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The Wall

"...And we hope the same." Post up on Redleg Nation. 


At Home

Josh The Pilot is gone a lot, and when he is gone, I miss him. Now he's home for an extended time, which is wonderful. Shelves go up. Grass gets mowed. I have someone to say "It's thundering," to when it thunders. This is why I married.

But as most of you know, Josh The Pilot and I are in a mixed marriage. I avoid watching videos on Facebook, and he loooooooves them. He rolls right through his timeline and into Top Videos For You, followed by what's recommended by his watching habits based on his activity on Top Videos For You. Today I sat down to plow through some work emails, and in the first four minutes overheard the following: 

-a man talking to a goat

-airplanes making airplane noises

-someone playing the theramin

We will prove the naysayers wrong, however. He usually doesn't say a thing when he sees me drinking flavored sparkling water, which offends his very being. 


As Usual

New on Redleg Nation:  Exhausted, injured, limping, Halloween candy in the grocery

(I greatly appreciate the heartfelt comments and feedback on this piece. It means so much when I hear you out there. Thank you for the opportunity to have a substantion, non-yelly conversation. It can happen!)


The Burning Building

"The history minor in me was furious when I heard this story. 'How did that happen?' I demanded of a co-worker who, unlike me, was alive at the time, and who understood.

“'People got out of there,” he explained, “like it was a burning building.'”

The rest of the story in a new post on Redleg Nation.


Listening to Dean Martin Breathe

I don't particularly want to be here right now. A few days ago I was at the shell of my alma mater, the contents of which were for sale and the taking. The large Mary statue that stood at the apex of the sweep of a double marble staircase was now flat on a dolly in an overheated room that was-- a classroom? An office? It was carpeted, and the walls were bare. Electronics carcasses were strewn about. I'm not sure what that room's function is. It is, now, unnamed and unknowable.

At the moment I would rather not be in a city that has seen such things. Any escape hatch is financially closed; the house Josh The Pilot and I now own has leaks in the walls, in the pipes, in the old and rusting bathtub. They are manmade failures, expensive little streams that stink and mold and decay.

My preferred boltholes, Colorado Springs, Manitou Springs, show forth living waters from the earth. In Manitou, the water bubbles right out in the middle of the sidewalk and on corner lots from fountains fashioned on the spot the springs were discovered. It is in no way forced from this river or into that sewer. You bring a cup or a bottle or your hands to the stream and bend your head right where it decided to go. It's a natural pressure and sometimes the water table inhales, the stream recedes a bit, but then the earth exhales again and the water burbles up again, heralding itself with a chortle. The water its on its own time and you will wait for it. These towns were named for no man, but the land itself. 

The alternate is the green leaves of the Midwest. I'm working outside in the damp and fading heat of summer, grasping at the remaining chlorophyll, listening to Dean Martin take a breath. He's inhaling while singing "Nevertheless" and he chose to use that breath twice-- first to keep him alive, then to send a lovely lyric to the microphone. It's right between "Somehow," and "I know at a glance." He's working hard. The breath is technically in the wrong place going by the sheet music, but he's Dean Martin and he wants you to know that he knows at a glance.