It's that time of year again. That time when the mornings wake up with a brush of frost that disappears before breakfast has been eaten, and you can put on a tank top and some shorts, and walk outside. Everything is in a growing frenzy, the sun heating the Earth, sprouts coming up and eager to mature into the noxious weeds they are. Planting time isn't quite here yet because the nights still threaten some hard frosts. Only the most dedicated will be out sheltering their seedlings with burlap, and back out at dawn to uncover them in time for the morning rays.

I smelled it today, the scent of lilac. I've not written about this for a long time, and perhaps never in a blog, but the scent of lilacs both thrills and unnerves me. Lilac is one of those pervasive odors, at first pleasing to the nose, yet quick to become cloying in it's intensity. Everyone on our street has a lilac bush or two. Yet my issue with Lilacs isn't because the neighborhood is Lilac Hill. It's an older deep seeded memory than that. One of those visceral memories that took me some years to decipher why the strong scent of Lilac in May made me begin to hyperventilate. The funny thing was, when I finally unravelled the mystery, the culprit wasn't Lilac at all, Lilac was just the trigger.

My father was killed when I was 8 years old. It was January, and it was the blizzard of 1979. My father was an auto Mechanic, and managed my grandfather's Garage. The sideline business was wrecker service. My father used to love to take me on calls, and for sure, like any kid back in the day, I LOVED riding in the wrecker. It was probably the most uncomfortable ride you could imagine, no radio to speak of, and springs were coming out of the seat. But it was COOL, and it was HUGE. It was the beginning of January, not so very long after the holidays. Because of the intensity of the storm, school had been cancelled that day, and it was still early. Far be it from kids to actually sleep in on a storm day. On any regular day we couldn't seem to wake up, but throw in a storm day, and the level of excitement passed any conceivable limitations, and we bounced off the walls, to the detriment of my mother's high blood pressure. My grandmother was hanging out with us, since she lived with us too, and she and I were making paper dolls. It seemed like such an intimate thing then, to share that with her. I wasn't dressed yet, still in my nightie. My mother was laid up in bed, just having had all her top teeth extracted, and recovering from the surgery. She'd be fitted for a new set of dentures, but not quite yet. She looked awful, her face all discolored and swollen. So my memere, as always, was there to take care of us.

We couldn't go play outside because, in true blizzard fashion, the temperature was dipping below 20 degrees, and the wind was howling above 30 mph, lowering visibility to below 1 mile, mostly to zero in the thick, heavy snow. The wind chill lowered the temp even more, probably below zero. But we were in the kitchen, and very close to the large steam radiator that heated that room. I was MOST comfortable. So it went when my father got the calls. Yes, plural. Of course there were accidents, it was a frigging BLIZZARD! So he and my uncle split the calls, and my uncle took the one further away, while my dad took the call that put him less than a mile away from the house. A consideration to my dad from my uncle, since we were all home, and he wanted to hang out at the house, and my uncle wasn't married and didn't have to worry about a gaggle of kids to tend to. My father asked me if I wanted to come with, but the thought of going out in that storm made me wrinkle up my nose and decline. There were paper dolls to cut, after all, and games to play. He got dressed up in his winter clothes, an attempt to stay warm in the fierce weather. I don't think I gave him a hug, I don't remember. He left. I never saw him alive again.

It's amazing that 30 years later this still has the power to make me cry. The images still come to me in the guise of a slide show. There were drugs we were forced to take so that we could deal with the trauma of the event. My mother virtually collapsing. I remember not wanting to be fatherless, and wondering who would step into the role. I couldn't imagine being a family without one. It didn't make any sense to me. I just couldn't process it. But even the police coming to the door, and hearing my mother screaming isn't the worst memory. The worst memory of all is that smell.

I often try to imagine the different scars all of my brothers and sisters must carry with them from this one life altering event. For my oldest brother, I can never imagine being the one that has to identify your own father's body. I am ever so thankful that I don't have that memory in my head. Imagining it is bad enough, piecing together the few things my mother has blurted out over the years about it here and there. After all our differences, he deserves all of our collective love and respect for the simple fact that he has that memory. I remember my second brother deployed in Japan at the time. It was virtually impossible to find him, but my Uncle, a National Guard retiree, and apparently quite high up, found him, and flew him home in time. My youngest brother, I just don't know. I know it's something, but I don't know what. My sister, well, we just don't talk about it. But I know, and she knows. And it's there. And there's so much I don't remember. Blocked from my memory by a lifetime of repression, and by those damn DRUGS that stopped us all from functioning. So many people, there were so many people in and out of the house, dishes of food appearing from only God knows where. I can sit here and search my collective memory, and it's a black hole of time that I'm just MISSING.

Then there are the razor sharp memories. I do remember going to the funeral home for the first time, and being terrified of walking in. The priest, Fr Nadeau, took me by the hand then, and told me it would be ok. He led me into that silent room, the room with the red carpet, the ivory and gold dias, the pink candelabras on each side. And in the middle, the still silent body. I bucked against the priest because I didn't want to see it. Seeing it would make it real, would mean I wouldn't wake up from that drug hazed nightmare. He held me firm, and we walked to the body.

So many flowers. Everywhere the eye could roam, every inch of space surrounding the casket, up and down the walls, over, under, and all around were flowers of every hue, every shape, every arrangement that you could imagine. My father was a very popular man...he was great friends with the police, fire and rescue, the EMT's. He was a Knight of Columbus, he served in his Church, and was a business owner. He loved people. Loved talking to them, laughing with them, flirting and teasing. And they showed their collective love with flowers. God Almighty, there were so many. And that smell, it was the Lilies I know now. That strong cloying odor, sickly sweet and very pervasive. For years I smelled that smell and I was paralyzed, right back in that room seeing all the flowers, seeing my father laid out in his casket. Those were also the days of the 3 day wake. Three interminable days of meeting and greeting people, accepting their sympathies, shaking hands, and seeing their pity as they looked at me, the youngest. I gave up after the first day, really, choosing to scurry off to the basement of the funeral home where there was an empty reception area. My cousin and I played there, much to my sister's annoyance. She wanted me present and accounted for but my mother stepped in and told her to let me be. It was a fucking horror show, when I look back, one parade after another. One ceremony after another. All his "brothers" in his various organizations laying him to rest over and over, and fucking over again. I sit here writing this, and I can feel the tightness in my chest all over again, the inability to breathe, the headache starting.

All I remember of the funeral, besides that goddamned smell of lilies still following us as they packed up all the freaking flowers and brought them too, is the voice singing from the back of the church. Ray....his name was Ray, i think. He had the deepest voice of any that I'd ever heard before, and he sang the dirges. It was the kind of voice that can haunt a person, a voice that will ring in your head long after the funeral is done. I'd never heard him sing before, and truth be told, I've never heard him sing again. But I will never, in this lifetime, forget his voice. I remember the smell of the sandlewood incense, another choking smell to combine with the lilies. I remember being horrified that my father's casket was closed, and that even though he was dead, I'd never see him again. I cried at that, I was furious. But what power can an 8 year old have in the face of all that? Not much. The church was full, well over 400 attendees. And after the church service, we all went out to the Cemetary....St Peter's Cemetary, to effect the burial.

Except for that fact that you can't bury the dead outside in Maine in January. And so comes the story of the lilacs. St. Peter's Cemetary is full of lilac bushes. They are everywhere lining the drives. I don't remember returning for the official burial in the spring. I don't know if we did. It's another of those black holes in my mind that contributes to my occasional insanity. But I do remember that I never visited the cemetary again, to my knowledge, until I was in highschool and able to drive myself there.

It was Memorial Day weekend, and I was determined that I would find my father's grave. I only had a general idea of where it was, and I walked the rows of markers, becoming desperate, after a time, that I wouldn't find it. The markers, where my dad is buried are flat on the ground, not a traditional headstone. The thought there was to ease the burden on caretaking so that they could mow the grass right over the headstone and not have to go around. I was not a happy teenager, I'd suffered from years of nightmares concerning my father, and had alot of self esteem and confidence issues. I was a wreck in that cemetary that weekend, crying, face swollen and leaking, and frantic to find the freaking grave. I did finally spot it, and I do remember collapsing onto the grave and just sobbing for a long time, with the smell of lilacs completely permeating the air, surrounding me and bringing back that poignant memory of the room with all the flowers. It was inescapable. My friend Chris was there that day, and saw me. He knew something was very wrong, but had the human decency to allow me my space, and let me have my breakdown. I needed it, that release, to finally begin to let go of all the blame and recrimination I'd felt after watching my father go, knowing that I'd passed up the opportunity to spend those last few moments with him because I couldn't be bothered to get dressed and brave the cold so many years before.

Yes I know I was silly to blame myself. But children are silly, and we hold on to things that hurt us, never knowing that our own worst nightmare is actually ourselves. I look back to that child every time I look in my own daughter's face. I understand so much more of life, and it's workings, and yet she is me on every fundamental level. I would never hold her accountable, and it frees me to have the heart knowledge that my father didn't blame me for not going either, that in fact his spirit was glad that I didn't have to witness his accident. It took me 30 some-odd years to get to that point, but I made it. Interestingly enough I spent 3 years being a florist, and became intimately familiar with every flower imaginable, including those damn lilies. To this day, although I admire their amazing beauty....I can't stand the smell.

Lilacs will always bring a thought of death to me, as they did today. In Maine, Lilacs always reach first bloom right around Memorial Day weekend, which of course, happens to be this upcoming weekend. So it's not surprising to me that I caught the scent just beginning to waft on the breeze. The scent is like a ghost for me, calling up the past for reflection and rememberance. It will always hurt to remember, but I'm not destroyed by it anymore.

Happy Memorial Day to all. May we remember our loved ones that we have lost, cherish the good memories of them that we have, and take the life lessons they taught us about each other and ourselves to make our own lives happy and fulfilled. Celebrating our dead is an honor. Julien Chabot, this is my memorial to you.

Happy Birthday Baby!

December, aside from being the Holiday Capital of the Year also seems to be the Birthday Capital for me and my family. Lets see...Chibit, my friend Chris, Me, my cousin, my uncle, and now Malcolm. So today, as I continue to blitz clean the house while getting ready for Jujubear's Jan birthday, I take a moment to wish the man that has made an enormous difference in my life Happy Birthday. Yep, Belief is another year older. LOL, but damn he looks good for his age. I'm broke and sucking out right now, but for a birthday gift, I give you The List - it's a list of all the things that made me love you. The List ~ You are PERFECT eye candy. Uhhh, that thing you do. Snuggle time. You never let me down. You are always brutally honest with me. You know how to laugh and play. You know my mind almost better than I do. You like to poke my bear. You let me poke YOUR bear. You love The Color Purple. You worry about my comfort. You care about my feelings. You put up with Mr. You make me forget Mr. Uhhh, that thing you do (did I already say that? LOL) Car trips have never been so much fun before. You know how to socialize. You make things happen. You make me explore the Dark Side. You push me out of my comfort zone. You don't forget me. You don't care when I burn the pizza. You are a GREAT dad. Juju loves you. You are so considerate. You are an awesome son, and a better caretaker. Conversations with you are so much fun. You cried when Obama won. You are a great kisser. You are a natural furnace. You are so passionate about the things you love. OHHHH, and lastly? You love peanut butter . So Happy Birthday Baby, and many many more to be celebrated in the future. I'm so glad I met you, you've made me a rich woman, at least on the inside.

Happy F*cking Birthday

Last year, on my birthday, I received a note from DHS letting me know that they'd be in touch with me about some claims that were made. I've blogged this before, my mom's housekeeper, at the time, was upset that my mother caught her defrauding her time card, and called Adult Protective. There was mention of a child, and the case was immediately referred to Child Protective, and voila, all of a sudden it was MY problem. It was resolved completely in my favor, with an apology issued from the agency. My point in bringing this up is that I got that damn notice on my birthday, 2007.
This year, for some unknown reason, my mother, who lives with me, or vice versa, lost her mind, and decided she hates me. She started accusing me of stealing from her, and being every manner of whore, trollop, you name it. Oh, and she decided she hates my kid too. Nice. So I thought about things, I thought about the fact that my being unemployed doesn't buy the oil for heat, and I thought about all my brothers and sisters wanting me to move away from her so that she will end up being forced to admit she needs assisted living. With me not here, there isn't anyone to check on her. There isn't anyone to get her groceries, or shovel the walkways and steps, and sand, and mow the lawn in the summer. Or do the laundry, or get the screens up in the summer. There also isn't anyone around to go to the bank for her or be her fast food taxi. I thought about how the job I'll get, hopefully sooner rather than later, will be in the Portland area. I thought about Malcolm, and how being closer to him would be nice. I thought about the great school system there, about all the programs and fun things to do there. And I decided that my daughter and I, we need to move away. So we've been having talks about it. And my daughter is very sad, and I'm upset, mostly because this happened on my GOD DAMNED birthday again. And I'm worried for my mother. Because honestly, if something bad comes of this, I'll have a hard time cleaning my conscience. Reality tho....reality dictates that my daughter and I can't stand the verbal and emotional vitriol that this woman is spewing. It's just too unstable a situation.
So I tried getting excited about it, have looked into apartment complexes, and gathered names to contact, looked into waiting lists to get on. I also understand that this process may take some time to accomplish. I put up a blast on Myspace today to let my friends know. I suppose that means the fucking psycho whore read it too, true? Meanwhile, tonight, as I was researching this more, I got a call from Mr. He wanted to let me know that we just couldn't continue our friendship. No more calls, nothing. So this isn't new, but it is the psycho whore exerting her pressure on whatever hold over him she has. The ironic part is that I haven't done anything to merit this treatment, although, I haven't done anything EVER to merit how he's treated me. But for real, I haven't even poked the bear lately. I've been focused on my family, poking THEIR bears for a change, and talking to my friends, which I've reconnected with. I've been minding my own business while the psycho whore stalks me, day after day, looking for a reason to act evil. But guess what? I've got my own boyfriend, and I'm not trying to win Mr back. Talking to him is fun, but I'm not the problem. For all the missing times the psycho stalking bitch is trying to insert me into as the cause... I was busy with my own life, and my own man. I don't have an OBC page for him to contact, I'm not on True.com, or any of the other sex hook up pages he frequents, and I'm not interested in resuming a sexual relationship with him again, although I love to tease him about it. I was busy with my family both thru that Thanksgiving week and Christmas Eve. What about me threatens her? Well, I was the one she did wrong against, and she knows it. She also knows that his care for me goes beyond a sexual interest and it infuriates her. The real issue is that she already knows in her heart what the real issues ARE, but refuses to accept them. Like every other woman who's been burned by him, she sees all the red flags but wants to think that she's different. Delusions are a comfort, I suppose, when you aren't ready to accept the truth. So stalk me, rail against me, make me stop being his friend. The issue isn't me at all, and, psycho stalker, you know DAMN well that I'm not lying. You know, the great part is that I'm at a point that I actually feel sorry for her. She must be unbelievably miserable every day, always wondering where, when, and who.
And as for Mr? Well, he's finally succeeded in making me hate him. I think what I despise most in others is dishonesty and weakness. He's showing me both. Again. Oh, and I hate being used, and he's done that too. Again. He's a crafty old bastard, I'll give him that. There's a line in the Grinch that hit me this year, and made me think of him:
" But, you know, that old Grinch was so smart and so slick
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!"
So I hope the both of them are happy, for they surely deserve each other. Me, I'm going about my business, same as always. Malcolm and I are happy, thankfully. Malcolm doesn't give me ulcers, or headaches. Only, so far, laughter and relief. There will be a day when Mr is sorry he's done this, again. He probably already is. And the lesson here is that you can't have people be in your life when it's convenient for YOU. Relationships, whatever they are, are a two way street. Friends are friends thru good times and bad. The fact that he'd be forced to give up his friends because of the insecurity of his lover is a big sign that said relationship is not built on sturdy ground. HMMM, I'll take away everything you love and care about so that you can focus on and love me. LOL, Good luck with THAT sentiment!
So Happy Fucking Birthday to me. It's been another great fucking year.

I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day

I had fun today, alot of fun. I haven't felt this way about my family for a long time, but somehow this year, I've done things different in my own life, and I'm happier for it, and I enjoyed my brothers and sisters immensely this year.
One thing I did differently was join my brother's "family" choir. He plays guitar and sings, my sister, The General, directs, and my daughter and I joined to sing. It was fun, and I got to do my bit parts and harmonies, and had a great time creating music for real again. Of course my sister and I got into some minor squabbles about songs and how they are supposed to sound, but then hey, I'm not one to stand around and NOT comment when something isn't quite right. I suppose I ruffled a few feathers of some existing choir members with my presence....some young girls who had up until now been known as the "stars" of the choir. They were QUITE put out that someone new was infringing on their harmony territory. Never mind that I did different harmonies that complimented theirs and added to the overall sound of the choir. They couldn't stand that someone new might be stealing their thunder. It was all very deliciously hilarious. I was chatting with Malcolm about it, and telling him how I had an idea to complement a solo my brother was doing with a minor harmony. It would have made it spectacular. I wasn't recommending that I do it, only that it get done. One of the divas piped up that "it's NOT how we've always done it." I responded, probably inappropriately, "I understand that, but it would be outstanding if it were done." She says "Your brother always does it solo and it sounds fine." My response? "That's great, but if you always have mediocrity, and you are presented with the opportunity for greatness, will you always choose mediocrity because that's the way you've always done it?" Malcolm just about choked when I recited my response to him, and I quickly threw in there..."but you love that about me, right??" LOL, CYA for me. He responds? "Absolutely baby, I'd not be able to respect some mealy mouthed, clinging vine, live for everyone else kind of girl. I love that you have your own mind and aren't afraid to express it." Yeah, that's why I love him too.
So see, I just poke the bear where ever I happen to be. The Psycho Stalker shouldn't take it so personally. LOLOL My need to poke the bear overwhelms my common sense most days. But the true beauty, and the thing that earned my blast was this. My sister and I disagreed about a song verse, she saying it should be sung with the end note going up, me insisting it go down. She, being the director got her way, but it needled me. So I sent her, I dunno, like 8 youtube links to the song to prove my point. And during church, when she was reminding the choir about a timing issue in said song, I looked at her and pointed DOWN.....and she laughed. Damn her, she knew I was right and did it her way anyways. So we joked about it today, and she admitted being wrong. For those who have older siblings, you know what a battle it always is to prove yourself right most days to people who think they are older and wiser. But today I did, and it felt amazing. And it was fun, no tension. Just us, a family of bear pokers, I realized, sitting around and poking each other over Christmas Dinner.
I hope everyone else had as fun a time with their families and loved ones as I did today. I missed Malcolm, but we'll have our own time later when we've taken care of our families. Kids always come first, and to his credit, he knew I needed some extra Malcolm time, and he gave me what he could. He gave me his attention which counts for alot, he gave me is mind and his heart, which I value above everything, and he gave me his unconditional love. Thank you baby for being so in tune with my feelings and needs. I was sad that we'd have so many family commitments that it would shatter our own time together. You knew, and you made me remember why I love you as a man. It's just cuz you get me like that. I miss u, and will see you so very soon.

Do You See What I See?

I spent some time with an old friend this weekend, someone I've not seen in a long time, and who is very dear to me. Life had gotten in the way, I suppose. He's been off doing his thing in his world, and I've been cavorting with stalkers and bunny loving man whores in my world. LOL. Just as a side note, I've gotten more feedback from people on my blog about my friend Kiko. I honestly think he's moving up to blog celebrity-hood. Anyways, it was really nice to spend some time with this guy, who I'll name Jachin for our purposes. Jachin and I shared some relationship time once, and it was pretty intense. So seeing him is bittersweet at times, and may be why it's been awhile. I don't think I've ever completely lost touch with anyone I've dated. We've always managed to keep a working relationship, at the minimum, a friendship where we can catch up when it's convenient.
Jachin has kept up with me thru my blogs, as most of my friends do. Incidentally, he loved the Kiko blog too. As we spent time Christmas shopping this weekend, and the driving started getting a little tough because of the storm, I had a rough time seeing. The windshield was freezing up, and my eyes, seeing the halos that they do when the light is bad and oncoming traffic headlights refract in my vision, only saw streaks of pretty lights in the ice. Jachin asked me if I was having issues, and I was unable to put the problem into words for him in a timely enough fashion, it seems. So he asked me if I was out playing with Kiko's bunnies. LOL, that did it for me and made me choke on laughter.
Jachin and I always had that easy kind of friendship. We'd always laugh and banter, and be able to sit beside each other in easy silence or do our own thing. He was usually a good listener, more of a good listener when we became friends as opposed to being girlfriend and boyfriend. I always felt that there was something about a real relationship that smothered him. He was more the kind of guy that wanted his freedom and his choices. He's alot like Mr in that respect, and perhaps that's the pattern of men I need to break in my life. The kind of man that loves you, but can't love ONLY you. I get it, and it makes me also understand Mr that much more as time goes by.
What most impressed me about this weekend was that Jachin took care of me in the storm. He didn't have to. But my windshield wipers were shit, and he knew it, and he bought me new ones. He put them on for me, and he bought me windshield de-icer. He drove for me. He bought me lunch too. When I dropped him off, I had to use his bathroom, and as I made my way back to the car we stopped for a moment and hugged. And that hug is what made this blog happen. Because in that moment, I remembered every good thing about him, and felt like I was home again. It's a guilty feeling, but one that happened, nonetheless. Perhaps because so many years have passed, and the hurt of the breakup is long gone, but I remembered what being happy with him was like, and it was an amazing thing. Would I go back? No, because I'm happy with Malcolm. But I know I am loved and cared for still, and it is one more thing that warms my winter heart.
I know I have many men in my life that love and care for me and I am truly one of the luckiest women alive. First and foremost, Malcolm. I love him with my whole heart and absolutely adore him. Mr, I know, still cares for me in his Mr kind of way. Kiko loves my audacious big girl self, and loves me more when I do take time to play with his bunnies. LOL. Jachin has shown me that he will always be there if I need him, and will always take care of me no matter what he has going on in his life. Balor still loves me too, as the friends that we always were, and will continue to be. We'll always dance that intricate dance of ours, and maybe incorporate our partners at some distant time. I have my brothers, Chris, Jeff, and a slew of others I'm too tired to think of right now. And I say again, I love you all. Yes Mr, even you. All of my mens have my love and friendship because you've all shown me your love and friendship over this year, no matter the bad spots that might have come with it. My winter heart has room. Our winter castle invites you in. From the Ice Prince and Princess, happy Solstice, happy Yule, many many more to come.
And to Jachin, I can't come home now, but thank you for showing me it's still there.

How Goes Things?

Malcolm and I had a great conversation tonight. His daughter is recently left home to join the service, and he was feeling quite smug that her know it all attitude was getting ready to meet reality. Something about peeling potatoes for 500 hungry sailors. LOL I love conversations with him because he infuses me with humor and optimism. We chatted about parenting, and about how he wants to step in and help me if I'd let him. Duh, cum on!!! PLEASE, help me parent, I'm asking already!! LOL. He's already quite fond of Jujubear, and compliments me lots for doing a good job. But lets face it, it's just easier with two. I'd love his input when I need it.
We talked about a new friend we've made, and how that's progressing. It's a riot really. I'm very very VERY eager to progress this to it's desired outcome. This chick is a hoot, and sweet, and I bet she will be alot of fun to hang with. The funniest moment was when Malcolm asked: "Is she stable?" We both had a moment of silence, and then both burst out laughing. I assured him that I thought she probably was, and reminded him that he'd be privy to whatever I found out. And of course, inevitably, the conversation led to how were things with my psycho stalker bitch? I told him she checks in ripe as rain every day, usually late afternoon. Only once a day lately, so she mustn't be finding the gossip she's looking for. But the reality is that some day she'll wake up and figure out that I'm not even a fraction of her problem, and if she'd wake up and see the forest for the trees, she'd realize that ...well, whatever. I think Mr likes that she stalks me because it keeps her occupied and out of his hair. Oh wait, he doesn't have any hair! Go ahead and run to him and tell him I said it. I can't wait to laugh with him about it. There is a truth to that relationship though, and here it is. He'll wake up dead or in jail some day, and it will be by her hand. The other truth is that someday I will need a restraining order to keep her ass away from me. It's OK, I've got all the proof I need to get it.
Oh, and Mr? You REALLY REALLY need a session with Dr Finklestein. LOL. That and Kiko sends his love and says you owe him a bourbon soon. Cheers!

Starry Starry Night

It snowed today. Not a light dusting of snow, but real honest to god snow. Well, OK, so still light-ish compared to a real Nor'easter, but 7 inches fell today. School went on as usual although several adults managed to call out from work for weather related issues. The snow started early in the dark before dawn, and broke sometime around 4 this afternoon. I never saw the sun today, only soft flakes falling in a continuous swirl and dancing on the cold cold wind.
Getting home tonight meant shoveling, and I started to huff about it, and become cross, but it just didn't last. For one, I didn't have time to fuck around being pissy, because my nephew, Chibit, was plowing. Picture a young 20-something with heavy equipment at his complete disposal. And yet he plows with a meticulous intensity I'd have never believed if someone would have tried to describe it to me. I realized that our Christmas tree, which was still laying like a dead deer on the sidewalk, had to go into the house or be buried for the season, before ever being used. I carefully cleared off my steps, and hauled the tree upright, stomped the trunk on the sidewalk a few times to try and shake off the snow accumulated in it's branches, and brought it in. My nearly frostbitten fingers sought the warmth of my daughter's very warm and cozy neck, making her squeal and dodge, and together we managed to get the tree situated in it's nook. We need only wait for the tree to thaw and the branches to open up before we start decorating it.
Back to the shoveling. As Chibit cruised the plow at 45 mph down the driveway, and carefully cleared not only my sidewalk snowbanks, but my neighbor's as well, it struck me that he's a winter baby too. Chibit is born early in the month, and is part of the winter royalty as well. Chibit is more a Jack Frost, a delightful yet brooding prankster who'd have you believe he couldn't give a damn, but has a bigger winter heart than most. His actions attest to his care of his relatives, friends, and fellow planetary inhabitants. He's matured a lot in the past year, and Chibit has always been a bit of my pet. Christ he was a difficult child, and almost died by my own hand a few times, on purpose, I assure you, but he's worth all that struggle. He came out of it well deserving of his place in the Winter Castle. I name him Anticipation, the keeper of people's swelling hopes and dreams for the final days. He that builds their imaginations, and keeps them wanting to continue, he that makes them push thru the adversity to see what comes next. Like Jack Frost proper, he, by his actions, reminds people that there is something exciting building, something to look forward to. I love you Chibit.
Back to Shoveling. Chibit gone, and the plowing wrapped up, the finishing touches and final scrapings had to be done. So I put my coat back on and headed out with my favorite shovel, and realized that I was enjoying myself. One by one the neighbors were coming out with their shovels too, and taking some time to catch up, maybe help one of the older folk out. The Christmas lights lit up our work, and the snow crystals reflected those myriad colors back at us like a million perfect prisms. The sky was deep Prussian blue, liberally streaked with indigo and countless pinpoints of starry lights. And it was cold. Crisp cold, the kind that pinks your cheeks, and frosts your breath. The kind that makes your winter heart feel warm inside. I was almost disappointed to go in for the night because it was a moment of such profound beauty and contentment. What I can look forward to is that it's only one of many storms yet to come that need to be cleaned up after. I feel so amazingly alive right now. So happy, so in place and time. The Ice Princess wishes everyone a magical night amidst the beauty of the season.

Kiko

So, I have this friend... it sounds like the line from American Pie, doesn't it? Anywho, my friend Kiko has been in my life for some time, and has always represented one of those unsolvable puzzles to me, like the link game, or Rubik's cube. Well, I know Rubik's cube is solvable, but the only way I could ever do it was to disassemble it and put it back together right, damn thing. He often makes me feel that way. I like him a lot as a person, when he's not being a jackass as he often has a habit of doing. Mostly he's funny as hell cuz he's got a head full of bunnies. We often chat about him and his dating habits, and it strikes me as funny how entirely clueless he is on how men and women relate. Kiko is a handsome man, and never has a problem picking up a woman for...whatever. Yes I sampled him once, and we are definitely better as friends. Mr used to prick up his eyebrows when I'd mention Kiko, wondering what that friendship was all about...well you know he probably thought I'd be boinking him. And maybe I was. MWAHAHAHA.
So, Kiko has this habit of being a womanizer, and it bothers me. Not enough to break off my friendship with him, but enough to feel a stab of conscience about the women he goes thru in his quest to quiet the bunnies in his head. There are times, since we do talk about his love life and mine, that I almost feel like I'm an accomplice to these women getting disappointed and developing broken hearts. He talks about it all so non-chalantly, like it's no big deal, and everyone is on the same page. But the reality is that most of the women are NOT on the same page as him. They don't have bunnies making furry bouncy noises inside their skulls. What they do have is this impression that they are they only woman, and they have a life to build with him. He just doesn't see it. And so I attempt to patiently explain how women treasure the afterglow time. How women are susceptible to his fleeting interest, and his lovemaking skills, and how they honestly think that he can feel deep and abiding love for them. His retort is always the same. He hasn't said anything to let them believe any such thing. Well, and I believe that, but honestly, how much of relationships are non verbal? If a guy sleeps the night with you, while snuggling you close, won't a bit of imagination start to think that maybe because he's spent 2 days this week at your house, he might be getting serious?
Malcolm understands all this, probably more so than I do. I've never met a man that understands the machinations of the female mind probably better than most women understand themselves. He mostly just cheers Kiko on, saying, "Hey, that's cool if he can do his thing like that." So I try to brush off Kiko's doings, and be happy for him, and his litter of bunnies. But I realize, some days, that what I think bothers me about the whole deal is that there is a part of my brain that wonders if there are lots of men like Kiko. And then I wonder if Mr was like Kiko when we seemed to be happy together, and perhaps I was one of those silly women. Yep, my angst over Kiko's nefarious love life makes me think that maybe there was less reality to those 5 years with Mr. than I'd ever understood. Sometimes seeing someone else's patterns, someone you are more objective with, can help you to decipher patterns in your own life. As much as I'm doing a great job moving forward, there is still an inch of me still looking for the answer why. I already know there isn't a real answer, and I'm not pining away, not trying to go backwards. But there are moments of discovery, and then there are light bulb moments. Kiko, my bunny infested friend, affords me a great many light bulb moments.
I think there is another part of me that is insanely jealous of Kiko because of the freedom and liberties he takes in his life. Don't get me wrong, his life isn't all gumdrops and roses. Like everyone else in America, he has his share of money and family problems, and yes, even he has psycho bitches. Like Malcolm says, every man has at least one, and most have more than 2 because men are notoriously slower at learning lessons because of the 2nd brain effect. I guess a part of me wishes I could be as rampant a man-whore as he sometimes is. Well, not a man, I suppose. But I'm not wired that way. I've had a couple one night stands, and they weren't very good. Riddled with feelings of being let down, guilt, and remorse, I just really didn't have a good time. The major reason being that I have to have some kind of connection with my lover to enjoy myself. I have to be able to communicate with them, have to care about them as a person. But Kiko does bring out pissing contest Dots, and some days I just want to one-up him on his conquests. Thankfully, Malcolm affords me bragging rights on sex that is 200 times wilder than Kiko will ever enjoy. And God KNOWS I love poking him with that.
What I really love about Kiko is that he accepts me for who and what I am, with hardly a criticism. He strokes my ego lots and lots, and flirts shamelessly. He's a hard scoundrel not to like, even when he's infuriated me with some nonsense or another. He's also respectful of my relationship with Malcolm, and the boundaries I've asked him to abide by. I believe that is a true and lasting sign of friendship when someone can support you in the ways you need, and still be available for bear poking...sometimes even joining in the fun. Yes, Kiko has been a passive aggressive participant in one or two of the bear poking blog posts. He'd swear he didn't do anything, but I know the truth. He does make me have fun. So to Kiko: Thanks for being my friend, and put a leash on your bunnies!!!!

Some Neil Diamond

I love listening to the radio or a CD when I drive. It makes me think, makes me remember, makes me sing along. Sometimes a song comes out of left field and brow beats me into really thinking about the lyrics. Alot of times I still think of Mr with some of those songs..."our songs" as you would have it. But more and more, Malcolm finds his way into these songs, and again, my winter heart explodes. The other day, it was a Christmas song by Neil Diamond and the words that struck me were:
"When people ask how we've stayed together, I say you've never let me down.
You make it feel like Christmas, even when things go wrong ..."
So, seeing as how I've been on a roll, last blog notwithstanding, of talking about my feelings of the season, I thought it was very fortuitous that this particular song whapped me in the head.
I thought it ironic that the one major attribute that Malcolm has always shown me, without fail, is that he won't let me down. My everlasting gripe with Mr was that he so frequently did, and swallowing that constant sense of disappointment , I think, leads to ulcers and such. It also leads to expecting everyone to BE disappointing, it leads you to expect less so that you won't be hurt. Malcolm has always come through for me in whatever way was humanly possible. Our plans haven't always been kept, but the alternative he's given me has always been more than enough for me to trust in him to be there and keep me happy. But what's more than that is the lyric about how "you make it feel like Christmas, even when things go wrong". That spoke volumes to me about what loving and being in love is, and what Christmas can and should be.
We spent last night together, so most of you know I've had little to no sleep. LOL, I can't be upset, because stealing whatever time we can together is too important. In the quiet afterglow, Christmas lights and scented candles, with mess cleared and showers taken, we hunkered under the covers cuddling, and talking softly about how he is Belief and I am Hope. He loved the analogy, and felt I'd nailed it. We talked about his love of winter, of the way the air looks and smells right before the fat snowflakes begin to fall, the sky pink as the low clouds absorb the town lights and reflect them back. It is very quiet then, and even more quiet as the first layer of accumulation blankets the earth. I was surprised, though, at his admission that more than that, he loves the morning after when the sun refracts off of the immaculate snowbanks and the world is blindingly bright and pristine. Another of our dualities....I am the winter moon to his sun. He does make my life feel like Christmas. Things won't always be perfect. If they were, they wouldn't be real. But his loving and generous heart know how to negotiate a deal that makes both of us happy. He pushes me outside of my comfort zone. I am learning to let go, and trust again. We also decided that next year will be a time when we need to decide how we will deal with the distance issue. It sucks the way it is, and I don't want to live apart from him. He feels the same, but our unique circumstances each carry some heavy baggage. Being caretakers means not always thinking about our needs first. I don't know what the new year promises, but I'm glad that the Ice Prince sits on the throne next to mine and shares the burden of responsibility.

Laughing My ASS OFF!!! (and what an ass it IS!)

OMG OMG!! LOLOLOL
ROFLMFAO, OMG, LOLOLOLOL
Can't BREATHE, laughing TOO HARD!!!!! SHIT, when I catch my breath, and can see thru the tears of my laughter, I MIGHT blog about it, but it's just TOO DAMN GOOD. He's outdone himself. LOLOLOL
LOLOLOLOL

Article on Creating a Better World

I found this in my meanderings online, and really really liked what he said. Enjoy!
A New Paradigm
Equity vs. Equality
Imagine that you and Bill Gates enter into a poker tournament. Bill
is allowed to bring all of his money and you are allowed to bring all
of yours. What will be the result? Bill will make you go all in on
every hand and even if you win a few hands, Bill has enough resource
to eventually break you.

This is the scenario for the average American working class citizen
who is told that if he or she works hard, it is possible to rise
above the straights to which they were born and become a person of
affluence. Is it possible? Perhaps. Is it possible for you to succeed
in breaking Bill Gates in a poker game? Perhaps. Is it likely? No.

If you consider the lopsided distribution of wealth and power,
coupled with a culture of institutionalized racism, is it any wonder
why so many Americans feel disenfranchised?

"All men are created equal."

I have some issues with this statement. a) What about women? b)
Created implies that someone picked up a piece of clay and formed us.
Sorry, my religious God-believing friends; I don't buy it. c) People
are not all the same. Which is the what the word "equal" means.

This statement was written in another time and has served us well in
the past. But like all things, it's becoming a thing of the past and
of little use in a time when everyone being treated equally is an
institutionalized excuse for allowing the rich to get richer and the
poor to get poorer.

It is time for a paradigm shift towards equity.

What is the difference between being treated equally and being
treated equitably?

I have a deaf student in one of my classes (a very good student, by
the way). Because of her disability, there is a sign language
interpreter in the class. If she was being treated with equality,
there would be no sign language interpreter and she would be expected
to perform at the same level as everyone else. Remember, equal means
the same. But luckily, she is not being treated equally; she is being
treated equitably, which means she is getting the extra help she
needs to thrive and reach her full potential as a human being.

Equity, not equality.

So how do you find the best poker players?

The capitalist mindset would have you believe that if there is a big
enough carrot being dangled out there, the cream will naturally rise
to the top to nab it. The idea being that individuals in society will
follow Darwin's model and climb our culture's evolutionary ladder and
thrive if, and only if, they are the fittest.

But there are a couple of things wrong with this notion.

First of all, consider the human quality that is absolutely necessary
for a person to achieve a lofty position in our capitalistic
ecosystem. Is it kindness? No. Is it compassion? Hardly. Is it
generosity? Please, spare me. A person who reaches the highest of the
trophic levels of our economic system may not be devoid of these
qualities, but these are not the qualities that got them there.

Greed got them there-- the wish to have more, the desire that puts an
individual's needs and self-worth above all others, the driving force
that propels a person up the economic food chain, clawing and
clambering over the backs of others who are also fighting their way
to the top. I'm not talking about people who become doctors and
lawyers and such in order to achieve a comfortable living for
themselves. I'm talking about the two percent of the population that
controls 95 percent of the wealth.

Do we really want to live in a society/culture/economy that is built
on a negative human quality? I know I don't.

Besides, it is a flawed notion to begin with.

Evolution propelled dinosaurs to the top of the ladder, where they
stayed for millions of years. Mammals lived alongside the dinosaur,
but could not flourish because of the oppression of the dominant
species. It was not until a cataclysmic event killed off all of the
dinosaurs that the lesser species-- mammals-- could thrive and reach
their greater potential.

So in their infinite wisdom, those who hold poker tournaments require
that everyone enter the game with the same amount of cash. With
everyone starting on an even footing, chances are that those with the
greatest ability, not those with the greatest resource, will come out
on top. With a level playing field, it takes skill and ability to out
maneuver your opponents, as opposed to just having the resource to
overpower them, much like a brontosaurus steps on a fury rodent.

The wealth (and so, the power) in the U.S. has steadily, over the
last couple centuries, shifted into the hands of a relative few. When
the phrase "all men are created equal" was coined, the culture was
largely agrarian-- with tradesmen and shop keepers providing goods
and services. And the "men" in the phrase were just that-- excluding
women, excluding Black men, oh, and by the way, they only included
property holders. The original phrase was "life, liberty, and the
pursuit of property," not "happiness."

With this shift of resource and power to the relative few, it has
become increasingly difficult for the cream to rise to the top. Those
at the top are firmly in place; so firmly that when they screw up
royally and send our economy to its knees, as it has gone recently,
the government bails them out. The cream at the top no longer has any
accountability; this is how entrenched they are at the top. It is
tantamount to socialism for the rich and capitalism for the rest of
us. The system is broken.

The fix, then is logically a redistribution of wealth. Level the
playing field so that those with real talent have a better chance of
attaining their dreams, even when they are born into one of the
oppressed classes. Remember the dinosaurs? Where would we be now if
dinosaurs still ruled the Earth? We would still be scurrying around
trying not to get stepped on. It is not until we have a system that
treats people equitably (as opposed to equally), giving everyone what
they need to thrive and reach their full potential, that we will, as
a culture, begin to move towards our greater potential.

Is this socialism? Sure it is. But socialism is not at odds with
democracy-- one is a political system and the other is an economic
system. We have been duped into thinking that socialism is
necessarily a bad thing. When socialism is paired with a
dictatorship, we call that communism (USSR, China, etc.). When
socialism is paired with fascism, that's Nazi Germany. Has anyone
tried pairing socialism with democracy? We tried once with the rise
of the unions and it was working out pretty well for most of the
people. When unions were strong, the economy was, for the most part,
stable. Those under a union's protection made a decent living. This
strengthened their buying power and so bolstered the overall economy.
But unions were attacked by those with power until former President
Ronald Reagan finally squashed the union system (and our economy)
back in the 80s. The economy has been relatively unstable, violently
bouncing up and down, ever since.

So, as the new administration under President-elect Barack Obama
begins its work and those who have power start their propaganda
machine and begin to rant about socialism, ask yourself where you
would be if dinosaurs still ruled the Earth. And do you really want
to let the dinosaurs continue to rule the U.S.?

Written by Mark Brosz

Christmas, Pt 2

Graham Cracker Cake
1 pt heavy cream, Hershey's chocolate syrup
Honey Graham Crackers, 1/4 c confectioner's sugar
Whip Cream until stiff peaks form. Add confectioner's sugar and stir until incorporated. Add enough syrup to give it a nice chocolatey taste. Lay out four graham crackers and top with cream. Continue to layer to desired height, but reserve enough cream to cover top and sides when finished. Cover loosely with foil or wrap (I use toothpicks to tent) and refrigerate overnight until crackers are soft. Serve cold.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
The original purpose of assigning a Pt 1 to the last blog was that, at the time that I was writing it, I was ludicrously tired and uncertain that I would actually be conscious when I got to the point of it, the way it was going. LOL. You see I have wild rantings of mythological proportions when I'm tired. But the gist of it is true, and mostly to the point I wanted to make. But as I've been mulling it over in my mind, I've thought about more reasons why my past Christmases haven't always been that perfect blend of wonder and astonishment I used to get as a kid. And alot of it has to do with the fact that my mom gave up hosting Christmas a number of years ago, and my sister took over.
My sister, where to start? My sister and I have always had a tenuous relationship. God knows I love her dearly, and would do anything for her. But she's a tough cookie, and rightly so. Her life has been crazy She lived through open back surgery for scoliosis, lived through some sexual perverts in her past as unfortunately more women than not have had to deal with as kids, lived through a brain tumor and lived to see her firstborn son survive and defeat leukemia, and her second son survive and defeat encephalitis. I'd have become a bit jaded and hard should I have had to deal with all that too. So we lovingly refer to her now as "The General". My sister likes decisiveness and action. She likes order. She needs for things to make sense and go smoothly. My god she and I are so different. I like to go with the flow, for the most part, live like a pig because I can't keep house to save my life, and tend to be a ginormous procrastinator. It's caused more than a little friction through the years. But of course the issue of this blog is Christmas.
My sister had a definite vision of what Christmas SHOULD have been. She was always at odds with my mother over our traditions, and as much as I LOVED the casualness and almost Bohemia of our Christmas Eve celebration, my sister despised it. She wanted the storybook brought to life. And as soon as she got married, she abandoned her lifetime's worth of holiday tradition to begin anew. It began as a subtle change, pressing my mother to serve a formal dinner on Christmas Day, instead of a potluck on Christmas Eve. It wasn't many years until my mother suddenly suggested that someone else do it that suddenly, my sister, in her new house, was hosting that Christmas Dinner. Formal, dressed up, Christmas Dinner. And the gift giving was moved to Christmas Day as well. And it was scheduled, and video taped, and each person was given their one gift at a time, and their thank you time, and so it was carefully repeated until each last gift was carefully, demurely, and cautiously opened. There weren't any Christmas lights on, since it was daylight out. And there was no picking at food. The meal was served before the gifts. Ahhh, and since it was deemed necessary to highlight everyone's need to diet, the desert selection was pared down to one or two choices, always with a fat free option available.
I wonder, if perhaps other people have lost their love of the holiday because, like me, they find themselves stuck in someone else's traditions. Don't get me wrong, sometimes learning new traditions is enriching and enlightening. Sometimes though, when all of your own traditions are lost in the process, it does leave you with this sense of disappointment, disassociation, and ill at ease feeling. Like you're experiencing something and you're not really "getting" it, or it just isn't satisfying the itch. I'd felt alone in this realization until last year, when my brother called me (the one I'd blogged about) and expressed this same exact feeling. He and I have become the square pegs unable to quite fit in the new holes my sister has drilled. We're there, we're trying, and SHE'S happy about it, but he and I feel this vague let down which we finally admitted, at least to each other, is the fact that we miss the old ways. He tried to rekindle it last year by inviting everyone over to his place for italian sandwiches and a movie, but you could see the resistance in the others to let this insurrection gain any momentum. I feel incapable of reviving our old traditions by the sheer fact that my mom doesn't keep herself or her apartment clean enough to invite people over, and by the fact that I haven't established a family besides just me and my daughter, and she's still wanting to see the gifts on Christmas morning. So now I'm not only living someone else's fantasy of Christmas, I'm perpetrating it onto my only child. I wish I knew an out, a way to get back what we had. But I'm wondering if maybe somethings really do get lost forever. And it makes me profoundly sad inside. Thankfully I've found my balance in the season and I am grateful for the celebrations I'm invited to be a part of. I find my holiday joys in the small moments. Like when Jujubear saw Santa step off the fire engine and, upon seeing his real beard, turned to me and squealed "It's HIM momma, it's the REAL SANTA!!" She and I will be singing in my other brother's family choir at church this year, for the simple reason that my daughter loves to sing, and this is a way for her to develop her god given talent. It will be bittersweet for me. Mostly because the choir is run by my 1st brother and my sister, neither of whom believe I can sing, only because I haven't for so long now. I can, and quite well. It's not comfortable, however, because some years back when traveling with a professional choir, I developed nodules on my vocal chords and it can become painful to sing for prolonged periods. Plus, asthma meds dry out the throat. We'll see how it goes. It gave me great joy back then to sing great pieces like Handel's Messiah. I think I can handle a few carols. Part of me can't wait to see the look of shock on my brother's face. LOL, my sister too. It'll be good for them to know that there was another singing star in the family once. Of course, if they'd have bothered to attend any of my concerts back then, they'd know that, wouldn't they?
I also find my seasonal joy connecting with my friends, and catching up on their hectic lives. December is a crazy month, and I know things can get difficult, but my friends have always made time for me in their lives. I'm also planning a big birthday party for my daughter. She decided over the summer that she wanted to do a sleepover party this year, and I decided it should be done over her Christmas break. So we've decided on Jan. 2nd. Hopefully I survive it. LOL!
I'll be posting a few more of our traditional dessert recipes throughout the month, and just wanted to suggest that the above cake would also be good with espresso syrup added in or any other number of variations of flavors. Happy Holidays!

Where Are You Christmas, pt 1

Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You use to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what time's done
Is that why you have let me go

Christmas is here
Everywhere, oh
Christmas is here
If you care, oh...

If there is love in your heart and your mind
You will feel like Christmas all the time

I feel you Christmas
I know I've found you
You never fade away
The joy of Christmas
Stays here in silence
Fills each and every heart with love

Where are you Christmas
Fills your heart with love
Where are you Christmas
Why can't I find you
Why have you gone away
Where is the laughter
You use to bring me
Why can't I hear music play

My world is changing
I'm rearranging
Does that mean Christmas changes too

Where are you Christmas
Do you remember
The one you used to know
I'm not the same one
See what time's done
Is that why you have let me go

Christmas is here
Everywhere, oh
Christmas is here
If you care, oh...

If there is love in your heart and your mind
You will feel like Christmas all the time

I feel you Christmas
I know I've found you
You never fade away
The joy of Christmas
Stays here in silence
Fills each and every heart with love

Where are you Christmas
Fills your heart with love
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So today I was thinking about all the people that claim they can't stand Christmas. It comes too early now, it's too commercial, it's a farce, it's a mess, it's expensive...blah blah blah.
There are definitely pros and cons to every argument, the same holds true for holding the spark of solstice love in your heart. Maybe there are alot of downsides to Christmas being marketed in October, but then again, maybe it's more of a good thing than anyone has stopped to consider.
As a child, I held a magical love for this time of year. I may have only reclaimed my crown, but I've always known that my place is in the winter castle. Winter in Maine is simply indescribable to those that haven't lived it. Some couldn't dream of living THROUGH it, while others can't imagine living away from it. When I was growing up, winters were the stuff of legends...storms that dumped 3 or 4 feet of snow at a time, snowbanks upwards of 5 feet tall, and home grown ice skating rinks with mazes of snow forts all around them. Christmas time, in such a wonderland, could be nothing less than spectacular, and our traditions were delightful then.
As a Catholic family, we celebrated Advent, and attended mass regularly. I was always in choir, so my love of Christmas music comes from the joy it brought me to be involved in creating that music as much as simply listening to it. My mother always made sure we had an advent calendar to count down till Christmas, a tradition I carry on with my own daughter today. It wasn't about the chocolate or the gift, it was about the beautiful illustration that was hiding behind the little door, and it's significance to the holiday. I didn't believe in Santa so long because I was the last of 5 children, for one, but also, our gifting happened Christmas Eve, and my mother would build the excitement and anticipation to Christmas by wrapping the gifts as soon as she'd bought them and placing them under the tree immediately. We decorated with so many lights, and the house was always a beautiful glowing haven of warmth and special love. My mother would cook, and cook, and so would my grandmother, who lived with us, and the food would be placed on our unheated porches which acted as secondary and third refrigerators at this time of year. Pies of every kind - custard, pecan, raspberry, apple, and cakes like Graham Cracker Cake (also known in some parts as ice box cake), and Chocolate Sheet Cake. She'd make sugar cookies in 12 shapes, with icing, and she'd make a peanut brittle, and she'd make chocolate covered walnut butter brittle. She'd make meat pies, called tortieres around here, made with potatoes, and spiced pork. Christmas eve would be an endless buffet. She'd make pressure cooker BBQ chicken thighs, and beef stew, and spaghetti with meat sauce. She'd hand grind meats like chicken and ham to make meat salads to spread on finger rolls. And then all the relatives that would come over would bring their dishes. Potato salad, cole slaw, beans, baked hams, and things I don't even remember anymore. We'd start the night by going to the 5 pm mass, and then it was on for the rest of the night. My mother's sister and her kids would come over, as would my father's sister and her kids, and so many other relatives I can't think of now. We'd rip open our gifts and revel in what I understand now was resourceful gift giving by parents that struggled as much then with money as we all do now. It was a relaxed atmosphere, play clothes, comfy, eat as you will, when you will, as much as you will, the adults sitting around talking, and us kids in my room playing till all hours of the morning, falling asleep in the living room under the Christmas lights. I can't think of a happier memory. So why am I reliving this now, besides my winter heart glorying in nostalgia? Because mostly everyone has treasured memories like this in their hearts. So why isn't the season so endearing anymore???
As I grew older, I found it harder to get that amazingly repleted Christmas feeling, that feeling that nothing on earth could be any better than that night. That total innocent acknowledgment of profound joy. Life started getting more complicated, and my needs more self centered and bottomless. It started feeling, like I believe bouncy lady J put it, like it was all this work and build up with no orgasm. LOL...god I love her and her analogies. That feeling of confused disappointment when something that you've waited on and hoped for has passed you by and you've missed it somehow. I think lots of people experience this and instead of confronting it and figuring out what the hell they missed, begin to construct a protective shell of disassociation and disdain for the holiday and all it's trimmings. But what really have they missed? And what are they afraid to admit that they've given up on? I do know, because I'd almost done the same thing. Two simple words - Belief and Hope.
If I use my Ice Prince for a moment to illustrate.... Malcolm is certain, he is the harbinger of the end, and the herald for the new. I mentioned this before because he was born on New Year's Eve. He is the bridge between a life already lived, and one imminently about to BEGIN. He has to have strong beliefs and convictions to balance the duality of his nature. And my role as Ice Princess, born two days after the solstice has me being caretaker to the end of times, the soul that governs the celebrations that wind up a life nearing it's end, the one that keeps the lights blazing as we enter that darkest time of year, and the one that maintains that it was all really worth it. Malcolm is Belief. I am Hope. When Belief and Hope come together, we create Love. And THAT, my friends, is the magic of Belief and Hope. Having Belief and Hope create the kind of environment that fosters and nurtures Love. And when we LOVE, we are divine. Have you ever woken up besides your lover, completely sated, warm in his arms, wrapped up in the scent of his body and known without question that you were Happy? In that brief moment you loved unconditionally, you were connected to another soul, and there was magic all around you because belief and hope were alive in your heart. That is the same knowledge you carried as a child at Christmas. The love, camaraderie, belief and hope we are "supposed" to feel at Christmas were NEVER supposed to be confined to that season, it was supposed to be a season to celebrate the wonderment we felt all year long. The gifts we give at Christmas are a representation of the love and generosity of heart and spirit that we share with our families, our friends, and our fellow planetary inhabitants. Perhaps the marketing companies have made Christmas into a gold mine, but consider this for a moment... The physical reminders of the holiday don't have to mean commercialism, greed, duplicity, or uncharitability. When I see the first decorations displayed in the stores, I feel the first sparks of my winter heart light up. I'm reminded of the precious ornaments I've collected through the years with my mother, or on my own, and begin to relive the stories and memories behind each of them. I laugh at the thoughts of my neighbor who used to decorate his house so much it showed up on satelite footage. He no longer decorates because they have felt a most profound sadness this year at the loss of the visitation of their grandchildren. They lost both belief and hope, and the manifestation is a lack of willingness to participate in the spirit of the holiday. I won't let them lose all their belief and hope, because I love them. And love, no matter what, really can create miracles for people. And isn't that what people really want at this time of year? Christmas Miracles?
I got my miracle earlier this year when I met Malcolm. I received another miracle almost 9 years ago when I birthed my daughter. Besides simply providing for our basic needs, I can't think of another thing I want this year except for time with the two people who rekindled my belief and hope, and taught me the meaning of real joy by showing me honest, reciprocated love.
Belief and Hope
PS - in no way is the living room pictured above mine, or in any way reflect my house or my family's house. It's far too meticulously perfect. That living room would belong to my friend Jeff, and is his scene from last year. He does everything perfect like that. LOL Love and hugs to Jeff. MWAH!

Imagine

Imagine, just for a moment. I'm deliriously tired right now, but as my winter heart awakens more and more each December day, my love and conciousness expand exponentially along with it. No, I didn't take any drugs. No, I'm not becoming a born again again. But just imagine.
Imagine a world with such injustice that the undying belief for CENTURIES in ONE man could make a people cling to the last shreds of hope. Make them stay faithful to their culture and beliefs. Make them mindful, devout, and gladdened by the thought that this manifestation of their God's love for them will change the course of history forever. Imaging living in a world with such violence, with such corruption. Imagine losing all but the last tenacious cell of hope.
Imagine wanting to end the cycle. Imagine wanting to change the course of our lives. Imagine value, honesty, and fidelity as real makers of men and women. Imagine people being driven to do what is right instead of what is easy. Imagine the leadership of a man who believes in us as much as we believe in him. Imagine creating a new society, a better world, a kinder nation. Imagine us happy as a people, imagine us free, unfettered, and discovering who we truly are. Imagine us living the lives we desperately need to live, not based on wealth, or acquisition, or power.
Imagine us genuinely loving ourselves and those around us. Imagine building people UP instead of always tearing them down. Imagine governments acting honestly, free of the corruption that haunts them and destroys the people they govern. Imagine us finally caring for our planet, our oceans, our wildlife, and our children. Imagine loving your partner wholeheartedly, without reservation, without suspicion, and without fear. Imagine being loved in return unconditionally, for who you are, not for what you can do or for what you have. Imagine Trust.
Perhaps ONE man did have the ability to right the world somehow. To speak truth and be heard, not that week, not that year, but for eons. Perhaps he was God, or at least God-inspired because how could one man ever hope to be heard in light of everything the world was then, and still is today, if he was not in some way assisted by the divine? I believe in a higher power that guides us all. I believe that he would inspire us in any way he could to see a better way. I believe, in the very frigid core of us, is the spark of the divine waiting to explode in conflagration, should we only learn how to BELIEVE. If I could have one wish, it would be for more people to imagine the possibilities of belief and hope. And I would wish for them to open THEIR winter hearts and feel the fire in the ice. We've all grown a little cold over the decades, and only a bonfire will effect the kind of awakening we all need. Angels? Inspiration? Men of God? Whatever it takes.......
Imagine...

Winter Royalty

The first snow hit last night. I always think of Frosty and Santa when the first snow falls...how the mean magician locked Frosty into a greenhouse full of beautiful poinsettias, and he melted. And poor Karen, how she cried. I always cried too, in fact, I still do. Santa saved him though, by opening the window and telling Karen that it was CHRISTMAS snow, and that never really goes away, although it may take the form of summer rain. Well, here in Maine I like to think that we know a might bit about snow, because we have like 8 months worth of it. No, I'm not really joking. LOL. But that first snow is magical, even more so when it hits your freshly decorated Christmas lights, and blankets them casting a soft, peaceful glow in a very quiet, sleeping world.
I love this time of year. I was born to it, literally, my birthday falling 2 days after the big day. Winter is my season, my colors, my climate. I positively THRIVE in the cold weather as though my body hibernates all year waiting for the snow and ice to finally fall again and awaken me. I think perhaps I embrace being the Ice Princess because if it means I govern during the Winter Solstice, and Yuletide, and Christmastime, then YES, I AM THE ICE PRINCESS AND COLD TO MY SOUL. Proud to be. I am heartened by Christmas music, and my philanthropic self (it's ok psycho stalker bitch, I know u don't understand that word, look it up on google, hun) is finally nourished by the good will which seems to infect everyone. And so, with the plunging temperatures and the first snowfall of the winter season......my general malaise ended and my winter heart awakened.
We decided to take a shopping trip tonight after I got out of work, and Juju got done her homework. We traveled to Freeport, ME, one of the shopping capitals of the world LOL, to contribute to the healing of the economy, and to purchase some boots so that Juju could play in the snow. I brought a smallish sum of money, and was so delighted, so absolutely charmed that not only could I buy my baby some boots, I could also, finally, purchase a new pair of shoes for myself. The environment was gorgeous if you look at the picture above, that is actually last year's theme. This year their theme is Northern Lights, and the ginormous tree was entirely decked in midnight blue and crystal white, with huge snowflakes tumbling amid the branches, and bright sparkles flaring here and there amongst the pine needles. It was so amazing, like being in the deep woods at midnight with nothing but moonlight brightening the new fallen snow. That "hush" feeling, like deer and rabbits and other woodland animals might come to pay homage to the tree, to winter itself in the quiet of the night. We spent a moment appreciating the splendor that is Freeport at Christmastime, then hopped into the car with our meager but very beloved parcels, and drove home looking for more fabulous Christmas displays and listening to Holiday music.
I'm feeling very loving and very loved tonight. I just spoke to Malcolm, shared the hilarity of yesterday's blog with him, and asked his permission to visit with and share coffee with Balor. "Would you mind if I did that" I asked him, and his instant response..."No, why would I?" "I didn't think you would, but you are special to me, and I don't want to do things to irritate you." I told him. "No worries and don't sweat it. Have fun and tell me the story after," he answers. His mom is going into the hospital tomorrow, so I'm going to do something special for him when I get out of work. I'm not sure what yet, but definitely something floral, and something food.
What Malcolm knows and made me realize is that although I am Ice, ice burns. He found the conflagration in the center of my being and it burns Prussian blue, and Titanium white, and all the colours of the landscape in wintertime. He is my winter soulmate, my Ice Prince. I also shared with him on the phone that I'm incredibly happy with the way everything has turned out. Our time together has been nothing short of spectacular, and as we approach the 8 month mark of our relationship, everything just keeps getting better and better. This, our first winter season together, is our very special time. Imagine that finally, I've someone to celebrate the holidays with. Not merely someone who will always be absent or drunk on those days. I can't wait to bask in the glow of the holiday lights with him, and watch the myriad colors dance over our skin. Because Ice is beautiful like that.

Backing Up

As I was stuffing dirty laundry into the wash, AGAIN, because there is just not an end to doing fucking laundry in this house with 3 women, I started to feel guilty about ranting on Psycho Stalker Bitch, and began to think that perhaps I should have a modicum of compassion for her. After all, it isn't easy being Mr's girlfriend.
So I was thinking it must be on her mind alot today, since she dared to leave the State and leave him completely unattended overnight, able to do anything and see anyone with only a phone call to arrange it. Ahh, I remember the days, but those cheap flings of his didn't bother me since I knew he'd come home to me. But oh those flings...they bother her. They bother her alot. It must really be weighing on her mind about where he spent his night. Did she call him to find out, and did he NOT answer? And was his answer was "I was sleeping"? Sure, and maybe he was, but with whom? I knew all his angles and lies, but I understand that she's still figuring them out, and it must be difficult to have any kind of peace in a relationship where no trust exists. Wow, and she was gone awhile too.
Imagine, she probably thinks I knew exactly what was up with him, that we'd talked about his day, and his night, and that I knew or participated in his infidelity. She thinks I'd still boink him. Maybe she's right, depends on the day, or the night, and what Malcolm had to say about it, especially if he was there. Was he there? Does even HE know where Mr was and what he was doing while she's desperately trying to find out by stealthily stalking all my pages. Perhaps she thinks I'd slip up and brag about it. But all my admissions have always been intentional, and I don't make mistakes about Mr's confidences unless they suit my purposes. Perhaps it's just that it takes time to write good erotica, whoever the star happens to be.
So I suppose I'm sorry for lashing out about being stalked when I may or may not have known Mr's whereabouts and intentions, or perhaps I didn't know ANYTHING about him that day and night she was gone. LOLOL, so not likely, but it could happen. Waiting for a shoe to drop? Waiting for that sinking feeling in your gut to go away? Too bad she doesn't have access to his email so she could just stalk that, she might find some correspondences that say so much. Or not, who really knows what's in his email? Ohhh, that's right.... nevermind. LOL! No worries, It's probably all junk mail.
So stalk away psycho stalker bitch girl. I have no idea where he was when you called him at 9:30 that night and he didn't answer.
Smiles

Stupid Whore Psycho Stalker Bitches

A stupid whore psycho stalker bitch is still a stupid whore psycho stalker bitch whether she stalks me on Yahoo 360, or myspace or facebook, or from her home PC, her Plymouth, MA pc, her work pc, or ANYWHERE ELSE IN THE FUCKING U.S., DUMB BITCH. Yeah, your fingerprint ID is STILL all over it, no matter where you try to hide and stalk.
Grow the fuck up idiot. And yes I told him.

Back to the Future

Today, I'm not sure if the tryptophan has finally assaulted my nerve endings, or if I just stayed up watching too many episodes of House last night, but I was tired and cranky. I'd thought for sure I was going to brave the crowds and go shop shop shop today, but I reviewed the sales flyers yesterday, and for real, there was NOTHING impressive enough to go out for. Perhaps I'm too simple. I'm not out to get a flat screen HD tv because I'm happy with what I have. I don't need an IPod, it just doesn't make my world rattle and roll. I don't need anymore Christmas decorations, I could decorate most of our neighborhood should I feel the inclination to. And the toys? Well, I haven't decided on a solid plan of action on what to get my daughter. So I shoved all the sales flyers in a box after I'd finished, kicked it to the end of the couch, and settled in to watch another episode of House.
I find that I don't want much in the way of material goods right now. I want order to the chaos that is my house. I want my daughter to slim down some and be healthy. I want the same for myself...not so much that I'm a size 6 mind you, only that I shed the weight I've gained since being unemployed. I want to reconnect with my highschool friend, who has chosen his alias to be "Balor". I know, what the hell kind of name is that, but he's never been one for the ordinary, and if you do a search on yahoo or google, will find the myth behind the monster. I almost wonder, based on a comment he left me the other day, if he's feeling more affinity with this evil eyed beast than I'd first given weight to. I want more time together with Malcolm for everything, not just the bedroom part. I want a fulfilling job, and I want to be able to pay my bills again. The only material things I want are turtlenecks and boots for my daughter, so she won't be cold in the quickly approaching freezing weather. And maybe some pants that aren't capri for her too, that's kind of important. But I need nothing for myself, and shopping isn't very appealing right now, it almost gives me a vague sense of unease and dissatisfaction. It's not what my psyche is craving.
I'm really craving that human connection, and in a very very big way. AND there are 3 men that my psyche is calling out to to fulfill it. Malcolm, because he completes me like that, body, mind, and soul. His words and touch go right to the core of me and light the fire that right now is tightly banked. Mr is number two, and I hear a chorus of moans right now. LOLOL. But thru our continued conversations, reciprocated on both our parts now, I just love the bantering, joking, and eye rolling mischief that we both have a penchant for. Bear pokers to the end.
Lastly, and perhaps most distracting, is my need to reconnect with Balor. LOL, yes my one eyed monster friend. Who is he? MMMM, it's a story, for sure. Picture me in highschool, if you will. I'm the fat chick, no sense of style, from an ultraconservative French Catholic family, attending a co-ed Catholic Highschool. I never dated, went to only one school dance by myself because it was a costume party, never did anything considered "bad", and was a straight A overachiever that sang in church, in a professional traveling choir, played piano, and was headed for an art education. He'd always been in the class ahead of me, and I'd glimpsed him because I'd had some advanced classes and I had gotten to know that class. He disappeared for a year, I'd never really given him much thought, and he reappeared after a year abroad and was magically a part of MY class now. He was THE most beautiful guy I'd ever seen. Long glossy black hair, perpetually tanned skin, sloe eyes, great laugh and smile....It was like watching a wild animal pacing in a cage sometimes. He had a bad boy rep too. Indulged in some hookah, played some hackey, drove in a van with CURTAINS for heaven's sake. And he listened to the Grateful Dead.
I don't even recall how we started talking. Perhaps it was because I'd done a summer study at an art college, and had grown some balls and gotten sassy. I had an absurd need to try and fit in because I was never really a part of any group in Highschool. I got along with most everybody, but was never on the inside of anything. I had a skewed sense of reality too, and was a chameleon at times, altering my personality to try and fit in with any group. Just really trying to find myself. Balor HATED that in me, and I remember some heated conversations later about it. I understand his vehemence now, because I see it happening in my own daughter as she struggles to find her way socially too, and it absolutely makes my skin crawl. But you can't tell kids to just be themselves, they have to figure out who the hell that is, true? And Balor, I was an extremely late bloomer.
So we became friends, and DURING Highschool, it was still such a tremulous delicate thing. We worked on a project together, he kept me out far too late, and my mother had conniptions. However, college happened, and I started to become this new flower of a woman. Forward to summer vacation, and somehow Balor and I reconnected, and became inseparable. We went all over the state, we painted together, we chatted at Denny's till 5 in the morning. My mom was hysterical because she was sure I was doing the deed. But he charmed her, like no other of my friends ever has or probably ever will. He'd come to talk to her, and she, being so short, and he being so tall.....well, he'd kneel in front of her so she wouldn't have to look up. I'm certain his parents were ever so much less impressed with me, but I really never got a chance to know that. Nor would I want to, at this point. LOL LALALALA, Nope, Balor, you can't tell me, I'm not listening!!!! Those were the days I'd be fascinated by simply listening to his logic. Or was it rhetoric? Or his philosophy?? Christ, I think back now, and I'm sure I'd have understood him better had I been drunk or stoned. Surely my almost virgin mind couldn't comprehend the layers he was thinking and speaking about. I tried, God KNOWS I tried. But it was like listening to the Grateful Dead for me back then. It all sounded the SAME. I couldn't distinguish the myriad intricate melodies, the special patterns and flow in the music. I just didn't have the experience in my life yet to grasp anything that was really Balor. But I have to be truthful and honest, and this will make me blush as much today as it did back then. Christ I loved him.
There is so much more to this story. Some of it hasn't happened yet because this friendship has been in stasis for some 15 years now. I've tried to look him up on some reunion sites like Classmates.com in the past. I knew that he'd married, had a gaggle of kids, and was clean, sober, and happy. It made me so happy to know that too. I've grown a bunch since I last saw him. LOL Both emotionally, and experientially. Spiritually, and sexually. But the most important piece is I've discovered is the woman within, and I'm not that chameleon anymore. Take me or leave me, love me or hate me, this is me. I think back to those two kids we were, and I chuckle at myself a LOT, and at him too. I was a starry eyed crushing maniac, and he was just plain full of shit because he knew I was that starry eyed crushing idiot. LOL. I understand more now, maybe not everything, but so much more. I hear the melodies of the Grateful Dead, and know the signature of each tune, what makes each special, beloved, and unique. And they appeal to me on a very cellular level. But it's not my personal rhythm like it is his, even to this day. Mine is Pink Floyd, and I'm proud of my tune, of my lyrics, of my symphonic layers. Am I still crushing on him? Well, I probably always will a little, but I'm so damn happy in my love life that I can easily, these days, distinguish the love for a cherished friend from the love for a primal mate. And that is what makes Balor so special to me is that he is cherished. Our conversations, brief and superficial (to some extent) as they've been over Facebook.com, have, at least for me, the feeling like we've picked up where we left off 15 years ago, and that there was only a pause in our friendship, not a gaping maw. It's that wonderful, and I crave seeing him again so that I can have the laughter, the warm conversation, the hilarity, the serious thoughts, and then the even better disagreements. Bear poker I am. LOL. I don't know if he'll read this, I do know he wants to. He's also threatened to kill me with his evil eye should I write heinous things about him. LOLOL. It's all good hon. Ask Mr. I only thrash someone in verbage when they need it. MWAHAHAHA!
We've agreed, Balor & I, that a round of great coffee should come to fruition rather quickly. I know he's hitting a difficult time in his life, and he has my thoughts and support. I was there this year, though the situation is different. So perhaps we can offer each other some mutual support and healing from relationships that just didn't cross the finish line like we'd hoped. I think we're both ok, really really, but it's still nice to be able to commiserate and compare horror stories. Now I just need to explain all this to Malcolm, and hope to God he's ok with it. Funny enough I even asked Mr's opinion on how to approach this WITH Malcolm...should I ask him permission, or tell him after the fact, be casual about it...what to do? I know Mr would absolutely thrash me if he knew I'd started thinking about him like one of my girlfriends, but there it is, and in print. It's nice to know I can bounce ideas off him like that and get some feedback. Of course he always assumed I was cheating, and if it were him and I'd told him this long winded story, he'd assume it would be because I wanted some action with Balor. LOL, he even called me a couple of days later to ask me if I'd had my "date" yet, and I quickly let him know that it was NOT a "date"....it was a reunion. LOL. I need to have a conversation with Malcolm about it. I know he'd be ok, I know he knows I only want to come home to him. It would be so much easier if Balor were only a girl...or gay. But no. He's a beautiful vibrant hetero man, and he's my friend. And I'm glad we are talking again.

All In the Family

I've taken some time out to hang with my brother this week. He and I have had a rollercoaster relationship, but then, my friends expect no less from me. LOL. My brother...where to start? He broke my leg when I was 5, pushing me on my trike, and trying to save me from getting killed by an oncoming vehicle as I swerved into the road. My little ankle got caught between the pedal and the wheel, and crunch, that was it. He didn't mean to do it, and I swear he still has guilt all these years later. LOL, what a great tool that is. Fast Forward to his highschool years, and I was, I dunno, like 9, maybe. He was a big football star for his team, but an injury to his knee put him out. At the hospital, they did some x-rays, and a day later, a doctor was trying to convince my mother that he had a tumor on his knee and they really needed to amputate immediately. Thank goodness my mother had some sense to bring him to Children's Hospital in Boston. You see, there was no tumor. The doctor had read the wrong x-rays for him. Something happened to my brother then....he never really recovered from that, not mentally. He went on to a 2 year college, getting a degree in business admin like most boys his age at the time. He went into restaurant management, quite successfully, and married a real fruit loop of a girl. Ahh, my brother and his girlfriends. He's always liked them pretty and stupid. Pretty stupid? He needs to be the dominant partner, needs to be the intellect, blah blah blah. So of course his marriage was a disaster and he went into a series of other failed relationships. Until he met HER. I've joked unerringly about Mr's bitch, but HER, she who shall not EVER be named puts that low class psycho bitch to psycho bitch and manipulator's shame. SHE played my brother like a sonata, had a couple kids, bought the house of HER dreams, quit working, and shopped and shopped and shopped until my brother, who'd been working in sales and making a pretty good clip of cash was having to buy their groceries on a Visa card. The SHE announced the divorce, one day, out of the blue. SHE'D been planning it for 3 years, had the lawyers already hired, and the plan set out. And my brother lost everything. His house, his kids, his 401K, eventually his mind, and his sanity, and his ability to work.
Anywho, my brother now is morbidly obese, and disabled because of it. So I occasionally do his groceries and help him pick up his place, or just sit and talk or play games with him so that he has some company. His kids are with HER this week, so he's all alone, and I can tell he's lonely. Yesterday and today I spent the afternoon with him, brought him some lunch, watched Jeff Dunham, and played some word game he had on his Satellite TV. I do love my brother, and we are back in a place that we both generally agree and get along, and that is phenomenal because I tell you, when he was in his Rush Limbaugh days, well holy hell, I couldn't stand that motherfucker. My brother can be a judgmental, condescending, ignorant SOB when he so chooses, the kind of guy that will proudly say "I can't stand all those niggers, but I'm not a racist, cuz I have a black friend". So you can only imagine how we've clashed over the hot button issues that he and I differ on. Like gays. Hooray, every man that ever crossed my threshold in my earlier years was gay. I'm the ultimate hag for heaven's sake. I LOVE gay men, can't live without them, and find them wherever I am. My brother? Well of course, he wants to put them all on a boat and blow it up. You get the idea. He can't fathom why I haven't dated inside my race for the past 2 decades. Try to explain that it's kismet, that I meet men, and they happen to be black, that I'd love them should they be white, but NO, he's sure I'm racial profiling. And who the hell knows, maybe subconsciously I am. Whatever. And of course there is the fact that no matter how old I get I am always his little sister, and that is it's own set of pros and cons.
Nowadays however, he's chilled the hell out quite a bit. Things are going his way more and more. His kids are living in HIS custody now, and quite happy and successful. SHE is miserable, and having to pay child support which I'm SURE SHE never planned on having to deal with in her lifetime. So he's found a modicum of happiness, for which I'm thankful....because he's my brother and I love him. And he's a fucking riot. Today, as we played his favorite word game, I insisted on manipulating the remote, and found it challenging. He made me laugh by calling me "sausage fingers" which of course caused me to do even worse. He can be my best friend some days, and other days I have to hang up on him before I say something terrible. But he's generally supported me these last few years, and I'm thankful I have the time to spend with him now, just being there with him. Even my daughter loves spending time with her Uncle because "he's the fun one". He won't hesitate to engage her, play with her as best he's able, or come up with some game he invents out of his own twisted head. He could be a genius. One with ADD for sure, but a genius nevertheless.
So here's to my brother, one of three brothers, and one of 5 siblings. I love ya, rascal, but NO, I'm not playing cribbage with you, because you cheat.