Every now and then I go back and read through some of my old blogs. When I return from memory lane, I think to myself, "Funny...I don't remember being a crack addict..."

I recently watched "A Scanner, Darkly." It was a very interesting movie. And the beginning of it reminded me very strongly of old blogs from when I lived in the Towers.

And now I live in a Palm Tree House. Do I make you wonder?

...

Dishes

We sit on the couch after a quick and easy batch of fettuccine and meat sauce has been happily consumed. Yaw is contented as he watches the DVR recording of Dresden Files from last night. I am tired and not wanting to clean up, but I know if it doesn't get done, the ants that are plaguing me will be all over it.

I lean over to Yaw and say "I cooked, you clean," and with a little grin, I lean back to my cushion and pretend to be absorbed in the commercial he forgot to forward through.

We finish watching the show, but he doesn't get up yet. Instead he has turned on the end of America's Funniest Videos. "What are you watching now?" I ask. He grins and says it's the greatest show ever. Uh-huh.

I lean over to him again, and whisper in his ear. "Did you know that it is a little known fact that if a man washes the dishes after a woman has cooked a meal, it is a powerful aphrodisiac?"

He hands me the remote and gets busy on the dishes while I turn off the TV and doze on the couch. I love being a woman. :-)

A Short Piece on the Big Picture

Whenever you get a chance, take time to stand outside at night and look at the sky--the moon, the stars, the clouds, even the planets and distant galaxies (if you can make out which points of light they are). Just look at it all, and remember that we are all just teeny tiny specks in this great big universe. We are building blocks, or small pieces of the greater whole.

The puzzle that is our lives begins with the smallest elements, but never forget that we are not the big picture. Whatever or whoever we are, there is always something bigger, something more. Some call it God; I choose not to, but I know it's there; and I know that while I'm made of the same stuff, it is infinitely more than I am.

You especially need to practice this exercise if you think in any way that you are better than someone else for any reason. We are all the same.

The Big Titusville Lie

This evening, Yaw and I were driving back to my place from dinner at Kelsey's--an Italian restaurant chain down in this area.

Driving East on Garden Street, I noticed that where we were driving was sort of like Newport News is for most of its length. Except, at the far end of Garden Street, we could see the shining tower of a high-rise condo on the water.

The view gives the uninitiated the impression of driving into some higher civilization. I couldn't help noting the irony.

In actual fact, as you get closer to the hi-rise, you drive right into Downtown Titusville...which is more like Hilton Village, only there's more of it and it's a little newer looking.

For those who are starved for higher civilization, this will be a serous disappointment. It's kind of amusing at 4:30 in the morning though, when I'm on my way to work at McD's and I see a tourist pull into 7-11 for coffee. There's always a look that says "Where's the rest of it? Did I miss a turn somewhere?"

How Do I Tell You

How do I tell you what I know you need to know, but I dread speaking the words? I tell myself, “Just say the words. They will know eventually. Better they have some warning than be forced to look it in the face unprepared.”

Reading what I’ve just written, it sounds like I have to tell you that I have aids or cancer, some horrible, incurable condition that will take my life slowly and painfully.

It is not such a heartbreaking issue that I face, though. Or it shouldn’t be. And I think you have a very strong inkling, even if you haven’t said so. It’s the saying of the words that worries me. You love me; I know that. And I love you, too. There have been challenges throughout our years as a family that have threatened the integrity of the bonds that hold us close; yet we have managed to come through them and still love each other in the end.

So, why am I so afraid of these simple words that I need to say to you? Even as I sit here passing back and forth through this self-inflicted hell of indecision, I see the simplest solution is to speak the words. But that is the most difficult thing to do.

I keep trying to just put the words on paper and send them to you. It’s always been easier for me to say difficult words by putting them on paper. Somehow even that fails me at the moment.

But time is running out and I feel it would be more than unfair—it would be cruel to break this on you in the open, public world, instead of telling you in advance and letting you get used to the idea.

How hard can it be? It’s really such a simple thing. I love a man. That is the simple part. Who that man is—just as simple. He is a man who knows me and loves me for who and what I am. He is strong in his spiritual beliefs and works hard to care for the people he loves. There’s only the physical aspect that gets in the way of me telling you everything about him. The color of skin that is not creamy white; in fact it is a rich dark chocolate color, so deep in pigment that he sucks the light out of photographs. But if you only see the skin, you’ll never see the beautiful purple and white light that shines out from his spirit—the part that is what I love. I only hope I can say the words to you that will bring it home clearly. It is the man that I love, and not the skin. The skin is only flesh with pigment. The man is a dear friend and lover who makes me happy and treats me like a queen. I hope you can be happy for me, for no other reason than the fact that I am happy.

Roomie

I am taking in a tenant in my tiny second bedroom. A part of me feels guilty for charging rent for such a small place, but then, that's the whole purpose of the roommate thing, isn't it?

Branden's a young man who works with me at McD's and has so far proven himself to be a dependable and polite person with a kind heart. He started moving his things in last night. I've been working (very slowly) on moving my own stuff out of there since we discussed this about a month ago.

It's one little room, for Pete's sake; how much can be in there? Yeah. Thankfully, he agreed to allow me to keep my camping gear in there. I've decided to take $20 off our agreed amount for that.

Right now, my own closet is packed full with the boxes I still need to go through, and I have stacks of paper and notebooks, etc. piled up under my bed. Since he can use the giant entertainment center I got from Aaron when he moved, that will stay where it is. My antique sewing table now lives in the kitchen. I never sit at the table these days anyway and the sewing table’s on wheels, so if I decide I want to sit at the table, I can just roll it out of the way.

All of this should help both of us out greatly I think. I know for me it will make life less strenuous the next time three things happen to my truck all at once. This past weekend I took it in to get a new battery, an oil change (the first since the new engine went in), and to fix a flat tire. The flat tire went flat again after being "fixed" and now I'm being told they can't fix it. Why couldn't they figure that out the first time? So there's $89 already spent and it will most likely cost me another $100-odd to get the tire replaced. I get to price those out this morning. Yippee.

That said, I guess I better get myself in gear and prepare for battle. I love the smell of napalm in the morning.

The Volcano

Deb and I decided yesterday that the cold temperatures (Ok, the not quite as hot temperatures), and the changes happening at work, and life in general, called for comfort food for lunch (i.e. baked potatoes and bread from Roadhouse). Mmmmm Yum!

So we drove past the new Target that is being built across from Wal-Mart (the social center of Titusville on the weekend), and the big section of land behind Roadhouse that will be Home Depot or Lowe's (whichever is the one we do not already have), and pulled into the parking lot of Roadhouse.

Deb was driving, and for whatever reason she parked facing towards the construction site. We had taken note of a large plume of smoke to our south (the direction of the construction site, but farther away, perhaps between us and Port St. John). We discussed it as we drove, wondering if it was a controlled burn, or perhaps a training fire; we assured ourselves it was not the first brush fire of the year in spite of the fact that we both know the water table isn't what it should be.

Parked as we were, we were facing directly towards the large mound of dirt that was piled up at the outskirts of the construction zone. (Nice, dark brown dirt that looked to me like good planting soil. But what do I know? I have two black thumbs!) Beyond this big, brown mound of dirt rose the smoke plume. We both cocked our heads to the side inquisitively and observed the billowing clouds rising, it seemed, directly from the midst of the dirt mound. We discussed the different shades of color and levels of billowiness. Then one of us said (probably Deb, but I can't remember now) "If you look at it out of focus it looks kinda like a volcano." And the other of us (probably me) agreed.

And then we went inside and ate lunch. And it was good. And there was much rejoicing. And then we went back to work. And I tried to stay awake on the phones. Now THAT was a challenge.