lambie of the week

Once upon a time (about a year or so ago), I got very mad at my husband. I was with a girlfriend who was mad at her boyfriend too and as we walked into a national bookstore chain dissing on the boyz, I saw the cutest stuffed lamb in the window. Had to have it! My strange little brain said something like: "oh yeah? well, I'm getting myself a lambie! hmph!" I don't understand it either. But I loved him so much that I kind of wore him out, a la The Velveteen Rabbit. So I went on a lamb replacement search and found him again. It's called the Douglas Babba Lamb, and when I found him, my husband got me two, so I'd have a back-up when this one had his fur all loved off. Do you know of ANYONE else who has a back-up lamb? Didn't think so. Now I have three of them all told. So here's what he looks like. It's our first production. Douglas Babba Lamb says he wants his SAG card now, but he doesn't have any lines, so screw him. Besides, what he really wants to do is direct.

lambie of the week

I don't know about where you live, but it's a rather silly and kind of embarrassing holiday here called Thanksgiving, during which we celebrate duping the indigenous population of the time, whom we call American Indians, for some useless crap. No one does THAT anymore, do they? The American Indians have, however, gotten back at us recently, by luring us with lots of shiny things and loud noises in their casinos, where we usually give them all our money with pretty much nothing to show for it except maybe some useless shiny trinkets. Now why does that sound so familiar? I love symmetry, don't you?

lambie of the week- gay sheep

So I ran out of good sheep images and went surfing on the 'net and found this! What could be better than a good sheep picture? A GAY sheep picture! Cool! And you thought they weren't interesting. Hah! This was an article in the New York Times. They actually get paid to write stuff. Ooooh. If you wanna read the article, go here. I wonder if sheep know how many times to stamp their feet in the public restroom if they want gay sex. Hmm.

Thank You, Zia

Well, I had pretty much thrown in the towel for this blog thing after my recent brush with death. Oh... actually it was more of a horrible 3 week brush with respiratory trouble after a nasty cold. Dramatic license is what you call that.

So I got my first comment from someone other than my husband and it spurred me on, for good or ill, to write something new. I'd been at a loss for words, not to mention new sheep pictures, for a bit, but Zia has cured me.

I'm always curious about how, among probably zillions of very clever blogs, anyone ever finds mine. I hope you don't mind, gentle reader, all two of you, that I try to find out how you ended up here of all places. I'm well chuffed that you did, of course. It's amazing how people from all over the world wind up looking for the same bit of information that you thought only you were interested in, if you get the syntax of that.

I did get rather downhearted at the large numbers (large percentage-wise, considering I haven't had all that many total readers) of you who found me because of that Kyla Ebbert thing long after her 15 minutes of fame should have been over. It made me that much more cynical about the shallowness and stupidity of people, and quite frankly I was already pretty cynical about that.

So, I happened to google the google, so to speak, and found this fabulous site called RetailHell Underground, which was close to my blog reference about the hell of retail sales and how I survive it. If you or someone you know is a retail slave, go there! Yes, now! I bow to their superior wit. I'm not worthy.

According to their formula, I am not an insurance whore, but a retail slut. Retail whores are different because they like it. They'll explain.

Today, November 9, I foolishly substituted for another demo diva for the morning/afternoon shift, having no idea that a meeting had been called for every nutbag in my area to come to my retail establishment. I was very close to ordering a stun-gun by the end of my shift. Fortunately, I have learned to use such moments as an opportune time to take out the trash or wash something in the back, so that I don't maim the next rude maniac who stands there in my face for the next 10 minutes waiting to snarf free food only to bitch about it as soon as they get it. I considered that perhaps I was simply in a bad mood. It can happen. But when I talked to co-workers, they all confirmed my opinion and the customers were, in fact, some of the biggest nutters I've ever seen. I'm talking the type who I talk to once, let them espouse their strange beliefs, and then the next time, just back away slowly and go do something else for a while till they go away.

Remember Jim Jones in Guyana? Or who was that other guy who killed himself and all of his followers? Yeah, like that. Fa la f***ing la and happy freakin' holidays. And it's only November 9! Wise retail establishments would hand out thorazine at the timeclock from now till January 2, 2008. No, I'm not holding my breath waiting. But if a dreamy look suddenly comes onto my face while you're espousing your beliefs, remember that I work with knives for a living and my aim is excellent. It's only self-restraint...well, ok, it's that we need the health insurance, that keeps me from throwing sharp instruments at you in disgust. Fortunately, my apathy is a good balancing factor.

my latest favorite

I've been sick as a dog for the last week and have spent most of it staring vacantly into space waiting to stop oozing things from various orifices. They take turns, but they've all been active. I've been doing a pretty good imitation of Mt. Vesuvius right before Pompeii took a hit, but things are starting, albeit slowly, to calm down. I still sound like an angry chihuaha when I cough, but life will go on. I know this sound because my next door neighbor, conveniently, owns one of these little beasts. There is such a thing as overbreeding, folks. I love animals, but I would be quite happy to stomp its little head in, if my neighbor wasn't such a nice lady. I will dance on its grave when it finally expires, but it will probably outlive me just to spite me. I've lived here for five years and the damned thing still barks at me and snarls every time I sit in my own damned back yard.

Anyway, to get back to the original point of all this, my new favorite site is owned by Michael J. Nelson. You may not know his name, but if you are of a certain age, you may actually remember Mystery Science Theater. He took B movies, or even worse ones, and put his own soundtracks on them. They varied in success, but the best ones were absolutely hysterical, at least to me and my college friends.

Now Mike has a website, which I just found accidentally, and it's worth looking at even if you have no idea what I'm talking about for the descriptions of recent and not so recent movies. I laughed so hard that my husband ran up to see what that horrendous noise was (ever hear a chihuaha crack up laughing? I hope not! But I think I must have been doing a good impression of what it would sound like.). You know it's funny when my eyes are tearing so badly that I can't see and can't talk intelligibly due to laughing. (As opposed to other reasons).

Check his site out and see if you think he's as funny as I do.

lambie of the week

This is one of my all-time favorite cartoons, by the magnificent Mo Willems. He has written many children's books and wrote for Sesame Street, but the names alone and inside jokes make it worth it even if, heaven forfend, you don't care much about sheep. Tell me it's not so! Hey, how many people do you know who use the word "forfend"? Huh? I thought so. Especially if you're STILL looking up Kyla Ebbert references. For gosh sakes, people, she's not even interesting!

Honestly, people, there are prettier, smarter, more influential, more interesting women around to ogle. Pick one. The woman isn't even on the same planet as Sophia Loren, for instance. Or Glenda Jackson. Or even Maggie Thatcher. OK, maybe she's not what you'd call a looker, but influential? You betcha, whatever you thought of her politics. Let's try thinking with the UPstairs bits, eh what? You know what Frank Zappa said? "What is the dirtiest part of your body? It's your mind!"

lambie of the week

You see? It's not just me. You don't have to be English, but it helps. Or is that crazy? I dunno.

Meantime, I'm starting my own Larry Craig campaign re-election fund. I feel flushed with pride. He's not out (of the closet) yet. Water closet, that is. Yeh, right. Now why does this video remind me of Larry Craig? Hmmmm.

lambie of the week

This is a Cotswold Sheep. I've never seen one before, but it's darn cute. It wouldn't have taken me so long to put the lambie of the week up, but I found a site with literally thousands of sheep-related products. No, I don't mean you can find those boots (ick!), but there are about a billion sheep t-shirt, mug and note card designs. I just couldn't stop looking.

There are a lot of really cute ones, but I'm designing my own. I'm thinking maybe a series, with different kinds of sheep. I'm gonna draw them so that there are no copyright problems.

I'm naming this one Kyla Ebbert, just so I can make a reference to her in a blatant attempt at exploitation of an apparently endlessly fascinating topic. My sheep Kyla is always appropropriately dressed wherever she goes.

I love Glenda Jackson

Not in the Biblical sense. I just love the body of work she produced while acting in films. I also admire her work as an MP in England- they're lucky to have her for that too.

If you've never seen a film with Glenda Jackson, consider yourself unfortunate. She was brilliant in "Stevie" as English poet Stevie Smith (as was Mona Washbourne alongside her). You should also try to see her in "Women In Love", "The Music Lovers," "Elizabeth R", "Sunday Bloody Sunday," "Mary Queen of Scots," "A Touch of Class," "House Calls," "The Romantic Englishwoman," "The Incredible Sarah" (that's about Sarah Bernhardt, also a brilliant woman), "Hopscotch" (which was with the divine Walter Matthau, as was House Calls). Not that I have an opnion about it.

I actually checked into her voting record as an MP for the Hampstead/Highgate area, and she's just as intelligent about her voting choices and as impassioned about the issues she believes in. I doff my hat to you, madam.

lambie of the week

You'll never guess what I'm making for dinner tonight- boneless leg of...no, not cat. Not very meaty. I swear, I totally forgot. I just loves my lambs, I loves them inside of me and outside of me. I loves to play with them and then I loves to eat them, as long as they're not the same one. You know what they say on farms: "never name your food." That's why they're called things like Mr.Mutton, Legg, Chop, Stewie, and Number 61.

I've got a pink phone!

Yes, here I am, approaching 50 in less years than I care to think about and it was time for a cell phone upgrade. What do I get? A pink RAZR. It's an older model, but then so am I. Pink!!! Ick. I've never been a lace and pearls girl. I'm even less so these days.

What's going on here?! Actually, it's an act of pure pragmatism. Hubby has a black one and we needed a different color to be able to tell them apart. Now I have to admit, I am kind of excited to have a slimmer phone and it has all kinds of new doo-dahs that the old phone didn't have.

So to get into the spirit of the thing, I decided to immediately find myself the most godawful girly type genuine Japanese schoolgirl charms to put on the new phone. I found 2 perfect ones for surprisingly little money, even with shipping. One is a shocking pink mink ball with beads hanging off, another is a Hello Kitty with japanese noodle dish. Perfect. Am I true Otaku or what? People who know me will think I've gone off my rocker.

Well, folks, that boat sailed quite a long time ago, I'm afraid. Why, just the other day, I went to pick up some prescriptions we had filled at our local supermarket and I chanced to see squeaky toys in the shape of dangerous animals on the endcap. I HAD to have them. I resisted buying all of them and settled for a shark and a lizard with that ruff thing that pops up. Hey, for $4 I can bother the people I work with endlessly. Seems like a good investment to me.

Meanwhile, if I ever lose my phone, it'll be very easy to describe and find. I might just be laughing too hard for you to understand the description though.

Religion- Who Needs It?

So far, the most popular religions these days are Christianity, Islam and Judaism. There are lots of others. Some worship one god too, others prefer a pantheon- that's many different gods, you know.

I was raised in one of the first three, but, sad to say, it never stuck. Just wasn't interested. I figured if there was actually one all-knowing, all-seeing bearded guy in a robe, maybe with some wings or something, if this mighty Guy was actually real, that's a mighty big job. There are billions of people on this miserable planet, and everyone wants a piece of him. Look at me, Guy, over here. No, no, look at ME, Guy, I'm over HERE. And all these billions of prayers and supplications. How awful must THAT get? What a job! Who'd want it? Imagine, it's like the worst customer service job ever- no one appreciates you, they're always complaining about everything, never satisfied, fighting amongst themselves all the time. It's more akin to being the parent in the front seat of a car with a bunch of unruly brats screaming and fighting in the back seat, only instead of 4, there's like 4 billion of them. Yikes! I know if I were that Guy, I'd want to opt out like nobody's business.

So the whole monotheistic thing just never worked for me, personally. I figure that if this poor shmo is stuck with the job, he doesn't need one more screaming child, begging for the latest toy in the back seat of the car of Life. So I don't want to bother the poor dear. I don't really need him particularly, so I'm just gonna live my life and do the best I can to be the best person I can. All the definitive writings in Bibles and Koran and everything else I've read seem to say pretty much the same things anyway: don't lie, cheat or steal; don't covet your neighbor's husband/wife/lawnmower, respect your elders as much as is humanly possible (sorry, but some are just jackasses), be polite, have compassion, raise your children with love, etc.

I don't worry about if I had meat with milk or ate only fish on a friday or whatever. I don't need anyone else telling me what to eat or not eat, wear or not wear, do or not do. I'm pretty good at figuring those things out for myself. It's called, somewhat wrongly, common sense.
I especially don't need some guy in one of these organizations telling me on a weekly basis what the official stance is on political figures running for office, what I can and can't do with my body, with whom, under what circumstances and how long. Again, nobody's business but mine.

So I tried paganism- the definition varies, but wicca, witchcraft, all that sort of thing. I have actually never run into the types that religious right folks seem so afraid of- oh, you know. Worshipping the devil, sacrificing babies, all that crap. I've run into more than a few crackpots, flakes of all descriptions and screw-ups, but no one who was into being evil. Most were, at worst, confused by life. At best, they've turned out to be a little left of center, but essentially good people just trying to find ways to be better people. Mostly, they seem to fall into the same traps as the monotheists, but they call them different things. They like the illusion that the pagan way is different. Meanwhile, it's pretty much the same, only with more tree-hugging, fun outfits that would work just as well at a Ren Faire, and more bonfires to stand around, usually involving a drum circle. That's pretty much it.

Sadly, paganism doesn't seem to do it for me either. Goddess knows I gave it a good try. I couldn't even manage to pick a Tradition- this means which ancient Path you Walk, which is usually in capital letters, perhaps for emphasis. The Traditions can be Norse, Celtic, Babylonian, Sumerian, Baltic, Siberian, you name it.

I decided to start my own religion. It's called None of The Above. There aren't any official gods or goddesses, but if it makes you feel better, go ahead and make some up. We don't believe in any one thing in particular, but mainly we just don't want to bother anybody, nor do we wish to be bothered. We like to keep the fuss to a minimum, there are no official prayers or supplications, no particular rituals, no standardized holidays. Our God/dess, if there actually is one at all, can be called simply To Whom It May Concern. Just in case, you understand. Meantime, we just try to be the best people we can be. If we screw up, we think you should try to fix it and own up, and if that's not possible, say you're sorry and move on. We believe in the power of good manners- saying please and thank you to everyone where appropriate, not speaking when one's mouth is full, making sure that everyone is introduced to each other at parties, and treating every human being we interact with with respect, at least until they prove themselves unworthy of it. That's my religion. I really don't care if anyone else wants to join, because frankly, it'll only increase the paperwork. Start your own branch if you want.

Ebbert Redux

So what kind of world is this ? I write some personal, ahem, uh, moving pieces about those nearest and dearest to me- who cares? Nobody, that's who. I write scathing things about the failures of my local ISP- nothing.

I write about some stupid little bimbo, who works at Hooters and got thrown off a plane by an even dumber dumbass and all of a sudden, I'm all over Technorati. Oh wait, the same thing happened at NBC's Today Show- Matt Lauer had to interview the chick and her family- what bet did YOU lose, Matt? You can see the interview here.

I've never been there, but my husband went once and he described Hooters as a testosterone dream- big boobs (except in Baltimore, apparently- John Waters says there are no pretty girls in Baltimore), big screen TVs with sports on everywhere, watery, lousy beer at outrageous prices, but not as bad as strip clubs, and barely adequate typical bar food. Altogether unimaginative and overpriced. All that's missing is loud, smelly farts.

And this is where the girl works. I hope they pay a lot of money to their waitstaff. And I hope she sues the pants off of Southwest Airlines, so that they're strongly encouraged to mind their own business when it comes to what someone wears on the plane. No one would even see her skirt when she sat down. If it's like any of the airlines I've flown on, your knees are usually smashed against the seat in front of you. It's not like she was distracting the pilot so he couldn't fly the plane- most pilots are usually drunk anyway and the plane pretty much flies itself except for takeoffs and landings. So who was she bothering? Are you telling me that Keith, the flight attendant guy, was so distracted by her lack of modesty that he was afraid it would render his very important job of handing out warm Coca Colas and tiny bottles of alcohol too difficult? Next thing you know, we'll all have to wear burkas on the plane if they keep this up. Now who does that remind me of?

Airline Employees Arbiters of Family Values

We were watching a movie with a friend. My friend and my husband mentioned in passing that an airline had actually refused to allow a young woman to fly on the plane. I thought they were making it up, but alas, no.

So I searched for, and found the original article about it in the Vail Daily. Sure enough, Kyla Ebbert, a 23 year old student, was asked to leave the plane by a Southwest Airlines employee. The employee told her that she was "...dressed inappropriately. This is a family airline. You’re too provocative to fly on this plane," according to Miss Ebbert, who was flying from San Diego to Tuscon for a doctor's appointment.

According to the Vail Daily article, ""Chris Mainz, a spokesman for the Dallas-based airline, said a customer service supervisor asked Ebbert to leave the plane and addressed her in the walkway leading back to the terminal, “away from the other customers.”

The employee felt the outfit “revealed too much” but was placated after Ebbert made adjustments that included covering her stomach, Mainz said."

OK, who exactly made a flight attendant, or as some of us call them, flying waiters/waitresses, arbiters of good taste/fashion/family values? Were any men with very tight pants or short shorts ever led off a Southwest Airlines plane?

Ohhh, wait a minute, it's a Dallas, TEXAS-based airline, you know- land of big hair, the christian right, gun racks, Bush Jr. NOW I get it.

So if airline employees get to decide what is all right to wear or not wear, how about an airline where no one wears anything? you pre-pay for food or drinks, because where are you going to put your credit card or your wallet? I would insist, however, that there be some sort of disposable cover for the seats, both back support and seat cushion. I mean, really! I don't mind going naked if it speeds things up, but I sure don't want the last guys sweaty balls dragging around the seat before I sit down! Not to mention skid marks. Which I won't. I know! We'd call it Bare Air! I can just see the tagline: "At Bare Air, we don't care what you wear down there. You'll come into this town, or any other, naked as the day you were born and you'll leave the same way."

And, by the way, thanks to other events which happened on this date, 9/11/07, my friend told me that she was taken out of line during the whole scan the suitcase/handbag thing at the airport one time because she had something very dangerous in her possession- a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the plane ride. I didn't know they were lethal weapons, but apparently in the wrong hands, anything is. So I guess terrorists have been watching too much MacGyver and got carried away. Now if she had had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich AND a revealing outfit on, I guess we would never have seen her again if she flew Southwest. Whew!

I want my own airline! I'm gonna have my stewards/stewardesses decide if the customers are dressed appropriately- I can just see it! "Hey, you in the flood pants! Please step aside, you're embarrassing the other customers. People will think they're tacky too if they're seen on the same plane as you." Or how about "Excuse me, madam, but that shirt and that skirt- what were you thinking? Two different patterns and completely different colors? As if that weren't enough, those shoes are the ugliest I've ever seen on a living human. Did you lose a bet or something? I'm sorry, madam. You'll have to leave the plane. The clashing colors are giving all the other passengers a headache. You may come back when you pick a color scheme that matches." Or how about the exclusive Vegas run? "Sir, I regret to inform you that there is simply not enough shiny things on you for this plane. At the very least, some Elvis shades would have helped. Don't come back without a pinky ring and lots of chains. Where do you think you're going? Maybe at the Cafe Carlyle in NYC you look all right, but for here? Feh. Get off the freakin' plane."

Lambie of the week

Outrage

So here's my latest rant: I actually received, not in my junk e-mail folder, but in my inbox, an e-mail from someone claiming to be "Carlene Biggs" and this person or persons claim that their e-mail address is MY PERSONAL e-mail address. Talk about the slings and arrow of outrageous fortune!

But it gets better- it's bad enough that someone used my e-mail address and possibly compromised my information, probably using my address for spamming and malware. My own father has NEVER been able to receive my e-mail and has the same provider which I will not name (rhymes with horizon). I know what you're thinking: maybe the vicious asswipes using my address for no good is/are the reason why he never receives it. But it's unlikely that the vicious asswipes had my e-mail address for the same amount of time.

On the other hand, a friend of mine can receive my e-mails, but I've never been able to receive her replies.

So what exactly am I secure from? My dad and my friend? Thanks, guys. Keep up the good work.

I've always been the...

And isn't this one the cutest? For someone who grew up in the city, where in hell did I learn to love the lamb? I dunno. Only thing I can figure out is that there was a TV show in black & white (that's how freakin' old I am!) at some godawful hour of the morning when I was around two. It was broadcast by the local agricultural school, and the opening shot was of goats and sheep running down this ramp thingy. The rest, as they say, is therapy. Go figure.

And speaking of husbands...

Mine didn't particularly care for being called a technogeek. Why the hell not? I bow to his technological expertise. There IS such a thing as geek chic. When I met him, he was wearing a Beavis & Butthead t-shirt, postal shorts, long white tube socks and sandals and a baseball cap over his long hair. What would you call that?!! I didn't fall in love with him for his wonderful taste in clothing. But the more I talked to him, the more I liked him.

My mom always said "don't marry for looks, because eventually everyone loses their looks and then what have you got? marry for heart and it will always be there". So I did. And he's actually kinda cute when you dress him up. He'll hate that.

Oops!

If you're reading this blog, (and if you're not, I guess I'm not actually talking to you, so there's a bit of an existential crisis right there) you may have been interested in some of my favorite sites, lazily clicked the connection that was supposed to take you to the link I was talking about, and then nothing happened. Oops!

Fortunately for me, my technogeek husband is a genius at fixing this sort of thing, so I've got everything running smoothly once again.

I happen to be rather stubborn and like to learn how to do things without any help (read: interference) and find my own answers in my own way. It takes longer sometimes, but I enjoy doing it like that. When I bought my used car, the manual with the instructions for setting the radio stations was AWOL, so I monkeyed around, randomly pushing buttons, until my favorite stations had somehow achieved "pre-set" status. Yay! Of course, if I take the car to the mechanic and lose my pre-sets, I have to fumble around again in much the same manner to get them back, since I have no idea which set of fumblings led to success the first time. You may be comparing me to monkeys with shakespeare at this point, but that's OK with me.

Hubby, on the other hand, gets annoyed and jumps in to help me, in the process, destroying my fun. He doesn't mean to, he only wants to help.

I know there are other people like me, and I hope the rest of them know how ass-backward they are too. I just don't care.

Either way, the links have now been fixed, and the bruises will heal, but there's a mouse-shaped one on his arm and one of the coffee mugs will never be the same.

friendship

funny thing about friends. your relatives are stuck with you, and if you're lucky, you get along with them all right. there's no doubt in my mind that i'm pretty lucky on that score. if you're really lucky, you might have one or two people you can call a close friend. for some people, that's a lot. i can't think for the life of me how i got so damned lucky, but there's a big bunch of people i can call close friends. i don't even know WHAT you'd call that. i think i'll have to invent a new term for that kind of luck. flucky? i don't know. douglas adams could probably come up with a good term for it. i'll have to think about it some more.

we used to rent this amazing house in the adirondacks on a small lake with about 14 of my friends. the house was built in the 1900's by a family from my area. their grandfather had designed and built this log house, a great camp as they call them in that neck of the woods. most of the windows were floor to ceiling and the walls were made of bark in one bedroom. it was like being inside out in a tree. the windows on one side reflected the light glinting on the lake and you could hear the loons calling sometimes. on the other side, the coolness of the woods surrounding the house cast shadows and brought a cool breeze to blow the curtains. at night, we'd all bundle up and gather on the dock to watch the stars. one year there were meteor showers. they looked so close that you could swear you could touch them.

all the furniture was real, original adirondack style furniture. even the chandelier in the living room was made out of birch bark. there was an ancient moosehead over a huge stone fireplace and squirrels ran across the rafters in the living room. all the doors looked more like barn doors and either had big latches like that or deer hooves. if you're a PETA member, you're probably cringing, but you'd never last on a real farm, so go somewhere else.

the adirondacks are beautiful to begin with, and the house is truly unique, but i could never figure out whether it was the place or the people i liked best. i had met this particular bunch of characters at a new year's party someone brought me to. turned out to be one of the best things that ever happened to me. somehow, i had managed to get plonked down on a whole herd of bright, funny interesting people.

after i had infiltrated this bunch, i kept hearing about this magical place, spoken of in reverent whispers, usually followed by groans of ecstasy. i couldn't imagine how this place could be real. then, one day at a party, someone asked me if i wanted to go too. i looked around to see if they meant someone else. i felt like i was about to be initiated into some secret club. hell yeah, i'll be there! i was so excited.

when i got there, i saw why my friends spoke like that about the place. but there was so much more to it than that. i ended up in the bedroom right above the kitchen, so the first thing i heard in the mornings was the sound of laughter. is there any more beautiful sound? i can't think of any. i was an only child, so our house was always fairly quiet growing up.

each night two of us would cook dinner for the rest of us. they'd choose the wine or beer to accompany the dinner and decide what to make. we never had a bad meal. it was fun to be the evening's orchestrator of dinner, and you'd think the best part of being the one to make dinner was that you were exempt from doing dishes for the evening. but it was more fun to do the dishes, because everyone else crowded into the kitchen, put some kind of lively music on, and danced around the kitchen while they washed, dried, and put away. i hate doing dishes, but it was so much fun like that that i never seemed to mind.

each summer we spent the week together was different. people who were single got married, people who'd been married got divorced, people had kids, kids got too big, each time was a different permutation, but they were all good ones.

one year, we were living in an area almost as pretty, in a wooded area in the country, and i thought that it wouldn't be such a big deal to go, but we went anyway. i had lost my mom a couple of months before, and sad just doesn't seem to cover it. but when we pulled up the road to the house, there was my friend al smiling at us, and the world got just a little sunnier all of a sudden.

a long time ago, trust exercises were big in acting classes and some forms of therapy. you fall backwards and trust that someone will catch you before you land on your ass and bust yourself up. risky business, that. well, my friends and i have all been through all sorts of things, but the nice thing is that i'm pretty sure that if any of us fall, and we have from time to time, the others will be there to catch us. it's a nice feeling.

so i saw some friends from this bunch tonight where i work. they came looking for me, to tell me that they had just moved back to the area. i felt like a puppy wagging its tail. you don't have to talk to people every day to feel close to them sometimes, but it sure is nice to have them close by. people get so damned busy these days, it's a wonder you see them at all. but when you do, it's like you were holding your breath for ages, and all of a sudden you can breathe again and feel the blood pumping in your veins.

that's the wonder of friendship.