A moment of clarity; a moment of eek.

So, I'm standing in the storage-slash-coffee room, looking for a pile of notepads in order to follow the mandated "note taking" protocol, and then I had this moment of clarity.

I have to admit, moments of clarity are kinda cool, but usually badly timed.

At that moment (and that would be 2230 hours) it occurred to me that I HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

And apparently, I said it out loud. It was one of those, "Did I say that out loud?" moments.

I did.

If only I had been alone.

It would have been far better had I been alone.

There's a hole in the bucket of my contentment.

Boom.

Did you hear it? Did you, from the far-off spaces you inhabit, hear the sound of my head literally shooting off the body, like a Mercury rocket heading for the once-calm reaches of outer space?

Boom.

I didn't even get the warning Ka. I just got the freakin' Boom.

I missed the Ka.

It's funny when shit hits the fan; you would expect that it would go EVERYWHERE. But it doesn't. It's aim is true, it's course unwavering.

Most of you know what I do earn the bread that feeds the body that stores the soul that lives in the house that Jack built. And I can tell you that between the two day storm that dumped between 14-24 inches of snow on the beloved Northern State, and an idiot from Nigeria who wanted to use another plane like a lawn dart, and a boss who would fit in well in the Federated States of Micronesia, because of his micromanaging, I have had just......about....enough.

And when I got to the mental end of "just......about....enough..."

Boom. Without the Ka.

A little hope as I go into the New Year.......

I hope the 3rd degree burns the idiot from Nigeria has on his d**k are painful and, if there's a just Allah in Heaven, it falls off while the nurses point and laugh. I say that not out of racial or religious intolerance; it's just that his little stunt opened up a whole can off whoop ass on my weekend. And thank you to the passengers and crew that saved the airplane.

That my snow blower continues to run like a champ, but I don't have to use it four times a day like I did on Christmas.

And that I don't go into a sarcastic rant to my boss, who has always treated me with respect and kindness, and that I know is a good man that wants all the same things I want. But I swear to GOD if he comes into the office and requests to peruse my notes, I will attempt to lure him to the window.

And now, the Boom recedes to a faint echo on the horizon, and life is restored to its former glory.

"Glory" being a relative term. Like "Fine." And "Level."

Yes, Virginia, there is a Sanity Clause.

It began to snow on Thursday evening; and by early Christmas morning, it was a right mess. A huge blizzard, covering virtually the entire Northern State.

Fortune was with us, though.....we had prepared an emergency plan to cover everything, including what would happen if a huge blizzard closed every airport in the state.

Forethought; it's not just for breakfast anymore.

And the, the idiot on the flight to Detroit sparked not only fireworks, but every fear that every American has; leading to kneejerk reactions and paranoia and rage and God knows what else.

And it was at that point I wished that the blizzard was the worst thing in my life.

But the moments between work were wonderful; I received many interesting prezzies; some specifically desired (SNL Season 5, the last of the original cast) and some were surprises (a replica of Booth's derringer that shot Lincoln), and some were just laughingly strange (a calender featuring the Girls of Dakota; for those that know me, it's pretty much the last thing you would think to give me).

Michael Crichton and Edward Rutherfurd were also represented.

My culinary skills were put to the test, and came through with flying colors; the beef AND the chicken were perfect, and the conversation flowed and the kids were darling and for those moments I felt like I was of the solar system, and not just a comet flashing by.....

I took a nap after that, knowing that after the nap I would have to arise and use the mechanical snow throwing device to clear the way for my car to get to the street; I did, and I have to say that I have a crush on whoever invented the snowblower.

I hope your day was well, and warm, and filled with laughter and song and food and lovely prezzies; in this strange world we live in, we are in perpetual need of a day of celebration; and I would suggest one every six months, without fail.

Love to you....

My Annual Gush.

Yesterday, I said to my co-worker Kendra that my life is a series of unfinished conversations. Hence the title of this e-rag.

Kendra is a lovely lass; she makes me laugh and seems to listen to me when I talk; but she gave me the look that 22 should give to 48, when 48 is either waxing nostalgic or mourning the loss of some conversatee.

Actually, it was both.

As I've said before, the social networking sites have jump started a lot of those unfinished conversations; but with every re-beginning, there is the side effect of remembering conversations that have ended.

Yes, you know what I mean.

I think about Barb; I always miss her around this time of year, and every time I hear "And We Danced" by The Hooters.

I think about Ed; The eternal pirate with the crooked smile..the only seeming flaw to his matinee idol look.

I think about Dave; I can still hear him at the piano, seamlessly segueing from one Christmas Carol to another, his hoarse laugh at my lowjinks being the best kind of reward.

I think about my Mother, Elizabeth; and how I cannot, cannot, CANNOT get that cookie recipe right; but even the slight modification doesn't stop the flavor from zapping me back to the warm kitchen of my kidhood, listening to that whooping laugh of hers I miss so much.

I think about all the friends I've collected over the course of almost forty years, and how they've shaped me in ways I cannot begin to understand or repay; whether it was the overwhelming kindness of taking me in when I literally was living in my car, or the simple kindness of a pair of warm socks on a cold, wet day. The warm hand of friendship in a crowded pub, or the light hand of something else, on a walk down Washington Street in the light snowfall.....

I am literally defined by the people that surround me, every waking day of my life, whether they be here in the North, or thousands of miles and decades of years away; whether we've spoken last week, or the last week of the last decade.

From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
For you have shown me great kindnesses, and love; and I have returned it as best as I can.

Here's to another year of conversation.

Waiting by the tree for the Fat Man....

As I sit alone on the top of the building on the seventh street near the expressway in the little city in the middle of the northern state I notice that the National Weather Service is suggesting a blizzard that is set to hit this area on Christmas Eve.

This shall make my life temporarily complicated.

And I'm not even travelling.

But the gifts are wrapped, the house has been swept clean; let the remembrance begin..

As you well know if you read this drivel at the end of the year, Christmas is a time for remembrance; and I find it particularly gratifying thanks to my favorite social networking site.

This year has been a time of great re-acquainting: the march of the Exes; a few unfinished conversations that began again after a long silence; apologies offered, if not gratefully received, at least accepted. And love re-ignited, if at a lower flame than the original conflagration. As I've said before, it's the coals of the past that can keep us warm through time.....

I'll finish the baking soon, perhaps this evening, and I'll finish the shopping for food, and Christmas will be a slide rather than a run; and I'll be back at my desk at Midnight.

I hope Santa is good to me.

And, I hope Santa is good to you all. Merry Christmas to you all if I don't see you...and I'll talk to you soon.

Mullings between the darkness and the light.

I was recently watching an episode of COLD CASE, and I found myself in one of those moods where you begin to envy fictional characters, which is just silly.....

I envy those moments at the end of the case, where they see, for just a moment, the ghost of the victim; and the victim is usually smiling just before they fade out.

I kind of wish I had the ability to see the spirits of those that have gone before me, for a number of reasons that can all be qualified as further evidence as to my egotism. I would like to know, first of all, that they are all right wherever they are. I've known a good many people in my life, and some are gone, and all deserved a better place than the one they left. I would just like to know that they are. Secondly, (and here's the ego) I would like to know that they watch over me, and occasionally wish to say hello.

I tend to say hello to them all the time. They're never really that far away.

I think it would be nice to know, for sure, that there was something else after this; I don't necessarily want a vision of a Christian Heaven, with clouds and golden streets and choirs of angels with harps and such; and I'm not sure I could really deal with the whole, WHAT DREAMS MAY COME psychedelic fever-dream version of heaven; but if there could be a heaven where I live in a cabin by a river with a fire in the fireplace and the smell of leather bound firsts, where it's perpetually early fall but the golf course is always available.

Nah. That would probably bore me to afterlife.

I'd even accept reincarnation, I suppose, as long as I had a say in what was the next incarnation. No snakes or consumable flora and/or fauna. But frankly, the ride has been fairly interesting, and I wouldn't mind having a second go 'round. It would be really interesting to be able to traverse time, and be reincarnated in a previous era. I'm saying that knowing that all civil war re-enactors are grateful for modern toilet facilities. I don't think I would be really long-lived in the middle ages....unless I could be a jester.

So.

I suppose that in the end, the ghosts that call upon us bring another measure to the mystery that is life and it's end; death is there....to keep us honest, and to constantly remind us that we are free. Free to make the choices that make us what we are.

In other words; the more you complain, the longer God lets you live.

Have a good day, y'all.

Put it down, and step away.

I know that it's possible to have my heart broken, even in this day and in my age.

I can remember the heartbreak of youth; it was kind of like a knife to the gut; an actual, physical pain that lingered all through the waking hours, only to dissipate in the mists of Morpheus.

And the scar would remain; in fact, they remain to this day, and I look to them and point and say, "these scars I received on St. Crispin's Day." And the people of my generation, who attended those times with me will smile and nod and lift a glass to the times when we cared enough to have out hearts broken; and the youth that surrounds me will roll their eyes and wonder why anybody would care so much in the first place.

And my answer will always be the same: I care because I care.

But I've noticed that in my age, when my heart is broken, the pain is duller. And it only lingers in the mists of Morpheus; and it lacks a certain energy.

And it's less of a scar, and more of a bruise.

Yes.
It's easy to have your heart broken when you use your heart enough.

And even that dull pain gives me proof that I'm alive.
Which is not something I've been able to prove beyond a reasonable doubt.

It's not often you want to thank somebody for the heartbreak.
And simultaneously want to punish them for it.

It's a long road.
I'll just keep walking.
And enjoy the memory of the company.

Fair enough?