Second Saturday AM

 

Today's entry was to have been about getting (and keeping,  mis-stepping and now needing to regain) Cinnamon's sleeping through the night schedule for in the last couple of days she's back to rousing at 3:30 AM for walking, feeding. . . . aaarraggghh.

But, that will have to wait for another day, for on this day,  there is a dream to relate. 

We're up at 3:30 AM. We walked. She ate. I drank the coffee the actor had brewed, up early to prepare for his coaching gig and an audition. We talked (the actor and I) about a great number of things while Cinnamon harassed the orange cat and ripped apart a carton (when she couldn't get at the cat).  

A couple or so hours later the actor had to shower and dress for his day. After he left I went back to bed, to re-boot my Saturday morning. Sometime after I dropped back off to slumber-land, a dream crept up beside me. 

As you know, of maybe YOU don't, but some do--I don't remember dreams, or at least not the full scope of them. Just snippets. Slices. 

This dream starred Kobe (as in Bryant, as in, ick, I can't stand him). He was the waiter and I the diner. I  was having a dinner or it could have been a series of dinners with someone whose identity was never revealed. Kobe kept bringing me dishes I didn't seem to be ordering. First, fish. Then, linguine. Then, some kind of sandwich. And then . . well, it went on and on. 

With the delivery of each dish Kobe would moan and groan. He had some whiny commentary about my eating and he and his team losing. There appeared to be a correlation. The final dish (that I remember) him plopping down in front of me was an extremely large mound of french fries and a saucer full of fried pickle slices. The End (of the dream).  

And then, screaming bladder.  

I know why the food, as the last of the great many things the actor and I discussed before my morning nap was diners and the virtues (and / or risks) of  high, middle, and lower end dining establishments and experiences. I don't know why the specific food items except for the fried pickle slices. Their appearance is undoubtedly the result of my first former girlfriend being heavy on my mind in recent weeks.

Kobe's whiny ass?  What? Why? And Stop!  

And now, onward to a re-booted Saturday AM. Cinnamon and I have been outside again. Soon she will get a bath where I will attempt to clip more hair from around her face so it is in better alignment with her body, the litter boxes will get cleaned, and . . . well, a number of other chores before going out tonight.

But first, breakfast. 

Fourth Sunday in June

 So, here it is . . . and thus begins her email that effectively spells the end of US as a couple.

I wasn't blindsided, not totally. I felt it (or something akin) was brewing. There were signs. Prior to the email last week there were periods of silences, missed opportunities to get together, other changes to what had become our routine for weeks prior. Understandable. given her very busy schedule. But, still . . .  

Time.

Being compatible. Being companionable. Having fun. Enjoying one another on a variety of levels. Being happy. Beginning to fall . . .   None individually or collectively necessarily spell success in hammering out a relationship. There can be and certainly were in our case mitigating circumstances.

Time.

Though I felt it coming,  had time to prepare for the shoe to drop, the reality hit hard and rendered momentarily stunned and incredibly sad.  She made it clear she didn't come to this decision lightly, it wasn't something she relished doing. She'd hoped (as did I) for a different outcome. 


But now is simply (well, nothing simple about it) not the time. 


It has been a week and the time has quelled most of the emotions. There was no acrimony, no hard feelings. We remain in touch and connected through FB. I wish her the greatest of success in her business and life, as she does for me. I feel honored to have met her and grateful for the time we shared. I hope there is  an opportunity to chew the philosophical fat with her somewhere down the road for she truly is . . . well, in a word, awesome.   

Time.

Meanwhile however, I am single and while not in love with said state of affairs, the intent is to embrace my favorite season. Further, the intent is to mitigate the work stresses with more focused determination toward my passions.  There is a 5K in the not too distant future calling my name. I will likely walk the course but am not dismissing  the possibility of running. The knees will decide. I may even post more frequently, though no promises, as I explore further explorations. The intent is to continue, to adopt daughter's vernacular, "doing me" which is to say, looking out for my family, honoring and cultivating my friendships, and caring for my own well being the best way possible.

But first, breakfast (omelette, preferably spinach and feta but most any will do) and then, laundry. It is Sunday after all.

**and note to my very supportive friends (you know who you are) ya'll rock hard** love you ladies. :-)

Third Sunday In June

Another picture perfect Sunday, on the outside, the aftermath of much needed rain, barely visible.

Pictures are not always what the seem.

On this third Sunday in June, designated "Father's Day" I've spent barely a moment thinking about my dad and even less about their dad. My son, daughter, and I were all here together for a good part of this day and that, in and of, itself, is cause for celebration. We had a handful of meaningful conversations that led to a handful of revelations.


Catharsis, or catharses comes to mind. Each has spent part of this day ruminating over focus and dedication toward the next stages of their respective days, weeks, months, and quite possibly, years.

I've spent a considerable amount of time today in my own state of rumination as my own life has taken some turns and is about to turn again. For better or worse, time will tell. For this day, however, and the couple leading to it? far from the bike ride in the park of the most carefree of summer days.

My present may very well become my past but it could also become my future. I was shown a picture of myself today and though I disagreed with the accompanying hypothesis, I can relate to and respect the sentiment presented.  

I read this quote somewhere, don't recall where and didn't take note of the author, so forgive the lack of credit, "Let your past make you better, not bitter." I feel like that quote has been the cornerstone of my entire existence.

This third Sunday in June, this Father's Day, turned out to be grand mother of days, existentially speaking.

minutiae

Paper everywhere. Not confetti-like pieces scattered about willy-nilly, but large newsprint sized sheets. Someone had placed these sheets in a serendipitous fashion; some clearly to soaking the results of past accidents while others lie in wait of accidents to come.  

Thus was the beginning of a dream, a story, that has since been long lost. Out of my head, my mind, my bones, just g-o-n-e. Blown away into the details of day-to-day.  And oh, has there been a mountain of day-to-day. 


minutiae 


Work has been and has felt much more like w-o-r-k I don't know how much longer we can go or more to the point, how much longer I should go . . . on and on. Decisions about, preparations for the possible next step(s).  


minutiae


The actor is in a play and has been busy, busy, and even more busy. He's come home with stories of the production, the cast, the import of the work. I have yet the see the show(s) (the play is actually two plays performed in rep) but will get my opportunity a week from Saturday and then again two weeks from Friday. I try to follow his example and ignore the reviews but I can't. 


minutiae


The daughter is working steadily at a job she seems to really like and as important, they really like her. She's continuing her education toward enhancing her skills and advancement possibilities at work and beyond. But the other side of the coin, the personal relationship? Not so winning. Here's to her heart syncing with her head toward allowing her to move away, onward from the current main squeeze. 


minutiae


And then there is the rest; mom, brother(s) dad, cousins, aunts, uncles and all the related day-to-day. Or rather, my thoughts and possible action and/or reaction to the various day-to-day. 


minutiae 


My personal relationship is moving right along. She and I are dancing metaphorically (though we do plan to dance, literally, at some point) doing the relationship foxtrot, feeling are way along to wherever, forev....well, we're moving right along. Bring on date night(s). 


minu...YUM


     

The Newest Normal

Having not dated since my break-up I'll admit to being woefully out of practice. Having not dated locally since . . . well, shit, since before my oldest (30) was even conceived, I'll admit to being just . . . whoa.

But now I'm dating. Not dating as in seeing a few people to see how they fit. No, I'm dating one woman and discovering how we fit.  The indeterminate "US" from a couple of posts (and few weeks) ago has grown into a definite relationship as so declared on FB.

A good fit, yes. A good match, again, yes. Still, dating . . .

Dating can be, is . . . challenging. Even when one is ripe to the idea of opening heart, mind, body, and life to another, for another, there are . . . logistics; schedules, finances, families, and jobs just to name a few. Then there is all the newness, the first times, the discoveries . . . all of which can be, is . . . fun, exciting. It is, can be . . . daunting.

It is very, very easy to become accustomed to having good time, to become conditioned to expect it every time out, to fall into a routine and then become soundly disappointed with the routine is broken even for a very good reason, a very worthy cause.

And in our brief stint dating we've had both, the good times and the disappointments. The good times however, have outdistanced the disappointments. And while we are determined to maintain that ratio, there are those challenges, those logistics.

Still . .  I am up for the challenge, the earlier "whoa" not-with-standing, for we are a good fit.

We are dating one another exclusively. And this is my newest normal.

Whoa.







 

Distraction

Were I committed to participating in the A-Z April Blogging Challenge today's letter could be "D". And further, were I committed to participating in the A-Z April Blogging Challenge by letter "D" word, subject designation:  Distraction. 


You remember back in grade school when you were crushing on someone and you could barely keep your mind on your spelling words, cursive writing practice, or multiplication tables? All you could think about was that smile, those eyes, having lunch together, and passing one another on the way home from school?


Distraction 


And what about some time later when all you could do with any consistency is write their name over and over on your notebook? Using different color pens? Adding stickers? Making {Art} out their name by adding wings, curlicues, faces, or plants?

Distraction 


Now grown up, mature, with some life under your belt and a full menu of items clamoring for your attention and yet, you want to talk with her every minute of every day despite your respective busy schedules. You work to memorize her phone number so you don't waste a fraction of a second  scrolling your address book. (Assigning her number to a speed dial button seems...off, somehow).

Distraction

As one nifty day leads to another and then yet another, as you begin to adjust your life to encompass the thoughts, emotions, and being of another, as you begin to think of yourselves as an "US" you likely find your mind flitting from this idea to that, your body going through the motions of task completion but your mind clearly engaged elsewhere.  You likely find yourself in a Den of Distraction. Or, that could just be me.

But let me state for the record that being distracted by that smile, those eyes, the thought of having lunch (or whatever and then some) together . . .

desirable. delectable. dandy. 

There is an "US"

We met several weeks ago as many folks do, on-line. We were both on a meeting-to-dating site that made no more but no fewer promises than any of the others toward success at "finding a match." (Why do I feel compelled to break into song, matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch)? And we were both out there awhile before our respective profiles brushed against one another.

She wrote me. I wrote back. She responded. And then so did I.  We spoke via telephone and soon agreed to meet face-to-face.

We met in a cafe. Had a lunch that bled into the dinner set-up where we said our good-byes. But in the meantime, we talked. And talked. And talked. Such a good time we had, so much discovery.

That get together has led to others and even  hand-holding.  Ahhhhh . . .

She recently shared: <i>Somehow, I managed to find – managed to be found by – someone who shares my understanding of the world and the nature of reality . . .  

Which could have easily been my share. 

Still, as often as we have spoken, as grand a time we've had with one another, as close as we are becoming, we are both cautious and dare I say, somewhat fearful. This is new, is precious, is fragile in its beginnings. 

And it is everything. Again.   

Thus, despite her thinking me beautiful and me thinking the same about her, despite all we've shared and the eagerness we have for more, despite the discoveries made and the euphoria of the prospect of future discoveries, we are careful at naming this . . . confluence of events, except to mutually assert  that she and I are most assuredly, most gleefully, an US! 

   

So It Begins...Again

When can I see you again

When can my heart beat again, baby

When can I see you again

And when can I breathe once again

And when can I see, babe, again

Wanna see you again

Again...*

The wait until the next time. At present that is tentatively February. Could be a small, short trip before then, but then again . . .

The trips are hard. The travel part is becoming easier and in some ways, sad yet routine. This trip down there was the usual: constantly chattering toddlers (& mother, aunt and grandma heading to Tennessee for a family wedding), someone who couldn't quite grasp the concept of the overhead bin door, a chronic (fill: cough, sneeze, wheeze, whine) and a cowboy hat wearer. The return travel featured the oh so routine sit-on-the-runway-30 minute-weather-related delay, the must make 400 phone calls before cellphones must be turned off person, sarcastic flight attendant, the "oh, is this row 7 I thought this was 6" person and the frantic fleeing of patrons trying to make connecting flights. Routine.

Though ecstatic at the thought and overjoyed at the actual experience of seeing, touching and being the the company of Neta I am always sad when our time comes to an end. We are always sad. This time and each time, even more so. This time after I returned we had...words. Many, many words later we are coupled in a different way and though not much closer to shrinking the physical distance, emotionally we couldn't be closer.

Long distance relationships are hard, everybody has told me so. 'Tis true. In general, though relationship are tough, especially in the beginnings and even more especially when you have the extra added pressures of all the coming and going.

Relationships go through phases. The transitions through said phases can be bumpy. Neta and I are able to talk and more importantly, listen to one another. It remains to be seen if, or rather when when we will be able to break through the barriers rooting us to our respective turfs. But at the end of the day we have a deep and abiding love and respect for one another. She is quite simply, my heart and I will move heaven and earth to be with her, always.

*When Will I See You Again Kenneth "Babyface" Edmonds

August

I had a chilling thought this morning. Soon, I must begin the process of pulling out for assessment my fall and winter wardrobe. I know already that I need shoes, everyday walking in the rain and snow type-shoes. More slacks and maybe more sweaters too. I probably should have started a few weeks ago, but I haven’t wanted to think about it. Not about the winter, so much, I’m used to that. I am not looking forward to the shopping.

NO I do not like shopping at all. I am, however, least bothered by shoe shopping. I even almost enjoy shopping for shoes. That though, is probably because I feed off daughter’s energy. She takes shoe shopping pleasure to a whole. nutha. level. Truth be told she's like that about clothes shopping too, but that joy, for some reason doesn't pull me in as much.

While I was doing the touristy thing last week, I met some women on a trolley. They were sisters traveling with their children and they were from Tennessee, Nashville, in fact. They asked among other things, if I’d ever been to Nashville. I told them of my very special friend who lives just outside Nashville and yes, I’d been down there many times in the last couple of years.

They asked if I’d been to any of the clubs (a couple) and offered that I might enjoy living in the Nashville area. They said in unison, “the winters are really mild.” I told them that I was hoping to convince my TN friend to come here for a spell during the winter. I was thinking how fetching she’d look in boots and a fuzzy hat.

That thought warms me, though the 80 plus degree temps today (and through the weekend) plays a part in that warmth. Yum. Enjoying it much, while it lasts.

Four

I was four when I started school. It was head-start. Mom thought I needed my shyness tendencies eased a bit. I don’t think it worked, then.

Anyhoo…my teacher was Mrs. Stomper. I remember because her name rhymed with romper. Remember Romper Room? I think at some point, in some parts of the country, it was known as Romper Stomper.

Anyhoo..Mrs. Stomper looked a little like Mary Tyler Moore as she appeared on the old Dick Van Dyke show…”ooooh Roooob!” You remember. I don’t remember much else about Mrs. Stomper beyond her name and what she looked like, except, I remember liking her and for my first experience with Chicago public school teachers, she wasn’t so bad, in fact, looking back, she was probably one of the best.

Anyhoo…four.

How does one squeeze four months of not seeing one another into a paltry 4 day visit? One doesn’t, one just make the best of the time one has.

One did.

Weekend Update

Saturday D and I spent the day browsing Border’s, people watching, nibbling and just enjoying the day and the weather. Sunday was cold and wet but Mom and I went to a restaurant of her choosing anyway. Compared to some of our restaurant outings, I’d have to say this one was quite pleasant.

Monday, M and his girlfriend met me at my office. We walked to one of the local eateries for some good food and great conversation.


All-in-all, a pretty decent set of days but I’m glad they’re over. I enjoy spending time with my son and daughter. I appreciate the opportunity to share some pleasant moments with my mom. But these last few weeks I haven’t been able to do much but think about going down to TN. I’ve been counting days, hours, minutes and seconds.


I just have to get through today and tomorrow and then it’s . . . flight time.

You Plus Me

Cuz our love will stand tall as the trees
Our love will spread wide as the sea
Our love will shine bright in the night
Like the stars above and we'll always be together*

It is big, this love of ours. Is it big enough?
We ask it for much; arms in the middle of the night, logic in the midst of the most non-sensical moments, patience and grace towards one anothers schedules and rhythms of lives lived separately and strength to sustain us between the visits.

We ask it the embrace our past towards helping us merge our present to build our future.

We ask for much. Is our big love, big enough, strong enough to shoulder our requests?

Yes. On this day, yes.

*from Natalie Cole's "Our Love"

In My Head

Good Morning. Two simple words, a customary greeting even, if not especially, among strangers. Why…

I was ten or so when my mom began to relinquish her authority over my wardrobe. I was given more freedom to make my own choices and those choices…

On my way to see my son on stage on Saturday I encountered some St. Paddy celebrants all decked out in celebratory garb. Some conversation among the celebrants wound its way to astrological signs and related attributes. One celebrant asked the other “are you like, psycho sensitive?" My mind wonders what…

I checked and double checked my tax forms before my e-filing. Still, I got the rejected e-mail. Turns out I flubbed my SS No. What? I’ve been writing, typing and reciting this number for over 30 years. I know it! What!?! My head is just…

...clogged, like my ears, well actually just one ear. The right ear is disconnecting periodically and it is driving me…

The fog outside is nothing compared to the fog in my head. In my day-to-day I’m slogging through the important, funny or relevant details or scenes. I can articulate them and then I can’t. Consistent coherency is a struggle right now. My thoughts and energies are not here with me, they are there with her. I want ME to be there, right now!

But I can’t be, not right now. So I need to finish a thought, compose a tune that allows me to dance, to function well enough, long enough until there is where I can be.

More Than A Feeling

It started at the base of the spine. A sizzling sensation radiating up and outward, leaving warmth where there was once a chill. It wasn’t long before that full body warmth delivered signals to my brain and my brain in turn sent signals…elsewhere.

Emotional hand wringing ensued.

I’d known this might happen. The head was already at the resort the body was now begging to visit. But, not now, all evidence to the contrary, mind and body, not ready. Not yet.

She was talking. What was she saying? I couldn’t concentrate. The buzzing in my head, the throbbing…elsewhere; must have been the wine. No, it wasn’t. I couldn’t take my eyes from hers, the blue vibrant, then smoky. I wanted to ignore the eyes, the buzz the throb, but I couldn’t. They would not be ignored.

Some what ifs broke through the cacophony momentarily interrupting my reverie. During the break, I heard her ask, “Do you even know if you’re really gay? I mean, you’ve never even kissed a woman.” To which I replied, “No time like the present.” And just like that, I was ready.

After several weeks of correspondence and conversation I visited Neta for the first time a year ago this week. My first night there we talked through the night. We kissed some too. We retired in the wee hours of the morning, falling into sleep, holding each other gingerly. Then daylight came and we...decided to be a couple.

D Bugging, Not

Vestiges of wilting garlands, limping wreaths and fading twinkle lights clinging to eaves, porch railings and yard ornaments were beginning to bug. I mean come on people it's over. Move on. My old pal Frizzy and the newest addition to our non-breathing fuzz patrol, Miranda bid a final farewell to the season over a week ago. Two weeks too late mind you, but gone are all symbols of the season in our little abode. However, back to being bugged or rather not bugged. The leftover holiday decorations stew was beginning to bug me that is until the snow and deep, deep freeze arrived. Talk about bugging. But I'm not. Nope, not bugged about the weather (except by this) but not talking about that today.

Obviously there is much more I could be bugged about. Today though I'd rather focus on some of the other things not bugging me at the moment. Given the givens I'm pretty happy these days. Would I rather be able to wrap my arms around my girlfriend any old time I pleased? Oh, honey, yes! Would I rather be thinner? No diggity, no doubt. Would I rather be wealthier if for no other reason that to be able to do (or have done) all the repairs & updates around the condo? Well, sure. Would I rather be less inclined to pop commas after every third word? Yep Yep. What about the things I can't can't change? Yes, I'd like to be able to right some universal wrongs.

But I was talking about not being bugged. For instance, I am not bugged by my son. M has a new lady friend. They've been on a handful of dates. They met (I think) at a party and though both live in the city he and she have been writing letters back and forth. Actual letters, not e-mails. Like mom, like son (see 29), I guess. One of these dates lasted 12 hours during which time they were briefly locked inside of a zoo. Or thought they were. He'll be spending his birthday evening (in two weeks) with the new lady friend. I get the honor of taking him to brunch or lunch the next day. He talked about wanting to meet at Ann Sather’s. I hear it's a pretty popular spot and pretty crowded on the weekends so I'm not sure that will work. No matter where though, younger D and I will be donning our hiking boots and heading northeast to connect with him. We've got to tease him hear all about the lady friend, in living color and over copious amounts (for him) of food.

Nor am I bugged that the cat has returned to his middle of the night play with mommy games. A door broke so the separate sleeping quarters idea is suspended until repairs can be made. Or perhaps not as he has suspended his less than pleasant activity and has moved on to rubbing nose-to-nose and stroking my head. Apparently he too took issue with Norman's work.

My daughter’s work schedule changed again. This doesn't bug me eventhough it means that three days a week I'm walking her our dog at 6:45 a.m. as she must be walked and fed before I leave for work by 7:30. D, the younger, has been taken out of the kennels on those and is working in the clinic assisting the veterinarian with surgeries and other duties, hence her earlier start time. Younger D is most pleased with this development and I'm happy to be able to help. It is cold as a witch's tit at 6:45 a.m. but with the extra layers I hardly notice.

The new year brought new responsibilities and changes to Neta's schedule which has had an impact on our talk time. And while I miss her and our time together. I'm not bugging. No. 'Tis necessary and I'm with her all the way. We simply make the most of the time we do get to talk. Yum.

At the very top of my not bugging list, well, bottom in this case, but tops in my mind right now is my barber, Norman after only one prompt to take more off the top got it closer to right. I am however going to take Sassy's advice and take a snapshot. I'll take the photo to a couple of the other barbers in the neighborhood and see if they can do what Norman did--only a smidge better.

Here, Kitty Kitty

While with my sugar I got to meet our new kitty,Lily or as we've taken to calling her, the Lovely Lillian or Lill-i-an (with the requisite musical lilt). Neta told me how much Lily resembled Pete. I was struck by just how much. With the exception of her very short legs, she could very nearly be Pete's clone. Lily may not be a true munchkin but she comes very close. To say that she is the sweetest kitty I've ever met would be the understatement of the millennium. She's a nightly kneader, Neta calls it "making biscuits" and it is just precious. Last Wednesday both Lily and Bobo got outside. Neta called me as usual Thursday morning after having been up all night and beside herself with worry. Bobo got outside and sometime during the late night, early morning hours during one of Neta's many trips to the door calling for him, Lily slipped out. Lily has since returned. We were talking late on Saturday night and Neta heard her cry. She was cold, dirty and scared but otherwise un-harmed. The Lovely Lillian has been glued to Neta's side since her return. I am anxious to see her (and her other mommy) again, to say the least.

Neta continues to look and call for Bobo. She has placed an ad and is contacting shelters. We keep hope alive for Bobo's safe return. Here, kitty kitty Mr. Bobo, Lily is missing you, Neta is missing you and I am missing your special brand of cat love in our lives.

F Words

First and foremost, I was finally there to look into, caress and kiss her face. The feel of my fingers wrapped perpetually around hers and vice versa felt fabulously fine.

The first day and the days to come was and will be filled with Fs. Fs in the dress of forms. Forms, forms, forms, long forms, short forms, blue forms, green forms. Frantic forms.

F-U-N-K

Forms coupled with follow-up. Emails to retrieve and replies to fashion. There are voice messages to decipher, employees and employers to de-brief, most of which leads back to forms and formats. Mere seconds after the happy New Year greetings did who, what, why, where, did, have you questions and requests flow.

F-U-D-G-E

Forms and functionality require focus which is in short supply the first day back and the days that will follow as I am fighting the urge to flee once again to the comfort of her arms, face and the feel of fingers. Hers, mine. Ours.

Every ounce of focus that can be harnessed is directed to attending responsibilities at home and work. Continuing to fuel my tank is the thought and work needed to move forward towards our being together again finally. And forever!

Fun
Fuse
Form
Family

One on One

Do you ooh!
Two hour long conversations on the phone, can't get you out of my mind
Baby are you feeling me feeling you?
Every thing you say and everything you do,Gets me lost in you days at a time,
Tell me are you feeling me feeling you?
"Feeling You, Feeling Me" ~Alicia Keys


As the months turned into weeks, into days and now with only several hours left, the excitement is alive, growing with every minute passed. It sparks and crackles propelling me forward. I check the weather forecast continuously, go over my tasks to complete before take off lists and try to keep from spinning of my axis. Five months ago it felt like this day was eons away. One more night here and then I'll be there.

Yum.

Magic Wand Number Three

My mom gave birth to three children.

My son and daughter make up my immediate family of three and on Tuesday we’ll be together again to share a holiday meal. My mom will join us, but my two brothers will not.

While I don’t subscribe to the lucky or even magic number theory, if I did it would probably be three. There has been a number three woven in and out of the fabric my life in a number of incarnations for the past thirty-three years.

Three is better than four yet not as enticing as one. Better yet, none. Soon baby, soon.

Four Play

Oh what a night, late December number 23.

As in previous years this day is full of cleaning and cooking all gearing up for the big day. And this year is no different in that regard however unlike previous years it is the days beyond that are grabbing most of my attention. What focus I can harness is tied to weather, travel and time.

Neta and I have talked at every opportunity. We’ve talked about what we’ll do together, the running theme being just that, together. The big plan is that there is no plan. Besides what we’ll do New Year’s Eve we are being very deliberately loose.

We want to relax. And we will.

I've got sunshine on a cloudy day.
When it's cold outside,I've got the month of May.
Well, I guess you'll sayWhat can make me feel this way?
My girl. (My girl, my girl)Talkin' 'bout my girl. (My girl)
I've got so much honey
The bees envy me.
I've got a sweeter songThan the birds in the trees.
Well, I guess you'll sayWhat can make me feel this way?
My girl. (My girl, my girl)Talkin' 'bout my girl. (My girl)
"My Gir" ~The Temptations