Happy Father’s Day


source: http://tamunews.tamu.edu/tag/moon/


Hey Dad,
I know that we didn’t always get along. Our stubborn, stubborn tempers would clash and voices would be raised. We argued, or didn’t speak, or just passed small talk back and forth for a long time. In spite of all that, I never ever thought or belived for a moment that you didn’t love me. Sometimes, there wasn’t much like going around. But love was always there. We eventually reconciled, for which I am grateful.
I hope that you knew that as a wee tot, I idolized you. I pretty well thought you hung the moon, standing on a step-ladder and laughing that big laugh of yours. Nobody knew as many jokes as you. Nobody was as giving or as willing to help anyone through a rough spot. Nobody could listen as well you.
You had faults – like all of us. Humans, eh? We are what we are. Still. You were a pretty good egg.
I guess I just wanted to say that I still miss you. That I wish you were here, to see The Girl growing up, to see the Twinlings and the Bear. I wish that I could sit and chat with you about things, again.
I wish I could hear you laugh.

I love you,


Wherein I Use My Powers for Evil…

…and totally make a mash-up of Auntie Mame and Dune.
I just want to remind readers that clicking on the links is like seeing a bit of the chaos that lives (and sings, musn’t forget singing – Oh, no. Musn’t.) in my head.


I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.



Wanna hear something really stupid?  I often fear what people might say or think about me.

According to some of my recent Psychology professors, that makes me both narcissistic AND paranoid. Awesome.
I don’t truly think that this is the truth of the matter.  I think it’s more a case of how I was raised, what I think of myself, and how I insert into the world at large.  That’s not the whole of me, though. That’s not the bits what matter.

I am an adventurer. I am Bene Gesserit. I am Irene Cara singing her heart out and assuring you that you ARE gonna like and remember her. I am a woman with a box unfolding in the top of my head, letting in possibility. The Sleeper has awoken!

Source: http://pantsareterrible.blogspot.com/2010/10/dune-mecca-of-awesome.html

And not just because a sexy man wearing bits of a car tire stepped out of a steam shower.

OK. Maybe a LITTLE.

Can we just pause here?









Moving on.

Like those women and adventurers in Herbert’s books – I am ready to test my mettle. To put my hand in the box and see what I can do. See what I am capable of. To see if I can end a sentence without a preposition. no, apparently not.




Life is a banquet someone wise1 once said. It’s time to eat it up!

Source: http://www.neatorama.com/2011/06/30/dune-in-candy/






For she is the Cracked-Up Had-Enough. ;D 
(ooh, maybe the profs WERE right!) 
1Mame!  As in MAME!  I’m gonna live forever! I’m gonna learn how to fly! High!

Continental Shift

Our age is retrospective. It builds the sepulchres of the fathers. It writes biographies, histories, and criticism. The foregoing generations beheld God and nature face to face; we, through their eyes. Why should not we also enjoy an original relation to the universe? Why should not we have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun shines to-day also. There is more wool and flax in the fields. There are new lands, new men, new thoughts. Let us demand our own works and laws and worship.
  -Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature

Big changes percolating, m’friends. There are whole continents shifting in my head about writing and learning and parenting and my body and my child and and and…

As I said, big changes.

Some of it is things that have been on the boil, albeit on a back burner, for years. Others are a more gradual shifting. Still others are a radical change in my thinking caused by the last few months of school. Most especially the last couple of weeks.

I suppose Emerson and Thoreau do that to people.

I further suppose that is one of the reasons they continue to be taught, year after year.

We all fall down, and while down in the dirt, despair. We find it more comfortable, and far easier to wallow than to get back up. Especially if this is your third, or thirteenth, or even thirtieth tumble.

Or higher.
*coughcough*  AHEM.


Still, I find myself looking back over my writings and seeing a progression. Seeing an upward and outward trend. It’s only when I stop writing that there is a stutter in that progression. And how easy a truth is that?

And how sad is it to think that I keep forgetting such an easy lesson?

How sad are the un-kept promises made to myself and my readers that I never get around to? How lucky I am that you keep coming back. Thank you. It means a lot to me.

If Stephen King’s magnum opus was right – and all the universe is but a continuous microcosm of author(s)’ brains, how many of my characters now flounder in Limbo? Who tremble under a pendulum that ever threatens? Or wait in the Red Desert with madness snapping at their heels?

Time, I think, to rescue them. To do the work I mean to. To no longer simply visit the piles of my previous words and wail. But to unravel the frayed and forgotten ends, to weave a more complete tapestry.

I am no Emerson. I am no Thoreau. Heck, I am not even a King.
(still not King.)

I am who I am, doing what I am supposed to be doing. Pretending or feeling otherwise is a slap in the face to the talent that I do have.

Continent shifting, indeed.