It is risen

I got me a fresh sheet of virtual paper and I roll it into the carriage...

I think I’ve been sick of typing. I’ve even found it difficult to effectively do e-mail, and that is one of the few ways to reliably get ahold of me. The FaceBook, 2-3 sentences and I’m out, has been de rigeur around here.

It was a really harsh winter around La cerise de chateau, maison du fumeur de detente. So right now forsythia is like the breath of the atman made manifest on earth.

I had a really, tremendously, bad bout of infection that started just before Thanksgiving. For the most part I missed all the holidays. On Thanksgiving itself I was too sick to even walk next door. About a week of 104 fevers. Since then it’s been a long, slow, road back.

I popped into UBU’s one of the very first good days, that was a good thing, getting out, into town, having lunch. Now I have have to pop back and give him back the books I bought as well as a few additional. I find myself in the market to get rid of, in some cases sell, books. That is something I’ve never been good at at all. It feels pretty free to be in a place where I can let a book go deliberately as opposed to losing it.

I’m ready to let more things go.
I have started sorting out anything I don’t have a pretty legitimate claim on to be sent back. I’m watching the hoarders and I don’t want to be there or leave that for someone else to deal with. Keep the precious and let the chaff blow away. That’s the new mantra. There will be a porch sale this year.

The influence of confluence

Here’s two examples, one minor but interesting, the other terrific and fabulous.
Yesterday after posting my earworms, I was watching a western, there was a scene of a church raising and surprise, the congregation was singing “Shall We Gather At The River”. Mmmm hmmm.

The other needs a little background.
This year I sent out precisely twelve Xmas cards. I never, ever, send out Xmas cards. But I was given a packet of them as a gift, and on my way to throwing them in a drawer where they would have mouldered for twenty-five years I thought,
“ well that’s just stupid, I’ll just send them out and be done with it, besides they came in a kinda cool box I can use for some baked good Xmas gift.”
So I picked 12 people who either send me cards every year and I never reciprocate, or whom I don’t stay in touch with by mail because I have these really weird issues with mail. I can’t deal with it. I just hate it as much as phone. This sometimes bleeds through here as well, as you have probably noticed. I just have this periodic, temporary paralysis. (I don’t know the plural of paralysis).

Anyway, one of the people I sent one to is my old pal, oh, let’s call him, Quakey McAspen. I had given up on him well over ten years ago when it seemed apparent he had either decided he hated me, or his woman hated me and often that equals the same thing. Nonetheless I had a wish that somehow we could reconnect. He was such a completely quirky freak of nature. You just don’t meet those often and losing one is a real loss. I really missed him.

Last night, just as I was settling in to watch Coronation Street, the phone rang. I didn’t budge from the chair as everyone who knows me knows that you don’t call me between seven and seven thirty on a weeknight or between seven thirty and ten on a Sunday morning. I did, however, cock an ear at the machine. Lo and behold it is Quakey McAspen himself. I flew to the phone, we started yammering and the next thing I knew it was well over an hour later. We were finally wrapping up and making dinner plans when I said;
“so you saw in the card that I got a jenky little degree and...”
“Card? what card?”
“The Xmas card I sent you, isn’t that why you called?”
“You know Stella I have this weird thing about mail, I can’t deal with it, I never look at it, I never saw any Xmas card. I just missed you.”
Mmmm Hmmm.

2nd round am earworm

I was trying to take a double dip of sleep. But all the phones in the house were ringing off and on and on and off. Therein is the issue of the modern age, particularly for the phone-a-phobic, now there is frequently 3 or more of the bastards to harass you.
So anyway, as I was trying to nap, WAR was playing in the cranium. Not Low Rider or Cisco Kid, not those usual, not even All Day Music or The World Is A Ghetto which are some of my favourites but I’m An Outlaw which is just a little dubious at best.