Love. Like. Life.

My last romantic relationship ended four-hundred and seventy-five years ago.  

That's an exaggeration but that is what it feels like most days.  

Most days I do not lament the presence of a significant other.  

Some days I do.  

Most days I feel ready to dip my toes in those waters.  

Some days I do not. 

Most days I am too busy with family, friends, the pooch, work, and related stuff to feel any emptiness.  

Some days I am not.  

In between time, I do things I need to get through the day: talk, laugh, cry, think, throw, catch, sleep, and dream. 

Different things, different days.   

Take gentle care.  

Happy Autumn. 

 

Another Year Older

Pete at Fifteen

Do you remember when you first learned to read? Or write? Or ride a bike? Or anything that you can point back to that changed the course of your life? That opened your world? That upset the applecart in sometimes good or sometimes not so good ways?  

That first one? 

Fully disclosure, I do not remember many of the life altering moments. Well, not the exact moments but certainly took in full measure of the changes, the shifts.  I recall quite fondly the first time I rode a bicycle all by myself.  I remember the first bike I received as a gift. I remember using those wheels, and my power churning those wheels to put some distance between home and the rest of the world.  

Well, the neighborhood, at least.  

One of the exact moments I remember is meeting Pete.  And I remember bringing him home from the shelter.  Pete, you see, was my first pet as an adult.  Actually, the first cat....ever.  My family owned dogs (many dogs) when I was growing up.  My children didn't have pets as children.   

So Pete checked many boxes with his presence.  

Pete, like Buttah, were the pets, the cats I didn't think I wanted and certainly didn't think I needed.  

I was wrong. Pete is exactly what my household needed at the time and is exactly right for the household now.  He's a prince.  He's not a cuddle puddle kind of cat and that is okay, I have understood that about him from the very beginning. I respect his boundaries. He loves that about me.  

The other first I remember is the very first blog post on this space.  I remember discovering blogs as I was discovering myself, as I was, in the word of former first lady, Michelle Obama, "becoming." I was living a shadow life, a shell of my actual self, going through the motions, keeping up appearances, following the path set out before me.  

It would be some posts later before I actually uttered the words, that truth, the soul of me--that which others in my life report to have known, or had guessed to be true.  It would be some 1,000 (plus) posts later that revealed other truths, insights, humors, highs, lows . . .   

And loss. 

Within these pages I talk about the loss of my mother, my father, the diva dog and the orange boy. Thanks to these pages I was comforted and supported. I have cherished the community that visited here and grateful for the bloggers who have shared their lives, journeys, insights, truths, highs, lows, and more.  I cherish the friends made through blogging.  

Like Pete, this space is fifteen years old this year.  (Pete, 03/06   Middle Girl, 03/29) 

Like I love the prickly Pete. I love this space even as the community at large has opted for other mediums or distanced themselves off the internet. I love what remains, I love what may be again someday. And even if it is never like it was, this space will remain a special repository for my thoughts, truths, joys, and pains.  

I remain ever grateful for the readers, commenters, fellow bloggers, and friends.    

May peace be with us all. 

                                                                                       

Dog With A Ball In The Creek

     

  

       

  

  

  

The Year That Is Finally Ending

 

We are a short (or long, depending on your point of view) twenty days from the end of the longest (yet shortest) year ever. I'm hearing every day, time and time again about how all days have looked the same, how tired we all are of the routines, the isolation, the masks, the frustration with folks not wearing masks, how these days have been the longest ever. 

For me, the next twenty days will look a lot like the previous 346 with some exceptions for possible wardrobe changes for possible worsening weather conditions. 

Just to catch you up and to clue you in: 

Both my son and daughter remain healthy. My son's industry is basically shut down but he has managed to stay afloat and look as though he may weather the storm. Casting calls have resumed, albeit guardedly.  My daughter is working in an Assisted Living facility as a culinary lead.  They are tested weekly and have on-site safety protocols in place to minimize exposure and spread.  

My employment as a revenue cycle specialist with the medical billing company remains active.  My being able to work from home (even before the pandemic) has been quite the saving grace.  Things with the company were a little  shaky for a time; there were lay-offs at the beginning. There have been a couple of new hires so, at least things are holding steady. 

I have not cut my hair.  I am still sketching though not every day as before. But I feel good about what I produce and the communities I have discovered. I spent a good number of recent days creating and mailing greeting cards for the nearest and dearest of family and friends.  I expect to finalize the last batch before the weekend has expired.  

My annual medical visits, postponed from May because...well, you know, will take place over the next month or so. I have four appointments lined up and barring any hiccups in any of the labs or screenings I should be good to go for 2021. 

Twenty-twenty notwithstanding I'm feeling pretty good. Given the track record here over the last several months I probably won't be back here within the next twenty days so I shall wish you all 

Happy Happy Joy Joy  for whatever December holiday celebrations you observe.  May your next twenty days be more of the same or better or at least full of Peace Joy Love Health and Happiness 

The Newest Normal

prompt: something that starts with "T"

prompt: Lick and A Promise

Shelter at home, safer in place, self-quarantine, suspended, postponed, cancelled. This is Spring 2020.  Maybe Summer too? And dare we fear, Fall?  It is all too overwhelming to contemplate so I'm working on maintaining a day-to-day outlook.

It's difficult.

Point of fact my day-to-day hasn't changed much since the beginning of the government's efforts to "flatten the curve".  I was already working (so grateful) from home and I am not, under even the most perfect of conditions, a social butterfly.  My work hasn't had to shut down and in fact, may get busier as the days go on with folks seeking medical attention. (The company has clients whose practices are likely to be less in demand while others are likely see a dramatic uptick).

Still, I'm concerned.  Both my son and daughter work in industries that are not considered essential. Well, my daughter's industry is but as she was employed by an sports and entertainment venue her workplace was shuttered with days on the schedule.  She may be able to get hired on with another group within the industry but job hunting during this time is...well, challenging.  Her income or lack thereof impacts my (our ) budget.  She may get paid for the games missed, a promise with no concrete documentation.

There are options, not great but, something. Those are being explored, utilized in as much as they are feasible. 
 
My son is still waiting to hear if the university (he's a teaching artist working with a theater attached to one of Chicago's major universities) will pay staff during the shut down and if so, for how long.

I am concerned. March feels taken care of economically for us but the days, weeks, m o n t h s following, not so much. And beyond all that, both have, prior to their respective workplaces shutting down, had a lot of contact with a lot of humans.

The unknown (and an extreme lack of confidence in the federal government) invokes fear, anxiety. 

So yes, I'm working on maintaining a day-to-day outlook; trying to focus on that which I may solve.  And reaching out (even more) to family and friends. 

And leaning on art even more. 

Stay safe. Stay home if you can. Follow CDC protocols.  We're all in this together. 

 

 

    

In Review

prompt: Cheer 

The Good Stuff: 2019 PERIOD

Much of twenty-nineteen has been consumed with continued recovery from twenty-eighteen . The ineptitude of the condo association led to a series of events that forced us out of our home, into foreclosure, and in a rental that is . . . growing on us (well, me--my daughter isn't convinced).  In the midst of my daughter and I striking out together, my son found his own way forward. He has survived most of these 9 months thanks to the kindness and generosity of several friends; that support has led to him landing in his own place--well, a place he shares with two other renters, but, still . . . a permanent address. 

Like at the end of twenty-eighteen the look back at twenty-nineteen reveals some good, some bad, and a bunch of stuff in-between. 

One of the biggest boons of twenty-nineteen has to be the transition into working from home.  While I do occasionally miss the camaraderie of office mates, I do not miss the hassle, hustle-bustle of the daily commute.  I relish in the time, energy gained not spending 3 hours (round trip) door-to-door in-transit.  It has been a, in a word, lifesaver. 

 

At the beginning of 2019 I began a 'tip' jar practice which as you can see, is barely filled.  Still, as I reflect on the practice I'm convinced it is a good idea despite my not having kept pace throughout the year. I know when I read the notes on those slips of paper I will be reminded of people, events, music and more that lifted me then and will serve to live me beyond. For twenty-twenty I shall move the location of the jar toward making it and the idea behind it even more present in my day-to-day. If there is a resolution to be had, it is to be resolute in daily practices (like the tip jar) toward the greater good.  

Speaking of daily practices, today marks day 90 of me having sketched in my sketchbook.  Thanks to programs like Inktober, Pencilvember, Drawcember, and the up coming, 30 day sketchbook challenge (aren't there 31 days in January??--uh hmm) I have been duly prompted to put pen, pencil, or chalk to paper and eek out an image. I eagerly await the January prompts which will be delivered by email each day. My mind is spinning over re-working some of the sketches, developing others beyond sketch mode, and continued to develop skills and advance the craft.  

I don't have any grand plans for twenty-twenty beyond putting one foot in front of the other toward striving to survive and working for the greater good for myself, my son and daughter, community, and world at large.  

Come to think of it, that plan is pretty grand. 

Cheers!  Happy New Year!   

  

Squee!

It has been years and years since I've met fellow bloggers (for the first time). 

Agora, art installation Grant Park. 

But this past week I met not one, but two real live bloggers!! 

A portion of Rush More 

They came to the city of my birth for this thing or that thing. The opportunity presented itself for us to walk-about, talk-about, see some public art as well as that on display in a world-renowned art museum. It was a great treat and an extreme joy to meet-n-greet them.

Thanks, Y'all!!  Next time, a trip to Garretts!

More Blog Goodness

Then There is That

A few days ago I read a blog post that got me thinking about when a friend suddenly and without explanation became a former friend. I recall being hurt by the silence. I reflected on continuing to be hurt by that silence. It brings to mind my father's silence for so many years of our existence. There was even a time when he came to town without nary a word to me. I found out after the fact that he had been so physically close, yet

didn't have time.

I don't have many pen pals (I wish there were more) but of those, while I may be disappointed if they were to come to town without notice or time to meet, I don't think I'd been mortally wounded or moved to terminate a relationship that I presume, as penpals is at least cordial and companionable.

There is still no clue as to why the former friend froze me out of her life. Even if it hurt, I would prefer knowing why. My father did (eventually) explain why we couldn't meet during his trip. I didn't buy it then, but I recall appreciating the effort. That effort led to our being able to bridge our gap before he died.

A few days ago I read a blog post that got me thinking . . .    letters

#MicroBlog Monday ::more, ya heard?::

Friends, Family, Framily

This song emerges from my memories often. A hit, in my 

daughter's birth year (a remake of a previous version 

recorded in my son's birth year) it was one of my 

mom's favorites.  It has taken on a newer life for 

me in recent years. Thank you, Friends. ♥ 

Something Old, Something New

The idea of getting up at the ass crack of dawn the day after Thanksgiving to brave crowds, mania, and in most cases, horrible weather to score a killer deal on __________ whatever is as attractive as sticking hot pokers in my eyes.

Now, I like sales and bargains as much as the next penny watching consumer. But, there are limits. And that which embodies the so called Black Friday is at the top of the limit list.

My Fridays after Thanksgiving have historically found me eating leftovers, watching holiday movies, getting a jump on weekend chores, playing board games, reading, writing, in short, chilling the frack out. The plan was for this one to be more of the same. Even more so since I'm fighting off the emotional tides of grief.

Then came an event called The "New" Black Friday. I discovered the event through my good friend Maxine and it sounded tailor made; something I could do from home, creating lists, sharing with a community of folks IF you wanted.

Hello. Yes.

So, in addition to some usual household tasks, watching movies, and laughing with my son and daughter I spent some of Friday (and beyond, to be honest) creating love lists, gathering materials, and beginning the constructing of same.

Great fun. A project that will occupy some of my down time over the next couple of weeks. Not, that I needed a new project, mind you--but this is well worth sliding others to the back burner temporarily.

Welcome to December 1st*

*micro blogging Monday            

Oh, By the Way

As luck, fate, and/or serendipitous brio might have it, last week was full of wind, rain, cold . . . drear. And so, the plan to pedal at least 30 minutes every other day or so was thwarted. So, no Melody until very late Saturday afternoon.

Early evening, actually.

Melody and I cruised the the second nearest park. Once there we rode the perimeter of the park four or five times, took the scenic route home.If if had to guess, I'd say we logged about 5 miles. It was slow going and a bit challenging what with the high winds and lack of movement throughout the week.

But as is in her nature, Melody supported me well.

Hopefully the coming week will yield better weather conditions.

In other news:

1. I'm angling for the opportunity to visit new business, BFF Bikes soon.

2. The actor just wrapped a show. And has begun another.  And just as he closes that one, the next one will     be about ready to boot. 

3. Buttah has an eye infection. He's been on meds for a couple of days now and is improving.

4. A friend sent me some art supplies.They are happily integrated and will be in use very soon. Thank         you so very much!

5. THIS is one creepy commercial.

6. I submitted a sample (the first third of the last post) to this site, thanks to a friend's FB posting.
    The result: Stephen King.

I must really get to bed now. I hope everyone has a kick-ass Monday (and beyond).

♥ ♥ ♥

March. Women.

The month of March is designated women's history month in the same vein as February is for black history. As my friend Elizabeth (who was HERE a couple of weeks ago-wheeeeee!!) noted, "you get two back-to-back." To which I replied, . . . well, I forget the words as there was wine and beer, talk and laugh, and very much glee. But the sentiment was, YaY.

So, the month the March is designated women's history month and for each day, I've noted some woman of note who has touched me in some way throughout my own history. To date they are:

March 1st:  "And while I don’t expect you to save the world I do think it’s not asking too much for you to love those with whom you sleep, share the happiness of those whom you call friend, engage those among you who are visionary and remove from your life those who offer you depression, despair and disrespect." - Nikki Giovanni

March 2nd: "Never be afraid to sit and think." ~ Lorraine Hansberry

March 3rd: Anna Julia Cooper  March 4th Jessie Little Doe Baird March 5th: Leslie I. Hill 

March 6th: Anna Devere Smith  March 7th: Julie Murphy March 8th: Kim Ransom 
March 8th was also International Women's Day!!

March 9th: Toni Stone March 10th: Aretha Franklin: March 11th Lisa Taylor 

March 12th: Eleanor Taylor Bland  March 13th: Althea Gibson March 14th: Juanita Moore  

March 15th: Mahalia Jackson March 16th: Dr. M. Joycelyn Elders March 17th: Veronica O. Davis

March 18th: Sylvia Woods  March 19th: Wanda Sykes March 20th Diahanne Carroll 

March 21st: Debbie Allen March 22nd: Grace F. Edwards March 23rd: Marian Anderson

The mention of these women in particular is not to slight any others. I laud them (us) all in whatever endeavor(s) they (we) pursue; for they (we) all are worthy of note. Every day of every month. Women. March.

In addition reveling in the stories of women, a visit from my dear friend Elizabeth which included a journey of downtown Chicago, parts of the IL leg of historic Route 66, and my (surprisingly VERY IRISH) heritage, the other minutes of the month have been about 1. getting a new job and getting acclimated to all that THAT entails. 2. tending to a cousin who is tending to a mother-in-law who had a stroke AND a husband who had a stroke and heart surgery. 3. tending to my daughter who had her heart broken and the stress that brings not to mention her work and school stresses. 4. working to focus myself on health (mind and body) and one stated goal: the ever elusive weight loss. 5.thinking about longer, warmer days and the return of bicycle riding season. Melody has been patient.

I'm still also working to complete the January Mandala journey. I did participate in the Women's Circle Traveling Journal, sending the journal on to the next link in the chain. I'll show the art produced for that in another post.

Yes, there is the last days of March to march through and I am happy for them. But, I am looking forward to April toward getting more involved with the new job, learning more terms and procedures. I am also looking forward to April toward focusing on A-R-T and hopefully, getting my cousin out of her house for some kind of recreation and down time. And of course, riding--rolling, rolling, rolling on.

The Gift

My good friend Maxine gave me a gift*. Her gift offered entry into a community of sharing. A prompt will be presented each day. I can choose to participate or not. In either case, I get to see other entries, reflect and relate to my life, as needed. No pressure. No deadlines. No supplies to buy.

Today I chose to participate. The first prompt: PLAY.  Accompanying the above image the text as follows:

Throughout my childhood play meant music and bicycles, not necessarily together but all the better if such was the case. I am not a musician by any stretch but love music and the art of creating same. I am not an expert cyclist either but from my very first ride at age 7, reveled in the joy (and the freedom) it allowed. 2013 was an extremely trying and challenging year. For a variety of reasons that I have not been able to fully articulate, neither music or bicycling offered the solace I needed. I didn't play. I couldn't play. Now I feel as though I must play, if only for a little bit, everyday.

And so, here's to the first day of 2014 and my effort to bring some measure of play back into my day-to-day. 


*Mandala Discovery: 30 Days of Mandala Journaling

From, Me

image courtesy of The Bluestocking Review

                                                             

                                                       LOVE & PEACE

To, You.

Pass the Rum Gravy, Cabbage, and Rolls

Truth be told, I haven't had rum in several years. In fact, the last taste of rum was gifted to me by a very dear friend. I don't there will be any rolls either. It has just occurred to me that I forgot to buy them and unless there is something vital that seems to have been forgotten as well, dinner will go on without them.

No biggie.



Yes, there will be a dinner. Poultry, dressing (not stuffing in my corner of the universe) macaroni and cheese, cabbage (two ways--with meat and without) and . . . I know I'm forgetting something, can't put my finger on it...oh well, point is, food.

And drink. And . . well, and . . . just . .

Truth be told I'm not feeling particularly festive. I'm trying for daughter's sake but my heart really isn't in it. But, there will be food and if the cabbage (both ways) and the macaroni and cheese are any indication it will be good. Maybe not great, maybe not amazing, but good. Okay, very good.

Damn, the gooey, cheesy . . good. Must stop tasting.

Truth be told, while not feeling particularly festive I do recognize there is much for which thanks should be given. And so I do give thanks for my decent health, the good health of the actor and his sister, the comfort of loving pets, shelter, food (damn, the gooey, cheesy . .) drink, other family, friends particularly those who have experienced a recent turn of (woot woot) events allowing for a sense of safety, security, inching toward home,  warming me all over.

Yes, there will be a dinner, the menu changed (slightly) to minimize the onslaught of memories.And while not feeling particularly festive, I am thankful to be here to be able to share a meal with my son and my daughter and to have connections with people who bring me great comfort and joy.

Peace to you.

Dream A Little Dream

She was in white; turban, tunic, and long-ish skirt. The sofa upon which I was laying was also white. Not leather, for which part of me was grateful . . . I think.

I don't know why the white or the turban, for that matter. I don't know why I was there laying upon the white (not leather) sofa with her hovering over me blinding me with her incredibly white teeth or why I only remember this part of the dream . . .

. . . (she) is my best friend from high school. She was also my first crush, my twice married, multiple child having, grandmother thrice over . . she was saying (over and over) that she thinks she'd like to "try" being with a woman and would I be "down" for that.

Blinding. White. Teeth (and turban, tunic, long-ish skirt--not to mention, sofa). Well, shit.

She went on to babble about taking time to work up the nerve to ask me here (after we hadn't spoken in years) to say these things to me . . . that I was attractive (enough) and "safe" since I had already come out as a lesbian. She didn't want to approach any other friend or worse, a stranger. . . she couldn't risk her husband (or kids or grandkids) finding out about . . . anything.

She was sure. She wasn't leaving her life. She didn't want to date. She just wanted . . .

a taste.

Before she was done with her spiel and before I could respond I found myself being hustled out the back door as her husband was charging into the front, through the rooms, into the kitchen. Rooted to my place on the porch I heard pieces of an argument, not related to our conversation . . . well, her monologue. The crack which sounded like a fist connecting with a jaw . . .

woke. me. up.

She

A friend's status update: Some weeks just kick my ass . . .

  And I agree. Some weeks kick asses...all over this land. These have been two such weeks for me. This ass-kicking week has resulted in  a two martini, skip the Condo board meeting, relax in my socks and undies (the actor is out) kind of Friday night. And while my ass is thoroughly kicked on this day, well into this night, I am bolstered by this new find:

She. Don't. Stop.  

A special shout out to friends who check in, check on me. Your words lift me up so very much. ♥ 

Holly Jolly

The song begins, "have a holly, jolly Christmas; it's the best time of the year" and for weeks now it's been looping in and around my head, double dog daring me to just DO IT! > BE IT!

Jolly. or in everyday vernacular: happy.

It has been an uphill climb, but on this day above all others I am reminded that despite the not so grand in my life and the world at large, there is still very much that is good and cause for happiness. There is shelter, food, love of family and friends, Buttah, Pete, and puppy dawg Cinnamon.

A good friend is spending Christmas day in the hospital recovering from knee replacement surgery. Not the happiest of places to be on this (or any other) day, but the key word:
recovering. I got word earlier today that physical therapy is going well.

Jolly, or in everyday vernacular: happy.

I could name hundreds, perhaps thousands, of things that can be counted on to cause unbridled happiness and joy to wash over me like warm showers, but I won't. I'll just state for the record that I know, I remember, and I am grateful for those things and those people.

Have a holly, jolly Christmas and may those feelings spread over many days, weeks, months beyond.

"Christmas isn't a season, it's a feeling."  Edna Ferber  

Testing 1. 2. 3.

There is plenty to say, just no time, energy, focus to get it organized and down on paper or rather, screen. What I can say is that I'm glad it is raining instead of snowing. I'm glad my hip stopped hurting. I'm so saddened and distraught over the most recent (and seemingly constant) spates of mass violence. The fact that I had to ask mom for my younger brother's address speaks volumes. I don't intend to buy any "Christmas" gifts, though I will be gifting, much. I had the best time with my good friend at dinner the other night. Can't wait for a repeat. The cats are leery of the dog. Buttah however, will test his mettle against the big baby hound. And speaking of the the dog . . . 

Anatomy of an Unfriending

Hair. It seems to always be about or revolve around hair in some shape form or fashion. This time was no exception.

Many weeks ago Willow Smith (you know, the daughter of Jada Pinket and Will Smith) cut her "whip it" long hair short. Very short. Soon after, as predicable as the chiming of church bells, the media weighed in with opinions as to why and whatnot.

Then, of course, just as predictably, parent groups weighed in... "How Could Jada 'LET' her daughter . . . " (Why criticism doesn't seem to be directed toward dads whenever 'parent groups' weigh in is a topic for another day.)  Jada responds to her critics with a letter on her FB page, which reads, in part: I made a promise to endow my little girl with the power to always know that her body, spirit and her mind are HER domain. Willow cut her hair because her beauty, her value, her worth is not measured by the length of her hair.

Picked up by a number of media outlets, the letter brought Jada praise and of course, more criticism.

Enter my (now) former FB friend. The "friend" updated her status by posting a link to the article, prefacing said posting with her considered opinion that Jada is an awful parent by allowing her twelve year old to shave her hair off. She went on to defend and expand her stance in the comments. After a few of her other "friends" commented I chimed in with my own, "what's the big whoop? It's just hair."

A few of her friends "liked" my comment and the discussion (such as it was) continued; with the original poster responding to accusations that she was making judgments based on appearance, defending her 'right' to direct her own child's fashion choices, bristling over the commentary that she may have stifled her own son's freedom of expression and or creativity by such a staunch stance on something as innocuous as a haircut.

A couple of the other "friends" observed that the staunchness displayed seemed out of character for the liberal, gay, feminist, activist, they thought (or known) her to be.

After saying my piece, sharing an anecdote about my son's JR high years and baggy clothes (by way to answer the meme: you can't tell a book by it's cover) clicking, 'like' to a couple of the expressed opinions, I backed out of commenting but read with interest at the discussion was careening downhill.

Fast. During this portion of the program I kept thinking of the Bugs Bunny quote.  And nearly posted a para-phrased version. Nearly.

Eventually my (now) former FB friend took exception to the accusations and judgments (over her judgments) and "name calling" as she expressed it and asked NOT to be disrespected on her own page.

Well, that statement set off another flurry of comments. . . "what, I can't call you out?"  "I can't disagree with you?" On and on until the (now) former FB finally responded with, "F*CK YOU ALL!!!" and minutes later, I saw that I had been un-friended and I presume the others in the mix were as well. I hadn't been "friends" with any of them.

I'm not at all offended or distressed by the unfriending for I'd been very close to pulling the plug on our friend status prior to this incident. This woman and I met a few months ago on a dating site and then became FB friends.  We shared a few interesting exchanges, and then (a couple of weeks prior to the incident) met in person--as we live in the same town and found ourselves at the same LBGTQ event. It was this "live" meeting and subsequent FB exchanges that led me to believe we wouldn't ever be friends, so why keep up any pretext.

So, while the incident all started with hair, it became a much larger issue, as is so often the case, especially in my corner of the world.



 

Friends

Some time over the past few weeks Cinnamon and Buttah have formed some kind of . . . grudging acceptance for the presence of the other. Buttah braves journeys to the lower perches and the floor because he craves interaction and attention.  As a result, he suffers the clumsy, flopping ministrations of the big brown pup.


Eventually he tires of the game, fends off the big brown pup, and scampers back to higher ground. Or barring navigation his own escape, is rescued by one of the humans.  Still, somewhere in the midst of the ministrations, protestations, fending, and rescuing, they . . . bonded. Of sorts. More often than not, they are just sitting, in the same place, on the same bed, without incident . . . that is, until big brown pup deems the amnesty period over.

The game, or rather the dance being played out has the feel of something brewing. . some kind of relationship. . . some kind of friendship.

Bearing witness to the brewing over the past few weeks has had me thinking about friends generally and my friends specifically. I count very few people in that category of friend (FB semantics aside). As a child I had difficulty making friends; our multiple moves, the sheltering thanks to my girl status, my being a bona fida introvert all played a role.

My high school years were the most static, as I spent 4 years in one school and was able to form a few solid (as solid as possible considering I couldn't / didn't invite people home) relationships. One such relationship followed me well into adulthood only to be lost to lesbianism, or rather her homophobic reaction to my lesbianism.

Fastforward to today and there are, as I said, very few people who I consider a friend (again, FB semantics aside). Each of the few are a treasure to me, golden. I trust each is aware of their importance to me as I am active in the cultivation of these relationships.

Still, something is amiss. Or rather, I am missing. The One.  Not necessarily a girlfriend in that sense (though that would be sweet) but a running buddy, a wing-woman, a "kick it" partner. There is a certain pathology at play with the relationships I have formed (and those that have stuck) that bear some exploration.

Perhaps some adjustments are warranted.

In the meantime, I thank you friends for being there / here for me. For helping me through some tough days (even if you didn't know you were). Your humor, honesty, creativity, and most of all your presence is a treasure, golden.

And, Cinnamon is pretty sure she wants Buttah for a friend. Buttah, on the other hand, seems somewhat wary. Though, I think eventually, he'll come around. I believe he will be able to teach Cinnamon to temper her ministrations, a bit.