The Christmas Card Letter

One of my favorite things about this season is sending and receiving Christmas cards.  Yes, I love the emailed ones just as much as the traditional: it still means someone took the time to think of me and even more time to make it happen.  But there's something about going to your mailbox and not finding just bills or doctor reminders or flyers for the newest restaurant in town.  There's something about finding a Christmas card.

I especially love when folks put in that sum-up-the-year letter that tells me all about what has occurred over the past year of their lives.  Yes, today we all have the luxury of keeping in touch daily with emails, text messages and countless social media sites, but it's so easy to miss things that happen in our friends' and loved ones' lives. That's why I love these letters so much.  It's such a lovely way to say to others: hey, I care about you.  I care about you so much that I want to let you into what's been going on with me this past year so you can share a part of my life even when you couldn't be here every day.  I find it so charming and so special for that, but also because it shows me that the people who do it actually reflect on their lives, appreciate what the year has brought to them and are probably already looking forward to the new year and the things they can include in next year's letter.  What optimism! What spirit and joy!  I really, really love that.

So for as much as I love them, I often wonder why I have never done one myself.  I DO send cards, and sometimes I'll even add a special note instead of just my name.  But why haven't I done the letter?  Probably because if I did?  It would look something like this....

Dear Friends and Family,

Hello! It's been another year here in the Fox household (that'd be me and my plants -- but one I've kept alive for 18 years now, so that's something!) and, wow, was it wonderful.

I finally managed to join a gym this year after a few years' hiatus in an effort to make sure I starting taking care of myself again.  That was last January of course and I'm happy to report that I've gone at least four or five times since.

The bad, hacked-up layer in my hair compliments of a free haircut coupon at Great Clips two years ago finally grew out enough that I could get a decent haircut again this year.  Cost Cutters proved much more fortunate this time. (Even splurged and went without a coupon! Go me!)

I managed to change the oil in my car every 5000 miles as recommended by the factory requirements.  And by changing the oil, I mean taking it in and sitting patiently in the waiting room while someone did it for me.  Oh, come on: you know you always push that limit yourselves and the patient part is really an achievement.

I seriously, seriously contemplated using my passport.

I made it a goal to eat more fresh meats and vegetables this year instead of pre-packaged frozen meals, again in an effort to better my health. I'm happy to report that most months I managed to consume them too before they all spoiled.  The one month (only one!) they did (early last summer; it was hot and my electricity got cut off) and I ate them anyway, I didn't even get sick.  I think that was the turning point in my year. Things were looking up!

I never once unexpectedly ran out of toilet paper and had to use coffee filters in a pinch.  (If you remember my letter from 2004, you know what I'm talking about.)  Of course, it's because I can just take it from work now*...but what a lovely extra perk I have at a job that I've managed to hold down for more than three months for a change.

And I even wore matching socks a couple of times! 

So with this year coming to a close and all these accomplishments of which to be proud, I can't wait to see what 2013 might have to offer next.  Dare I say it might even be the year that I stay up past 11pm to watch the New Year actually come in?  Guess you'll have to wait until next year's letter to find out!

Holiday blessings to you and yours!

Stacy

:-)  


[Now, before anyone really get silly on me, of course this is all in jest. I made up all of the above -- except that haircut layer; that seriously was a doosie! -- and am actually really happy about 2012.  Maybe if I get inspired, I'll do a part 2: the Real Letter I would send if I had half the motivation and drive that my friends do who send these. :-)  In the meantime? Hope you all had an amazing year and realize even the smallest bits of happiness that came into your life this year are worth celebrating.]

*I don't condone theft.

Morning people suck. BUT.

I understand that most people are not morning people.

Surprise! I'm not really either.

It takes a lot to be friendly to folks I see before, oh, 10am or so.

But I still say "good morning" to people with a little smile (even if I'm thinking to myself: don't talk to me until 10, at least)  when I see them at work or at the gas station or in the grocery or at the tollbooth at 7am.

And then just go about my own self again.

Is it really that hard to do that for a fellow human being even if you're not really feeling it?

Is it wrong to fake it?

I don't think so.

Come on, people. Fake it if you have to.

Smile when you don't want to.

Greet someone kindly.

Especially if they do first.

Because even if you're grumpy or half-asleep or have your mind on other things?  That ONE SECOND in time that it would take you to say hello or good morning or have a nice day?  With a little smile or even?  A few hours later you would have done it in earnest.

You know you would.
 
And maybe I'm a little jaded here. Because I DO say "good morning!" to my colleagues or neighbors or friends and sometimes they just grunt back at me. And they don't respond because they're not morning people.  I get that.

But.

How hard is it, really?

If I were President...

IF I WERE PRESIDENT...



1. All wine would come with screw-off caps.

2. Or in a box.

3. The day after election day would be a national holiday so we could all celebrate or mourn properly.

4. All cars would come with a switch that automatically turns your blinker off if you drive completely straight forward for more than a mile.

5. The art of cursive handwriting would still be taught.

6. And each letter learned would be awarded in chocolate.  Or an orange.

7. You'd be able to go to the grocery store and buy eggs in singles, much like you could apples or tomatoes or "choose your own 6-pack".

8. The #2 pencil would be abolished.

9. Refillable pencils as well, for that matter.

10. Shoot, ALL pencils.

11. Except colored ones. They can stay.

12. Warm climates would have imported snow once a year for a month so folks there could experience the joy of building a snowman.

13. Cold climates are OK on their own. Global warming and all.

14. We'd get stickers for everything! Not only "I voted", but "I got groceries today!" or "I picked up the dry cleaning!" or even "I had a good poo!"

15. Hurricanes, earthquakes and tornadoes would be outlawed.  They'd be slapped with a fine if they showed up.

16. People who wake you up by vacuuming before 8am will be mandated to come do your place as well.

17. Chocolate (or oranges) will be distributed with every paycheck.

18. No one would mess with Texas.

19. Everyone would mess with France.

20. And vouchers would be handed out for anyone who didn't have a sense of humor so they could possibly understand mine in a post like this.

Happy Election Day, my friends! No matter what the results tomorrow, may we all remember that we're all in this together and 11/7/12 is a Coming Back Together to support the amazing country where we live. God bless!

September. I want you. Really?

I just entered the month of September thinking: thank God that August is over.

Which is weird.

That's never happened before.

Ever.

August is my birthday month. Woo! Should be fun. Right? It was. Always is!

(was painful, too, but we're not going there)

It's also my darling nephew's birthday month, my parents' anniversary, the heart of the summer (my favorite season) and, this year, the month I fell surprisingly back in love with one of my best friends again.

So why do I want it to be over?

Weird.

Right?

But for the first time in my life, I'm wanting to go forward into the most horrible season ever after my most favorite one.

I actually WANT to go into the season that gets cold and close and suffocating to me.

Into the season I always feel less like myself and the most sad.

Because it was the season my Daddy got really sick and died.

As I was holding his hand even.

When he did.

And I was.

His last words to me when he was lucid was that he was proud of me. When he had no reason to be proud of me at that point, if I'm going to be honest here.

No.

But I think he IS now.

No.

I think he was then.

And.

I KNOW he is now.

Maybe that IS why I can want the "horrible season" as much as I do?

Hmmm.

Maybe. But that's a thought for a later date. And the next entry here.

Because this is the great thing about writing and having a silly little blog space and a place to just spew out words that you think mean nothing when you start writing but end up being the biggest something ever.

A realization you never knew.

Crazy cool, isn't it?

A prime example of why I love my family

I give you, my friends, a conversation that can only happen with my aunt:

Her: So how about that Wisconsin guy that Romney picked for his running mate? You know, Stacy, you won't be getting any social security or medicare or medicaid or anything if they get elected.

Me: Bah! That's okay. The way I live my life, I'm sure I'll never be old enough to collect on any of it anyway.

Her: (laughing) Well, they do say only the good die young.

Me: Exactly!

Her: (pause) You know your Mom and I are the only two left at our age and we're both over 70, right?

Me: Yup. Which should pretty much tell you both how good you are, no?

Pause....

And the next few minutes was just her laughing.

Seriously. My family rocks.

Ten Random Things That Made Me Happy Today

1) Waking up to a fresh-air, non-air-conditioned bedroom because it was finally cool enough to turn it off last night.

2) Ducking into my destination the very moment before the first raindrop hit.

3) Hearing an old song on the radio I hadn't heard for a while and still being able to belt out every word.

4) Receiving a sweet birthday card from a relative who never ceases to put my age in quotes between the printed "Happy" and "birthday;" lest I forget, I guess.

5) That no less than three colleagues wished me an early happy birthday knowing they were going out of town and won't be seeing me again until after it occurs...and I didn't even know they knew it was coming up!

6) A frustrated gentleman who seemed so appreciative and gave me a huge smile and wave when no one else let him into traffic and I did.

7) That it took until today to hear that "Call Me Maybe" song for the first time.

8) The way the O and the G in the Kroger sign smiled at me when I walked in today.

9) When I take a day away from the office, as I did on Friday, that I'm actually shown I was missed and appreciated: even told so.

10) Finding a leftover egg roll in the fridge I thought I had scarfed down Saturday night but was actually hiding in my beer cooler, er, vegetable crisper.

All little things, but when you add them up, it makes for a verra [sic] fine day. And on a Monday even. If there were 11 things on this list, I'd add: the technology, ability, cognizance and chance to be able to do this all again tomorrow, God willing.

Saying Goodbye

Throughout our lives we say goodbye. From the most difficult times, like the death of a family member, to the most sentimental ones, like turning over the keys to the first car you ever bought on your own when you get a new one, life is full of goodbyes.

I just had to say goodbye to my little boy Oy. My dear kitten -- who I call a kitten because he was my little Peter Pan: never "grew up" (in that he was always an indoor critterlove and always had that kitten mentality: four-legged parents know what I mean) and was always so sweet and energetic. But he's been sick for over two months now and went away this weekend off to heaven. If all dogs go to heaven, all cats do too, right?

I don't remember a time on my own that I haven't had a furry companion. After college, I lived with a roommate and she had a cat named Easter. Big Tori Amos fan, she was. So when I left her to move to Atlanta, I knew I wanted that in my life, too. Always lived with these loved ones growing up. In college, I did not (for obvious reasons: they don't allow them in the dorms, for one. Though I did have fish and a killer albino water frog once) but as soon as I was able to again, I did.

And I suppose our years together make up for the extreme sadness I feel right now. I might be able to actually believe that sentence in a little while. Right now, it's a little hard.

When I lost my Sammy cat here, I couldn't look at his pictures for a while. Now I can and be OK, but I couldn't then. But at the same time I also had dear little Oy who helped me not realize the sadness to the extent I am at this moment for the very fact that he was there. I could tell for a while he was sort of distraught back then too: where did the big orange daddy kitty go? But because of that loss, he became much more loving and always wanting *to be there*; a role Sammy always played before that since I had had him first. We were a comfort and blessing to each other in that way.

And so we got on. And moved on. And my little trouper Oy moved from home to home, place to place with me. I really think where I am now, he came most alive again in all the 15 years I was blessed to have him. He purred constantly. Curled up on my shoulder and tucked his little chin against me as I fell asleep. Loved playing with his "fishy toy" and greeted me at the door every day I'd come home from work. And every time I crawled into bed, wherever he was at the time, it would only take a few minutes to hear his "click click" feets [sic] across my hardwood floors to come to me, jump up on the bed and curl up with me for the night.

I have amazing friends. I told only a couple of friends what had to happen this weekend (and the fact the vet agreed gives me so much comfort) and the outpouring of support has astonished me and brings me to thankful tears even as I type right now. Wow, do I have an amazing support system. And I have to give special credit to an amazing man in my life who actually drove us, me and my baby, to the vet so I wouldn't have to go alone and subject Oy to his hated cat carrier; I was able to hold him instead. With Sammy, I didn't know who I could ask. I felt I had to do it alone so I did. It was such a blessing to find out that I didn't have to this time.

Sadly, and I feel horrible -- but I didn't realize at the time that when this same man had his own kitty years ago that I somehow unfortunately picked the same exact place he had to do the same thing himself back then. Right there, in that same room, even. Oh, how horrible did I feel! But he stayed there with me until the time where he knew the last moments I needed on my own with dear Oy instead.

Because when I had the same experience with Sammy, I couldn't do it. I couldn't be there, touching, holding him in his last moments. I always regretted it. How selfish! How scared was I (the first time I ever had to alone), but wow, how selfish too. So I promised my Oy earlier that day when I was waiting for him to come by to take us that I wouldn't do that. I would be there this time. And I was.

And I was there, my hands on him, for his last breath two days ago just as he was for me every time I fell asleep or laughed or cried and he somehow knew I needed him. And I hope he knew, even in slow sedation, that I was there for him at the last breath too. Well...his second last. He was already asleep via sedatives and I just didn't want to see or feel the last one and the folks at this place were so amazing to my needs. As were all of you who knew what was happening or found out shortly after and are here for me.

I'm not the first to lose a furry little loved one. I certainly won't be the last. But to have someone there this time to fold me up in arms and show me I wasn't alone meant the world. I didn't have that the last time. And I also know this time, with all the kind words and support I've received since, that I had any number of y'all who would have done the same darn thing for me had I only asked. I truly do like to think that Oy probably knew that too and was OK to go in his sweet little way because of it.

I went to lunch that afternoon with my friends (planned over a month before), knowing what I had to do afterward. I almost cancelled but for some reason decided not to instead. I realize now it's because any one of those folks -- or even all of them -- would have dropped the rest of their afternoon plans to come with me if I had only made mention of it. Maybe both me and Oy needed to know that. And it made it so much easier.

I don't like to name people by name here just because I like to respect people's privacy. But I want to thank everyone at that lunch that day, the dear who held me, my friends who helped me just have fun and forget for a little while that same evening (and the evening before), my colleagues and sorority sisters and friends who said: "just tell me what you need" when I was just wanting to apologize for my attitude and appearance today. I want to thank the friends who actually told mutual friends when I couldn't and, even though it made me tear up, it meant the world to get a little text message saying, "whatever you need." And the family members who are friends and the friends who are family who I know in a heartbeat I could call right now and they'd answer. And the friends and even acquaintances who distracted me with sweet, funny stories of their own or troubles of their own, not even knowing or asking why I looked so horrid today...because it didn't have to focus on saying goodbye just yet.

Because throughout our lives we say goodbye. From the most difficult times (like the death of a family member) to the most sentimental ones (like turning over the keys to the first car you ever bought on your own when you get a new one), life is full of goodbyes.

How blessed I am that I know I will never have to have a single one alone again if I don't want to. Because of all of you.

My apologies, dear MARTA.

MARTA? I love you now.

I've been talking about how much I love living here in the heart of the city, how I can park my car and just walk anywhere. But I never really realized until today how convenient MARTA is for us in-city folks too. It almost makes me wish I had voted yes on the TSPLOT issue. (Heh. Almost.) *grin*

I had an appointment in downtown Atlanta today and though I know Midtown like the back of my hand now, Downtown still kind of makes me nervous (even though it's only 2 miles away!). I drove past my appointment place on my way to work today just to see where it was. There was just SO much, so many buildings and offices and weird street turns and bright lights and all that to this non-acclimated girl. But knowing the general area after that, it gave me a general idea that: Hey! There's a MARTA train stop somewhere there. Somewhere real close, even. I think?

Time to learn these things, chica.

So when I had to go to my appointment hours later (after driving by hours earlier and knowing my geography), I took a chance and ditched my car and high heels for flats and walked the few blocks to my well-known train station just blocks away instead. And I got off at the station that I thought would be the correct one. Maybe? Hopefully? And realized after I did? I only had to walk about another five paces tops (no joke!) to get to the building I needed. Score! MARTA? Thank you.

And then a few hours later, back home safely and easily from that same system, I planned to meet up with friends and wanted to have a beer or two. I know I could drive there easily (have before). But planning to have a beer or two and if I didn't have to? Why even do it, right? So I took a chance that if I figured it out once, I could do it again. I walked back to my now beloved MARTA station, waited for my train and woah! Low-and-behold! Randomly ran into a friend who was going too! To meet the same group at the same place...we both ended up at the same station at the same time to catch that train, too, neither of us knowing before then we had both planned to be there tonight. But somehow got there at the same time to catch the same train.

I love living in the city.

An extra bonus is that gentleman friend? Who I seriously ran into randomly on my way there? Also left with me at the end of the night too. And we seriously could not shut up talking the entire way home. Such an unexpected pleasure. One I could not have had alone if I had chosen to drive there -- in my car, alone -- instead.

So, yeah. I apologize, MARTA. You're not all that bad. You're even pushing GOOD.

I even talked with a nice lady on the way home from my appointment earlier in the day. She took the seat next to me and warned me about the panhandler who stepped on who (in her words) "is always on this route!" And we ended up talking about other things too. Just life, the Olympics, her kids...for all of my two stops. :) All of these places today were only two stops from home. But for those two random stops this time, I met a stranger and just *talked.* And we both even laughed once or twice.

How often do you do that in your car alone?

In a world where we just drive in our own cars from here to there and wonder why we can't meet new people or make new contacts? I'm beginning to love again the unexpected bonus a public transportation system can actually mean. To meet new people or learn how much you really like the people you already have in your life? Seriously.

I'm so going to use you more often, my friend.

My apologies, dear MARTA.

Next week I may even try your buses. *grin*

Maybe.

Writing just to write. Hope it works.

Ha! Leave it to my little brother to hold me accountable. He’s very rarely online, very never on Facebook and we don’t email or talk too often. Quality, not quantity with us. And, oh, he’s got me twice this week. Once in email and once on the phone just today:

"When are you going to blog again? I keep looking…."

Gak! And he’s right! It’s July for pete’s sake, which means my last blog was months ago already. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Once I stop, I feel like I have Absolutely Nothing to write about and it’s so hard to get started again. Which is what I’m facing right now, looking at this blank paper so to speak, wondering what on earth to say. So we’ll just say, I guess. Write and get something out so I can get the juices a-flowin’ for next time.

It’s been 14 months since I finally moved my sorry ass back into the city and I could not love it more. Sometimes when I’m just sitting on the couch watching TV, I’ll look up around my dinky little apartment with its crazy mismatched wall art and ancient furniture and giggle. Yes, out loud, I giggle. That this is mine (albeit rented) ; this space is mine, no matter the silly state of it. And sometimes I even kick my feet up and down on the ottoman in glee, then go back to watching TV, usually having to rewind (do you rewind a DVR? What do you do with it?) because I lost that entire minute to euphoria.

I love Atlanta, I love my friends, I love (most of) my life. The part I don't? But egads, I gotta tell you, kids: dating in Atlanta sucks. Or, I take that back: I’m just a passive-aggressive magnet, I think. I know plenty who date very successfully here. But with me, it's weird. Even folks who come on in a good way at first end up being that way with me. I. don’t. get. it.

Last fall I joined a free dating site to meet some folks. I wanted to meet someone, sure. But at the time too I thought it’d be something fun to blog about (I've since deleted that blog). But ohhh did I come up with some doozies then! Like the guy who told his kids all about me before he even met me himself. Or the uber religious one who took issues with me being a non-denominational Christian instead of an “actual faith.” Kid you not. You can’t make this shit up. Soon after that, I actually dated a couple folks for a little bit and recently have been spending social time with a fella I really enjoy, so I really completely forgot about the dating site most of the time. I never deactivated my account because I didn’t care enough to, frankly. I’d get email messages indicating when I’d get a private message and sometimes I’d glance over them, most times not. Never responded to any of them. They were mostly from folks who were nothing like what I said I was looking for in my profile and wrote things like: “Hello. How R you?” and stuff like that. Yeah, no. (What part about being a grammar nerd in my profile did you not understand? Oh! You didn't even bother to read it. Fair enough.)

But last week I got a message from an interesting enough fellow. He looked nice, seemed put together and used grammar correctly. So I decided what the hell. I wrote back and it was a nice exchange. He asked for my number but I suggested we just meet for coffee instead. I have found there is nothing worse than a huge build up of texting or talking and wondering if there’s any chemistry and then finding out after all that there’s not. Meet over coffee for an hour; see if there’s anything worth pursuing, right? And then move it to the phone from there.

So he happily agrees to coffee. It was to be this week (er, am I ruining the ending with the tense here?), sometime in the afternoon where I can take a break from work and just meet up somewhere. I said any day would be fine, just let me know. He asked about meeting for a beer after work instead, but I thanked him and told him my week was too crazy to meet after work. In reality, it was for two other reasons: I’m on a diet and didn’t want to make it a meal/alcohol thing, but more importantly, I also wanted an “end time” to this meeting: an excuse for either of us to get out of it after a brief meeting. If we liked each other, we could always meet again, right?

Yeah. Nearly every day since then, he’s asked if I wanted to go for a beer. Even today, on a Sunday (not sure why that's important, come to think of it but) he asked me if I wanted to go grab some beers this afternoon. *Sigh* No. No, I do not. I WANT TO GO FOR COFFEE. During the work week. For an afternoon break! Like I thought we PLANNED. Only now? I don’t want to anymore. And this may seem really obnoxious of me, to want to cut it off this quickly, but I’m bugged by it. What was wrong with the original plan? I don't understand. And how much beer do you drink anyway? (haha kidding, that's not a problem) When I politely declined today, I finally actually asked: "does coffee not work for you anymore?" And his response was: “yes, this week works.”

Aaaand that’s it. Nothing more, no plans on what day or where or whatever. I’m really sorry if it makes me old fashioned or whatnot, but I ain’t making all the plans on a first meeting. I suggested the idea in the first place (which, quite frankly, should have come from him, but okay....) and it was seriously a pitch right over the plate for anyone who might be slightly insecure or nervous too. Easy to answer, “great! I know a couple really great coffee places where we could meet. Is Wednesday good for you?” Or whatever. Not four offers to get a beer somewhere instead.

You know, I know it's worked for many o' folk, but I'm going to guess right now that I don't have much patience for a dating website. Deactivate time!

UPDATE: 2 DAYS LATER....TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Just as I was starting to feel a bit hasty....

Message: Want to grab a drink after work today?

Seriously. You can't make this shit up.

Friendship 101

I've been thinking a lot about friendships lately. Lord knows I haven't been as good a friend to some of those who have been to me, and maybe that's exactly why I've been thinking about friendship so much lately. Specifically just who has been there for me through thick and thin, good and bad, without asking anything in return. And how, wow. I'm so lucky/blessed/privileged/lucky (did I say that twice? yes) that they were. And still are. Even when I didn't appreciate it. Or, more so, reciprocate like I should have.

I really do understand now. I do.

But to be completely honest, I haven't always thought this way. And it's my own fault. I didn't always choose wisely. And when I was making those stupid choices, I know I overlooked those who were always there for me when I was obsessed somehow with the ones who weren't.

For example, I'd date people who would always join me on vacations or family outings, but then let me sit at home far away from my own family on holidays while they spent it with their own only 10 miles up the street. Or I'd be ~closerthanthis~ to a good girlfriend who never even thought to invite me to a family picnic or birthday party because it was, well, a "family" thing and I really wasn't family after all. I get that. I do. But it still hurt. And somehow I always let those things and those people upset me and hurt me instead of just understanding that's what it was and who they were and I should really just let it go and appreciate those on the flip side of that.

Because, since I've moved here (15 years ago today!), I have always had others in my life who did do just that. They were the ones who were right there to invite me to a family Thanksgiving and when I didn't feel comfortable going and understood would bring me over a plate of food on their way home just so I didn't have to microwave a Swanson dinner and eat it on my own. (Dear Quinns, I'm talking about you now, whether you ever read this or not!) Or they were the ones who knew when I lost my job years ago that were the first to call in sick the next day, jump in their cars that very night and say: "I'm taking you out; you're going to deal with that *tomorrow* instead" and drove out to wherever I was just to be with me and make sure I was OK. They are the same ones, to this day, that I know I can call on right now -- whether we just talked last week, have plans tomorrow or haven't seen each other for years -- and know will be there for me.

I see those people now. Why didn't I then? Why did I (why do we?) concentrate on the people who let us down instead of those who build us up?

I can honestly say that the people who have let me down over the years I've forgiven. If that's the right word even. (If folks are just being themselves, do they need forgiveness?) Amazingly, most of them are still in my life now and we do have relationships. I'm not sure I'll ever think of them the same way as I did back them when I needed them now that I don't anymore. (No. In truth, I never will.) But it's all water under the bridge. The thing that upsets me now is not them anymore: it's myself.

Because for as much as others have disappointed me, I must have disappointed other friends as well. Probably tenfold even. These are the ones who needed me when I was so fixated on others who were disappointing me instead. Who had their own lonely holidays or birthdays or life changing moments and I was so fixated on those who weren't there for me that I wasn't there for them.

I want to tell all those people that I'm sorry. I want to say I've changed.

And I do believe I have.

But saying is different from doing, so I'm vowing now to DO instead of say. It took me a long time to realize it, but I think I'm finally beginning to understand who are my bar friends, my now-and-again friends, my mostly-there friends and my always-there friends. And I'm truly understanding who and what I need to be for each of them too.

Because they are, afterall, all the same thing no matter the descriptor: my FRIENDS.

I think I may, finally, be able to pass Friendship 101.

Oh Atlanta!

I know, I know. I am constantly going on and on about how much I LOVE this city, LOVE my place, LOVE my life.  It's probably a tad annoying, I bet.  Usually when I read someone talking about something this much I actually doubt them.  Like, if you really liked it that much, do you need to talk about it so much? Are you trying to convince yourself that you do?

In this case, it's so...er, not the case though.  And you folks who have known me over this past decade and a half know it.  For the rest, I'll explain.

I loved picking up and moving to Atlanta - 15 years ago next month, actually. Wow.  It's not that I disliked Wisconsin or my friends and family there.  It's not like I felt an overwhelming need to go someplace else. I bet I could have been happy there, too.  But when that chance came for me that seemingly lifetime ago, I remember also not hesitating to just GO.  That although I had nothing bad to say about Wisconsin, there just might be something else out there and, well. Why not?

I remember telling my Mom I was thinking about going, and thinking about it now, knowing the "thinking" part was really already done.  It was just five months after my Dad died and I had been spending a lot of time with Mom just in that my siblings all were at college or with their family hours away and my apartment was only 20 minutes down the road.  We went to one of those Greek restaurants: you know, the ones that have the most awesome open-faced roast beef sandwiches?  And I sat across the table from Mom and halfway through the meal told her I needed to talk to her about something serious and life-changing.  I don't think she had any idea what I was going to say.  I don't think she even knew I had already flown to Atlanta for an interview and had an offer.  How could she?  We were still dealing with Dad's passing too, afterall.  I remember feeling all grown up and confident on the outside but still a little kid on the inside, hoping what I was going to say would make her proud of me and needing her assurance that I was doing the right thing.  I would be moving almost a thousand miles away, afterall.  Without a partner, on my own.

My Mom listened to my confident, rational voice as I explained the opportunity that had been presented to me and why I felt I needed to take it.  Looking back now, I know she probably also heard my fear and nervousness behind the bravado.  When I finished talking, she put down her fork, looked at me and paused for a moment.  And then said one word.

"Go."

It was all I needed.

So I moved here -- big girl now! Big city!  But I'd always lived on the outskirts of the city.  When I first moved here, I had an "Atlanta" address but was a good 15 miles or so from the real city and closer to the suburbs.  I was very close to work and that helped.  I was told that people often get frustrated with Atlanta because of the traffic issues here.  Since I didn't have to deal with that, I never experienced that frustration and instead found it nice.  It was like back home, kinda. Only with better weather.   And I was fortunate enough to actually know people here before I moved: two other colleagues who got offers, too; and friends I had known through an internet group (and, yes, actually had already met in person a few times).  I was OK. I was happy.  I was learning my new home.

But as the months turned into years and I started to explore my city, I realized I wasn't really a city girl.  Yes, my address actually said "Atlanta, Ga. 30341" and I took pride in that when I wrote letters home and scribbled my return address in the upper corner of the envelope.  But I wasn't really in Atlanta.  I wasn't that big city girl.  I wasn't Mary Richards.  Or even Rhoda for that matter.  

After a couple years, I got closer.  Got to a closer suburb with a great little rental condo and a job that sustained me.  Even got a boyfriend or two along the way.  I was becoming that single, amazing, independent city girl...but not quite.   And then the economy collapse happened.

I lost a job.  Moved in with a friend, got another job. But because of said economy, the commute was horrid so I moved even further away from the city than I had ever been before.  Learned to love my life there, but more out of necessity than really wanting to be there.  A couple years later, that company folded and I moved again: equal distance from that big city I wanted, but still in a place where I found new friends, enjoyed my work and had a good life.

But I still wasn't Mary.  I think the one thing always missing was that I really, really wanted to be Mary.  

Last year, it finally happened.  I found a job with a company that I know will not fold because the niche market we serve is thriving and that I actually enjoy.  I commuted from Way Far Out for a year just to make sure of it and then realized: it's time.

Through a friend, a year ago next week, I found the cute little place I'm in now, in the heart of the city.  And I became Mary.

It took me nearly a decade and a half, but I am now the Big City Girl I wished for myself when I sat across from my mom at the Greek diner that night.  On Friday nights, I park my car and don't move it again until Monday morning's work commute because I can walk everywhere I want: to restaurants, grocery stores, clubs. If I can't do that, I can walk all of two blocks to what passes for our subway system here and jump a train to meet friends instead.  I can throw a bag and the blanket my sister brought me back from Mexico over my arm, like I did last week, and walk the three blocks to Atlanta's "Central Park" (actually designed by the same family who did New York's, yo!) to curl up under a tree, read a book and take a nap. And I can have nights like I did tonight.

A friend told me this week that she was having friends over to her front yard tonight; she set out chairs and tables and bottles with colorful drippy-type candles. Bring your own beverages; I'll have snacks, she said.  I told her I was in.  Today, another friend told me she was "on her own" tonight and had nothing to do for a few hours. I responded: "well... let me tell you what's happening...."

All of us live within a few blocks from each other.  Because that's where I am now.  I'm Mary.  We're all Mary.

We gathered.  I saw friends I hadn't seen in years (literally, not figuratively) because I had been So Far Away.  But after champagne glasses and Leinenkugel-filled solo cups, the laughter and stories flowed. I didn't have to go to a bar or a club or drive to some remote location and worry about a thing.  Oh no. I had to walk *across the street* to a friend's front lawn for this gathering.  Because that's what you do when you're centrally located.  That's what you CAN do.... when you're home. 

And I'm finally home. :-)

A woman showed up tonight that I hadn't seen in a year.  She reminded me she still had the books I loaned to her then and didn't forget that she had them and would get them back to me.  I joked I knew where to find her if I needed them.  [Seriously, though: books are meant to be gifted to those who would love them. I don't care if I ever get them back.] A couple showed up tonight that I hadn't seen in probably four or five years, given my time So Far Away and I so enjoyed seeing them again.  My aforementioned friend who had had no plans? Is now out singing karaoke with the folks from the aforementioned front lawn and having a good time at, yes, another walking-distance bar from all our homes.   

So if I go on and on about how I love my life and how I love my silly broke-down apartment and love where I am and how life is now?  I'm actually not trying to convince myself of it.  I'm just that joyful that I can't keep it in.

I'm finally Mary.

I'm home.

God bless Atlanta.   :-)

BirthdayGANZA

It boggles my mind sometimes to realize that I have a group of friends who have been in my life for so long and still make me laugh as hard as I did tonight, already counting the days until we can all meet up again.

Born out of an internet Listserv of two decades ago (yeah, today's youngins would have no clue what that is) and at at time where we could say "we met on the internet" and got clueless looks as opposed to scornful or freaked-out ones, the chances of this not only happening but lasting this long is really nothing short of glee-worthy. And not that silly show. Sheesh! Who on earth would bond over a *TV show*, anyway?

I just got back from an evening with these folks. It was great that Aron had a birthday (er...13 days ago) that gave us an excuse to gather.

Some thoughts from the evening, before I forget them:

1) As I parked, I Foursquare-checked in (um, do you know me?) and to no surprise saw Phil was already there. The shock was that Jacki WAS too! Ohmygosh. Now, that would never have happened fifteen years ago. ;-)

2) Even Anne made it on time - with 3 minutes to spare! Holy cow! Do I not know these people anymore?!

3) One of the best lines of the evening came as we were discussing movies. Someone dissed on "Gladiator" and the response was: "hey, I liked Gladiator! (pause) But, then, I like movies about gladiators." Laughter ensued. I'll let you guess who that came from. [Hint: wasn't one of the girls.]

4) There were some tender moments, remembering and talking about lost friends. We're nearly 20 years older than when we first met, but we're still far too young to have to be discussing lost friends our age. Jacki raised her glass and sweet toasts to those on our minds.

5) Keylime pie was claimed for Stacy, for Spain, for France (that fork quickly fell over; go figure) and then got in our bellies. See photo above. France is obvious. :)

6) I'm apparently vertically challenged. Aron's the oldest of all of us. Viggle is going to be Jacki's and Phil's newest obsession (you're welcome) and the quest to find the first weeping angel is on.

7) BBC really needs to have us for their marketing team. Seriously, wouldn't Oods make a perfect string of Christmas lights?

8) Scott is by far one of the most clever, funniest men I have ever met. No wonder he and Jax have just celebrated their 15th Anniversary and still going strong. He makes me laugh like there's no tomorrow and we all know there is one. Well, at least until the end of the world comes in December, that is. What's wicked cool is he makes himself laugh too. I SO tried to capture him laughing uncontrollably tonight (it was something about a pie. And it's love for me. I think. Heh. I think I'm finally understanding it, actually).

9) And, no, Phil, I did not find a Democrat in the Kroger parking lot and turned him in. I know we Republicans can be brutal, but we haven't started roundin' up our opponents for exportation yet. (But thanks for the idea! I'll start talking to my people.)

10) One of the best things about the evening (well, for us; probably not them) was all the evil glares and glances, the "evil eye" half the group got when walking out the door. Yes, because we were loud (hey, it was already loud in there) and we laughed uncontrollably. Repeatedly. I guess in the future we *could* ask for a private room (or they'll just learn to put us in one), but my joy from this doesn't come from annoying others but realizing that, deep down? Their annoyance was probably rooted in a little envy. To look at a table of six very different, very unique individuals who were not drunk, not even really that obnoxious, and think: wow. What an amazing group of friends that must be over there. I wish *I* had that.

Because it's what I'm thinking right now too. I wish everyone had what we had tonight.

The greatest thing for me tonight is that I had not one drop of liquor while with them and I still laughed so much my side kinda hurts right now. :) It's that "good hurt" - you know, the one your personal trainer will tell you you'll feel the next day and you pretty much just want to punch them in the face? Yeah, that. It was only as I was driving home did it occur to me to think they might have thought I had a DUI or something and that's why I wasn't drinking (gasp! Stacy not with a drink? OMG, things HAVE changed!). ;-) Haha. No. It's because I knew I didn't NEED it with these people, these amazing friends. And I AM often insecure enough that I DO need a glass of wine, a cocktail or two to loosen up. Not with these folks. I love that.

(Oh, and, shit, let's face it: I could NOT have been on my game with Mr. Scott up there in #8 if I had been. Too friggin' clever for his own good, that li'l shit is.)

The thing is: with this group, it doesn't seem to matter how long you've been apart or the ups and downs you've been through or anything else: it's always like Coming Home. And this was one homecoming I had truly been looking forward to and wanted to remember every moment of so I could write it now, here. The whole drive home, I had a grin on my face. And the little geek in me couldn't wait to get home, even if it meant having to leave them, just so I could post pictures and write about what a lovely, lovely evening I had. Because I never want to forget.

Thank you, my companions, my friends. I'm looking forward to many more of these in the future.

Kamlesh

Kenny. Kamlesh. You Bastard.

Son. Friend. Colleague. Gentleman.

Gift. Treasure. Blessing. Love.

The world lost an amazing heart, a truly special human this week when the gentleman above left our world for the one that comes next.

You may have known him by one of the names above. You may have known him as more than one; maybe them all, even. I'm going to guess that most of you who know Kamlesh even have more words to add than I just did. That's just the man he was.

I almost feel a little like a fraud writing an entry about Kamlesh when I haven't seen him in a while. I almost didn't write this because of that: for fear of folks thinking that I had no right to write about a man that I haven't seen in person for a few years now. But I wanted to anyway, because of that very fact: that he was just that rare type of person that you actually could go years without seeing each other and still feel close to him. Because he always had a way of making you feel close, even if you weren't physically together.

Even though I didn't get to be with him lately in presence like we had for many years, we always still kept in touch on social sites and shared private messages and emails about things that mattered, or things that made us laugh or things that were just plain silly. I always thought that was just a way to keep in touch until we could get together again. I always thought that would happen.

And I still know it will.

Someday.

I have memories of Kamlesh that, even now as I'm tearing up writing this, I'm laughing too. Like the time that his best friend Phil took me out to this specialty running group with him and Kamlesh actually looked at us after our first time doing it and told us he had actually been doing it for years and was crazy tickled we were now doing it too. We were all surprised! But happy! So we all ended up in Wisconsin, 900 miles from here, 6 months later to do a run there together. And then others after even.

And then there was the time, on many a Thanksgiving potluck, that Kamlesh would bring the extra special something. After a few years, he asked if he could make the turkey to help us and we were so happy to let him have that task -- until, when he saw the instructions to "wash turkey before baking" and thinking of salmonella and all, decided to wash it with *anti-bacterial soap.* You know, to make sure everyone would be safe and healthy and not get sick, right? (Yeah, is that not Kamlesh, seriously? Thinking of others always?) But, heehee! One of my favorite memories to this day is the sight of that turkey, bubbling in the oven. He was sheepish and even a little bit horrified about it, thinking he ruined dinner; I found it adorable. Phil did too. Kamlesh so did not ruin dinner; instead, he made an amazing memory for us all that we'll never forget.

Everything about Kamlesh is unforgettable like that.

When he laughed, you couldn't help but laugh. If you were in a down mood, his very presence picked you up. Everyone has bad, ugly or down moods: but I never ever saw one with this gentleman. He had just as many challenges as the rest of us do in life (if not more), but he never let them affect how he was going to live out his day or treat you when he was with you.

For example: it was nearing my birthday once and I was unemployed, poor, in a bad place. In a funk even. I had mentioned once in a group setting how I really just needed to get myself out of my funk and at least start working out again. I very barely knew him then. But the next day? I got a brand new beautiful Eddie Bauer gym bag (in my favorite color no less -- that's Kamlesh, he knew!) on my doorstep with a little note of encouragement that I'd get over "this time I was going through." I still use it to this day.

That's what Kamlesh is, though. He's everything I said in the opening of this blog, but so much more that, even as a writer, I can't put into words. He knew how to make a person feel special and unique and precious and worthy. And it's because all of those words I just wrote exactly explain him and his soul.

Special. Unique. Precious. Worthy.

I'd say rest in peace, my friend, but I already have a feeling you're not resting, dear Kamlesh. You're watching over all of us and still making our lives a better place even if you're not here with us. It's who you are, afterall.

One amazing man.

Ode to the Lost Art of the Curse (er...-ive)

Today, January 23, is "National Handwriting Day." I know this because each day I start my morning by posting something like this on my Facebook page: it's either a celebration of the day, something that happened in history this day or sometimes a combination of both. And then I go research and investigate it before posting. Yes, I'm just that much of a geek. I guess it's the "teacher" in me, wanting to educate in some small way.

So I started with this today (and the photo above):

"Your handwriting is an excellent method of identifying you or your documents, as well as conveying feeling and personality in your work. Unfortunately, in today's super busy world, for most people the act of writing is slower than the act of keyboarding, so it's slowly becoming obsolete.

I say: let's not lose the ability to communicate more personally! Computers are great, but the act of learning to write plays a special part in the development of young brains, and is a great way to convey warmth and a personal touch to the recipient of your message.

Today is National Handwriting Day. How about we celebrate with a handwritten note or card to someone?"

And my friends, as always, commented brilliantly on it to help me think even more about it than I had just then. I guess they educated me, too. (I have some pretty darned good friends.) And as I wondered what to write about today, I knew this was it.

I understand that times change and technology is often the focus of that change. And technology IS good. Hey, I adapt to most of it pretty quickly and easily, even if not immediately. I embrace it even. But sometimes technology is not always a good thing. Families gathering around a radio to listen to programs and talk about them together in front of a roaring fireplace turned into families sitting in front of the TV instead, eating off TV trays with parents telling junior to "move your head and quiet down" because they couldn't see or hear the box. Do I want to go back to the day of no television? Heck no. I love my TV. But can I reminisce about a time that wasn't even a part of my life and imagine how specially unique and now completely lost it probably is? Yes.

And that brings us back to the cursive handwriting.

It's quickly becoming a lost art; and I do mean art. Each of us who grew up with sharp #2 pencils in hand and that tell-tale paper in front of us were taught to do our lettering the exact same way. Oh, and that paper! With its series of strong dark lines and softer dashed ones half between! You knew your lower cases had better meet the dash our you'd get points off your penmanship grade. You knew the letters with "tails" had to come down a certain distance below the solid, oh! but not far enough to affect the letters in the next line! And you knew darn well those i's and t's better be dotted and crossed absolutely correctly. It was a skill, folks. An art they were teaching us.

And, yet, a few years later it was OK to make that strict cursive writing into something of your very own. You may have still done the capital Z properly or enjoyed doing the little "hooks" on the big S and F....but no one ever stuck to "the Q as a 2." (Am I right?) Everyone who learned cursive handwriting the exact same way also somehow then adopted it to their own style, too, and it was allowed. It's like folks speaking the same language but adding their own dialect. We all learned the same words; we just pronounce them differently...but still could understand each other.

Which we can do in a typed word, of course. But where's the personality in that? The thing is: the understanding is important, sure. But the *personality* was just as important. You can put in writing a personality that you can't do with a keyboard. Sure, you can pick different fonts to try to illustrate it (there's a comic sans joke in here somewhere), but it's not the same.

Within the past year I came across my old journals from college and I was both amazed and tickled to see my own handwriting from 20 years ago: what had changed, what was the same. It was interesting to pull out book after book and see my moods and dreams and emotions just by how I formed the letters: big and loopy, small and slanted, no matter what words I was even reading. I think I would still appreciate my old journals today if they had been typed, but there's something much more intimate in reading them in the art form of the letters that really were what brought those words initially to life.

I heard today that this art is dying. I think I already knew it, but the comments from my friends solidified it. Many schools are not even teaching it anymore because it's becoming "antiquated" and folks now type faster than they can write. It makes me sad, even as I embrace this fact: afterall, I'm typing this blog instead of writing it, yes?

But as I said in my Facebook entry, it got me to thinking. Thinking about, say, folks a few decades from now, coming across their great-great-great-great-grandfather's WWI letters back home to his beloved, all ribboned and boxed carefully up in an attic somewhere that no one ever knew about and not being able to curl up on the couch and read them without a translator two generations older there because they *can't read cursive* on their own.

[On an aside that illustrates this? On my last trip home, I found some of these same sort of letters my Dad wrote to my Mom even before they were married. Oh! To see my now-passed father's handwriting! And in sweet correspondence with my Mom! Oh, you cannot get the feelings I had as I read them in a typed-up, printed-out letter, folks. You just can't.]

So, yeah. I get it; I do. I think the only thing to which I can relate it for my own generation is the lost skill of shorthand now. I know Mama knows how to do it. I'm sure some of you may even. But when I was in school, it was no longer taught; there was no need for shorthand anymore with new developments that let you record or click keys or whatever else faster than that. I now wonder if anyone felt the same way about the death of shorthand as I do now about the death of the cursive hand?

And so I will keep writing, friends. I'll keep typing to you all here, of course, but I'll also keep writing my letters, postcards and journals. It can only "go away" if we let it go away. I think it's an art form worth cherishing. If it has to pass, it does. But I, for one, will be hoping for a slow and peaceful death.

I'm boiling eggs. Just because I CAN.

When I moved into my cute little apartment last May I was warned by a friend and wicked close neighbor "gas here? expensive!" It's the deregulation of this utility about 10 years ago in the ATL that did this. It was supposed to help folks: give us a choice who we wanted to provide our gas service based on pricing, right? Yeah, unfortunately, the *piping system* is still owned by one and only company. And so gas prices took the opposite turn: they're redonks.

The only thing in my glorious little apartment that needs gas is my stove/oven (heat is: but it's radiator gas controlled and included in rent). I'm not sure what's the difference between a stove and an oven. Is the stove the top and the oven the inside? Either way, it's gas. And either way, it would cost me $40 a month just to have a line in, even if I never used it. So either way? It's now just a storage unit; extra shelf space.

Now, folks. Contrary to popular belief, I like to cook. I do! I just don't often cook just for myself because, well, it's just myself. But I do like to cook. But I also do not like to pay that fee every month PLUS whatever gas I use on top of it when it just seems outrageous to me. So, being me, I got creative.

Convection ovens? Oh yeah, that does casseroles, pizzas, anything the "oven" would do. So I bought me one. Soups and stuff? Microwave. Had that. Stews and chili? Nice big crock pot. Had that, too. But the one thing that I missed -- that I couldn't do in ANY of that?

Hard boiled eggs.

Dammit!

Oh, I do so love me a good hard boiled egg. Add the devil to that and I could eat them up like there's no tomorrow.

So, finally, after all this time (8 months and 10 days, to be exact), I finally got myself one of them little coil burner things this Christmas. You know, the ones that were "illegal" in your college dorms? And Mama sent me home with two pots I still remember her using when I was just a youngster.

So I'm making a batch of hard boiled eggs now.

Because I CAN.

Oh, it's SO game on come Easter!

O Tannenbaum: to my dear Aunt Angie

My parents did the best thing ever for me when they got married: they moved out of the little Pennsylvania town Mom grew up in and settled in Milwaukee instead. Not sure if it was by conscious choice or because of the fact that in the mid-60s, a woman followed her husband as opposed to a man following his bride.

Now, I don't think anything is wrong with that town. I love that place. My family is still from there and around there and I am blessed to have my roots there. I'd be proud to say I was from there. But I'm not. And this is not about that. This is about my surrogate aunt.

"Aunt Angie" was one of my Dad's best friend's wife: they lived right down the hill and across the street from our home growing up. Aunt Angie and Uncle Les were not related by blood, but they were still my aunt and uncle. At that time in the 70s, in the Midwest? Their proper titles: Mr. and Mrs. Ermis? Was too formal. Because they were family, after all. So instead of calling them by that, Mom and Dad told us they were our Aunt and Uncle. Angie and Les were then and will always be my aunt and uncle, and mean as much to me as those who are by bloodlines.

I learned just a few minutes ago now from Uncle Les in an email that Aunt Angie passed away yesterday. It's a blessing and she's in peace now. I just got off the phone with Mom to make sure she knew too; she did. And it got me to thinking about how my "Aunt Angie" was such an amazing, loving substitute for the ones I had living 800 miles away I rarely got to see. She didn't ever try to take the place of them; she just filled the need I didn't have because of geography.

Angie was German-American and spoke in an accent and language sometimes my siblings and I would giggle about respectfully. She could not pronounce my Mom's name, for example: "Dorothy" sounded like "Dordy." We'd decorate cakes for my Mom reading "Happy birthday, Dordy!" and Angie would laugh over it, knowing we weren't mocking her but almost lovingly including her in something silly to laugh about.

I still remember one time when I was in second grade and the church wanted us to learn how to sing "O Christmas Tree" in German. Why? I have no idea. But Mama reminded me then that Aunt Angie was German and so for weeks I went down the hill, across the street and she taught me how to sing "O Tannenbaum" in her language. After weeks of practice, I was so proud to know I could go into our Christmas pageant and actually sing the entire darn song in German.

Unfortunately, no one else bothered to learn it. And I was afraid to sing it on my own. Um, I was in second grade, afterall.

But? I can still sing it now. :-) I took Spanish for 5+ years and can't even speak that as well as I can sing this German song. Because of Aunt Angie.

And I'm going to sing it tonight, whether out loud or in my head...or both. I'm blessed in a million ways to have known her and thank my parents for giving me that. I wonder sometimes still if Mom feels guilty about having to distance me from my biological aunts and uncles because she moved 800 miles away to be with Dad to provide me a better life. I hope she knows, no matter what, that she gave me a huge huge blessing in her sacrifice to allow me to have Aunt Angie in my life too. Rest in peace, my dear, dear Aunt. I look forward to seeing you again someday.

Welcome, Mat. Happy you're in a *secured building.* :-)

We were young. Silly. Stupid. Obnoxious even.

I was 19 and she was 17 when we met; she turned 18 a month later and I turned 20 a month after that. We happened to meet on accident/coincidence/divine intervention that summer. From two different worlds we came: I was a college student who grew up three hours away. She was from Stevens Point, a new graduate from high school. We answered the same ad in a newspaper (back then, in 1991, it was newspapers, not Craigslist, kids) to share a broke-down house for the summer for $250. Not a month; the entire summer. It was 1991, afterall.

We were underaged but we still drank (gasp!) -- I know, right? Harlots! And we'd walk from our brokedown palace on Union Street in Stevens Point out to the Square with $2 in our pockets, knowing we could get boys to buy us drinks. And after, with sweet little kisses on their cheeks (not so much harlots afterall!), we'd stumble home through the back of the Shopko parking lot since we were always too smart to drive drunk. And, well, we didn't have cars.

On the way, we somehow fixated on folks' welcome mats. Don't know why, don't know how. But it was a college town and we knew the difference between the locals and the college students who got the crappy ones for free. So our game (to keep us awake? sober? vertical until we got home and crawled through the window?*) was to "take" someone's welcome mat...and then switch it with someone else's. We never really stole one in that sense (er... Bartles & James sense anyway. Remember: it was 1991!)... everyone who had one at their door the night before still woke up with one again. Just maybe a different one.

And so when she gifted me with this one this Christmas? Oh, hells yes, it's incredibly awesome. It's a little fox saying hello. But it's also a throwback to the summer we met: two girls on paper who had nothing in common and had no reason to ever meet. Except by accident. Or coincidence. Or, as I really believe, divine intervention. :-)

Love you, my Sue!

*story for another day *grin*