Oobilldiddy dooo

At least that's what it sounds like, this garbled ZZ Top concert on cable tv, have mercy. I was looking for Christmas music and landed in the eighties. What is news today is that Washington DC has at least a foot of snow and is closed for business, so my son who lives there is showing the populace how to slide down Capitol Hill on a piece of cardboard. My boy. Take pictures, I said.

He'll use his Buffalo, NY ways to maneuver the drifts that throw your everyday DC-er into a milk and bread-buying panic as if they were the feathers of a thousand miniature white hummingbirds. His mighty sneakers will kick that fluff aside, and plow ruts in the road for cars to follow; he'll clean sidewalks with a swing of his mighty northern-born arms using his Blackberry for a shovel. His laughter and Russian muskrat hat will melt icicles and extremist Republicans into puddles. Go forward, my son, I am proud.

Time to push some more things around. Be back later, I can just tell.

Eez Chreestmoose!

I tell you, get an organizer in your life and BAM! they facilitate the necessary details that just are difficult for me to divine. Jeanmarie D. came over to help get the tree up and decorate, and now I also have furniture arranged so that there is more room than ever before. Plus, a narrow, white, pre-lit tree that Lord please Lord the cats will not bother. I tethered it to the wall with twine, but they could still steal ornaments.

Boris the New Cat had started the day with his continued fascination with the bathtub, he jumps in and digs like a badger in the corners. Today he stuck his face into the drain and meowed, so I turned on the tiniest trickle and wow, was that ever what he wanted. He stuck his paw into the stream and licked, he let the water pour onto his head while he drank what ran down between his ears. I've only seen this on YouTube, this weirdness that ended up with a soaked, happy cat. He let me towel him off, and seemed to be smiling. Okay by me, whatever floats your boat, champ.

Then I called up Jeannie, who had said she could help with the tree. But, she wanted the tree in front of the mirror, not in the corner I had cleaned out. Sure. She directed the moving of rugs, the couch, chairs and sundry and it looks terrific. She made me straighten the curtains, suggested I go back to the pink walls I once had, and prodded the plastic tree into glory. Myself, things usually look like of course this matches when I have no clue to decorating, which is part of whatever charm I can claim. Things are dashed together and as long as there is cat food in the house, the rest can take care of itself. Jeanmarie has subtly pointed out the ways of symmetrical peace, and well, she is right in that balance makes a better picture. At least, today it does.

The white tree sparkles. So do you. Nighty night.

Self-indulgence

Something inside is trying to get out it aches like anticipation. Apprehension and joy in one torn scab of pain and pleasure. Here I am again in the sterile environment of blog, sans paper and pen only because it's quick and easy to edit, this electronic robotic mechanism of keyed words.

What is it? The holidays? Raymond Scott's Powerhouse? The new cat? That I found a penny today, looked for someone I knew, or am full of milk? You may suffer, O Anonymous Reader, whilst I plod forward. Paint the apartment. Toss out junk. Feng shui myself into arranged auspicious life. Everything at once, and make that now.

Zounds.

Quick Saturday Morning

So much so much to do, I wish humans only needed four hours of sleep. This is a busy Saturday, cleaning, cookies, gas fill-up, fabric shop, groceries, post office and solace, I need to schedule some of that in also. I cannot pass the image of my friend Nancy without a pang, it is not real to me that she is gone. I miss my colleague Barbara, another friend who passed on two weeks before my girl's death. Ah, sadness performs the necessary contribution to hope. And so life does not stand still after that moment of the first gasp when the news comes. Oh speed, it does not allow withdrawal, but you dig in and leap forward, only older in body and mind.

Jump in with both feet, my loves, for that is the continued contribution to creative success. There is a new cat. I finished this semester in bumps and starts at college, few more to go. Milk tastes good. The aprons arrived to make for my students. A little girl gave me a beaded necklace she made herself, all more precious as she can only read a struggling 20 words a minute and lives in chaos. Kai plays with her cat toy as if it had a heartbeat, doing somersaults of brown furry victory. My son Brian. My sort of son, Scotty. Friends and new avenues of thought pull me forward.

This post is only a map of destination and travels from before. I must write, write, there is so much that needs to be charted.

Coming changes...

Really, I would like to refine my style of writing since re-reading several older posts have left me with the sensation of a ping pong ball explosion. Lord, I am scattered and often ambiguous. Obscure. Eccentric. But, I am lovable; sort of like your Aunt Millie after a shot of Seagram's mixed with a little soda.

So, the solution is to write in short bits, in between assignments for college. Much has happened and frankly, writing is a favored catharsis for exposing myself to well, myself. Tomorrow is December first, near to the end of 2009 which contained more loss than the last ten years altogether. Yet the year itself was successful regarding new experiences and changes.

Tonight we are to have snow, the first with staying power. Flakes and tiny particles have flung themselves earthward but nothing with any serious intent; swirls in the wind, then gone. It feels chill, you can tell in this brick building when cold arrives and of course there is the smell of snow in the air. I don't know what creates it, but snow has a smell and that smell is so enjoyable that it induces people to drink urns of hot chocolate and bundle up in thick socks and mittens. Soups and chili appear, big-handed men tear loaves of bread for dipping in filled bowls, the laughter is deeper, the blankets are alive like in a fable and hug us.

We aren't quite there yet, but the forecast says close, it is close. Listen for winds, feel the building shudder, there will be ice on the sidewalks, and happy people looking forward to stay-at-home nights given us by Old Man Winter. Stay well.