We met in my senior year of high school, at his high school. Short set-up: my senior year, there were six of us (four seniors, two juniors; four guys, two gals) who needed another year of lab science. My high school offered physical science, which I’d already taken, and biology…and I was not about to dissect a fetal pig, thank you very much. So my high school’s administrators went to his high school’s administrators and proposed that my schoolmates and I attend their chemistry class in exchange for the loan of our band teacher.
Strangely enough, they took the deal. Never did get a band going, though.
Originally (and still) posted on the Book of Face, but since I’ve been planning to get back to blogging, the posts will go on my blog with a link from FB. The only change from there to here is that “Thanksgiving Day” in the third paragraph was “yesterday” in the FB post. Other than that, same here as there. And that said, here we go:
The beginning of my 366 Days of Gratitude and Good Things project. Yes, there may be days when it’s something small or silly, and there will days away from the computer when I won’t be posting (*cough*Burning Man*cough*)–but I’ll make notes and catch up when I get back.
To start, a story from Thanksgiving Day,
I went to Reno to see my friends The Novelists play a show for New Year’s Eve (AND IT ROCKED!! :D ). After the show, a bunch of us went out for a bite to eat at the…unfortunately but memorably named Lucky Beaver. The hamburgers and fries were yummeh in the extreme, and since the place is so close to the airport, Joel (founder of The Novelists) and Julia (the Wonder-Wife ;) ) offered to drop me off to catch my…6:00 AM flight headed home.
Yes, I did a turnaround trip to see a show. It isn’t the first time. :)
Anyway, also along to be dropped off not-at-the-airport was Justin, drummer extraordinaire for the band. And in the course of conversation, mostly about how the heater didn’t seem to be doing much heating, I said something about the witch, the well-digger and the brass monkey having a confab. Justin looked at me and said, in effect, “Wha?”
Not the dog. The drink.
I follow a blog by a food writer and occasional chef named Michael Ruhlman. I don’t even remember how I found his site now, but I like the way he writes and he has some interesting things to say about food and cooking (as you’d expect). Every Friday, he posts about beverages of the spiritous sort, everything from aged eggnog to new cocktails to the classics. Today, he wrote about a vodka-and-grapefruit-juice cocktail called a greyhound. And I had a rush of memories about a friend who drank greyhounds — only he drank them with gin rather than vodka, as I recall.
Many moons ago, Steve’s dad got this bee in his bonnet about moving. This was long after Steve and I had stopped being a couple, after coming out to his folks, after the end of his second (only other) long-term relationship — but before he’d slid too far down the path into the dark.
Anyway, J (Steve’s dad) was forever on about moving. Different city, different state, didn’t seem to much matter to him, as long as it was different and far away from his current life. Steve’s mom, B, was still working the first few times the subject came up — and she was NOwhere near ready to “retire” to a place she’d never been, with no job and no friends, just to spend 24/7 with J, the retired law enforcement sergeant and recovering alcoholic who, once he stopped drinking, didn’t really have any other hobbies…except maybe having become the next-best thing to a born-again Christian during his recovery. That was…fun.
I mean, they loved each other, J and B did, but Steve and I could watch them, did watch them more times than I could count, go from amity to acrimony in less than ten minutes because neither of them seemed able to stop pushing the other’s buttons. Hell, I’m not sure they ever figured out they even HAD buttons, let alone knew what they were doing to set each other off, which pretty much made them clueless about how to stop.
What, you think Steve should have said something? He may have, to his mom, anyway. But his dad was an angry, nasty drunk with a hair-trigger temper, and that’s something that didn’t change after J kicked alcohol.
Assuming you’ve already read this, you’re ready to hear about What I Did for Winter Solstice and New Year’s, 2013/2014 Version. Trust me, it’s DEFINITELY an improvement. ;)
New Year’s Day. I’ve had a blog in mind — a couple of them, actually — since about the Winter Solstice, because in a lot of ways, the dark of the year seems like a more reasonable closing of the old year, so the day after would make a better beginning. But we have what we have, regardless of the calendar you use, so instead, A Comparison of the Life I Was Living two years ago (end of 2011, to be slightly more precise), and the one I’m living now, which will be here. The tale of two years ago will mostly come from posts on Making Light.