleigh.

I first met Nancy years ago, when my children were small. Her bookstore was much smaller too, but the children's department was a dream for a young mother. Years later, the bookstore moved to a shopping center near my house, and we became friends.

Jim and Nancy are now two of our best friends. They also had their thirtieth anniversary this year, and we're planning a great trip to celebrate. It'll be on a boat. It takes a special group of people to get along on a trawler for a week, but they are just the kind of people you want.

The two of them have worked together to grow an award-winning bookstore. The bathroom walls are lined with photographs of appreciative authors, and people come from out-of-town to visit the store.

A person could not ask for better friends than the two of them. Nancy tells it like it is - a welcome quality in a friend even if sometimes her telling requires some self-examination. Jim is calm and even-tempered and as knowledgable about wine as anyone I know.

I'm grateful for these two in my life, and wish Jim many, many returns of his birth day.

One week later...

I know, I've been bad. And I hope you've missed me.

This weekend I went on the now annual trip to march in the Oriental Spirit of Christmas parade with seven of my friends. Here we are in line for the parade. It was freezing, but when you're dancing and "playing" music, you stay warm. And being embarrassed about making a fool of yourself helps keep the body temperature up.



NAUGHTY:



NICE:



The first night, this was on my right at the river:



And incredibly, this was on my left:



During the day the sun was shining and I got to ride my bike a little. I felt very nostalgic for the sleepy little town where you can ride in the middle of the street at all hours of the day and night.



There was a lot of cosmic energy over the three days we were there. Full moon, celestial cross, the date of 12/12, and coincidences involving numbers over and over.

It's always good to get home though.