unexpected fireworks

Tonight has been a fitting way to end a week of conflict. In fact, it was a fitting way to end the entire month of February, which has been a major burr under my saddle, leaving me in tears far too often.
This evening, the last of the concerns was aired, discussed, and resolved.
And as I prepared to return home from downtown, I got fireworks.
Lots of fireworks.
I'm thinking they were meant especially for me.
I drove down to the river, to be closer to the bursts of red and yellow and green.
I expected to see lots of folks down there, enjoying the show above the water.
I saw no more than ten people.
They all seemed as surprised by the display as I was.
After all, this was a Thursday night.
Just another Thursday night.

I'm thinking they were meant especially for me.
Although I will allow that maybe some of those other folks also deserved a special touch to end this thankfully short month.

thank u 4 lettin me be mice elf again

Every time the bfe and I talk these days, which, granted, isn't that often unless I seek his company, he ends up picking a fight with me. We'll be fine, then I'll say something about why someone might have done something and ... BAM! He's on me like white on rice, telling me I shouldn't be conjecturing, I should just go with what is known to be true. And he gets so vicious with his verbal warfare that I'm left on the verge of tears.
Really? Is that necessary???
No.
I'm not reporting the news, where truth is needed but is often in short supply.
I'm not teaching a fact-based course, where truth is easily confirmed in a textbook.
I'm having a simple conversation and should feel free to postulate at will.
Especially with someone who claims to be my friend.
Right?
So, after one such lambasting by him, I wrote the following.

*** *** ***
If i want to tell myself the moon is blue
it's my prerogative
If i choose to tell myself that i am over you
it's my prerogative
No one else can tell me what it is that i should do
No one else can tell me, not even you.

Sometimes i wonder why i don't open my eyes -
Take a quick moment to just realize -
but it's my prerogative

If i say the sky is purple in my world
it's my prerogative
If i say to you i'm not that kind of girl
that's my prerogative

I can choose to be however pleases me
I can choose what stories please me, too
that's my prerogative

Go find someone else to boss around
Go find someone else to drag to ground
I won't be there for that, i will not be around
that's MY prerogative.
*** *** ***

My thanks to Bobby Brown for the inspiration.
My thanks to the bfe, too.

noise, noise, NOISE!

Today, I gathered my moxie tightly about my shoulders and went in search of a solution to the constant assault on my ears and psyche by the monster in the hall.
The monster first appeared toward the end of last term. Thinking it a part of some marketing deal the university had made, I accepted that the new soda machine was now part of the permanent fixtures in the building. After all, if the presence of the music-making, talking beast meant some monetary gain to benefit all, then I would do my best to ignore its chirping.
Yesterday, the volume had at least tripled. The gentle murmurings emanating from its depths had been replaced with loud demands for attention. Watch this video! Play the game with me! Watch this other video! Listen to my little speech about college, to my little tune, to my constant, constant, CONSTANT barrage of sounds!!!
I had tried to ignore its chants and chatter, but I was failing.
Outside help was needed.

I asked the department secretary who I should contact. One of the long-time professors happened by and, hearing my tale, she told me a name.
Who?
"The Vice-President of Financial Affairs," she said. "You may as well start at the top and work your way down."

Well, okay then. That was not the way I was accustomed to handling matters, but I was willing to give it a shot.
I returned to my office and fired off an email.

"Mr. C,

I was referred to you concerning the noise level of one of the vending machines. My office is in the north wing of the Science Center (the smaller building); this building is also the location of a new Coca-Cola vending machine which was installed a few months ago. The machine has an interactive component which allows customers to play games, watch videos, etc.

Heretofore, the volume of the nonstop music or voice-overs from the machine has been low enough that I could ignore it.
No more.
The volume is so very loud now that it cannot be ignored. It is an aural distraction to both myself and my students when they come to my office.
That is not acceptable. When something physically interferes with student welfare, especially if that "something" is an inane singing soda machine, then that device needs to be removed or altered for the benefit of the student.

I would appreciate a decrease in ambient noise level, too.

If there is someone else I should contact concerning this, please do let me know."

*** *** ***
Guess what? Within an hour, I had a reply! Moreover, the person I had contacted had no idea such machines were even on campus and seemed to be a bit bothered that he did not know of their presence.
I expect the matter to be resolved soon.
I certainly hope so.
I can hardly hear my students when they come to ask me for help.

goth girlz

This is more like it. Last year for GGBD I was dragged, limply resisting, to a Science bowl, of all things. And then to French films. That part was not so bad; it actually inspired me to revolt by writing only in French. Not my choice of activity, yet, like I said, not too bad.
But this is more like it. A dark canopied lane, grey moss blowing like rain all around. If only the sky had been a bit more overcast. Alas. Still, quite goth and creepy, even if it was daytime when I was there.
My fingernails are a fright. I haven't had any decently dark polish for far too long. I haven't been able to go shopping for new polish because mom says we have to be careful of money until she gets a job. Seriously. Like, I guess she thinks nail polish is going to break the bank.
She says I have plenty of polish still in all the little jars I have.
She really did say that.
(rolls eyes and tosses hair)
She just doesn't GET it. The shiny black is what I need now. With the little streaks of purple clawing its way to the front from the crackles. Yeah, that would let everyone know what a superbly goth girl I am.
Instead, I'm stuck using the plain black with the same old gloss, not the new wet black, like pavement gleaming in moonlight after the rain. Just ... p l a i n ... b l a c k ... polish. How drab. Not goth at all, just drab.
I hardly dare to go outside. My hands stay hidden in the folds of my dark grey shawl. At least that piece of clothing has met with approval amongst those like me. Old-fashioned, but soft and warm and swirly. omG, did I just write SWIRLY?!!! Not good. I feel my very goth nature coming into question at the use of such a word.
Even if it IS true.
I simply must get some new nail polish soon.
My fingernails are a fright.

sea turtles and francophones

At the time of my divorce, the time of my re-birth into a new life after sixteen years as part of a couple, I was actively seeking different experiences to help chart my course. Little did I know that those experiences would serve as channel markers to help me plot my safe passage into, and through, unknown waters.
Last summer, one of those new experiences marked its fifth year of existence. I attended the event, sharing the celebration with my bfe. The Georgia Sea Turtle Center was birthed in the summer of 2007, the same summer that my marriage was ending. I had fled to Jekyll Island one weekend, needing to wake up somewhere else and put the unbearable aspects of my life on hold, if only for a day. While driving around the island that morning, I came upon the GSTC and decided to check it out. I am so glad I did! There, I found a hands-on science exhibit, designed to educate and entertain, to share the life in the ocean of the Gulf Coast with the landlubbers on shore. Even better, the site sported a hospital for ailing sea turtles, mostly loggerheads. Whether recovering from near-fatal entanglements with man-made devices or suffering from shock of unexpectedly cold currents, the turtles were being nursed back to health in individual "beds" of seawater. The goal of the hospital is to allow the turtles to retain their wild nature during recovery and to eventually release them back into the ocean.
I've witnessed some of those releases and the event is reaffirming of the goodness of humanity. Surely we are not such a bad breed of animal if we can return to health a fellow creature damaged by our negligence and then return that creature to its home. The reunions of the sea creatures are joyous occasions for all in attendance, but especially for the animal racing into the surf and its ocean home. Truly marvelous!
Last year, I added my two-cents worth of support to a film festival I've been enjoying for some few years. I then put the matter aside and went on with other projects.
This past week, I was reminded.
My name was listed in the credits for the Francophone Film Festival. Nice!
But, what made this even sweeter for me was this: the French Club's event celebrated its fifth anniversary of the festival this year.
That's right: five years.
Amazing.
I well recall the first Francophone Film Festival in 2009. Sparsely attended, those of us present for opening night were treated to a fabulous feast of French fare, catered by the local French restaurant. The films that year were very good, though I cannot currently recall their names.
I do recall that it was an event my ex would not have cared to attend. He never cared for subtitled films.
Every year saw the festival increase in size and attendance. That's not to say the films are SRO even today, but the word of mouth has definitely worked in its favor.
I'm glad to have anteed up my two cents toward this year's three-day festival.
I've even thrown in another two cents for next year's festival.
Francophones, unite!

it was a dark and stormy night

... and there we were, tromping around in a cemetery, with lightning flashing.
Not jellyfish lightning, just the normal variety.
The group of us were there for the Bonaventure After Hours tour, a "rain or shine" event.
This evening, it was definitely "rain".
Then again, I was there with my bfe, so of course the weather was marking the occasion by throwing water at us.
At least it was warm water!
Seriously.
I guess we should have given fair warning to the rest of the group.
"Hey, just to let you know! The bfe and I made this tour date with plenty of advance notice to Mother Nature, so you should make sure to bring your wet-weather gear!"
We were all pretty thoroughly soaked by the time the tour was done. The plastic rain ponchos and umbrellas and raincoats were no match for the dripping of the sky and the trees and the bushes. Nope, no match at all.
The tour guide was fabulous, keeping up his steady patter as if the day were bright and clear, rather than dark and stormy. His huge flashlight illuminated the statues and slabs and tree roots of interest along the way, serving as a focal point and a distraction from the water drops beading up and dripping from every surface around, and on, us.
Still, I enjoyed myself.
You know me: I come to the party to actively have a good time, not to placidly be entertained.
Once the tour was done and we were heading back toward the exit gate, I was free to listen to the music in my mind.
After all, the bfe had other things on his mind and was fairly uncommunicative. He'll soon have to say a last farewell to his favorite cat, as she has a cancer which currently occupies about a quarter of her mass, but does not seem to cause her pain. I hope she will make it to the summer.
Most of the group was lagging behind, perhaps mistakenly thinking they might be able to stay a bit drier if they tarried.
I had no such delusion.
The deluge had me soaked pretty well from my knees to my toes.
So, as we had just left the final resting place of Johnny Mercer, I started singing "Skylark" to myself and dance-walking along the puddle-strewn paths.
Hey! That was fun!
Then, "Singing in the Rain" popped into my brain and, as that is one of my all-time favorite songs since I was a girl, I started dance-walking to that, singing to myself and snapping my fingers a bit.
Definitely fun!
Then I just turned loose! Why bother trying to keep the hood of the rain poncho up on my head? My hair was getting wet anyway! And why, pray tell, should I entertain myself with song sotto voce when it was clear to all that something was up? Whistle, my girl, whistle away!
And so I did, whistling while my hair was caressed by the wet breeze, whistling as I snapped my fingers and waved my hand and waggled my shoulders and hips, whistling as I STOMPED in the puddles!!!
Why not?
After weathering the emotional storm throughout the week, this bit of weather was just that: a bit of weather.
Wet weather.
Rain.
And I like the rain.
I have some of the best times ever with my bfe when the rain falls.
Even when he is mourning his dear cat.

talking in my sleep

This has been a week of nightmares.
Trying to write the documents needed for my job application has been very difficult, though not impossible. However, writing those documents has required much more time than I had anticipated.
Then, finding out on Wednesday that the current applications had been reviewed and the potential hirees had been invited to arrive after spring break for interviews was very disturbing to me. Spring break would be the week of March 11th. And I did not yet have one document even written!
Panic began to consume my sanity.
What if I had taken too long and the job was no longer open to new applications? What if my delay in applying was misinterpreted as a lack of interest in the job? What if I would not be returning to this role in the fall???
Panic.
Then I did complete the one document not yet composed and was actually pleased with it. Writing the scholarly description, I gained a fresh respect for my subconscious path these last three years. I had been heading into a successful job application, even though I had not realized I had been trodding that path. My desire to become better for my students had, wondrously, made me more suitable for the job opening now available.
Then I hit a stumbling block.
I could not upload my transcripts. The job site would not accept the file.
I tried different scans.
No.
Different formats.
No.
Different computers, different times of day, different file lengths.
No. No. No.
I was losing my mind.
Seriously, the lack of a seventeen-year-old transcript was going to keep me from applying for this job???
In a panic last night, I went through the steps listed in the "help" section of the job site. Repeatedly. To no avail.
The only step I had not taken was to contact the Human Resources department.
But I had. To no avail.
I had contacted them the previous week in the hopes of receiving a file copy of my transcripts. After all, for my current post, I had to submit my transcripts, so I knew the university HR folks would have that information at hand.
But I had never received a response.
Time had marched on.
And now, now it was vital that I complete this application, vital to my peace of mind, vital to my sanity.
This morning, I contacted HR by email, again.
After about thirty minutes of no response, I contacted them again, this time by phone. The woman listened to my plea, had me send her the bulky file, then changed its size by changing it into an archival format. She had assured me that others had also had difficulties with their transcripts uploads and this technique had worked for their files. She returned the shrunken file to me, I attempted to upload it to my job application...and it failed. Oh, no! One more try! And that try was successful, allowing me to finally, finally, submit my application.
I was not prepared for the rush of relief.
I had finally completed my part of the job application process, with the help of friends and colleagues and strangers.
Now, the matter was out of my hands. Others would have the responsibility of reading my application and determining my worth for the described job.
Now, I wait.

locked out

Last night, I drove home in tears.
The day had begun fairly well, then proceeded to slide over to the dark side.
I have been in the process of applying for a job opening, but was having some difficulty getting a file completed and getting another uploaded. At the department meeting, it became very clear that if I were serious about the job, I needed to finish up my application quickly. After all, several folks there at the meeting knew two weeks earlier that I was applying; I'm sure they were all wondering if I had changed my mind, though none had approached me concerning my decision.
For the file not yet written, I am sure folks might have wondered if I were simply procrastinating. I wish that had been true. But, no. The file was not yet written because I hadn't yet determined how to even begin the document. A preliminary search the week earlier had yielded no such document had ever existed except as a listed requirement for this particular job opening at this particular institution.
A unique document. Wonderful.
Nonetheless, the time had certainly come for me to compose such a document, even though I did not know what exactly was to be discussed in such a piece. My mind had been tasked with the work for a week and, ready or not, the writing was now at hand.
Truly wonderful.
My schedule was already quite busy, with midterm approaching and the preparation and grading of tests for my classes and the grading of piles of lab documents. Why not one more item crying loudly for attention?
Fine.
That afternoon, one of my students from last term came to see me about a make-up test. She has been going through a very bad divorce since the third week of this term. When she arrived, I counseled her to opt for a hardship withdrawal and sent her to the necessary office to start that process.
I truly hated to see her leave the class, hated for her to be going through such a hard divorce, hated that her husband had shut her out of the funeral for her father-in-law. I know her to be smart and optimistic and helpful toward others. I know her to also be fabulous at organizing study groups to benefit other students. Now, she would be gone and her absence would be a tangible change to the class dynamics.
That evening, I returned the red-stained exams to my students. A few had done well, but many had not. I scolded the class, reminding them, as I have all term, that this next material rested firmly on all of the preceding material. If they were lacking a solid understanding of all that was covered for the first two exams, the third exam would assure them a failing grade in the class. I reminded them of the need to study more, alone or in groups or with me during office hours. I was pretty hard on them.
I then began the new material to a more somber, but hopefully for diligent, class.
Then we had our soap-making lab. By this time, I was tired. I knew the lab would be a long one, requiring me to be on my feet for yet a few hours more.
Then, afterward, I exited the main building and found: I could not get to my office.
Again.
Frustrated, I contacted security for the second Wednesday in a row. Yes, they would send someone by. Yes, if I wanted, I could send them an email in the morning and make a request to change the lock-down times for the two buildings.
And I waited. And waited some more, in the chill night air, wearing only the T-shirt for that night's lab. I distracted myself by texting my bfe, complaining to him about the situation. He was incredulous that I did not have a key.
Finally, after almost ten minutes had elapsed, I called security again.
I could almost hear the "Oops!" in the dispatcher's voice. She assured me that someone would be by shortly.
And so I waited a bit longer.
And when the officer arrived, he proceeded to chide me for not taking what he thought was an acceptable alternate route to reach my office. As if I were somehow to blame for finding myself locked out of the building. But when I reminded him of the actual working of the fire door, he conceded that I was correct.
Meanwhile, he had unlocked the outer door, for which I have no key, for which I have never even been offered a key. And as I entered the curved hall leading to my office, I found myself sobbing.
I so want to stay at this university.
I so want to continue doing what I do there.
But I don't even have a key to enter the building where my office is located.

I took myself home and wrote the scholarly description document. Actually, the document fairly well wrote itself. I even uploaded it that very evening and made plans to complete the job application the next day.

Today, I updated the software on my computer to allow me to scan in my transcript, the last piece remaining for my application to be submitted.
I also wrote the following to security and sent a copy to the department head.
Here's hoping I will not be locked out next Wednesday.

"For the second week in a row, I have emerged from an evening lab in the south wing of the Science Center to find myself locked out of the north wing, where my office is located.
I have taught at Armstrong for many years and this has not been an issue until this term. I do not understand why the Science Center bulidings are being locked earlier now than in the past.
Last night, I waited almost 15 minutes for Campus Police to come by and unlock the door. This was on a chilly night; my jacket, of course, was in my office, as I did not need it to traverse the short distance between the two buildings. The officer suggested that I could have entered the north wing by exiting the south wing on the second floor and then entering the first level of the north wing via the fire door between the stairwell and hall. I reminded him that the fire door is locked on the stairwell side, making that path to my office inaccessible. He agreed.
Now, in accordance with my first conversation with the dispatcher last night, I am requesting that the doors to the Science Center buildings remain unlocked until at least 10:20 PM.
Please."

It would have been nice if I had been offered a key.
Even if I only have two months left in this job.

copernicus kiss

Earlier, my ex sent me a message about the doodle of the day at Google. He does that from time to time, if it's one he knows will appeal to me. I always enjoy those doodles and, also, that he is looking out for me in that way.
Very nice.
Anyway, here is the transcript of out "conversations" concerning that day's doodle. Jump onboard the train of thought and hold on!

Tuesday, 19 February:
him: Today's Google doodle is really nice. It's an honor of Copernicus. It's animated but not interactive.
me: How cool! Nice planet action!
him: Please excuse the grammar. The dictation mode doesn't always work well. You should have seen what it originally called "Copernicus."

Wednesday, 20 February:
him: I have a new phone and your pic is you eating Buddy's pizza.
me: Good times! I'm glad I was able to see you this summer.

him: Yesterday, Copernicus was "caipirinha kiss" ... I was shocked to find that this knew what a caipirinha was.
me: My bff was just telling me how her smart phone has spelling problems, too, with odd words instead of more common.

him: Yes. Speaking of Sam, I had my first caipirinha when we all went to Fogo de Chao.
me: Okay, I just looked that up. It sounds like a mojito made with something called cachasa.

him: Very close. Cachasa is a raw Brazilian rum that tasted of banana oil, last time I had one.
me: I don't recall that at all. Where?

him: Yeah, Atlanta after we decided the line was too long at the aquarium.
me: Oh! That's been a long time! Did you ever make it back to the aquarium?

him: No, that was my one and only time there.
me: You should make a trip of it sometime. It's a very nice place, though the one in Chattanooga is still my favorite.

him: Oh, that was a good time! Remember when Z broke that squishy toy and got goo all over himself? We all laughted and laughed at him!
me: Oh, I remember that! Poor little boy!

him: Yeah, but he had been warned. Then BOOM!
me: hahaha!

It's really nice to have people who have known me for such a long time.
I need those roots to bind me to Earth.

Spring is coming!

This afternoon, as I was rambling around, dreaming of warmer days,
dreaming, dreaming,
there appeared in the expanse of dried brown
a sea of waving green pennants, staggering about.
And shining like a star in the midst of those green spires,
-like a STAR, I tell you!-
was a solitary daffodil.
Never you mind what groundhogs may forecast:
Spring is on its way!

dunn deal

Our old friend Gladys Dunn attended church services one particular Sunday. The sermon seemed to go on forever, and
many in the congregation fell asleep. After the service finally ended, Gladys walked up to a very sleepy-looking gentleman. In an attempt to be sociable, Gladys extended her hand in greeting, and said "Hello, I'm Gladys Dunn."
To which the gentleman replied, "You're not the only one!"

hearts with dinner

Saturday has been a good day.
I finally went to see "Parker", the latest Jason Statham action flick. He certainly puts some class into these muscle-bound noise fests! Double-crossed by fellow thieves, he sets about taking vengeance and getting what was promised to him. Hey, no one said the story line was original, just the car chases.
Man, I do so enjoy these movies! Eye candy, car chases, lots of sizzle - boom - BAM!
Nice.
After, I joined by house-mate at the screening of "Life of Pi". He had not yet seen it, but I did some few weeks ago. I happened to time my arrival for one of my favorite scenes. Pi is on his raft in the heart of the night, with the stars above and the moon-jelly lit sea all around and beneath. Then, the reflection is broken by the breaching whale, with spheres of light folowing the arch of the beast.
Stunningly beautiful.
Ang Lee certainly knows how to make the universe dance before his camera lens.
I watched the rest of the film with Joe, then we were off in search of dinner. Dinner! Here, dinner!
No, that didn't work. As we were near the southside mall, we considered our options. Food court? No, something nicer, please. The steak place? Oh, sure, that would be fine!
No, apparently not. The line was out in the wide halls of the mall, hungry diners holding buzzers. The wait would be about an hour, we were told. An hour? No, let's continue on.
Where else? Ruby Tuesday! Good salad bar - to feed us NOW! - and diverse menu... yes, that would be even better! So, off we traipsed, arriving to find two couples in front of us. No problem, we would wait at the bar until our table was ready. Then my Eagle guy showed up! He and his former workmate were having a post-Valentine's day together and now was dinner time for them, too. They had one of the buzzers from the steak place, but accepted our impromptu invitation to join us.
Cool beans!
A lovely dinner we did have, too! Great company, warm hearts, good food: a fabulous way to close out a Saturday night!

paraprosdokians

I only wish I could claim credit for these. All I can lay claim to is sharing them with YOU.
If you have any others to share, I'd really enjoy reading them!

PARAPROSDOKIANS: Figures of speech in which the latter part of a sentence or phrase is surprising or unexpected; frequently used in a humorous situation.

Where there's a will, I want to be in it.

Do not argue with an idiot. He will drag you down to his level and beat you with experience.

The last thing I want to do is hurt you... But it's still on my list.

Light travels faster than sound. This is why some people appear bright until you hear them speak.

If I agreed with you, we'd both be wrong.

We never really grow up, we only learn how to act in public.

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit. Wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad.

Evening news is where they begin with "Good Evening," and then proceed to tell you why it isn't.

To steal ideas from one person is plagiarism. To steal from many is research.

A bus station is where a bus stops. A train station is where a train stops. On my desk, I have a work station.

Whenever I fill out an application, in the part that says, "In case of emergency, notify: I put "DOCTOR."

I didn't say it was your fault, I said I was blaming you.

Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a bald head and a beer gut, and still think they are sexy.

Behind every successful man is his woman. Behind the fall of a successful man is usually another woman.

A clear conscience is the sign of a fuzzy memory.

You do not need a parachute to skydive. You only need a parachute to skydive twice.

Money can't buy happiness, but it sure makes misery easier to live with.

There's a fine line between cuddling and holding someone down so they can't get away.

I used to be indecisive. Now I'm not so sure.

You're never too old to learn something stupid.

Nostalgia isn't what it used to be.

valentines

Tonight, I had a fresh, heart-healthy meal for dinner. It was a special Valentine to me, one I have anticipated all week. Fresh mustard greens, spiked with plain white vinegar! Roasted new potatoes, seasoned with olive oil! Slices of turkey ham and a glass of sweetened milk!
Yum!
Later, I delivered the last of the paper Valentines I had addressed Tuesday evening and yesterday afternoon. Most went out in the post, heading to California, Virginia, Minnesota, but also to sites here in Georgia.
And I kept a few to deliver by hand.
Two were for the children my first niece and her husband are fostering.
One was for the first niece's younger sister.
And one for was my bfe.
Of course!
Dinosaurs!

As I said, I had SUCH great fun folding the origami paper, making the little finger game with the brightly colored figures of dinosaurs, monsters, cars, and robots. Oh, and the little sayings for the "prizes" written under the figures was pure, corny, Valentine's Day blurbs, like "you will get a TRUCKLOAD of hearts today!"
Takes me straight back to grade school!

Yep, I have had truckloads of fun for the past few days, giving pieces of my heart to those I love!

I'll close with a new quote I just found on the Red Cross site on this day of hearts.

"Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly." - Rose Franken

blue sky!

I was up about 7:30 this morning.
Yep, that would be 7:30 in the A.M.
On a Saturday.
Say what?
Yep! I was hunting for Island Treasures, with my bfe and some new folks, and we were to convene at the convention center on Jekyll at 11 AM.
After breakfast, I picked him up and off we drove! Running a bit late, but not badly so. And this time, we made damned sure we did NOT continue on to Macon.
(smile!)
Nice to have inside jokes!
So, we made it there in plenty of time, the second car to arrive, under beautiful blue skies and a brisk breeze. And we all introduced ourselves and I saw one person I knew from another group and then I met someone from one of the other new groups I've joined.
Nice!

And the bfe and I walked and talked on the low-tide beach, gazing into the tidal pools at the ripples of water and ripples of light and ripples of shadows.
And we walked and talked, taking pictures of driftwood and dunes, gathering bits of broken shells here and there.
Or maybe that latter part was just me.
And I now have a buck and a piece in sand dollars in the rear window of my car.
To bookend the broken baby horseshoe crab holding reign back there.
And the bit of freed coral from a barnacle.

And we walked and talked our way back to where the cars were patiently waiting. And some of the group were, too. And we all went to dine together at Fins on the Beach and had laughter with lunch over two tables.
And I have a free dessert coming to me for next time! (Thanks, Katie!)

And off we all went, to search for treasure among the whitened trunks and smooth, muscled, branches stretching, ever stretching, toward that blue, blue sky! And the bfe and I walked and talked, drifting through the pale forest, trodding near the water's edge, running our hands on those lovely curves of the limbs and rough, shell-encrusted tusks rising from the surf.
Or maybe that latter part was just me.
Or maybe just mostly me.
(smile!)

Then it was time for tea and guess what? Almost all of the group went! Victorian High Tea, thank you very much, with a choice of loose tea or bagged, of various flavors, too. And blueberry scones with lemon curd or orange marmalade! And lovely, lovely little cakes and tarts with chocolate or almonds or cream or all of the above!

After a second round of photos to document the occasion and aid our memory with names, we all took our leave of each others company and headed back home.
What a wonderful day!
And now, off to karaoke I go, with others who Live Out Loud!

up jumps a tree!

I'm job hunting, for the first time in about two decades.

For the past two years, I've been full-time in a temporary position with a three-year life. This is the bottom half of the third. Fortunately, a position has opened which seems to be written for me.

The scary part is this: I'm not a big fan of competing for large-stake prizes. No, wait, that's not right. I still occassionally play the lottery, and that certainly has games with large prizes. But with the lottery, I'm not competing with other players, I'm just hoping the numbers I select will fall out of a row of tumbling cages. It's not like The Hunger Games: my life is not on the line on lottery night.

So, what has me so anxious about this job search? Especially when I have had several of my peers attempt to reassure me that I am well-qualified for the position? Especially when I have had several of my peers encourage me to "go for it!"?
Especially when I have even had people in other disciplines give me a positive nudge?

I have a pretty good guess what my issue is.
I think my past actions should speak for my future expectations.
I think my proven abilities should vouch for my future skills.
But what if that is not the case?

What if?
What if a huge invisible tree pops onto the path?
What if a huge invisible tree pops onto the path and blocks my view of the goal?
What if a huge invisible tree pops onto the path and blocks the view of me from those at the goal?
What if I spend so much time obsessing over huge invisible trees that I miss the opportunity?

Invisible trees, with great gnarled roots and twisting, long-fingered limbs.
(shiver)

Sometimes, just because you cannot see it really DOES mean it isn't there.

elvis is IN the building!

Elvis would have been 78 last month. Specifically, the King of Rock and Roll, with his swivelicious hips and dark eyes would have been 78 on January 8th. Next month, the low country will be the site of the Georgia Elvis Festival, featuring four days of Elvis Tribute Artists performing a celebration of the man's songs and style. I am SOOOO looking forward to this! I only wish Mama were alive to venture forth in person with me, but her spirit will be dancing and swooning with mine.
Yes, yes I did say "swooning"!
And dancing, too!
But you already know to expect me to dance, right?
That's why I made sure I registered for a seat at the end of a row, near the back, so if I feel the music in me, I can let it have its way with my body and hopefully not disturb too many other folk.
Riiiight.
(big grin!)
I'm sure I won't be the only one dancing!

Anyway, one of the late-night talkers has been hosting a different ETA at the end of his program every night this week. Very nice!!! And it has really been getting me in the mood, since I don't have Willie singing "Don't be Cruel" or "Teddybear" to me during the off-season.
Monday night, Cody Slaughter performed "Jail House Rock" and did quite well. But - you knew it was coming, didn't you? - although he LOOKED just like Elvis as a young man, and he MOVED just like Elvis did for that song, his voice wasn't quite there.
Last night was Brandon Bennett, part of the "Million Dollar Quartet" in Chicago. He sang "Hound Dog", an old bluesy number, and did quite a nice job of it, too! Even better, when the short song was done, and he was signaled to keep it going, he did, with relish. Very nice! And while he wasn't quite like Elvis, he was pretty close and had some miiighty fine moves!
Tonight, we were treated to The Voice. Seriously, Justin Shandor brought it. Singing the beautiful song, "Can't Help Falling In Love", he had me from the first note. Seriously. His face may not have been quite that of the legend, certainly not for the side shots, but oh, that voice! That lovely voice, singing those romantic words!
I can hardly wait for Thursday and Friday night!

history lesson

This evening, the bfe and I did something completely different! The Georgia Historical Society had a famous author in town to give discourse on one of Georgia's famous bastard sons. No, really. Actually, I'm not quite sure they were aware that was how the biography would be presented, especially as the talk was held in one of the old churches downtown. Then again, maybe that was deliberate, too.
The author, who had made Forrest Gump as well-known as Huckleberry Finn once was, had taken on a real Southern character for his latest tome. The book concerned the taming of the American West in the mid 1840's and featured the exploits of John C. Fremont amidst its pages. Fremont, the "Pathfinder", was in his mid-30's when he and Kit Carson led expeditions toward the Pacific Ocean, charting safe passage through snow-laden mountains and arid plains.
Today, a famous tourist attraction in Las Vegas bears his name. The first paved road in Las Vegas, and home of the Golden Nugget, Fremont Street now hosts a moving light show in the ceiling over the paved road and has concerts to get feet tapping while eyes are heavenward. I wonder what old man Fremont would think of that? Would he think it a becoming legacy?
No way to know those answers, so maybe I'll make up my own tale to tell.
Answers or not, the lecture in the old church was a nice way to close out an evening that included a trip to the vet for one of the bfe's dear cats and a fairly quiet dinner at one of my favorite Mexican joints.
A definitely nice Tuesday for me.
And it wasn't even raining.

i thank You, God

Today is a new day.

Pasta carbonara for breakfast... very nice, and it tasted EXACTLY like i wanted it to taste.
Breakfast with the peace guy, sharing the use of his bacon, sharing his friendship.

Yard work on a beautiful blue-sky day! Nothing like a bit of physical labor to remind you how GOOD it feels to be alive.
Especially on a beautiful blue-sky day, with a friend working alongside.
Clearing away the crispy lantana and breathing in its citric scent.
Clawing up the thorny vines and banishing them to the curb.
Pulling down the surfeit of moss on the magnolia.

Time to get clean, absorb some art, greet some friends!

Today is a new day.

impossible things

For Mama to be able to sing with me, one more time.

For Daddy to tell me one more joke.

For my stepdad to discuss Sumerian mythology with me, one more time.

For my Grandpa to play devil's advocate with me in a debate, one more time.

For Grandmama to have one more adventure with me, betwixt hither and yon.

For my Uncle Jimmy to write one more poem inspired by our conversation about the moon, the stars, the clouds.

For my friend SamJ to plan our next trip to Dragon*Con or Universal Studios or Applebees again with me.

For Mother Pat to share her latest trip to Vegas or Hawaii or Tennessee with me, one more time.

Just one more time.


I do get so very soul-tired of wanting impossible things.
Tomorrow, I'll go see "Groundhog Day" at my favorite theatre.
And I'll wish I had that magical power, to retrace times past and share new moments with loved ones gone, gone, gone.
Impossible things.