ARRRR! and GRR Martin's Name Day

It's finally cool. AC is off, windows are open. Allergies are annoying and I've caught the snotmonster bug that's going around, but we've made it through another Summer without fire or flood or dragons swooping down on us. Now comes the slippery, wet leaf-strewn path to the holidays. I've already started shopping, but that's because everyone lives elsewhere and things need to be here whenever the people are. Strider is so busy I haven't seen her since last November! Billy will probably be here for Thanksgiving but not Christma-Solsti-Channu-Kwanza-Yule. I think I'm done making dinners. If he comes up, we'll go out. Or we'll order the take away meal from Chelsea Royal. Ach, Fall brings all the "what to do" into the house on little cold papery gusts.

First, though, is Halloween. This is my season. Horror movies, cold dark nights, whistly winds. The trees seem to change color and drop their leaves faster every year. That lovely smell of death and decay just before we reach Stick Season. Which is a stark beauty of its own. And then the snow...

What a strange week this has been. Last Friday my old friend Bruce came by, up from Atlanta. I hadn't seen him in 31 years. He's old now (I haven't changed a bit, cough). We haven't been in close touch, he was more a friend of my Mom's, but it was like I'd seen him yesterday. He brought me a signed copy of his book, so I asked him to sign the one I had bought to Fr. Thomas and I'll get that in the mail. What a nice man. It's a bit odd to fast forward from the relationship we had decades ago. I was 17 when I met him, 24 when I saw him last. He was the 13 years-older-than-me, sophisticated, Wharton MBA, upper west side, gay Adonis who taught A Course in Miracles. Now I seem to have caught up to his age and we spoke as equals. Curious how different that is. We skimmed through all the years; our work, our loves, our moves, our losses. It crossed my mind it may be the last time I see Bruce this lifetime. That's fine, we're okay.

Of course I was rooting for Scotland's independence. But rooting for Scotland to do anything in their own best interest is pretty pointless. Like being a White Sox fan. It occurred to me it's like the first union drive at the co-op. It didn't make it, and there was much disappointment. But a few years later it reared its head again and this time people weren't afraid of it. And the second union drive worked. Maybe it'll be like that.

Beest abides. She has her issues, but she's turned into a mostly sweet and only sometimes psycho mushpot. I do wish she'd stop chewing off her belly fur. She looks like a cow.

Everyone else is doing well, just the same old sagas of life. Hilarity, boredom, stress and grief.
 
While writing this we've passed from Talk Like a Pirate Day to George RR Martin's birthday. Monday will arrive, bringing the Autumn Equinox. Scott Fitzgerald's birthday soon, too.


"Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past."- FSF