goodbye, old year

It's official: I'm home from my Christmas vacation. Well, actually, I was home last Thursday, but have not yet found opportunity to spend time with my neglected blog. For some reason, I had quite a bit of work piled on my desk when I returned to the office on Friday. Funny how that works.

It's still there, in fact, so I'd better make this brief. Very brief. In fact, I'm leaving now.

Ok, ok, I'll leave you with one more little bit o' stuff.

With the blanket of snow we have, the darkness of night isn't quite so dark. It can be a little spooky--it's so quiet; most of the birds and critters that usually provide background music are gone until spring. When I turn out the lights, the loudest noise I hear from my bed is the refrigerator on the other end of the house, or the furnace in the basement.

The other night, when I went to bed around twelve, I clicked off the lamp but left the radio on for a few minutes. My eyes adjusted to the dark. When I at last rolled over to turn off the radio, I automatically looked out the window at the head of my bed. I clearly saw the dark shape of maple tree that I usually see--and two shorter shapes that did not belong. It took me a moment to realize what I was seeing.

Deer. Two deer were grazing in my yard at midnight, on a lunar landscape of softly-glowing white. When I woke the next morning, I could see the little patches of ground that they had cleared of snow to reach the still-tender grass beneath. Crazy.

Happy New Year

sound forth the trumpets of yule!

Well, it's a good thing I'm firmly in the holiday spirit, for today I struggle through the joys of flying and make my way cross-country to the Seattle-Tacoma International airport, to be met by my parents and swept up into a joyful week of holiday gluttony. I love Christmas. No big surprise for anyone, I know. I love it all--the making presents, the baking--the eating of the baking--the music. Yes, I love Christmas music. But not all Christmas music, indiscriminately, never fear. I particularly dislike the modern pop songs that really don't have anything to do with the actual holiday.

There are way, way too many Christmas break-up songs.

I don't even know where to begin when criticizing that one. So I'll just say one thing: if your relationships hinge on Santa Claus, you're in big trouble. Get professional help.

Though the image of Santa bringing down an errant boyfriend with a tranquilizer dart and stuffing him into the big red sack is somewhat amusing.

But I'd rather sing songs about Jesus. And walking in my winter underwear.

Merry Christmas from the Wonderspools!

supposition

So come on, then, and make love to me
the old-fashioned way,
with the flash of your eyes and the tender
press of your hand.

With really bad poetry, even.
As long as it’s from your heart,
and makes me laugh.

And we’re outdoors, in some suitably inspiring scene—
Beach, at a clear summer sunset.
Or moon rise over the darkened tree line, our breath misting the air.
In the fresh green grass, lying dizzy and stained from rolling downhill.
The sparkly creek, watching minnows explore our toes as we wade.
Snowball-fight aftermath, when we’re cold and wet and bedraggled
and laughing too hard to run anymore.

So come on, then, and make love to me
the old-fashioned way,
with a handful of forget-me-nots from the back woods
and sweet, sweet, tiny wild strawberries.

the great fork mystery, part one

Because they never should have quit making "choose your own adventure" stories...

Once upon a time, in the far, far away kingdom of Baker, a tiny tragedy plagued the lives of noble and peasant alike.

The forks in the kitchen were steadily and surely decreasing in number, and no one knew why. Castle folk found themselves forced to forego food requiring the use of the utensil. The ladies in waiting began a soup club. The stable hands learned how to spoon their steaks. The great king of all the land proclaimed that great reward for the missing utensil would be offered—a tower of books that reached high into the sky, high enough to loom over the castle and threaten to topple in stiff breezes and rain paper upon the whole land.

"Perhaps the forks have begun a southern migration." The steward hypothesized. "They prefer lots of sunshine."

"Or the heated dishwasher has fused them all into spoons—there are a plenteous quantity of spoons," answered the housekeeper.

"I think the blue dragon has been hoarding them in his cave," said the second squire. "He likes shiny things, you know."

But no matter where these good folk searched, the forks could not be found. The scribe circumspectly sent notice to the neighboring kingdoms, and secretly smuggled forks would pass the Baker borders and be sold covertly in the dead of night for absurd quantities of gold coin. These were kept securely hidden by their owners, whose began more and more frequently to lunch in their own private chambers, where none could see—and envy—the use of the rare utensil.

The king became more desperate. "Whatever shall we do?" He cried to his queen. "First we became unable to twirl our pasta, and now, our people grow unsociable and taciturn. And all because of these missing forks!"

The queen calmed him as best she could. "We must simply persevere, my good king," she said. "Perhaps there is a solution we have yet to discover that will solve our woes…"

What could the solution be? Send in your own conclusions!

alternate reality

living on tootsie rolls and cream soda
continually intriguing myself with an acoustic guitar
doing push-ups until my arms give out
my cat coming to trek across my back