Friday, January 31, 2014

Sometimes my brain goes there.

A Love Story.


Gavin, do you love me?

No, I don't.

But why, after all we've been through!

No, can't say as I do.

Even after being through the monkey scourge, the time without oil, the terrible cloud formations, the victory over our neighbors, the times we've spent together?

You forget the time you burned the house down because you were angry.

But that was because you didn't do the dishes properly, and the rats were coming in.

You didn't tell me they had to be done right away, and I'd never done dishes before.

Certainly you were old enough.

Sure, right, think what you want.

I love you, you know, and so you should love me.

I don't.

Because of the dishes thing?

You burned down the house because I didn't do dishes properly when I was three years old.

Old enough to climb onto the kitchen counter to get a cookie, old enough to wash dishes, Curtis said.

Curtis was an idiot.

You shouldn't say things like that about your second stepdaddy.

A real peach, he was.

Yes, he had a way about him.

You're right about that.

And don't forget that time we went to Mexico and came back and got rich and visited Disney and had breakfast with Mickey; surely you love me for that!

I was 17, it was too late for Mickey.

Gavin, you are hard on me, I never wanted anything except for you to love me.

It's not going to happen, Mom.

Why not, Gavin?

Got to go, Mom, see you next week.

At least have them take off these restraints so I can hug you, my boy.

No, the last time I did you tried to stab me with a plastic fork.

I never did.

You did, last week.

You must have deserved it.

See you next week Mom.

GAVIN, come back.

Next week, Mom, like always.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Bedsticks and broomknobs

Been a quiet time in my little dusty dark corner of the internet.  Mighty quiet.

Lazy, too.

Wonder how it’s been for you?

OMG a real door!
In the cube farm at work there are many wonderful and varied ring tones from many a cell phone and work phone and ‘soft phone’ by which to be distracted throughout the day.  Why, one that sounds like a chime just went off, as it does approximately 60 times a day!

Used to hear the soft ‘hoo hoo’ of a loon when a former cube neighbor’s phone rang with a call from her Dad – the loon has left the building, unfortunately because he has since passed on, but the horse whinny and cry of the cardinal are still there and reverberant whenever members of her family call.

Some folks have rock tunes that start up, some have a simple buzz.

As for me, my phone is on ‘vibrate’ 90% of the time.  I do not contribute much to the noise problem here at Grand Central Station.  It is enough to have the chorus of other people’s electronics, the stomp-clomp of their feet in the hallways, the whirr of the coffee machine, the spitspitspit of the water dispenser, the rumble of supply and janitorial carts, the giddy laughter and deep conversations of people both near and far reverberating through my personal workspace.  I don’t need to contribute to that with random outbursts of cell-phonery.

Which, of course, is why I miss a lot of phone calls.

Hey – I’m an introvert.  I don’t mind missing calls.

It’s nearly 3 p.m.  Our building has about warmed up enough to not freeze my nose hairs when I inhale.

Seriously – this building is an icebox in the winter, generally.  It’s a necessity to grip a paper cup full of bad coffee throughout the morning just to keep fingers limber enough to type.  A steady stream of warm decaf keeps the ol’ core temp hot enough to stay awake, at least through lunchtime, when there’s a slight but perceptible shift in the temps toward ‘tepid,’ which is a great change from the ‘downright chilly’ of the morning.

It’s understandable when the outside temps are in the teens, that heating a large building such as ours can be a challenge.  I get the notion of not wanting to introduce to much of a temp swing during the daily cycle, and to simply let the body heat of your employees (and contingent workers, and third-party ‘guests’) do most of the heavy thermometer lifting, but dang.  If I have to wear gloves and a parka just to keep from drifting off into a hypothermic sleep, isn’t that a little MUCH?

Good thing I’ve scoped out the ‘warm rooms’ in the building.  There are 2.  Once of them is reservable on our meeting manager system, the other is our dedicated team room that only ‘key personnel’ such as myself can use.  They’re good for a nice dip in the near-70-degree pool of air for a while, and sometimes, if nobody’s taken the team room, I’ll just sit in there and back for as long as possible.

It also has a door.  That shuts.  And shuts out noises.  It is, truly, a happy place.

Well, I’m planning on having a weekend.  How about you?  Do let’s catch up in the comments area – it’s been too long.

Tiff out.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

Because, yes.

"Hey, I'm about as areligious as you can get without being an asshole atheist, but I would never, ever knock the power of prayer to provide comfort in a situation where you know you are dying.

Even if all it's doing is providing psychological comfort akin to a placebo, it can still be a powerful coping mechanism for people who believe, and more power to them if they find peace and acceptance of their fate that way."


Dear anonymous internet person - thank you.  You right my ship.

Saturday, January 11, 2014

The 'tornado', and being satan

Today was an unusual day, warm and moist, the very perpendicular opposition of what had been four days before.

Strange things, therefore, were afoot.

Indeed, and there were.  Bloated gray clouds above, expanding pipes below, the loosening of cold-cramp from a thousand shoulders, with a wary eye cast toward forecast and chickens, who know when to go to roost.

We do not have chickens, but let me imagine that part.  They would have been fast abed the entire day if allowed, I'm sure.

The HVAC man was due here between noon and 3, he showed up at 1.  The skies were overcast, but no ominous.  I, therefore, took Thing 1 t to Sweetie-pie-boo-boo-face''s house (his girlfriend) and returned to finish business with the Dude.  As I pulled into the driveway, there was a tugging wind.  As I walked up the porch stairs, there was a pulling wind.  As we talked about his services rendered and possible next steps, there was a DRIVING wind, with attendant thick rain driving sideways and bending tree branches plus flying greenhouses, at which point we retired indoors to complete business.

Three minutes later, there was no wind, no rain, no threat of imminent doom.  HVAC guy was able to get the whole-house filter installed, and promised to come back for the necessary blower cleaning.

Because, what's to say to one another after you've experienced an almost -tornado together, really, except "OK, see you soon"?

Those three minutes were scary, y'all.  And thrilling!  You should try it!


The thing about being satan?

You should know first that I am a Christ follower, a Christian, a believer in He who came as a sacrifice for our sins.

I believe all that, y'all, after MUCH soul-searching, questioning, bad behavior, utter nose-thumbing, meek acceptance, ferocious denial, and final open-armed laying out of self to Him.

It's weird, I'll admit.

But I'm fine with it.

Christ is my savior.  God is my Creator.  There, I've said it.

But.  It still can't keep me from wanting to question. Like Satan poking at Christ in the desert.  To probe.  To play the devil (or his advocate)  in order to figure out or at least find out more about the reason behind the believin'.  I cannot stop questioning this thing, this God'Christ thing, because it is fascinating and challenging and moving and essential.  So, if you are in conversation with me about the God Thing ( or want tobe , or can't wait to shoot me the nuclear 'ohellno' gun), in whatever way, please know that I am still seeking,still questioning, still wondering, still doubtful, still an open invitation to conversation.

Just laying that right there, in the dark hallways of the internet we accustom.

Thus endteth perhaps the oddest post I've ever laid out there.

With love.

Friday, January 03, 2014

Poem for the ready

In a dark garden
he wanders
Meeting and alone

Paths intersect
twine and release
the boundaries
unseen, unbidden

categories left

strewn about
like broken
doll heads

mashed among the
reefs of
childhood waste

stepped upon
while striding
staggering forward

to a new place

bitingly  cold
terribly new
frighteningly odd
verdantly you

this time

it is to happen

get ready.