Joy

Happy Birthday, Aidan Morgan.

NaNoWriMo

Finished, finished, finished - FREE.

Definite Truths

"Fortunately, I have an odd character defect, common amongst those of us who indulge in the sciences...I never, ever throw anything away.'

- Volyova as written by A. Reynolds.

Possible Truths

"You and I we're like 4 year olds we want to know why and how come about everything we want to reveal ourselves at will and speak our minds and never talk small and be intuitive and question mightily and find god my tortured beacon..." Ms. Morissette

Reasons Why

Framed

Forensic

Evidential Proof: Some little person has been using the camera.

The Shakes

I think, after roughly six years on an SSRI, Rian's body has become entirely addicted to it. They say you cannot, but I do not believe this. They also say go off it very slowly, or beware of side effects.

This, to Rian, sounds like the weaning of an addiction.

Four years ago, Rian could forget a day or four without a problem. A year ago, Rian could forget a day or two before the tingling, sick stomach and dizziness set in.

Now, a skipped day and the next Rian is good for very little.

The mind may no longer need it, but the body apparently does.

Eight Arms

NaNoWriMo. NaNoWriMo. NaNoWriMo.

What with Thanksgiving approaching and four pies and winter galas and Harry Potter and Art Night and Science Night and Someone Else's sudden two week work 'vacation' to Arizona, the word count is getting very tight.

Rian does not think I can even splurge enough to pull paneling off this week, and I am so close.

I wonder if I can convince bob to type 'Spiderman' endlessly over and over again while Rian swears at baking pies.

But perhaps that would be cheating.

No Bones About It

http://www.comcast.net/news/strange/index.jsp?cat=STRANGE&fn=/2005/11/11/262040.html

Possible Truths

"What is that cheese doing?"

- A.M.D.

Dizziness

Aidan has made a friend at school. So, in the way of all good parents, Rian hitched up courage and arranged for a play date. This can be a dangerous endevour first time out, especially when a child is three and a 'friend' is someone to toss Matchbox cars at.

But Rian rather enjoys this new child's mother. So we did the dance, yes, and set the time and Rian arranged to bring Aidan and his new friend home for an afternoon earlier this week. The evening before, his mother phoned.

She has MS. She has had, for seven years. But only in the last week has she felt any symptoms, going from perfeclty normal to numb and unable to walk. She is taking daily IV treatments for the first time since her diagnosis.

"Can I pick him up after my treatment?" She asked, sounding timid. "Can you keep him for two hours? I am SO sorry...But it would be so much easier than making him sit through the IV."

I think I have been shocked since that phone call. Not at the MS, but at the surprised desperation in her voice, surprise that I would take her child for a scant two hours and a desperate need to believe that Rian did not mind.

I did not, of course. It was a very small thing. And for once Rian knew exactly the corret, easeful things to say.

Memory

So, then. The minister....and Rian always wants to say 'The minister's cat...' spoke about his very first funeral, as a vicarage student.

He said he was not supposed to be called to attend, but there was an unremembered emergency, and the senior priest was unavailable. So our Pastor rushed off to the funeral home, where he was met by a frantic mortician.

"I am sorry I cannot stay with you," the mortician said, "but I have another appointment."

The Pastor was a ttch confused, and relieved, as he rather did not want the mortician about. Then he stepped into the funeral home's small chapel and realized why the mortician was so upset.

It was just he, and the body.

No one else showed for the elderly woman's service. Alone, forgotten, outliving loved ones or far away from the home she'd grown up in?

The Pastor said he was depressed for months afterward.

Rian heard this story and felt strangely tangled. On the one hand, the very idea of RIAN's life and death in celebration makes one...makes me....feel faintly ill. I would rather pass quietly and unnoticed.

On the other hand, NO creature wants to be entirely forgotten, or unmourned. To pass from this world with not even a little fanfare, leaving no marks. What a horror. Where is the purpose in that? Where is the hand of Fate?

All Saints

Rian attended an All Saints service this morning. Twas poignant, and lovely and beautiful in a sad, somber, dripping wintery way.

The wind is blowing today, angry clouds passing back and forth, low on the horizon. Inside the chapel, the sun sprang through blue stained glass and then greyed away. Sprang and then greyed, the imagines of shell and water darkening to stark in the glass each time the clouds rolled overhead.

In the changing light the minister read the names of the year's dead and rang a bell after each pronouncement. The bell, handheld, rang deep and true, a piercing, vibrating lance to the heart that tightened the throat.

An acolyte lit one votive for each name. In the pews and about the giant organ souls wept quickly, stifling sounds beneath handkerchief or pinched fingers.

By the end of the service the chapel was mostly shades of grey, even the stained glass gone muted. The wind blew loud outside and the candles, several bright with rows, danced back and forth, the only life in the room.

Possible Truths

"Words are the most powerful drug used by mankind."

-Rudyard Kipling

Torte

Tis admittedly hard to find the energy to put word to blog when one has been struggling to fufill word count all afternoon.

However. Rian is an arrogant creature and I enjoy talking about my Self to my Self.

So, in brief. Rian, tonight, is going to a party full of wild creatures, drink, dessert, and mildly smutty board games.

Rian fears I shall be tempted...by the chocolate. Yes?

edited to add: Ah! Perhaps Rian shall bring Emma's TimTams!

What Was Rian Thinking?

3/4 of the paneling torn away and things become interesting. Must the window casings be removed, midwinter? What does one do with the radiator? And the baseboard heater?

Rian has today smashed one knuckle and cut another finger. Why does it seem childish to moan and groan about a project one jumped into feet first?

Ah, well. Rian is stubborn. Rian shall Triumph.

Whistle Whilst Ye...

http://www.nanowrimo.org/userinfo.php?uid=83582

Fire Breathing

http://www.juggling.org/help/circus-arts/fire-eat/fire-eat.html