I may write briefly once I get to Italy, just to say I got there, but I'm going to try to avoid computers and give my wrists a break. Know that I will miss all of you at least a little, and I hope everyone has a great week!
To those who have demanded I take lots of pictures... Well, I intend to take a few, it's true, but don't be surprised if my photographic record is sparse. I'm not a fan of seeing life through a camera lens, so I may opt to simply gaze and bask and absorb and not record the unprocessed visual data. I can almost guarantee, though, that there will be a series of journal entries to blog when I get back. That will be my way of taking you there, not just letting you see through my eyes, but think with my thoughts, feel with my heart.
I'm still not quite packed. That spell Hermione does on her little beaded bag would be *so* useful. Even being minimal it looks like a lot of stuff. I think I will eat lunch, and get back to it.
I love you all! I'm so excited! If I could pack you in my luggage, I would!
Arrivederci!
Friday, August 31, 2007
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Rude Awakening, but Things Got Better
So. Interesting day.
Flew to New Orleans for a meeting. The morning did NOT go well.
Of course, no morning goes well when one has to wake up at 5:30am. I dunno, maybe some of you people are early riser morning people. Yeah. Not me.
Just as I was about to head out, it comes to my mind to check and see if my badge is in my computer bag.
Can't find it. I rummage all the pockets again. Nope.
I start pulling things off the coffee table to check beneath the clutter. Nada.
Under the couch. No.
In my backpack. No.
End table.
Other end table.
Desk drawers.
No.
For the heck of it, I stick my hand in my shoulder bag I bought for my trip. No badge, but something soft... small... almost silky... and... crunchy... and... and... smelly...
Oh God, COCKROACH.
I sort of threw the whole thing across the room and went to wash my hands.
Yeah, yeah, I'm *awake* already.
I search the car. No badge. I drive to work. No badge. Thank goodness the office is close to home, but if I put off driving to the airport much longer, I'll be late. Come back home. Look all over again. Grab some granola bars for good measure. Hurry nervously to the car. Get in, one last check in my computer bag.
After a cockroach, a drive to the office and two trips on the office's abysmally slow elevators, after adding twenty minutes to my estimated head-to-the-airport time...
There's the badge in a front pocket I hadn't checked because I never put anything in it.
Sigh.
Get on I-10.
Traffic skids to a halt. Nice. Now I'm *really* nervous.
Turns out there was a wreck in the dead-center lane. It cleared up after that, though, and the rest of the morning's travel was completely uneventful.
I'd just cleared the security turnstile in One Shell Square when in walked Frank. Greeted him, pointed out my colleague, was pointed out to his people. Went upstairs, got set up, worked for a while, then got an IM from Frank and went down to meet him on the 11th floor for popcorn. Now I know where to find the lounge with popcorn, free coffee and soda and water, and chairs and TV. Yay!
Meeting was a non-event. Everything as expected. Though I managed to be asked about my academic history and to thoroughly impress one of the engineers with my multi-talented-ness. W00t. Evening travels were routine. Got to fly in over Rice and see Reckling Field with the grass all gone and the new sand.
Land, drive home. Big fire just south of downtown. Drive through a bunch of smoke. Get home to see a cop talking to a guy over by building 3. I assume if it's something I should worry about, someone will tell me. Unlock the pad, grab the shoulder bag, take it outside and shake out the cockroach. It comes out in two pieces. Nice.
I call the building management. This is, after all, the second roach in 3 days.
And now I'm writing a blog! Yay!
Flew to New Orleans for a meeting. The morning did NOT go well.
Of course, no morning goes well when one has to wake up at 5:30am. I dunno, maybe some of you people are early riser morning people. Yeah. Not me.
Just as I was about to head out, it comes to my mind to check and see if my badge is in my computer bag.
Can't find it. I rummage all the pockets again. Nope.
I start pulling things off the coffee table to check beneath the clutter. Nada.
Under the couch. No.
In my backpack. No.
End table.
Other end table.
Desk drawers.
No.
For the heck of it, I stick my hand in my shoulder bag I bought for my trip. No badge, but something soft... small... almost silky... and... crunchy... and... and... smelly...
Oh God, COCKROACH.
I sort of threw the whole thing across the room and went to wash my hands.
Yeah, yeah, I'm *awake* already.
I search the car. No badge. I drive to work. No badge. Thank goodness the office is close to home, but if I put off driving to the airport much longer, I'll be late. Come back home. Look all over again. Grab some granola bars for good measure. Hurry nervously to the car. Get in, one last check in my computer bag.
After a cockroach, a drive to the office and two trips on the office's abysmally slow elevators, after adding twenty minutes to my estimated head-to-the-airport time...
There's the badge in a front pocket I hadn't checked because I never put anything in it.
Sigh.
Get on I-10.
Traffic skids to a halt. Nice. Now I'm *really* nervous.
Turns out there was a wreck in the dead-center lane. It cleared up after that, though, and the rest of the morning's travel was completely uneventful.
I'd just cleared the security turnstile in One Shell Square when in walked Frank. Greeted him, pointed out my colleague, was pointed out to his people. Went upstairs, got set up, worked for a while, then got an IM from Frank and went down to meet him on the 11th floor for popcorn. Now I know where to find the lounge with popcorn, free coffee and soda and water, and chairs and TV. Yay!
Meeting was a non-event. Everything as expected. Though I managed to be asked about my academic history and to thoroughly impress one of the engineers with my multi-talented-ness. W00t. Evening travels were routine. Got to fly in over Rice and see Reckling Field with the grass all gone and the new sand.
Land, drive home. Big fire just south of downtown. Drive through a bunch of smoke. Get home to see a cop talking to a guy over by building 3. I assume if it's something I should worry about, someone will tell me. Unlock the pad, grab the shoulder bag, take it outside and shake out the cockroach. It comes out in two pieces. Nice.
I call the building management. This is, after all, the second roach in 3 days.
And now I'm writing a blog! Yay!
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Thy will be done.
Lately it seems, sometimes, that the things I’ve felt most sure of are the things I seem most likely to be wrong about. The dreams that feel the most right, so many things point to them being wrong, impossible, not for me. Do I trust my heart and the feelings inside, or do I trust the outward signs that speak to my mind. I know I act with confidence. I probably look like I know what I’m doing and where I’m going. But in truth, I’m pretty much winging it. I’m doing what I’m doing and I’m exactly where I’m at. And I’m trying to trust the tides that move around me for where I’ll be and what I’ll do next.
You see, something in me is letting go, I think. Dreams I’ve cherished are fading, and other dreams are new, but they aren’t as clear and strong as what I’m letting go. I pray to God to guide me, to give me a direction, and to thank Him for at least giving me this renewed trust in His will, so that I haven’t been as frustrated lately with the dreams I want but can’t act on.
And I’ve prayed to God that if the dream is not to be, that He will take away my longing for it. That He will gift me with resignation and acceptance, and finally, peace. I think it might be happening. I think I might be learning to let go. And there’s something comforting in that, but there’s also something so sad. Am I growing and accepting and moving on, or am I giving up?
There are still many things that I know are right, even when they seem wrong. Even when there are signs that might have made me refuse the path years ago, before I grew in some of the ways that I’ve grown, I see them, and I accept that they change my path a bit, but they aren’t road blocks, and while I have a road open before me, I will take it to see where it leads, and trust the feeling in my soul that here, at least, is where I need to be. That there’s some meaning to my presence on this path at this time. I have something to learn. I have something to teach. There’s a reason.
But other things that seemed so certain once… That still seem right to my mind, I feel gently leaving my soul. Maybe I’ll never be married again. Maybe I’ll never have the family that I know I could love and nurture with all my heart. I don’t feel like I’m giving up. I’m trying in the ways that I see to meet the person that will make that possible. But for the most part, it’s completely out of my hands, and I feel like I have to be prepared for the worst.
More than prepared. The worst will need to become the best. The path I never thought I’d be able to bear taking could become the road I take with more than resignation. With joy and with triumph, with more giving and sharing than seem possible right now.
I still want so badly to be a mother. I’d be such a good mother. And I’ve been reminded that technically I don’t need to meet someone to love and spend my life with for that to happen. I’m keeping an open mind about that, I guess, but all the same, my children deserve the absolute best, in my opinion, and that includes me making the choice to give them the very best father I can find for them. I want that for them as much as for myself.
Everyone says he’s out there somewhere. I trust God that when the time is right, if he is, I will find him. And if I haven’t found him yet, that simply means the time isn’t right.
But there’s a still small voice inside me saying he might not be out there. That I might have been born to stand alone, and in the strength that will take, and that God’s Spirit will surely give me when I need it, in that strength I will be able to become most fully who I am supposed to be, and give the gift of myself most fully to this life and this world.
There is comfort in that. But the dreams I’d have to give up are so beautiful. To watch them fade… It’s a grief just like the grief of slowly losing a friend to time and change and distance. More than that, it’s the grief of watching someone I love die by inches.
The two constant prayers in my heart and mind and soul, the words that well up from within me daily are, with a burning longing, “Please, God,” and then, with sorrow and with trust, “Thy will be done.”
You see, something in me is letting go, I think. Dreams I’ve cherished are fading, and other dreams are new, but they aren’t as clear and strong as what I’m letting go. I pray to God to guide me, to give me a direction, and to thank Him for at least giving me this renewed trust in His will, so that I haven’t been as frustrated lately with the dreams I want but can’t act on.
And I’ve prayed to God that if the dream is not to be, that He will take away my longing for it. That He will gift me with resignation and acceptance, and finally, peace. I think it might be happening. I think I might be learning to let go. And there’s something comforting in that, but there’s also something so sad. Am I growing and accepting and moving on, or am I giving up?
There are still many things that I know are right, even when they seem wrong. Even when there are signs that might have made me refuse the path years ago, before I grew in some of the ways that I’ve grown, I see them, and I accept that they change my path a bit, but they aren’t road blocks, and while I have a road open before me, I will take it to see where it leads, and trust the feeling in my soul that here, at least, is where I need to be. That there’s some meaning to my presence on this path at this time. I have something to learn. I have something to teach. There’s a reason.
But other things that seemed so certain once… That still seem right to my mind, I feel gently leaving my soul. Maybe I’ll never be married again. Maybe I’ll never have the family that I know I could love and nurture with all my heart. I don’t feel like I’m giving up. I’m trying in the ways that I see to meet the person that will make that possible. But for the most part, it’s completely out of my hands, and I feel like I have to be prepared for the worst.
More than prepared. The worst will need to become the best. The path I never thought I’d be able to bear taking could become the road I take with more than resignation. With joy and with triumph, with more giving and sharing than seem possible right now.
I still want so badly to be a mother. I’d be such a good mother. And I’ve been reminded that technically I don’t need to meet someone to love and spend my life with for that to happen. I’m keeping an open mind about that, I guess, but all the same, my children deserve the absolute best, in my opinion, and that includes me making the choice to give them the very best father I can find for them. I want that for them as much as for myself.
Everyone says he’s out there somewhere. I trust God that when the time is right, if he is, I will find him. And if I haven’t found him yet, that simply means the time isn’t right.
But there’s a still small voice inside me saying he might not be out there. That I might have been born to stand alone, and in the strength that will take, and that God’s Spirit will surely give me when I need it, in that strength I will be able to become most fully who I am supposed to be, and give the gift of myself most fully to this life and this world.
There is comfort in that. But the dreams I’d have to give up are so beautiful. To watch them fade… It’s a grief just like the grief of slowly losing a friend to time and change and distance. More than that, it’s the grief of watching someone I love die by inches.
The two constant prayers in my heart and mind and soul, the words that well up from within me daily are, with a burning longing, “Please, God,” and then, with sorrow and with trust, “Thy will be done.”
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Proving Herrick Right the Hard Way
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
I left one rosebud on the vine.
Old Time is still a-flying;
I thought we had world enough, and time.
And this same flower that smiles today
I wasted today in fear and pride.
Tomorrow will be dying.
I waited too long and my rosebud died.
I left one rosebud on the vine.
Old Time is still a-flying;
I thought we had world enough, and time.
And this same flower that smiles today
I wasted today in fear and pride.
Tomorrow will be dying.
I waited too long and my rosebud died.
My Day in the Sun: Thought without Analysis
Clear the wide belt of stop-and-stop traffic surrounding Houston. Wind through small town coastal flat Texas as the sun sets. Is the Navidad River is supposed to be that wide. Fields of cotton and sorghum, green and scarlet under a blue sky as far as eye can see.
Sleep and then sand and sun. Watching the waves skim around my ankles, mesmerized by the glimmering ripples and the small fish darting in and out. Digging my toes into the sand to unearth the clams under their little sand-blowing stacks. Sinking to my ankles as I gaze over the blue waves to the horizon. Wading into green swells half-hiding golden sands and fish and rich brown seaweed. Catching my breath as an incoming wave splashes to my waist. Large pipers and small pipers huddle apart from each other on a stretch of empty sand.
Rinsing off and floating in the pool surrounded by the voices of people I love. Drip drying on the edge, then curling under a towel on a chaise-lounge to read a book under palm shade. Wandering souvenir shop shelves that hold the same shells and plastic animals and cheap picture frames they’ve held every year I come. Carrying corn on the cob and potatoes and fajita steaks up from the barbecue pits to the suite. Eating and laughing and eating and laughing.
Sleep and sun and the smell of bacon. Breakfast and packing and waiting for the ferry. A long drive home through bright skies into a storm and back out again. Drop the bags on the apartment floor, call Mom to say I got home safe, and back to laundry, housework, and life as usual.
Sleep and then sand and sun. Watching the waves skim around my ankles, mesmerized by the glimmering ripples and the small fish darting in and out. Digging my toes into the sand to unearth the clams under their little sand-blowing stacks. Sinking to my ankles as I gaze over the blue waves to the horizon. Wading into green swells half-hiding golden sands and fish and rich brown seaweed. Catching my breath as an incoming wave splashes to my waist. Large pipers and small pipers huddle apart from each other on a stretch of empty sand.
Rinsing off and floating in the pool surrounded by the voices of people I love. Drip drying on the edge, then curling under a towel on a chaise-lounge to read a book under palm shade. Wandering souvenir shop shelves that hold the same shells and plastic animals and cheap picture frames they’ve held every year I come. Carrying corn on the cob and potatoes and fajita steaks up from the barbecue pits to the suite. Eating and laughing and eating and laughing.
Sleep and sun and the smell of bacon. Breakfast and packing and waiting for the ferry. A long drive home through bright skies into a storm and back out again. Drop the bags on the apartment floor, call Mom to say I got home safe, and back to laundry, housework, and life as usual.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Galleria Adventures
So my Italian classes are every Tuesday night in the Galleria. In the hidden corner between the old Macy's and Sacks Fifth Avenue. So today and last week, I decided to go explore the mall a bit. Have some grand adventures.
Get my watch batteries changed.
Buy a few things I need.
There are so many beautiful things in the shops. Rich fabrics, sparkling jewels, fragrant perfumes. And so many beautiful people walking around wearing what they've bought shops like these. I'm easily the least expensively turned out person I saw the entire time. I think even the girl in a tank top and running shorts spent more on those clothes, the sandals, and the make up and styling products than I did on my ensemble.
And the shop people can see that about me. I was looking for a pair of Ecco sandals I've seen on line, and would like to buy. Funny how busy all the sales people are when I walk by. If I stop and ask directly, "Excuse me, do you carry Ecco shoes?" They answer me, but it seems to be a great condescension on their part to do so.
Empty, futile, pointless little snobs.
I know it shouldn't bother me, but it's disheartening, a bit. I want to wear soft, luxurious, beautiful clothing, but I can't afford the quality my tastes lean towards, and a lot of that stuff only looks good on sticks. I am not a stick, and I've always been given reason to be happy with my, ahem, shape. :-P
I feel like screaming that the emperor has no clothes. The only person who I think would have understood was the hired pianist in the Nordstrom's, who played beautifully and seemed bored out of his skull. Bored enough to start his next song in tempo with the service phone ringing over the intercom. I was the only one who noticed, and he noticed my noticing, as I almost stopped dead and laughed aloud, moving on with just a stutter-step and a silent chuckle. Nordstrom's doesn't seem to be the place to laugh aloud.
I was even more unsettled as I wandered into the corner between the Ninfa's Express and the Coldstone. I was overcome by the memory of standing in just this spot watching a CNN report on il conclavo, the conclave, after the death of John Paul II. I remember crying a little for the Pope familiar to me from childhood. A man who, in spite of his authority, seemed gentle, thoughful, loving, and open. Deeply prayerful, quietly wise. I didn't know him personally, but he seemed so much warmer and more fatherly than Pope Benedict seems to me now. Tonight I wept again a little inside.
After a while I got sick of the whole charade, and found a quiet corner to read in before my class started. And I wept a little externally for the unfairness of it all. Have you BEEN to the Galleria lately? Versaci, Armani, Kenneth Cole. There are people in this world who go hungry while these beautiful people buy their beautiful clothes, and the shoe sales man in the casual shoe section, who seems lower in the totem pole than the man selling women's dress shoes, sneers at my request for a $70 pair of sandals.
I'm not an ascetic, and I'm not an activist, and I don't think any of the people in the Galleria are evil heartless bastards.
There's just so much I don't understand, and it doesn't seem right, and it overwhelms me sometimes.
Get my watch batteries changed.
Buy a few things I need.
There are so many beautiful things in the shops. Rich fabrics, sparkling jewels, fragrant perfumes. And so many beautiful people walking around wearing what they've bought shops like these. I'm easily the least expensively turned out person I saw the entire time. I think even the girl in a tank top and running shorts spent more on those clothes, the sandals, and the make up and styling products than I did on my ensemble.
And the shop people can see that about me. I was looking for a pair of Ecco sandals I've seen on line, and would like to buy. Funny how busy all the sales people are when I walk by. If I stop and ask directly, "Excuse me, do you carry Ecco shoes?" They answer me, but it seems to be a great condescension on their part to do so.
Empty, futile, pointless little snobs.
I know it shouldn't bother me, but it's disheartening, a bit. I want to wear soft, luxurious, beautiful clothing, but I can't afford the quality my tastes lean towards, and a lot of that stuff only looks good on sticks. I am not a stick, and I've always been given reason to be happy with my, ahem, shape. :-P
I feel like screaming that the emperor has no clothes. The only person who I think would have understood was the hired pianist in the Nordstrom's, who played beautifully and seemed bored out of his skull. Bored enough to start his next song in tempo with the service phone ringing over the intercom. I was the only one who noticed, and he noticed my noticing, as I almost stopped dead and laughed aloud, moving on with just a stutter-step and a silent chuckle. Nordstrom's doesn't seem to be the place to laugh aloud.
I was even more unsettled as I wandered into the corner between the Ninfa's Express and the Coldstone. I was overcome by the memory of standing in just this spot watching a CNN report on il conclavo, the conclave, after the death of John Paul II. I remember crying a little for the Pope familiar to me from childhood. A man who, in spite of his authority, seemed gentle, thoughful, loving, and open. Deeply prayerful, quietly wise. I didn't know him personally, but he seemed so much warmer and more fatherly than Pope Benedict seems to me now. Tonight I wept again a little inside.
After a while I got sick of the whole charade, and found a quiet corner to read in before my class started. And I wept a little externally for the unfairness of it all. Have you BEEN to the Galleria lately? Versaci, Armani, Kenneth Cole. There are people in this world who go hungry while these beautiful people buy their beautiful clothes, and the shoe sales man in the casual shoe section, who seems lower in the totem pole than the man selling women's dress shoes, sneers at my request for a $70 pair of sandals.
I'm not an ascetic, and I'm not an activist, and I don't think any of the people in the Galleria are evil heartless bastards.
There's just so much I don't understand, and it doesn't seem right, and it overwhelms me sometimes.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Andy Roony is Always Spot On
I'm horking this from someone elses blog because it made me feel good this morning.
~~~~~
If you will take the time to read these. I promise you'll come away with n enlightened perspective. The subjects covered affect us all on a daily basis! They're written by Andy Rooney, a man who has the gift of saying so much with so few words. Enjoy.......
I've learned.... That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
I've learned.... That when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned.... That just one person saying to me, 'You've made my day!' makes my day.
~~~~~
If you will take the time to read these. I promise you'll come away with n enlightened perspective. The subjects covered affect us all on a daily basis! They're written by Andy Rooney, a man who has the gift of saying so much with so few words. Enjoy.......
I've learned.... That the best classroom in the world is at the feet of an elderly person.
I've learned.... That when you're in love, it shows.
I've learned.... That just one person saying to me, 'You've made my day!' makes my day.
I've learned.... That having a child fall asleep in your arms is one of the most peaceful feelings in the world.
I've learned.... That being kind is more important than being right.
I've learned.... That you should never say no to a gift from a child.
I've learned.... That I can always pray for someone when I don't have the strength to help him in some other way.
I've learned.... That no matter how serious your life requires you to be, everyone needs a friend to act goofy with.
I've learned.... That sometimes all a person needs is a hand to hold and a heart to understand.
I've learned.... That simple walks with my father around the block on summer nights when I was a child did wonders for me as an adult.
I've learned.... That life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.
I've learned.... That we should be glad God doesn't give us everything we ask for.
I've learned.... That money doesn't buy class.
I've learned.... That it's those small daily happenings that make life so spectacular.
I've learned... That under everyone's hard shell is someone who wants to be appreciated and loved.
I've learned.... That to ignore the facts does not change the facts.
I've learned.... That when you plan to get even with someone, you are only letting that person continue to hurt you.
I've learned.... That love, not time, heals all wounds.
I've learned.... That the easiest way for me to grow as a person is to surround myself with people smarter than I am.
I've learned.... That everyone you meet deserves to be greeted with a smile.
I've learned.... That no one is perfect until you fall in love with them.
I've learned... That life is tough, but I'm tougher.
I've learned.... That opportunities are never lost; someone will take the ones you miss.
I've learned.... That when you harbor bitterness, happiness will dock elsewhere.
I've learned.... That I wish I could have told my Mom that I love her one more time before she passed away.
I've learned.... That one should keep his words both soft and tender, because tomorrow he may have to eat them.
I've learned.... That a smile is an inexpensive way to improve your looks.
I've learned.... That when your newly born grandchild holds your little finger in his little fist, that you're hooked for life.
I've learned.... That everyone wants to live on top of the mountain, but all the happiness and growth occurs while you're climbing it.
I've learned.... That the less time I have to work with, the more things I get done.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Soul-Making
I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. And just finished with the requisite sobbing my heart out. Oh, wait, not *quite* finished with that, apparently.
Book seven came in the mail today. I haven't even opened it. I didn't sleep well last night, and I promised myself I'd go to bed at a decent time tonight. Meaning, of course, right after I finish this blog. So I should probably leave it in its package.
Tomorrow I have my first Italian lesson, so I might take my book with me to read while I get myself some dinner in the Galeria food court and wait for my class to start.
Or, well, I still haven't seen the new movie. Didn't manage it this weekend. Maybe on Wednesday I'll go do that instead of hanging out at the Volcano. Even though I haven't played pool in forever. Who knows.
Somehow, this time as I read, Dumbledore's blue eyes became my father's. I saw Ruddygore on Sunday, and there's a song about a little flower that shelters under an oak tree until the tree is torn away.
That's how I feel right now. Five years after his death, these things remind me of him, and how he taught me and sheltered me and loved me.
And left me.
I'll be fine. Really I will. It's just... It never goes away.
A thought came to mind recently. Probably not original, but somehow it made sense. I was thinking about how this will never go away. It may smooth itself out, and become less jarring as the years continue to pass. It's already less acutely painful than it was. At least most of the time.
But it's not something I can eject from myself. I can't leave it behind, because it's now part of who I am. I can't live away from it. I can't live apart from it. I have to live through it, with it, around it.
And the image that came to mind was the grain of sand that becomes a pearl. How painful it must be at first. Sharp, jagged, a focused little dot of agony. And slowly time and faith and love and life begin to smooth it over, round it out. Sometimes it remains knobby and awkward, but maybe it can grow into a soft brilliance of perfection. Always lodged inside of me. It can't ever be comfortable.
But maybe it becomes a thing of incredible value and beauty. I've felt for a long time that Daddy's death wasn't something that had some absolute message, given to me from outside. I do believe in God, and I do believe he is here with me, and has a plan for me. But I do NOT believe that my God killed my father to open my blinded eyes, or to test my faith.
I do believe that God calls to me through this pain, though. And helps me to create my own meaning, gives me the strength and patience to slowly make my grief, and my father's death, something of worth. Something that happened not in vain. I'd still have rather it hadn't happened, of course.
But it did. And these things will happen. Life is as much about losing as it is about gaining. But you can turn the tables, gain a little with the loss, and you *can* beat the house, I believe.
And thinking of this brought me to one of those recurring ideas I have sometimes, and tend to bring here when I'm ready. The idea from John Keats' letter to George and Georgina Keats from February 14th to May 3rd of 1819. (You can tell I'm an English major. I always cite my source.) Keats' presents his ideas as an alternative to the Christian view, though the two aren't mutually exclusive. I've linked the entire letter above for anyone who's really curious, but I'll end with the essential passage, and leave you to ponder how this fits in with my pearls:
The common cognomen of this world among the misguided and superstitious is 'a vale of tears' from which we are to be redeemed by a certain arbitary interposition of God and taken to Heaven-What a little circumscribed straightened notion! Call the world if you Please "The vale of Soul-making". Then you will find out the use of the world (I am speaking now in the highest terms for human nature admitting it to be immortal which I will here take for granted for the purpose of showing a thought which has struck me concerning it) I say 'Soul making' Soul as distinguished from an Intelligence- There may be intelligences or sparks of the divinity in millions-but they are not Souls till they acquire identities, till each one is personally itself. I[n]telligences are atoms of perception-they know and they see and they are pure, in short they are God-How then are Souls to be made? How then arc these sparks which are God to have identity given them-so as ever to possess a bliss peculiar to each one's individual existence? How, but by the medium of a world like this?
Sunday, July 15, 2007
A Smaller Magic
I took a walk this evening, and on the way back I saw beautiful things.
A rainbow, brilliant, lurid, like a heavy brushstroke across the gray sky, with a secondary bow, fainter outside the arc like an accidental smudge.
Clouds, bulbous and creamy, dipping down from the sky like giant fingers dimpling the air below.
Quieter enchantments after the storm has torn the sky with dazzling forked light.
But that was on my way home, with my heart already thrilled by a beauty closer and smaller. Granted, I do see beauty in the strangest things.
The sun hung low in the sky as I walked along the bayou. A lone sunflower stood beside the path like an unabashed eye staring down passers-by like myself. I stopped to admire it, stooped to put my eyes on its level. The sunlight shone warm and golden on the tall grass, rising off of it in a scent of hay and honey. I shaded my eyes and looked out over the gleam of tall blades and slender stalks gilded by the sun’s midas touch.
And everywhere I caught more brilliant glints, like diamonds stretched to silken strands, woven amongst the grass. And everywhere, suspended in the grass, were small movements, scurryings, dippings and dancings. I stood up and leaned closer, examining the minute perfection of a spider’s web, with the spider still working furiously, rebuilding after the storm. I took a few more steps gazing across the grass into the sunlight, as it sparkled and waved over more webs, and more, and more.
Everywhere, as far as I could see, dime-sized, narrow, pale green spiders were spinning webs no bigger than dessert plates between the grass stalks. Everything glimmered and trembled, shaking in the slightest breeze, and shuddering under the lightest little eight-legged touch. For a quarter of a mile I walked, and never saw an end of those webs and weavers, glistening in the light of the setting sun.
I’ve never seen so many. It reminded me of fireflies in the evenings back home, when they’d light the brush and the trees like strands of sparkling lights. But this was a warmer, homier magic. A labor of survival made beautiful in the minute and fragile symmetry of every close-woven web.
Breath-taking.
And humbling.
A rainbow, brilliant, lurid, like a heavy brushstroke across the gray sky, with a secondary bow, fainter outside the arc like an accidental smudge.
Clouds, bulbous and creamy, dipping down from the sky like giant fingers dimpling the air below.
Quieter enchantments after the storm has torn the sky with dazzling forked light.
But that was on my way home, with my heart already thrilled by a beauty closer and smaller. Granted, I do see beauty in the strangest things.
The sun hung low in the sky as I walked along the bayou. A lone sunflower stood beside the path like an unabashed eye staring down passers-by like myself. I stopped to admire it, stooped to put my eyes on its level. The sunlight shone warm and golden on the tall grass, rising off of it in a scent of hay and honey. I shaded my eyes and looked out over the gleam of tall blades and slender stalks gilded by the sun’s midas touch.
And everywhere I caught more brilliant glints, like diamonds stretched to silken strands, woven amongst the grass. And everywhere, suspended in the grass, were small movements, scurryings, dippings and dancings. I stood up and leaned closer, examining the minute perfection of a spider’s web, with the spider still working furiously, rebuilding after the storm. I took a few more steps gazing across the grass into the sunlight, as it sparkled and waved over more webs, and more, and more.
Everywhere, as far as I could see, dime-sized, narrow, pale green spiders were spinning webs no bigger than dessert plates between the grass stalks. Everything glimmered and trembled, shaking in the slightest breeze, and shuddering under the lightest little eight-legged touch. For a quarter of a mile I walked, and never saw an end of those webs and weavers, glistening in the light of the setting sun.
I’ve never seen so many. It reminded me of fireflies in the evenings back home, when they’d light the brush and the trees like strands of sparkling lights. But this was a warmer, homier magic. A labor of survival made beautiful in the minute and fragile symmetry of every close-woven web.
Breath-taking.
And humbling.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Evening
The frogs are clacking
In the bayou
As the light fades.
The sparrows are done
Puffing and scuffling
In the dust by the road,
Shuffling their feathers
Into a deeper gray.
The sun has set,
The air is smooth and warm.
Evening has lain down
Beside the land.
Her head rests on the west,
Drifting softly into night.
In the bayou
As the light fades.
The sparrows are done
Puffing and scuffling
In the dust by the road,
Shuffling their feathers
Into a deeper gray.
The sun has set,
The air is smooth and warm.
Evening has lain down
Beside the land.
Her head rests on the west,
Drifting softly into night.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Like a Peach, Still
Still bruised. Got the blood work back, and Doc looked at my X-Rays.
X-Rays look good. Blood negative for indications of arthritis.
But my white blood cell count is high.
"Looks like you have an infection. Does your throat hurt again?"
"No. I don't feel bad at all."
"What's that on your face?"
"Um... Acne."
"What do you take for it?"
"Uh... I wash my face."
"Okay, well, I'm going to give you an antibiotic for the infection. It should help clear that up too."
(Yeah, right, for the two weeks I take it, *maybe*. I'll have gray hair before I shake this acne.)
"And we'll see you in two weeks. We'll take some more blood and..."
"Oh NO! Not again!"
"Well sweety I have to check..."
"Look!"
I rolled up my sleeve and showed the fairly entact remains of my 2" across bruise from LAST time.
"Oh, Lord. Well we'll... then... we'll just see how your doing in two weeks."
Sigh. So I have antibiotics and no answers. And an ergonomic keyboard.
And Firefly and Serenity DVDs.
X-Rays look good. Blood negative for indications of arthritis.
But my white blood cell count is high.
"Looks like you have an infection. Does your throat hurt again?"
"No. I don't feel bad at all."
"What's that on your face?"
"Um... Acne."
"What do you take for it?"
"Uh... I wash my face."
"Okay, well, I'm going to give you an antibiotic for the infection. It should help clear that up too."
(Yeah, right, for the two weeks I take it, *maybe*. I'll have gray hair before I shake this acne.)
"And we'll see you in two weeks. We'll take some more blood and..."
"Oh NO! Not again!"
"Well sweety I have to check..."
"Look!"
I rolled up my sleeve and showed the fairly entact remains of my 2" across bruise from LAST time.
"Oh, Lord. Well we'll... then... we'll just see how your doing in two weeks."
Sigh. So I have antibiotics and no answers. And an ergonomic keyboard.
And Firefly and Serenity DVDs.
Monday, July 09, 2007
Bob: March 1-July 9, 2007
My cup of Monday is officially full and running over. I got home from work and found out that my last Bob was indeed sick, and didn't make it through the day.
Since neither tank of Bobs lasted the guaranteed two years, I'll be sending away for free replacements. And I'll wait until the weather cools off before I try to hatch new ones.
But the apartment feels a little more lonely tonight.
Good bye, Bob. I'll miss you.
Since neither tank of Bobs lasted the guaranteed two years, I'll be sending away for free replacements. And I'll wait until the weather cools off before I try to hatch new ones.
But the apartment feels a little more lonely tonight.
Good bye, Bob. I'll miss you.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
The Dangers of a 20-year-old Sorority Girl's Bathroom
So, my elbows have gotten kinda dry and rough. So I'm visiting my Mom's place this weekend, where my kid sister is living over the summer. Hell, I figure, she must have some moisturizer around here somewhere.
So after my shower I root around under the sink, and pull out a bottle that looks promising. Yay! Moisturizer.
I fail to appreciate the full significance of "Luminous Body Moisturizer" until I squeeze out some innocuous looking, creamy lotion, and start rubbing it into my elbows and forearms.
Oh. It has...
Glitter.
Tiny flecks of gold glitter.
Not that there's anything wrong with being sparkly and "luminous." It just seems, I dunno, a bit *much* for Smitty's Market, the BBQ shop Mom and I are hitting for lunch. And now hands to elbows I'm covered in a light dusting of... luminous.
Eeeeeenteresting.
But it does seem to have softened my elbows.
And I smell good.
So after my shower I root around under the sink, and pull out a bottle that looks promising. Yay! Moisturizer.
I fail to appreciate the full significance of "Luminous Body Moisturizer" until I squeeze out some innocuous looking, creamy lotion, and start rubbing it into my elbows and forearms.
Oh. It has...
Glitter.
Tiny flecks of gold glitter.
Not that there's anything wrong with being sparkly and "luminous." It just seems, I dunno, a bit *much* for Smitty's Market, the BBQ shop Mom and I are hitting for lunch. And now hands to elbows I'm covered in a light dusting of... luminous.
Eeeeeenteresting.
But it does seem to have softened my elbows.
And I smell good.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Like a Peach
So, I had blood taken today. They're going to do an arthritis panel. I guess for rheumatoid arthritis.
*is skeered*
I didn't bruise as much as last time. But it's still a bit absurd.
The lab tech stuck the needle in, then snapped the vial into place and...
Nothing happened. There was that moment of, ummmm....
Then there was that moment where I could see her wondering, if she moved the needle around *reeeeeallly* surreptitiously, if *maybe* I wouldn't notice that she was fishing. Um, no. So she just fished. She never really got a good flow. It took forever to fill FOUR FREAKIN' VIALS.
I finally looked up, and said, "Oh yeah, I don't bleed."
She started lauging and said,
"Does this happen a lot?"
Ooooh yeah.
I also got x-rays. My bones are still all there, and that's about all I can tell. My finger bones are really little and narrow and pointy. They looked very sharp and poky.
I go back next Thursday to find out what's up.
*is skeered*
I didn't bruise as much as last time. But it's still a bit absurd.
The lab tech stuck the needle in, then snapped the vial into place and...
Nothing happened. There was that moment of, ummmm....
Then there was that moment where I could see her wondering, if she moved the needle around *reeeeeallly* surreptitiously, if *maybe* I wouldn't notice that she was fishing. Um, no. So she just fished. She never really got a good flow. It took forever to fill FOUR FREAKIN' VIALS.
I finally looked up, and said, "Oh yeah, I don't bleed."
She started lauging and said,
"Does this happen a lot?"
Ooooh yeah.
I also got x-rays. My bones are still all there, and that's about all I can tell. My finger bones are really little and narrow and pointy. They looked very sharp and poky.
I go back next Thursday to find out what's up.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Rough Night :-(
So I had a blazing headache this morning around 4:00AM.
So I got up and started drinking water. That usually helps.
This time it didn't.
At 4:45AM I finally went and took some Advil.
Oooooh no. Bad idea.
The doctor told me not to. I forgot. Until around 5:15AM.
When I was awakended by my stomach turning over.
And I bolted to the bathroom.
Well, that didn't last very long, that Advil.
And my stomach has been off and on all day.
It feels pretty bad right now, after being livable all day.
Oooooooooooooogh.
The moral of the story? Well, you can probably glean your own.
God, there's nothing I hate more than throwing up or feeling like I'm going to. :-(
So I got up and started drinking water. That usually helps.
This time it didn't.
At 4:45AM I finally went and took some Advil.
Oooooh no. Bad idea.
The doctor told me not to. I forgot. Until around 5:15AM.
When I was awakended by my stomach turning over.
And I bolted to the bathroom.
Well, that didn't last very long, that Advil.
And my stomach has been off and on all day.
It feels pretty bad right now, after being livable all day.
Oooooooooooooogh.
The moral of the story? Well, you can probably glean your own.
God, there's nothing I hate more than throwing up or feeling like I'm going to. :-(
Friday, June 29, 2007
No Bed for You!
I'd have to say that every fortune cookie fortune I've ever seen does indeed get funnier or at least takes on a new meaning when you add "in bed" to the end.
But today I got the one that doesn't. :-P It's a shame, it could *use* the extra meaning. It makes... NO sense. Wow. For your entertained bemusement, here it is:
No, really, that's *exactly* what it says.
No joke.
So, no, "Consolidate your interests while the lights are active in bed" makes no more sense, and is not really funny.
*shakes head in confusion*
But today I got the one that doesn't. :-P It's a shame, it could *use* the extra meaning. It makes... NO sense. Wow. For your entertained bemusement, here it is:
Consolidate your interest while the lights are active.
No, really, that's *exactly* what it says.
No joke.
So, no, "Consolidate your interests while the lights are active in bed" makes no more sense, and is not really funny.
*shakes head in confusion*
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
My Dentist Recommends Yoga
Yeah, you read it right. :-P
During my regular cleaning, I told my dentist about the faint and non-localized jaw pain I've been having. After a careful check on the left side for cavities, he told me my hunch that I'd been clamping my jaw at night again was correct. I do that when I'm stressed.
He said there were definite signs. Not chipped teeth or extra bone growth, thankfully, which are two of the things that can happen. And I'm not having joint trouble like the other times this has gotten bad. But the signs are there.
You see, when you clamp your teeth, your tongue tenses up and flattens against the roof of your mouth, pressing against your teeth. If you do this often, the lactic acid can be trapped along the edges, discoloring and reforming the tissue.
"So my tongue is striped?"
"Yes, your tongue is striped. Actually, it's more like... your tongue is... fluted!"
"Scalloped?"
"Yes, scalloped."
"Huh!"
So he asked me if I'd ever done yoga, and thinks learning some physical relaxation techniques would really help the clenching. I'd actually been concidering it, so I think I'll look into getting some at home stuff, since my schedule is so erratic.
Especially because my jaw isn't the only thing I've been clenching.
I've been waking up with my hands balled into tight fists. And it's starting to really affect my typing and manual dexterity. My hands hurt, my wrists hurt, and sometimes my forearms hurt. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment tomorrow, I think. This blog is taking much longer than it should. And sadly, it will be the last one I write for a while.
I have made a resolution. No more blogs until at least Monday. No IMs over the weekend. No responding to e-mail unless it's a must. I'm really going to miss you guys. :-( But typing is how I make a living right now, and I need to save it for work until this gets better.
I hope to get this worked out soon. Until then...
Does anyone have a yoga mat I could borrow?
During my regular cleaning, I told my dentist about the faint and non-localized jaw pain I've been having. After a careful check on the left side for cavities, he told me my hunch that I'd been clamping my jaw at night again was correct. I do that when I'm stressed.
He said there were definite signs. Not chipped teeth or extra bone growth, thankfully, which are two of the things that can happen. And I'm not having joint trouble like the other times this has gotten bad. But the signs are there.
You see, when you clamp your teeth, your tongue tenses up and flattens against the roof of your mouth, pressing against your teeth. If you do this often, the lactic acid can be trapped along the edges, discoloring and reforming the tissue.
"So my tongue is striped?"
"Yes, your tongue is striped. Actually, it's more like... your tongue is... fluted!"
"Scalloped?"
"Yes, scalloped."
"Huh!"
So he asked me if I'd ever done yoga, and thinks learning some physical relaxation techniques would really help the clenching. I'd actually been concidering it, so I think I'll look into getting some at home stuff, since my schedule is so erratic.
Especially because my jaw isn't the only thing I've been clenching.
I've been waking up with my hands balled into tight fists. And it's starting to really affect my typing and manual dexterity. My hands hurt, my wrists hurt, and sometimes my forearms hurt. I'm going to make a doctor's appointment tomorrow, I think. This blog is taking much longer than it should. And sadly, it will be the last one I write for a while.
I have made a resolution. No more blogs until at least Monday. No IMs over the weekend. No responding to e-mail unless it's a must. I'm really going to miss you guys. :-( But typing is how I make a living right now, and I need to save it for work until this gets better.
I hope to get this worked out soon. Until then...
Does anyone have a yoga mat I could borrow?
Monday, June 18, 2007
It Loses Something in Translation
It's an interesting problem for a translator. It's an interesting problem for a journalist.
I was listening to NPR on the way home. They were doing a story on brick kilns in China that kidnapped laborers and worked below the radar as far as government regulations go. One farmer described how the polluted smoke would roll down the hillside from the kiln to his farm. He exclaimed, in the words of the translator:
"These companies, they have money and connections, they can pollute as much as they want. We don't have money or connections, and we get in trouble for polluting if we so much as break wind."
I found myself wondering if the term the farmer had used in Chinese was more equivalent to the very polite and somewhat picturesque "break wind" or if what he actually said was more along the lines of something coarse like "farted."
Now, it *really* doesn't matter. But it got me thinking. If the man had been speaking English, and had said "farted," would they have used the quip? It's not a bad word, but it's somewhat crude. And the tone of journalism on NPR is pretty high-brow (though I'm occasionally irritated by grammatical mistakes in their coverage).
If he's said it in English, and they *couldn't* use it, would they have paraphrased? Voiced over? What? Perhaps the person they were interviewing used a more polite term. Though I thought I heard a guffaw of the"Oh no he didn't" sort in the background. But since they had the opportunity to choose the English they would use, and didn't have to use someone's actual English words...
I'm just curious about how NPR handles/handled that. As a person interested in the problems of translation.
I was listening to NPR on the way home. They were doing a story on brick kilns in China that kidnapped laborers and worked below the radar as far as government regulations go. One farmer described how the polluted smoke would roll down the hillside from the kiln to his farm. He exclaimed, in the words of the translator:
"These companies, they have money and connections, they can pollute as much as they want. We don't have money or connections, and we get in trouble for polluting if we so much as break wind."
I found myself wondering if the term the farmer had used in Chinese was more equivalent to the very polite and somewhat picturesque "break wind" or if what he actually said was more along the lines of something coarse like "farted."
Now, it *really* doesn't matter. But it got me thinking. If the man had been speaking English, and had said "farted," would they have used the quip? It's not a bad word, but it's somewhat crude. And the tone of journalism on NPR is pretty high-brow (though I'm occasionally irritated by grammatical mistakes in their coverage).
If he's said it in English, and they *couldn't* use it, would they have paraphrased? Voiced over? What? Perhaps the person they were interviewing used a more polite term. Though I thought I heard a guffaw of the"Oh no he didn't" sort in the background. But since they had the opportunity to choose the English they would use, and didn't have to use someone's actual English words...
I'm just curious about how NPR handles/handled that. As a person interested in the problems of translation.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Happy Father's Day
Whew. Going to bed soon, so it's almost over. Most of the day was all right, really. But it had it's moments.
There was a dark-haired man in Berryhill with his little girl. She looked about two or three, adorable little blonde girl. Most people realize that children are precious and should be cherished as they grow. They'll never be so small and innocent again. My thoughts went out to the little girl, though. Make him proud. Be his joy, the delight of his eyes, and learn everything you can from him. Cherish him while you've got him, because no one will ever love you like your Daddy.
Getting ready for the Father's Day concert, the one actual fatherly event I had all day. It was raining and dreary. I felt so lonely. My father told me I was his better self, the person he would be if he could do it all again. But he is also my better self, the person I am so lucky I have the chance to be like. No one will ever love me or be so proud of me as my Father. God I miss him.
The concert went well, and I felt much better as it went. But it just felt strange. Something kept nagging at me. I finally realized what it was in the Red Lion, when Zev said maybe he should call his dad. Lots of people had been talking about calling home, and the thought had been in my mind that I needed to call home...
And talk to Dad.
I just, I wanted to call him, and... and to tell him... God, everything.
The director of the choir I just joined told a beautiful story about how after his father's death, he had a dream of walking through a beautiful wood behind his dad. And then, in this gorgeous clearing his father stopped and turned, and smiled. Later in his life, he was walking in some woods, and came to a clearing, and recognized the clearing from his dream.
I visited Yellowstone shortly after my dad died, and I was pretty numb. But the mountains and the rivers spoke to me, stirred things inside of me, and I knew my father would have loved this place. I dreamed, later, that I was visiting it with him, and he was loving every minute.
And I wanted to enjoy it with him, but I couldn't. All I could think of was, "You're going to die. You have to know, I have to tell you." But I couldn't tell him. He couldn't understand me. And I couldn't just enjoy being with him again in that amazing place. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't.
What is it about me that has such a hard time treasuring what I have because it's not everything I want? I have to work on that.
My Rice Owls did me proud today. So the day is ending on a high note. And I don't have to deal with this particular holiday for another year. Still, I wish I could have visited his grave.
Sherrie gave me a lovely idea. She said I needed to go out and buy a helium balloon, and release it and watch it float away, and that is how I can call him when I need to.
All of you who have fathers, hug them for the one I can't hug. Hope you and they had a wonderful day.
There was a dark-haired man in Berryhill with his little girl. She looked about two or three, adorable little blonde girl. Most people realize that children are precious and should be cherished as they grow. They'll never be so small and innocent again. My thoughts went out to the little girl, though. Make him proud. Be his joy, the delight of his eyes, and learn everything you can from him. Cherish him while you've got him, because no one will ever love you like your Daddy.
Getting ready for the Father's Day concert, the one actual fatherly event I had all day. It was raining and dreary. I felt so lonely. My father told me I was his better self, the person he would be if he could do it all again. But he is also my better self, the person I am so lucky I have the chance to be like. No one will ever love me or be so proud of me as my Father. God I miss him.
The concert went well, and I felt much better as it went. But it just felt strange. Something kept nagging at me. I finally realized what it was in the Red Lion, when Zev said maybe he should call his dad. Lots of people had been talking about calling home, and the thought had been in my mind that I needed to call home...
And talk to Dad.
I just, I wanted to call him, and... and to tell him... God, everything.
The director of the choir I just joined told a beautiful story about how after his father's death, he had a dream of walking through a beautiful wood behind his dad. And then, in this gorgeous clearing his father stopped and turned, and smiled. Later in his life, he was walking in some woods, and came to a clearing, and recognized the clearing from his dream.
I visited Yellowstone shortly after my dad died, and I was pretty numb. But the mountains and the rivers spoke to me, stirred things inside of me, and I knew my father would have loved this place. I dreamed, later, that I was visiting it with him, and he was loving every minute.
And I wanted to enjoy it with him, but I couldn't. All I could think of was, "You're going to die. You have to know, I have to tell you." But I couldn't tell him. He couldn't understand me. And I couldn't just enjoy being with him again in that amazing place. I wanted to so badly, but I couldn't.
What is it about me that has such a hard time treasuring what I have because it's not everything I want? I have to work on that.
My Rice Owls did me proud today. So the day is ending on a high note. And I don't have to deal with this particular holiday for another year. Still, I wish I could have visited his grave.
Sherrie gave me a lovely idea. She said I needed to go out and buy a helium balloon, and release it and watch it float away, and that is how I can call him when I need to.
All of you who have fathers, hug them for the one I can't hug. Hope you and they had a wonderful day.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Game 1. INSANE.
Rice...
Fight...
Never die...
Blue, gray...
In the sky!
Stand! Cheer! Drink more beer!!!
GO! GO! GOOOOOOOOOOOO RICE!!!!!
Oh my gosh. When I joined the game today, we were behind 5-4. Then we went 6-4. Then 10-4. Then 10-5.
Then 10-6. Then 10-7. 8.
9.
10. Tie game.
.
.
.
Rice 11-10. 12-10! 13, 14, 15-10!
Rice ahead, 15-10!
Rice...
WINS 15-10.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
Excuse me while I go collapse.
Fight...
Never die...
Blue, gray...
In the sky!
Stand! Cheer! Drink more beer!!!
GO! GO! GOOOOOOOOOOOO RICE!!!!!
Oh my gosh. When I joined the game today, we were behind 5-4. Then we went 6-4. Then 10-4. Then 10-5.
Then 10-6. Then 10-7. 8.
9.
10. Tie game.
.
.
.
Rice 11-10. 12-10! 13, 14, 15-10!
Rice ahead, 15-10!
Rice...
WINS 15-10.
OH.
MY.
GOD.
Excuse me while I go collapse.
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