Just found out the last survivor of the Titanic died today.
Don't know why, but the thought gives me pause:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Millvina_Dean

It's an interesting thing when something is no longer a memory, because no one is left who remembers it. It's now just history. Something that happened to other people, ages ago.

Taken from the Mars Hill Newsletter for Janurary:

Autumn has now passed into the season of fallow rest.  Winter has officially hit. The Seattle sky is darker; the clouds give off a menacing side glance attitude.  This is the time I love to curl up with a book.  Of course, I don’t really curl.  I’d cramp up in five minutes if I tried.  But I love looking at my wife, a cup of tea in her hand, reading a book, with her legs tucked under an afghan.  Her face is at rest; I don’t know precisely the words she is reading, but I can tell she is captivated.  This is the season to reflect.

I hope you allow your heart to ponder the rise and fall, the death and resurrection of your year.  The 2008 year will pass into the stream of eternity with little fanfare if we don’t take a few moments to stop and listen to who we have become as a result of our suffering and blessings.  We owe it to our tears and laughter to mark the memory of this year with some reflection. 

• What loss most surprised you?
• Whose face brought you the greatest gift of God’s presence?
• When did you let yourself laugh to the point of tears?
• What small kindness touched you most this year?
• What one unfinished desire will you take from 2008 into 2009?

Join me as I take a few moments here and there to curl up on a couch, drink a cup of tea, and reflect and dream with us about the future. 

One year ago today, I was driving across the Mojave in the dark with Roy after spreading mom's ashes over the Pacific Ocean with Rob, Terri and Victoria. We were heading back for Vegas, which already was no longer my home.  We had rented a scuba diving boat and had plenty of room, including 2 decks, to contemplate what we were doing as we sailed out to La Jolla.

After all was said and done, this was the sunset that was given to us that night, cast out over the ocean, as seen from our boat:

I have been snowed in my house since Tuesday night. Only one thing can describe how I feel. 

 
It's snowing in Vegas. 4-8 inches in some places.

The last time this happened, it was 1979. I was 3 years old and my big brother Robert was 9. My mom was a school teacher and had the day off. My dad was still a cop, and could only stay a little while before leaving for duty. But in that time, we made a snow family, each of us proudly represented on our front lawn. I also remember snow angels in the front yard of our little house on Jansen Ave.  It's one of my earliest and fondest memories. It is the picture of family as it is meant to be.

Today is the first day since 1979 that they actually cancelled school due to weather.
The airport is closed because McCarran has no de-icing machines.
And I, sitting in my craftsman house, a million miles away, sipping hot chocolate and working on some writing with my puppy curled at my feet, am actually, just a teensy-weency bit, wishing I could be back in Las Vegas.

But just until the snow melts.

This is Chocolate rain:

Leave it to a bunch of do-gooding therapists and social workers to get together in a cantina in Old Town San Diego to talk about race, adoption issues and other socioeconmic marvels whilst drinking several free margaritas and gin & tonics from the bar. Why can't we be like normal people and just talk about sports or how Obama is the anti-christ or how much we LOVE Nickleback???

By drink 3, we were talking about ghosts that may be haunting our hotel, making plans on how to silentley give each other looks across the room tomorrow when that one person in the workshop who talks too much starts talking too much and something about the integrity of a person who doesn't finish a book just because it's boring, but still, it took us awhile to get there.

And to think that I almost stayed in my hotel room to turn in early...

(If you find yourself dancing in your chair a bit, don't worry, I danced along too)

I'm sitting in an internet cafe in Euston Square surrounded by other international customers. How European.

My first night here, I stayed at my sister's flat in Whitechapel. Her roomates, from Sweden, Australlia and everywhere else European, treated her to a going away dinner at a local pub. I asked for an Ameretto Sour, and the barkeep had no idea what I was talking baout. An instant dissapointment. I jokingly said, "I'm American. Do you have anything else alcoholic and sweet to drink?" He stated, Well, we have cider on tap." Cider, or as we yanks call it, hard cider, is something I love and have never had the pleasure of drinking on tap. If you get the chance, do try one yourself. An Englishman named Duncan (yes, Duncan) joined us at our table in the pub. He was strikingly handsome, even if slightly inebreated, but hell, so were we. It was quite the evening.

London is a very international city. There are more Indians here than English, and the numbers of Africans, as well as what seems to be thier acceptance, is amazing to me. Interacial couples are everywhere. There are banks here catering to economic development in Africa and half the newscasters are Indian. Although there are some who would say otherwise, it seems as if  the Africans here are seen as just as important and lovely as any other nationality. Not ugly, seperate, less educated, porr or all the other negative things associated with vlacks in America. Here, they are just part of the beauty of human diversity. I can't quite explain it, and one sentence could never do the feeling justive, but I must say; the feeling is mind blowing to me.

I've stood at the grave of Anne  Boleyn and walked through the bedroom of Edward Longshanks (the really grumpy gay-hating king from Braveheart.) Yesterday, we visited Oxford and I stood at the grave of JRRTolkien. We got to the cemetery at dusk, and as we left to leave the graveyard, we found the gate locked  and chained and the attendant's car gone.  Just after we found no way to climb over the gate, and the sky almost completley dark  we found a phone number to call to get us out. So, I was locked in a graveyard. JRR Tolkines graveyard. Now that'll be a story to tell for years to come.   We ate dinner next to the fireplace inside of the Eagle & Child. (The table for 2 on the right of the photo is where we actualy sat. My back was against the wall.) I tried to steal a menu to take back with me, but they were just too damned big. Smart move on thier part.

I've been walking an average of 3 miles a day. I'm so unsued to walking this much that my legs feel like stone, but its allowing me to burn off all the food and cider we've been eating and drinking.

London is an ancient and dirty and the trains are often late. Oxford is haunting in its majesty and it's simplicity. I wish I could go to Ireland for a few days...I wish I could see more of the countryside. I wish I could have spent a few more days exploring Oxford...Maybe next time.

I've decided I like travelling.

Good weekend.

Saturday, we walked two blocks to main Street and watched the Good' Old Days parade. Nothing like living in a small town/ downtown area and watching a parade. Then we walked a few more blocks to the festival and listened to live music and poetry. Oh so quaint.

Then Sunday we went to church which was refreshingly relevant, and afterwards we went to our friends house. Friends are awesome. Friends who have swimming pools are really awesome. Friends who have heated swimming pools kick ass.

I played mermaid with the Madison's three kids. We each had mermaid names and mermaid competitions. I went home smelling like chlorine and happiness.

Divine.

This man...


...is a Licensed Mental Health Counselor.

Congrats, orsulakfan, LMHC

For kerbearlax and arbolista.

Today, I am grateful.

I am just ...feeling grateful.

Not blissfull, not indestructible,

Just, grateful.

Thank You. 

Awesome.

This is the cover of the next New Yorker.



I don't know how I feel about this.

I am slowly coming to the horrible realization that the seniors who graduated High School last month had not yet started kindergarten when I graduated High School.

This will sober you up from your 4th.

No matter how cool, unaffected, or jaded you think you are, this could warm your little, shattered, broken heart.



Given to me by pinkroo