Today, I'm grateful for

friends.

(who use vacation days to spend time with me.)

(who teach me yoga.)

(who teach me fun.)

(who put up with my clumsiness.)

(who cuddle me.)

(who gather around my table.)

(who let me hold their children.)

(who help me to celebrate.)

(who help me to cry.)

(who help me to love myself.)

(who trust me enough to tell me their secrets.)

(who are gentle with my secrets.)

(who think a quick hug from and 15 minutes with me is worth a trip out of the way.)

(who make me tea.)

(who drink my wine.)

(who listen to my story.)

(who let me hold them.)

(who read my blog.)

(who wonder what's up when I leave my blog mostly untouched for 5 months.)

(who are willing to work things out with me.)

(who cook me dinner when I'm sick or sad or there.)

(who keep in touch.)

(who keep me grounded.)

(who keep me.)


I'm grateful for friends, whose love is an experience of the divine. Thank you, friends. Blessed be.

Hard Times; Not End Times

So Kevin and I went to this thing a few weeks ago. It was this big thing. BIG. A-zillion-and-a-half-people big. And it was loud, and hilarious, and inspiring, and fun. Fun!!

And sane.



I'd love to write something profound about the experience, and I've been trying for weeks to come up with something, all the while depriving you all of our awesome pictures. So I'm just going to post pictures.

Rockin' literary references abounded.

So did Waldos.

And gay terrorists.

And beautiful, beautiful people.

(I couldn't keep my eyes off this woman. There was just something about her.)

And peace, and love.

Here I am, looking oh-so-sane.

And here's my handsome husband, putting on his most rational of airs.

This is Shag, our excellent rallying companion, from whose shoulders I took most of these pictures. Shout out to Shag! Thanks man!

The Roots (from Philly, yo) performed this, and it was incredible. Sorry, YouTube didn't have a video of the performance.



And this makes me cry.



Oh, yeah. Cat Stevens was there and did perform "Peace Train." Sort of.



And I love this man. I love him.



It was good, friends. Crazy good.

One Ugly and Two Beautifuls

I'm thinking of reviving my advent-season Beautiful Things series, beginning this morning (yes, I know, Advent starts on the 28th). This afternoon, I'll be sitting in a courtroom, looking on as a privileged white man passes judgment on a broken, wounded woman for making an unwise choice when she thought she had no other.

And my job is really hard right now, and I have some Stuff coming up.

So I'm trying to cling to the beautiful. This morning, a friend made it easy.

First, there was this. You can't not swell with joy.

And then there was this.
Let us all partake.

Please, oh please, read

this.

And then, please, let's all try.


What would your sign say?

Holy Mother of All Coolness, I JUST GOT TO PLAY WITH A MONKEY!!!!!

So, I stop at Menard's to pick up a full-spectrum bulb for my office lamp. I'm standing in front of rack of batteries because I need one for my ... nevermind ... when I look up and I see one of these

sitting in a cart, drinking from a bottle, reaching his bitty gray hand toward me and chirping.

And I reached back, and he took my hand and started talking to me. And his owners let me play with him for like, five solid minutes. With their monkey. I just had a five-minute-long conversation with a monkey. He fiddled with my fingers and kissed my hand, hugged my arm and tickled me with his tail.

A monkey. A monkey at Menards on a Wednesday night in Warsaw, Indiana.

Holy Mother of All Coolness.

Just Call Me the Rodent Whisperer

Rachel, you might not want to read this post. You've been warned. ;.)

Back in September, a friend of ours came to stay with us for a few days, just to hang out. She lives two hours away, so visiting generally requires an overnight stay.

A few days before her arrival, as I was merrily preparing the house for her, this thought invaded my consciousness:

I bet Calvin will catch a mouse, the first night Kendra is here. I hope she's okay with mice.

Huh? What the?? Friends, there is no reason why I should have had this thought. We don't have a problem with mice. Calvin has caught exactly one mouse in the three years we've lived here. But have the thought I did. And then I finished dusting.

And she came to us, hooray! I'm blanking on what we did together that night, but surely it was lovely. And then, we all went to bed, she in our room downstairs and we in the library upstairs.

The next morning, as I lay in bed in the dark, languishing and happy, I heard

Rustle, rustle.

Rustle.

Clunk, rustle.

Clunk.

Clatter, clatter.

Clunk-rustle.

Oh, Calvin. Such a pill in the morning when he wants to be fed. So, up from my grave I arose, and down the ladder (our house has a ladder to your house's stairs, because it's cool like that) I went. Close the bedroom door, turn on the lights.


Aaaaaaaand this is what I saw:

Mommy's little hunter.

Oh, mother nature.

We watched him play with it for about half an hour before scooping the poor dear up into a shoebox and liberating it to the out-of-doors. Calvin refused to speak to us for exactly 20 minutes. K slept through the whole thing and appreciated the photos, as I figured she would. She's pretty dang tough.

So, apparently, I am mouse-clairvoyant. My fee is $129.95, plus travel expenses, for a complete assessment of whether your cat will catch a mouse in your house in the next few days.