It has begun to rain! Stupid, stupid rain!
...
We'll need two of everything. Two poets, painters, musicians...

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Do two Guinea Pigs count?

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Oy. It's rained all day today! There's been no break. It rained while I walked along the river. It rained while I cleared out a section of my living room. It rained as I was making the tastiest West African Peanut Soup. And now the rain is joined by winds roaring through the valley.

Can you tell I have a love/hate relationship with rain? I loved walking in the rain this morning. It was light. It made a great accompaniment to the yellow, red, orange and purple leaves that the trees and bushes were displaying. It brought a song to my lips. Later, though, I felt trapped. The sound of screeching brakes, skidding tires, didn't make the option of going out in my car very inviting. I knew there were other things that bid for my time.

I've wanted to try out this recipe I found for Peanut Soup. I had all the ingredients and time to play in the kitchen. Let me tell you, it was delish! And what fun it was to pull out my food processor! I haven't pulled that out in about a year!

I finally accomplished getting all my games out of the living room and into the hall cupboard. That's been a long time coming! It feels good to have that task done.

My review for “American Gods” was posted at Goodreads. I've started reading Eoin Colfer's “The Wish List” and Carole Nelson Douglas' “Good Night, Mr. Holmes”. Switching between Victorian England and the Netherworld should be entertaining, though I suspect some people may not find such a big diff between the two regions.

Rant follows:

I spent some time doing research on the real death panels and learned that Dick Armey is behind the group(s) of people who are calling themselves Tea Partiers these days. I wonder if any of these people realize just who this man is and where he has been getting his major funding from. He's made history many times in the past because of his very loud and vehemently nasty comments he's made to and about homosexuals. His funding comes from (imagine drum roll here)...the Pharmaceutical companies. What a surprise! Just one more rich bigot with ties to the health and drug industries who doesn't want other people to have what he gets for free. I'd almost say it's a shame that he's conned the Tea Partiers, but they could find the information as easily as I have. It's just a matter of following the money. They should be shameful for not researching the truth. (Oh, and the "death panel" comment -- these people, the leaders and their followers, have decided that all those who cannot afford the insanely high premiums are not worthy of medical care to keep them alive. These people are truly the "death panels" of the American populace.)

I had a strange and disturbing dream last night. I'm not sure what it meant and if any budding analysts want to give it a shot, please reply.

I was investigating a man who I suspected of a heinous crime against a friend of mine. While I was in the hallway of his apartment, the man came back home. I was really scared and knew there was no way out. I snuck into his extra bedroom.

The room was mostly empty except for some miscellaneous items laying around on the floor of the room and the closet. I crawled into the closet to hide behind stuff. I realized that some of the stuff I was looking for was in this closet. A few minutes later, he came into the room I was in, and sat down on the floor.

This is where the dream started getting really disturbing. I had tried to crawl further into the closet, but he had entered the room, so I froze up. Literally became as stiff as a doll. I'm stretched out, almost on my side. I was barely breathing.

The man began to mumble to himself. He was starting to have a psychotic episode. Within minutes he was rambling on and on, getting louder and louder. Nothing he was saying really made any sense. I remained frozen in my awkwardly uncomfortable position.

He crawled into the closet and started caressing some of the items, making comments about the people they had once belonged to. I grew more and more terrified that I would end up being his next victim, yet, I didn't move. He crawled up to my head and sat down. He started caressing my hair. He was mumbling something, but I don't remember what it was. I was so terrified that I didn't know what to do, so I just stayed as stiff as a manikin. The terror was so overwhelming that I woke up.

I'm still sick. I know I didn't mention that in yesterday's post, but sometimes I just don't want to share some of the ickiness in my life. Besides the cold and hail, the ickiness had a lot to do with the loss of motivation to do things. Hard to feel motivated when the body has a different plan for you.

I had thought that since I made it through a night's sleep without being sick, I was back to my usual robust self. (Okay, friends...stop laughing so hard!) But, alas, the ickiness has set back in to squeeze the ambition out of my day.

So far, my biggest accomplishment today has been to read 80 pages into The Perks of Being a Wallflower. I wish this book had existed when I was a teenager. Maybe I wouldn't have felt so alone. This book, unlike the other two books I just finished reading in honor of Banned Books Week, is dealing with more serious issues. I'll write a review at GoodReads when I'm done reading it.

Before any more of the day gets away from me, I think I'll try to accomplish one more task.

Ah, for the plans of mice and men...and also of women. Today's plans had gone awry. I had planned on taking a walk. I had planned on taking a few things to the thrift store. I had planned on writing and laundry and other chores to clean the soul and house. After washing dishes and packing the things that were heading out the door, the driving motivation was driven away by hail and coldness.

I am cold to the bone today. Comfort foods, hot soups, hot tea and light reading couldn't warm me up. Dead Can Dance and Laurie Anderson got me moving for awhile, but not enough to chase the cold away.

The day hasn't been a total waste. I am nearly finished reading Myracle's L8r,g8r and learned on the Simpsons that all I need is “The Answer” to solve my current life woes. I can go from being unemployed, sleeping in a kangaroo's pouch (okay, I'm not really sleeping in a kangaroo's pouch) to having anything I want. How cool is that!

I went to see “9” today with a friend. I was a little disappointed in the movie. The animation was well-done. The story was predictable and dissatisfying.

I don't want to give away too much of the movie for anyone who plans to see it, so I'll just comment on an aspect or two. One of the things that bothered me in the film was the emotions displayed by The Machine. It's a machine! It should be beyond cold-hearted...it's no-hearted! It should not feel anger, or anything else.

( Possible Spoiler )

Visually, the scenes of destruction lend to a very real sense of post-apocalyptic despair and loneliness. The animation crew are to be commended for their well-crafted landscapes. The movie is worth seeing for the animation and well drawn-out scenery.

I had planned on finishing up my journals for the trip I took in August. So much time has now gone by, that I might be able to piece together the trip with thoughts and feelings from the notes I made...but not sure if I want to spend the time.

I've been busy the last few weeks with serious editing...yeah, can you imagine...serious editing of one of my NaNo drafts. The story has surprised me. I haven't looked at it since I finished in November 30th, of 2007...that is, until a few weeks ago. I started reading it and was pleasantly surprised by how good the story is. Oh, it's not perfect, by any stretch of the imagination. It's got real potential though.

The characters are entertaining, and have more depth than I remember originally giving them. The plot follows along quite coherently. The subplots work pretty well. The first half mostly needs just a bit of fleshing out of setting and some sentence structure fixes. The final chapters are where the most amount of work needs to be done. It's obvious when the time crunch really started affecting my writing. I wrote anything and everything I could think of to get the wordage. One thing I remember learning at the time, and I still find it rather amusing, is that I can come up with lots and lots of wordage when writing an erotic scene. Geesh! And even though those scenes have been very entertaining to re-read, I think I'll have to cut them back considerably in this novel. They don't really move the story along. At least the up-close-and-personal stuff doesn't move the story along. The gist of the scene can stay, maybe.

In addition to the editing, I'm starting to brainstorm and research for a possible sixth NaNo project. I've got two possibilities on the backburner; and as usual, have no idea which way I'll go. I do want a bit more of an idea before November 1st comes up, unlike so many of my other years. Writing on the run, per se, has worked in the sense that I have made my 50,000 words for the past 5 years. I just want to try something differently. I'd like to go to the midnight write-in and not be staring at a blank screen for several long minutes before any words want to be put on the page. I would also like it if I didn't have to figure our where 43,000 words are coming from when I hit day 15 (first year).

Earlier today, I told someone I wasn't sure if I was going to do NaNoWriMo this year. I'm not sure who I was trying to fool. I know the circumstances in my life may make it difficult, yet I'm already fretting about it. And I'm hungry to write under pressure again. Nothing like being addicted to the madness, eh?

Monday, August 17, 2009

I woke up early to say my goodbye to Peter, who was back on schedule for work. I was rather tired and drifted in and out of sleep while on the sofa watching television with him. Once I became more coherent, I finished packing the car and hit the road.

The drive back to Oregon consisted of an hour-long stop at Toutle River Rest Area, where I ate a mid-morning meal and wild released 2 books, a 15-minute break at Memaloosa Rest Area (with lots of info regarding the Oregon Trail) and a stop at Stonehenge and Maryhill Museum.

I reached Stonehenge about 2:00PM, which turned out to not be an excellent time for taking pictures. Too much sun and far too few shadows to play with.




Just a hop up the road is Maryhill Museum, which was a real pleasure. Several very colorful metal sculptures decorated the front lawn. Inside the museum there is a treat for just about any lover of art, from photos by Ansel Adams to Rodin sculptures. They have a wonderful display of chess pieces, an interesting display of “Theatre de la Mode”, one of the best Native American Exhibit's I've ever seen and much, much more. As an interesting note, the Museum had been the mansion of Samuel Hill. The building is beautiful, with an amazing view of the Columbia River.

The drive to Redmond, OR was long and if it hadn't been for Charles Kuralt and his tales of living on the road, would have seemed a bit unbearable. Coming upon Madras was a very welcoming sight. I passed on stopping at the Crooked River Gorge for the sake of arriving in Redmond before too late.

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Phil and I took off for our own adventure today. After a late start, we rode off to explore the various Port towns on the Peninsula. The drive took us from the very lush and green Gig Harbor through some of the obviously drier side of the Peninsula. The vegetation along the highway grew more sparse and browner, though lots of green still abounded. Through much of the drive, there was a great view of Puget Sound.

The first stop was Port Gamble, a very small town founded in 1853 by a few men who wanted it to look like their small town in Maine.

Further up the road was Port Townsend. The buildings were fabulous old forms of architecture that have certainly stood the test of time. I'll post a couple of the pictures in my FaceBook account.

We stopped in The Public House Grill for a late, late lunch. Their food was delicious. We were told that the chefs are two brothers, who run the place. Kudos to the exceptional fish dishes.

After our meal, we strolled to a pier that overlooks the Bay. The Bay is a protected area for migratory animals and for all types of underwater grasses. (So well protected, that it took Phil and I a while to find any evidence of the grasses that are considered important to the area even though the pier we stood on was specifically designed to let enough sunlight through for their growth.)

While standing at the end of the pier, I was treated to hundreds and hundreds of small jelly fish that rose to the surface. Sadly, I couldn't get my camera out on time to get a very good picture. By the time I snapped a pic, most had swam away. I did grab a pic of a lady and her dog going by on a kayak. The dog was smartly dressed in it's life jacket. Even more surprising, along with the pics of the 'yakker and other boaters, a couple took a picture of Phil and me. I can't tell you how many places I've gone, and there is not one shot of me. Not that I've minded too much, since I don't usually like pictures of me, but occasional proof that I “was there” would be okay, too.

We left there wishing for more, yet, due to my late start, there were other places to be. We drove into University Place in search of a Starbucks designated as the place to meet C... and D... I had the pleasure of being a passenger, allowing me to view The Narrows as we crossed the bridge.

I've known C... for awhile, but this was the first time I met D.... After we exchanged introductions all around, C gifted me with a lovely doily she made, and I returned a game that's sat in Reno for years (Fact or Crap...and yes, that is the name of the game {s}), we sat outside to chat for awhile. Her mother was going to join us, but due to unforeseen circumstances, she couldn't make it before we had to leave for dinner.

Thursday, August 20, 2009 for Saturday, August 15, 2009

I wish that I could have written this in the evening after getting back to Gig Harbor, while it was all fresh in my mind.

It was a loooong hour or so drive out to Fisherman's Terminal to the Spirit of '76. On the way, we were slowed down considerably by a very distraught woman determined to run onto the freeway. Several kind souls had pulled over to convince her otherwise, until help could arrive to take her someplace safer.

After a bit of searching, we found our boat.




We left shortly after 5:00 P.M. and cruised for nearly 3 hours to and from Lake Washington. It was a mostly sunny day (see the patchy blue sky? ), and quite warm until closer to the end of the cruise. We had about 90 to 100 people on the boat, which gave plenty of room to wander around and watch the sights.

There was plenty of food, drinks, people to meet, old friends to renew ties with, music, bubbles to blow and great views to enjoy and take pictures of. I'll post some of them in my Facebook account for all to see.

My son commented that he now truly felt married. The reception, and all the people to celebrate his and Julie's union made it all real...and made him very happy.

Some brief notes re: Thursday and Friday

On Thursday, I went to Ballard to visit my son and daughter in law. They took me, her mom and grandfather to this great Indian food restaurant. If I knew the name, I'd mention it here. We sampled a bit of each other's meal. Yum, just yum.

I hung out at their place for the night, just talking, watching a few videos on the computer and talking some more.

On Friday, Ryk, Julie and I went to my favorite store, Archie McPhee. We had fun playing with all the silly toys. They bought things for their wedding reception and I bought souvenirs.



Then it was back to Gig Harbor for dinner and to prep for the big day.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

I've arrived at Gig Harbor.

I drove through my favorite part of Central Oregon on the way, Warm Springs. It's amazingly green and beautiful, with forests and mesas. I stopped at Government Camp for a brief snack and stretch, then continued on my way to the outskirts of Portland. Some real traffic slowed me down in Sandy and was admittedly very happy to reach the 84.

Once I was a few miles into Washington, the rains came. Sometimes with such force that visibility was knocked down to just a few feet. I stopped at Scatter Creek Rest Area for a free cup of coffee, a cookie and lunch. There was a small patch of blue sky. Is this what Washingtonians refer to as a mostly sunny day?




The drive into Gig Harbor was nice and despite the less-than-detailed directions, I found my way to Pete's place.

Peter, Phil and I stood out on the back deck, talking and renewing old ties. Here's the view we had from the back deck:

Tuesday, August 11, 2009



I can't believe I woke Aunt Doral up today. I feel so bad! She says it's fine, that she wakes up early every day. I still feel bad.

I had brought my alarm clock with me, and had forgotten to turn it off. It sounded at 4:30AM. (Groan) After it stopped, I rolled over to go back to sleep, but couldn't. I had to get up to go. Unfortunately, one of the dogs got spooked and let out a couple of barks, which woke my Aunt up.

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After a slow start in the morning, and a look at weather and traffic reports, I had decided to stay in Redmond an extra day. It was nice to have a quiet day.

Aunt Doral and I went to the store, picked up flowers and set them at John's gravesite. This was the first time I've been there since the service. I found it difficult to not break down, but was able to focus on the perfect stone.



It's not easy to see in the picture, and maybe when I return I'll go back for a better picture, but the stone has a spattering of stars and a sun/moon carved into it. It is perfect for representing him.

After spending some time there, we went to see Frankie and Theresa's new hot dog stand they run downtown. Frankie and Breanna were standing court.




I've been battling with trying to stay on the internet long enough to post this, but will have to do so at a later date. The connection here is very flaky.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

10:30 P.M.

Yesterday's drive up was wonderful! Not in the wow, the-scenery-is-perfect-and-there-are-no-incidents-i.e.-road-work-or-other-glitches-that-can-happen-on-a-road-trip kind of way. It was wonderful in that I felt wonderful. I had the road to myself several times for several miles. I listened to an audio book, “The Lake House” by James Patterson most of the way, with occasional breaks to sing out loud with Cat Stevens and Paul Simon.

A young coyote slowed his long-gaited lope to watch me from the opposite side of the highway as I passed him by. I think he was an escapee from Lassen Park. He looked very well traveled.

A large, young and foolish dog ran out in front of my car. A combination of factors saved his life, though, the dog seemed so happy to see people in cars, that he stood there in the middle of the highway wagging his tail. The people in the van behind me decided to help the dog find a safer haven to be friendly in.

Let me highly suggest, (and hopefully remember,) to all travelers on Hwy 395 to avoid using the ladies restroom at the fake Shell station in Merrill. The lock doesn't work and the toilet doesn't flush. Have no idea if same is true of the men's restroom, but I can attest to not feeling very restful while fretting over the possibility of someone entering. Oh, and btw, the Honey Lake Rest Area is very well maintained and a pleasant place to stop for a little break. I wild released a book there, and hope it found a new home that will care for it. Shame there aren't more places to stop like this on Hwy 395.

I had planned on writing about today, but am far too tired. I had, also planned on posting this to LiveJornal. Internet connection is far too flaky and can't get online long enough to log in and post. Ah well, maybe tomorrow.

Today, my father would have turned 91 years old. To be honest, I suspect that since he was already pretty cantankerous in his 70's, he would have been more so in his 90's. And, behind that cantankerous exterior, his heart still would have been in a good place, and he would have attempted to act out of love.

I don't usually dwell on memories of my dad on his birthday. He's been dead for such a long time now. This year, though, memories of him, my mother and so many other family members have risen to the surface. I think that is a result of all the recent family members that have left us for good this year. Our family shrinks, and some of that shrinkage was unexpected.

It's those unexpected ones that cause so many of us human beings to ask the all-to-familiar questions. Why them? Why did it happen? And so many other questions. Every individual will eventually come up with answers that will help them continue on. I think if we didn't find something to hold on to, believe in, the human race would have had an even bigger struggle at surviving.

Today is also the anniversary of humankind landing on the moon. I sat on the floor with a room full of people (it was my father's birthday and family crowded into our small living room to celebrate in his birth and this miracle of space travel). I can close my eyes and easily recall my cousin's shoulder bumping up against mine. The look of awe on his face that I'm sure had to have mirrored mine. The moment all conversation stopped, a very unusual hushed silence taking over, as an astronaut stepped onto the moon's surface.

I don't know what anyone else was thinking in that room, but I can remember some of what I was imagining. I saw the possibility of space travel for all people who wanted to try it. I saw small colonies on not-so-distant planets. I saw, for the first time, real hope that maybe, just maybe, our planet could come together for a common cause – a hope I know others had also shared.

Also, on my mind, that night, was a music festival coming up in a short few weeks. I was still riding on the high of having seen Jimi Hendrix, Grass Roots, Chambers Brothers, Mother Earth, and so many others at Devonshire Downs in June. The idea of going out to “An Aquarian Exposition” consumed me. If I hadn't been so young, my parents threatening to call the police if I took off, who knows what would have happened, and whether the experience would have changed my life any.

I imagine it would have, just as my dad being my dad and humankind landing on the moon have all had some impact – going to that concert versus not going played a big part of the person I have become.

Writer's group ended early tonight. S was hungry. M was supposed to do nothing today. (I sort of felt guilty that she came to write, but always happy to see her.) And I have to admit that my foot was starting to hurt so badly, that I could barely think straight. It made the drive home a bit awkward. I love my stick, but sometimes a clutch can be a real pain, literally.

I came here, to the library, to write some more of my short story, Forest Walk. I don't feel any inspiration, at the moment, to add any new words.

I know I want to add some more in between the first scene where she is in the camp and the bicycle scene. I want more meat in that area.

In the mean time, I'll journal some.

I'd like to explore my desire to write, my need. Is it realistic? Yes, the need is; but is it realistic to think I can make any money from my writing?

I don't really know. But writing... making a little money from writing, has always been a dream of mine. A dream since early childhood.

Ever since I started reading, I wanted to create my own stories. I wanted to put into words all the images in my mind, pass on the tales that grew from my imagination, and have people read them.

Somewhere along the way, I was discouraged. I'm not so sure if I was discouraged from writing in particular. I was just discouraged from believing that any dream I had was ever to be fulfilled.

This reminds me of a line Marge speaks at the end, or near the end, of an episode about not trying to live up to your dreams. You'll only fail anyway. (Can't remember the quote, nor which episode. Arrrr)

Over the years, I have gone after some of my dreams. I've taught pre-schoolers for over four years. I had a job that made some rather good money for a few years. I've traveled some. I am a mother.

Each dream I've reached for, I have achieved with some relative success. So, it seems there is no rational reason to not attempt this dream.

I've been told more than once, over the years, that my writing is good, enjoyable, and should be out there for more people to find. This has been validated a few times. I've had a poem published. I've had an essay stolen by an English teacher, who submitted it to a contest as her own...and it won. I've had an article printed in a science fact magazine many, many years ago. (I've had a few other things published also, but those don't really count.)

Of course, if anyone really does read this stuff, they may be wondering why I'm writing this down. I think mostly to have it in black and white. I know this stuff, but having a reminder that I can return to might be just the fire I need to get me moving in the right direction.

Today is his birthday. He would have been fifty-six years old today. His wife, his widow, returned my call today. She is spending his birthday with his mom. We spoke for about an hour. We spoke of him. We spoke of random past events. We spoke of our current fears – where are we going (we're both dealing with the daily challenges of unemployment).

I think at one point I overwhelmed her. I know I overwhelmed myself. I babbled. I babbled about so many things, to avoid the one thing we really wanted to talk about. I'm so glad that I was able to finally stop myself, so that we could talk of what mattered.

I am so glad that I had him in my life. I'm so glad we were cousins. I'm so glad that he and she had found each other. I love him dearly, and to know that his final years were spent in the joy of knowing a deep and abiding love brings joy to my heart.

Happy Birthday to you! May you be Flying Across The Universe Free As A Bird forevermore.

I woke this morning with tears on my face. Waves of grief had swept me over and pulled me into its watery depths.

In the dream that caused such a real-life response, there were two losses to grieve. Cousin John was one, and with much ado, I was finally able to ask him to leave. It was amazingly painful. But I think he's gone. Gone from my psyche which clung to his memory and that so wanted to hear from him at least one more time.

The other loss, represented by a dark-haired, cafe au lait-colored skin 20-something year old girl with a baby in a stroller, I'm unable to explain. Since I have not lost anyone who fits the description, I have to assume that she represents some aspect, or a group of losses. Whatever those losses are, I mourn them almost as extensively as I've mourned the loss of John.

Maybe she represents the way I felt last night. The loss of friends. I acted foolishly at one point, yesterday. I felt justified, in that everyone else was getting cut breaks, but I also feel (and felt) embarrassed. I also felt everyone cut me out. My friends were no longer my friends. In a room full of people, I felt so very alone. At one point, I wanted to run out and cry.

The girl with infant...does she represent friends in general? Maybe girlfriends/feminine energy that are in my life?

The baby: a term used on babies by me is precious.

My female friends are precious to me, and yesterday I felt severed from them. I felt as though I lost a part of my heart.

I feel as though I've lost all creativity within the last few years. Seven years in a job with a company that claimed creativity was important, yet squelched anything and any idea that didn't fit their mode, took its toll.

I've attempted, sporadically, to keep some kind of flow going. I wrote a novel every November. I tried my hand at painting, scrapbooking, photography, and even a little leaning toward music. Each kept the fire flickering, a dim reminder of what had been, what could be.

Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night and fear that I have lost all my ability to create anything at all. I can't – won't – believe that's true! Though I've not been able to write any fiction since January, I've not done any scrapbooking since October, and I've not written any prose or poetry in several years.

I think the bigger question is – what is squelching my creativity now? I'm not working. I have time.

Mourning. Waking each morning to the awareness of all that has been lost these past few months. Memories of losses long past rising to the surface. It seems that should be fodder to shake the prosaic mind from its lethargy. Instead, the words stay locked up inside of me, as I close my eyes and dream of sandy beaches and warm breezes.

Fear. Wow, is that one getting old! What if I open the box, and there's nothing there? What if I create something and everyone laughs (and it wasn't meant to be funny)? What if...What if... Even I am getting weary of the what ifs that keep haunting me. Grant you, I don't think I've been filling the box with so many very interesting things, lately. Especially while working. After work, there was no room, no energy, to resupply the mind with intrigue. All I wanted to do was veg and sleep. In that manner, they who had control, kept control of my daily life. I lived to serve, instead of serving so that I may live my life.

They, those pundits of the “make your life better” belief systems, say that once you see the obstacles to your goal, then it is easy to get through them to your goal. Getting through them may be important, but saying that it is easy is misleading. Fear can be a solid wall, with no top in sight. Once you've chiseled through some of the wall, you find there's another wall awaiting you, or as in a dream the other night, a panther waiting to maul you if you dare cross its path. These don't make the reaching of the goal impossible, just very daunting.

I'm sure there is a way to re-awaken the muses that once whispered their arias to me. If anyone out there can give me a hint, I'd be greatly appreciative.

As I was driving home from D...'s place, I was contemplating the reason that I really didn't want to go home. I didn't want to go home to an empty place, (and it felt like it would be so very empty). I reminded myself that I would be there to fill it up. I realized I didn't want to go home to me. I didn't want to be alone with myself tonight. How sad is that? (And if I didn't want to be with me, why would anyone else?)

I usually am okay with being alone with my thoughts, and sometimes really like being alone with me. This meant there was a lot more lurking under the surface. I pried a little. I didn't want to pry too far while I was driving. Who knew what beasts were awaiting their opportunity to leap up and tear my throat out? Enough beasts from the terrible depths of day-to-day life have already torn through my heart and psyche, that I didn't have the desire to face any more.

I opened the box that holds the hidden, and rarely bidden secrets, a small crack. Out came an image of my Aunt's Easter table, a place setting in front of every seat, the seat at the head of the table empty. Every family member attempting to avoid looking, yet casting a sad and surreptitious glance in its direction. Earlier, I told someone that I was glad to not be there. I find, though, that I can't help but cast a glance with my heart in the direction of my family, and our recently lost.

With that image, the memory of my mother's passing came. She passed away in April several years ago, just before Easter Sunday. My Aunt Clara had set a place for my Mother at the Easter table. It was loving, and I found it very painful. (And this year, a place is set for my recently departed Aunt Clara.)

With each passing Easter, the joys and sorrows rise to the surface. This year the sorrow is speaking a little louder. The recent injuries to the heart and soul are still somewhat fresh, and have re-opened some of the older wounds.

Some of the joys that were scattered throughout the day were of great benefit. Sharing the UU spirit, and later, a friendly lunch, with my friends, Dar and Chris. Discovering newborn goslings while walking with Dar around Virginia Lake. (And Chris feeling comfortable enough with me to nap in the car instead of walking with us.) Enjoying a movie in the comfort of their home. It's no wonder I didn't want to leave. All the joys, everything that felt revitalizing revolved around being in their company.

And now, with some of the sadness lifted, some of the beasts having been tamed by the music of the universe, (or at least music of Mickey Hart), I shall move onto the contemplation of my dinner.