Jelly.

You know what I want? Chokecherry jelly. Dark and tannic and sweet, like a wine that speaks of the open prairie, the hot sun, the shade of the elm trees under which the brambles grow, instead of some stupid vinyard in California.

I wonder what this portends.

My horoscope for the week, via Rob Brezney in the Indy:

Taurus:

During my recent visit to the Burning Man festival, I faced a dicey dilemma: what to do with my eyes as I talked with the many women who wore no clothes above the waist? At first I steadfastly kept my gaze from dipping below their necks. Then I decided that was silly; if they were strongly opposed to me looking at their breasts, they wouldn't be naked. On the other hand, I didn't want to be sneaky, stealing furtive glances when they were momentarily distracted. Ultimately, I asked each woman for permission to indulge in a brief ogle. That way we could get the issue out of the way and conduct our conversations in peace. They all thought this was a sensible approach. I hope this tale will inspire you, Taurus, to deal expeditiously with the 900-pound gorilla in the corner of your world.

Love. Today is our five-year anniversary.

Pretty amazing. Of course, we joked:

"What's five years?"

"Wood."

"Heh. I got your wood."

"I would if I could."

"I wonder why we don't get enough wood."

We both looked at Ray. She grinned.

Excellent. There's a good story online at The Third Alternative by Martin Simpson:

Last Rites and Resurrections.

Brief, maybe five minutes' reading time.

Heh.

Do not click here. Especially if you're a guy.

Okay. You may not see much here for a while; I'm going to be working on putting together a website of my dang-fangled programming own. So any advice is welcome....

It won't be pretty. I think I can promise that much.

But at least it won't be on Blogger.

No news is good news, right?

Sorry. I haven't been gone, just...well. You know.

I'm finally feeling better about Jonathan. I still tear up whenever I let my self think about him, but I'm balancing out the feeling that the world has changed into something I don't like anymore. I don't sit and dwell.

I finally said to myself, "Only you can have a crappy day."

So. Enjoy the people I love, keep on writing, let go of the suffering. I went so far as to read a Zen book called Sweeping Changes. About sweeping. It helped.

I've been writing love-notes to Lee and playing with Ray in the park, and spending less time worrying about all the things I don't get done.

Novel: page 330. Lee's birthday: was September first. Spring cleaning: finally complete. Calandars: Still on August. Tomorrow's the 911 anniversary. I made chicken salad for the first time today. I made it deviled-style, because the chicken had been grilled, and I didn't want to overwhelm a delicate mayonnaise with char.

Chicken
Mayo
Good Dijon Mustard (Don't get me started about mustard. I get embarrassed about it long after I should have shut up.)
Cayenne pepper
Salt and freshly ground pepper
Worchestershire sauce

Serve on rye with slices of red onion and sharp cheddar.

Mmm.

I also got a fondue cookbook, since Lee bought a fondue pot. Hmmm de hmmmmmmmmmmmm, hm hmmmm de hmmmmm. First, you have to pick a recipe.

Crap, man.

Dag Nabbit.

First, it rained and fogged all weekend. I had been planning to take Ray to the Balloon Classic, which runs for three days over Labor Day weekend in the Springs.

Nope. For the first time in twenty-seven years, no balloons made it up.

Second, Dale was going to come out next weekend before he schlepped it off to the Army, but no dice.

Maaaaaaaan.

Test.

Via ***Dave.


From an online test by Nestle's of all people:


Your fantasy man is a Rebel with a Cause
You just can’t help it. Bad boys just get your heart pounding. Maybe it’s because you know deep down your fantasy man isn’t trying to be bad, he’s just trying to express himself in his own way. For him, some rules were meant to be broken, and that’s exactly what makes him so darn sexy. He walks on the wild side of life, calling his own shots and stirring up trouble as he cruises down the highway of life. Since inhibitions are not in his vocabulary, he knows how to let loose and throw caution to the wind.

Whether he fully fits the image of Harley, tattoos, and leather jacket, or he creates his own image, he’s the poster boy for cool and confident — possibly even cocky. He may not be the kind of guy you bring home to Mom, but he is the type of guy who’ll show you a good time and help you let your hair down. That’s exactly what fantasies are for. And in this fantasy, it’s a rebel who gets your motor running.

--You know what I thought the first time I saw Lee? "There's trouble."