Nine pee em

…and eight days left (at work), another two after that and Manitou Springs is just a memory. In the meantime, trying to get everything packed or segregated for the garage sale, building a web site (soon!), taking care of kids and going to work… yes, a stressful time but a joyful one as well. Tonight calls for a few beers, some sweet nothings with MBS on the phone (soon we won’t need THAT connection) and then attempt to get the bulk of the web site completed.

MBS is my savior. This area has become (it seems) a vortex of nothingness, a black hole, and she has pulled me up into the light, given me love, given me hope, given me everything I’ve desired in life – and more.

The time to snap the bonds here is close. Although I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop (as if some malevolent force incarcerates me here), I believe the universe is finally turning in my favor and the time to manumit me has arrived. With my savior taking me by the hand, I gather up my children and journey to the Promised Land.

Just sayin’

Oh, I was up way too late last night/this morning working on the wedding web site. Not tonight, my friends – and no writing tonight.

I’m that tired, heh.

Randomly generated random blahging

Don’t know if you caught this last week, WH Press Secretary Dana Perino let some greenhouse gases escape from her little blonde head to bloviate about the supposed health benefits of global warming:

Sure. In some cases, there are -- look, this is an issue where I'm sure lots of people would love to ridicule me when I say this, but it is true that many people die from cold-related deaths every winter. And there are studies that say that climate change in certain areas of the world would help those individuals. There are also concerns that it would increase tropical diseases and that's -- again, I'm not an expert in that, I'm going to let Julie Gerberding testify in regards to that, but there are many studies about this that you can look into.

Um, “love to ridicule” seems a bit much; the airhead invites ridicule. If she was my daughter I’d be heartbroken with embarrassment.

As chunks of ice the size of the state of Florida, break off from the Arctic ice-sheet, the rightard’s gainsaying of Global Warming sounds more and more like the Chewbacca Defense. Speaking of which, I was more inclined to go out and chase fairies and unicorns than believe the Rockies would be anything more than soundly swept by the Sox.

It's almost time to harvest fallen leaves to feed the dump, orange and black bags piled high in a stinking maw.

And so, brothers and sisters, we, you, I (and hopefully, them), breathe, breathe, think and invite the faeries and unicorns sit in and chant an excerpt of a Samhain ritual, Invocation to the Guardian of the Gate and Sage:

You are the echo we hear at the forest deep,
And the warmth of the sun upon our face.
You are the ageless sound of the oceans roar
And the power that is felt in the wild place.
You are the wheat that rustles low on the breeze
And the spark that ignites the hearth fire.
You are the passion and the power and the ecstasy
That is reached at the end of desire.
You are the squirrel who plays games in the treetops
And the young stag who runs wild and free.
You are the clatter of hooves on the old gravel road
And the strength of the old oak tree.
You are the wrinkles of the old crippled man
and in the child, young and strong.
You are in the joy of union of love
In the passionate kiss, slow and long.
You are the lover, my father, and the Ancient One.
Take my hand and teach me the dance,
Of the change of the seasons and the eye of the storm
of fertility, of death, love and romance,
We remember always as your children to be merry
To hear the music, both dark and light
We hold sacred your realm and all it contains
As we dance to your tune in the night.

...and there's always next season, it's a young team; expect us at Coors Field when the warm comes back.

Until then, there's Wolf Creek a mere half hour away, where next season always means "just more fun".

So, I said I was perfect?

A little misstep – sorry. Thursday night my internet went down and last night I was busy boxing things up and talking to MBS until 2 AM. The boxes are piling up and I’m doing with less and less. Actually, I’m pretty pleased at how well it’s been going and I don’t feel too badly about multi-tasking within the midst of this to design the wedding web site.

Naturally, no time to write.

I suggest you go here and read this NYT Magazine piece on evangelicals starting to actually act like Christians and rejecting the Falwell/Robertson/Dobson swine that have given Christianity a very bad name.

Today the president’s support among evangelicals, still among his most loyal constituents, has crumbled. Once close to 90 percent, the president’s approval rating among white evangelicals has fallen to a recent low below 45 percent, according to polls by the Pew Research Center. White evangelicals under 30 — the future of the church — were once Bush’s biggest fans; now they are less supportive than their elders. And the dissatisfaction extends beyond Bush. For the first time in many years, white evangelical identification with the Republican Party has dipped below 50 percent, with the sharpest falloff again among the young, according to John C. Green, a senior fellow at Pew and an expert on religion and politics. (The defectors by and large say they’ve become independents, not Democrats, according to the polls.)

Some claim the falloff in support for Bush reflects the unrealistic expectations pumped up by conservative Christian leaders. But no one denies the war is a factor. Christianity Today, the evangelical journal, has even posed the question of whether evangelicals should "repent" for their swift support of invading Iraq.

"Even in evangelical circles, we are tired of the war, tired of the body bags," the Rev. David Welsh, who took over late last year as senior pastor of Wichita’s large Central Christian Church, told me. "I think it is to the point where they are saying: ‘O.K., we have done as much good as we can. Now let’s just get out of there.’ "

An encouraging article.

Ho-hum, if said by enough people over and over again, might sound like ‘om’

I’m tired and I miss MBS. The Sox embarrassed the Rox in Game 1 of the world series. And there’s lots of boxes to be packed. I’m certain you can do the math.

Saying something

It seems pretty damned nuts that although we’re still a little over a year away from a presidential election, the campaigns have been dragging on since last January. Small wonder our system of government and politics is so screwed up. Almost two years of this crap infuriates even the most dedicated political junkie, yours truly included. Polls and palaver and dimwitted punditry non-stop - that the general electorate is exasperated by the endless circus shouldn’t arch an eyebrow.

In the interest of saving billions of dollars, the relative sanity of most Americans, and the ozone, elections need to be restricted to six weeks. If a candidate announces prior to the agreed upon start date, they’re disqualified; any money raised prior to that date will be considered illegal. Any candidate who can’t build support or a decent platform in six weeks doesn’t deserve be in office. Indeed, restricting the election cycle to six weeks would eliminate a lot of the pandering and triangulation that pollutes the whole process.

The tragedy is, the dog and pony show distracts from the very real fact that this country is in crisis. The thugs and thieves who have looted our public trust (and coffers) the past seven years need to be stood in front of a firing squad, not just tossed out of power. The sad-ass state of the nation, the suffering of its children, the shattered promise of the country I grew up with... I'm sick of the whole damn process but it's all we have (short of revolution).

So return to my previous post, please. Keep hope alive.

Time to deliver

I thought this was cool, social scientists say just 11% of us make a difference:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/stacey-lawson/are-you-part-of-the-11_b_69285.html

Read it and ask yourself if you are one of the 11%...

Sunday/snow day nothing-to-say edition

Snow today, the first of the season, about 5 inches of it. There really hasn’t been much of a fall – I mean the leaves have turned and everything but the weather has been decidedly summer-ish – and so the cold and snow came somewhat as a relief. Until a couple weeks ago there was no snow on Pikes Peak, by far the latest in the year that the Peak has gone without snow in all the time I have lived here. Needless to say, the extended summer temperatures and no apparent autumn had been disconcerting.

Not nearly as disconcerting, apparently, as the news that Albus Dumbledore is gay.

If you were wondering how the hayseeds were handling this news, you need to read this for a good laugh (while you’re there, poke around a bit for their hilarious take on the fishist attack on Banned Books Week).

*sigh* Ah well. At least there’s a purpose in the universe (per mathematical equation). To which I say:

Blahg-ing

Bleah.

Back in Manitou Springs for my final bid of loneliness and to put in the last stretch at work. Boxing things up and getting ready to sell the farm before I leave for Pagosa Springs three weeks from now. And as I said in my last post, this situation hardly makes me feel happy about posting every day but there you have it.

I left Pagosa a little after 8 this morning and drove straight for the 4 ½ hours it takes to get here. Took in my mail, unloaded my car and went straight to work. In a few hours I’ll be on the phone with MBS, transported by her sweet voice, missing her terribly. Needless to say, I’ll be too preoccupied – and too exhausted – to spend any time here.

Yes, we’re too adorable… and so is this:

Down the road a bit.. no a bit more... um, just a little more... almost there...

Out at a gathering hosted by MBS' friends, the couples and almost everyone's kids, which wasn't nearly as dreadful as it sounds. MBS has some very cool friends. We gathered to eat, play, jam, drink, laugh - all accomplished beyond expectations. Children with penny-whistles, beating on drums, belting it out on the couch, marshmallows melted on sticks fired in a wood-burning stove. Ladies gossiping and laughing in a tight huddle while the boys toasted a bowl in the laundry room.

NOT standard suburban fare, thank god.

Though gods were there.

Tomorrow I have to return north and finish up that chapter of my life. I do not want to go. My home is here and what I have there feels like the tail-end of a flop, where I surf a couch, waiting for the inevitable ascent to tomorrow. With the exception of my kids, everything is here and soon, even they will be here so there will be no reason to ever leave again. A night like tonight reminds me where my heart is, where my home is, where I'm meant to be. Tomorrow I'll be at my not-home, working at my soon to be not-job, not happy, not with MBS.

Fortunately, it's not long in all that but until then, prepare for rather testy posts. The next three weeks will be busy and bitchy.

Making out with Mara, drunk on wine

All your pumpkins are belong to us and by the way, they beep when the best of everything bursts through the center

So this whole posting every day thing isn't supposed to start until November but I figured I'd flex my limbs, curl my toes, chop all the hair out of my nose in order to get ready for the... whatever it is that posting once a day gets me. A nifty
thing on my blog roll and two or three people who never read me and - after reading me - realize there's better ways to kill a minute... sweet.

I rise to the challenge, even if I'm a wet willow branch that bends in the wind

I could have taken the day off but then how would it have finished?

Contrary to all rumors (that I started), I am in fact now posting every day until the first of December. The persistent yet otherwise magnificent MizMlle challenged me to NaBloPoMo (illegal in 6 other states, still) and I accept, the taste of a nation (or the tastes of a weird few) be damned.

So you might get a lot of this:



or this and that.

With one small rock in place, we are a step closer to a new adventure

So yeah, I was fooling around with this woman's finger last Friday night...

Since nobody noticed that I failed to post a Random Friday thingy (in fact, no has has seemed to notice that I haven't posted anything at all in the past week and a half), I'll just kind of skip over the not posting part and pretend I'm my usual chatty self. Or not.

I've had bigger fish to fry (and more on that in a bit) than updating here. MBS arrived with her sparkling trio of daughters on Friday for a big weekend in my neck of the woods. My mother graciously hosted a slumber party with combined broods while MBS and I stepped out for dinner at one of Manitou Springs' nicer restaurants for an evening of romance and big deals. See, although MBS and I had pretty much decided that we would be married January 5, 2008 and agreed that together forever was where our hearts resided, I hadn't gotten around to "the official asking" task. So it was a dinner with a mission.

We chose the "Old World" appetizer and the Seafood entree' platter, electing to go with their 3-wine matches for the various courses (with my nerves a little frazzled, I had to opt for another glass). Everything was superb, delicious although the quality of the food, wine, or service was a distant third to what was truly on my mind: the marvelous company I had for dinner (my best friend ever, my soulmate, the most beautiful woman in the world) and of course, the task at hand (pun indeed intended, mea culpa).

Right before the chocolate fondue and the tawny port, I palmed the ring, got up from my seat and moved to MBS, reeling with anxiety. Yeah, I knew she'd say "yes" but still, it was a huge deal, a lifetime-defining moment. Before her, I knelt on one knee and took her hand in mine and said, "Um... I have the wrong hand, don't I?"

MBS giggled, I think she thought my nervousness was kind of cute, and offered me the correct hand. Slipping the ring on her finger, I asked if she would do me the honor of being my wife and live with me forever. I hope it goes without saying that she responded positively especially considering the post from a weeks back.

I'm in Pagosa Springs now, having followed MBS and her fabulous girls home after the elation of that evening out. I want to thank everyone for their suggestions on the color scheme for our wedding website (I'll post the URL as soon as I get it done), we decided to go with white, red, and black (something to do with Celtic tradition). In the flurry that is moving a family and planning a wedding, I hope I can find time to post here every few days or so but I think you all will understand if I don't get it done.Anyway, I don't have Photoshop here to clean up the two dark pics our waitress took with my phone at the end of our dinner...

You'll have to help me decide which pic is better.

However, I think you all can decide that she is, in fact, the most beautiful woman in the world.

Friday random yadda yadda

There's a ga-jillion reasons I'm looking forward to moving to Pagosa Springs but I must confess that a small guilty pleasure is the existance of a dishwasher. As I type this, a sink full of dirty dishes moans my name like some dope-fiend distant relation and I'm doing all I can to ignore the imprecations of the stack teetering at sinks edge. We wash by hand here in Manitou Springs, a hard scrabble life. This second glass of Shiraz is helping me tune out the din of dishes tired of posing as seventh-grade biology projects.

The midget mafia is in the other room, squeeling like nitrous fiends, batting an inflatable skeleton around (that they've named, for no good reason, "Bobby"), pretending the puffy bit of kitsch possesses some potential for terror. The mafia browbeat me into putting up Halloween decorations with a threat somewhere between "we'll put them up ourselves" and "pity if something should happen to your fingers sometime during the night". So, there's glowing plastic pumpkins in the windows and orange icicle lights hanging from the eaves although I'm not certain what orange-colored faux icicles have to do with Halloween. When the Boss tells you what you gotta do, you don't ask which windows get the goofy bat stick-ons.

It's not bad enough that I'm getting my balls busted by festivity infested firkins and fuzzy flatware but I also need to get a wedding web site together, whatever colors we need eludes me at the moment. Once upon a time, before the Dot Bomb, I worked as a web designer and was damn good at it. And I guess I could do that but I'm still wondering if I do this well in the least, this with 'the blogging'. All that's out there - what color does that get? These aren't questions that should be asked when one's balls are smashed, but here they are, nonetheless.

What colors would you go with?

I'm not too proud, see.

When other bloggers talk about their random 10 or whatever, they're talking about their iPod shuffle. Hey, if you're going to sit there watching Murder, She Wrote, you need to know how this all goes down.

I'm too poor to own an iPod. Nothing's random but this, here.

Another Hell in the Here & Now

Boycott Chevron & Total filling stations until their companies quit doing business with the brutal regime in Burma

Hopefully I got your attention with that, the extent of anything a worthless blogger like me can do for the people of Burma.

I've been staring at that last sentence for a half hour and now that I'm typing again (in this weirdly meta-meta-way), it occurs to me that the problem is not having anything to say but wanting to say too much, all at once, frothing at the mouth, fists clenched, veins bulging in my neck and forehead. There are times I want to be Superman and use those powers to make a difference, fly to Burma and slap the crap out of the soldiers until they see that firing on their own people is wrong, criminal, a one-way ticket to hell; I want to round up the junta and toss them far out into the sea; I want to have the CEO of Chevron quivering and crying on the ground in front of me, kicking him in the nuts until his ears bleed.

For those of you who were just rescued from a collapsed mine, Vicki fills you in, classier and with more restraint, natch. So does Amanda:

Our hearts are with those who struggle in Burma because they must, because you will never be wholly owned as long as you continue to struggle. It’s easy for me to say that, though, isn’t it? Which is why writing this is hard; my awe of those who put their lives on the line is humbling. May we all have the courage of our convictions as those who struggle against the military dictatorship do.

Read them and then see what kind of brutality they're talking about.

It's really hard to type with clenched fists. I just want to kick in a door and smash the little painted clay statue of capitalism lit with candles, glittering with the chipped pittances of the poor, shining on an altar in every glass monstrosity casting its long shadow. Every one of us here immersed in the glow of these photons spun to us through a few holes in the wall seem to owe our alliance to Chevron and/or Time/Warner and/or Disney/ABC/CapCities and/or/and/or/and the transfat empire but I can assure you, we can shake off our chains (um, except, I suspect that if you're reading me, shaking off chains isn't usually your motivation).

Don't buy anything from Chevron or Total, that's all I'm saying. So glad I live in a society where I can say what I want, a society of laws and compassion.

Camomile Tea

Outside the sky is light with stars;
There's a hollow roaring from the sea.
And, alas! for the little almond flowers,
The wind is shaking the almond tree.

How little I thought, a year ago,
In the horrible cottage upon the Lee
That he and I should be sitting so
And sipping a cup of camomile tea.

Light as feathers the witches fly,
The horn of the moon is plain to see;
By a firefly under a jonquil flower
A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.

We might be fifty, we might be five,
So snug, so compact, so wise are we!
Under the kitchen-table leg
My knee is pressing against his knee.

~ Katherine Mansfield

The leaves are turning and mornings bite, a nip sharp enough to make me take a breath of it inside and convince me that a coat has a place in my future. Every year I wish summer would endure and every year those wishes get whooshed away with the dervishes of dust and leaves that spin eastward down my street. The windows get closed at night and there’s pumpkins to be carved.

This year is different, though: it’s my first samhain, be gentle with me.

Prime me with camomile tea.

Finish me with mulled wine.