Why I'm Voting Republican

A repeat from 2008, but worth it. Thanks, Joe.

Promise Me You'll Always Remember

"Promise me you'll always remember: You're braver than you believe, and stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think."

(Christopher Robin to Pooh) -- A.A. Milne

Note to self.

September 12 of 12

Again, I'm late. Meh.

These pictures were all taken on Sunday, September 12, 2010 in Seattle, WA. Do it next month.

The back yard and pond from the upstairs deck.

This unbelievably incredible book that I'm (slowly) reading.

Rudbeckia blooming in the backyard. Summer and fall flower.

Lantana. Tropical-ish, one of Scott's favorite plants. Purty.

The yard and house from the end of the yard. Kali would like you to throw her toy for her, please.

Kitty's memorial.

Rusty, falling-apart pink flamingo wind ornament we got in Hawaii a few years ago. I really do like it better the more it ages. Kitschier.

Gardenias, which don't bloom in Seattle. Heh.

Lots of happy koi in the pond.

Looking at the yard from the deck. The light is much farther south these days.

Your host, Me.

We had hoped to be a part of this flash mob today. Maybe next time.

Thanks for visiting my 12 of 12. Y'all come back now, here?

Stunning Music.

I wrote a paper on this piece, way back in college when I was studying music ... the "Enigma Variations" by Edward Elgar. I'll let you Google it if you want to learn more about it ... but this is, hands down, my favorite movement. Lyrical, sad, pensive, heavy, powerful and uplifting. And the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, my hometown orchestra, whose sound can fill the earth like no other (in my biased opinion).

Four minutes and twenty seconds long. Spend that much of your life experiencing this.

But I Don't WANT Summer To End.

I know, as you get older summers get shorter and shorter and shorter ... as a kid there seemed to be almost endless days riding bikes and going to our lake house and swimming and playing and and and and ...

This summer never seemed to even really get here. A lot of it was the weather - cool and cloudy for far too long, and a few short bursts of furnace-like weather ... but the summer things never happened. No swimming, no picnics, no camping. Part of that is my own fault, for not planning ahead and for letting other people at work have their vacations while forgoing mine. Scott wasn't happy about that, but neither was I, not by a long shot. I'm old enough that I should plan ahead, should make sure that things happen the way we want them too, to have our springs and our summers and our falls and our winters be perfect and full of what those seasons are supposed to be full of ... but, daily life drags us all down and suddenly it's September and the sky has changed and the light is so much further south and the garden spiders are out and we realize that the tomatoes aren't going to grow any bigger or redder than they already have. And we start planning for fall, for clearing out the gardens and taking down the hanging baskets and getting out the candles and cooking indoors more than grilling outside. We close the windows at night, clean out the furnace filters, prepare to buy chrysanthemums at the nursery instead of basil.

Part of me - a big part of me - welcomes this time of year. It's always been my favorite time, in an odd way. I like the cool weather, the leaves turning colors, the back-to-school, something new feeling even as parts of our world are dying. It's also the season that my Mom died, and that my Dad died, and of sadness and loss and some of the loneliest days I've ever felt. Why do I like this season that's coming up, even with all of that?

I turn inward this time of year, more than I usually do. I find different music, I crave books to read, I live more in my head than usual. I batten down the hatches, try to think of ways to get us through the next few months, continually examine ways to make things good when it's dark and cold and wet and ... well, scary. Maybe this is the year that I'll actually remodel the downstairs bathroom. Or take out my clarinet again, hoping it isn't cracked beyond repair from so much unuse. Or draw, or write, or ... I don't know. Something.

Something ...