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Name: Justine
Location: Annapolis, Maryland, United States

Justine, is a little bit more than you'd expect. This is where you are supposed to put your "elevator speech". What you'd say if you were in the elevator with somebody you wanted to connect with. I don't have an "elevator speech". If I ran smack-dab into one of my "heroes" I'd just have to smile and be polite and keep my yipper shut and that's probably for the best anyway!

Thursday, December 29, 2005
Still on the line, Dwight

Cold Day In Hell


I am a lineman for the county and
I drive the main roads
Searching in the Sun for another overload.
I hear you singing in the wire.
I can hear you through the whine
and the Wichita lineman is still on the line.

I know I need a small vacation
But it don't look like rain
If it snows that stretch down south won't ever stand the strain.
I need you more than want you.
I want you for all-time
and the Wichita lineman is still on the line.

By Jimmy Webb


Cold Day In Hell
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
Smoke Warning
Looking down the old blog page today...I realize I started an entry titled "Dwight In My Closet" It was going to be a treatise on my recent fascination with twangy and gut wrenching Dwight Yoakam songs.

But, as is sadly usual, I got the page started and then had to flag off to take care of some smoking crater of doom and destruction.

Somehow I think all these sad, heart broken songs of mourning for loves and lives lost are all coming to me from me. Dedicated by the collective parts, to the parts that are taking the brunt of the recent stress and strain. Songs dedicated to mourning the lives and things and time and people we've lost. Things we are letting go of.

We can't go back to being ten years old and relive our life with both mother and father in an intact family. We can't go back and be 15 and fun and flirty again. Fun and flirty we can still do, but sadly 15 is gone forever. And probably just as well. A 15 year old with my thoughts locked up in her head would be a dangerous thing indeed.

We've got a lot of things to mourn, the whole group of us. All the parts of the personality. The guardians and the splinters that have shattered off and come back and are holding together in a unified front these days.

We've got a lot of years of being in a crappy job, crappy relationship, crappy apartment, crappy health. We've got a lot we'd like to go back and fix. A lot we have to release. Because we are not going back. Not only can't we...but thinking about it eats up time and energy we need to make the now a rocket ride to the stars.

So sing it Dwight. Give it up. Witness for the lovelorn and the shell shocked and do it all with that twangy country two step backbeat.


Dark Stranger? Strange Darker?
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Where's the cable Dwight?
The sizzling sound you hear is the post-Christmas melt down.

In wiring closet number three, not a creature was stiring because el ratton fried himself on an electrical wire. Of course, his contribution to Santa's sack of joy is that the entire online tax filing application is taking the big dirt nap.

Now this disaster, when presented to me this morning, made me ask "What kind of yo-yo files last year's tax return the day after Christmas? Tell them to go to Wal-Mart and have some popcorn and a smiley face sticker. Maybe buy themselves a set of mud flaps on sale or something."

But my employer does not appreciate jocularity in their ITD staff. (They should because our warped sense of humor has kept us from going postal on many occasions.)

Once Senior Ratton was given a proper trash bag burial, Server D9 refused to speak with the IP host. I got the shrieking phone call announcing, "D9 is down!"

"We're all down it's the day after a holiday get him some coffee and let him have a cigarette and he'll be ok."

Apparently not the correct response.

So I ran down the guy who keeps the cabinet keys so we could pay a visit on Mr. D9. Apparently key procedures have changed. I'm on the list of people to fix server problems but not on the list of people who can open the server cabinets.

I have a wicked Craftsman screwdriver that pretty much ignores conventionality. It didn't check my security clearance before it let me lift the door off the cabinet.

Amidst the twisted nest of wires surrounding D9 in its cabinet...there was one thing conspicuously missing. That, of course, was a power cable.

Somebody not only unplugged D9, they took the frickin' cable.

A missing cable is a hardware problem, not a database problem. So I tucked my Craftsman "persuader" into my duffle bag and left the server room. When I got back to my cubby hole in our little sector of hell, I filed an online equipment repair ticket for the cable. Just for good measure I mentioned an unhinged cabinet door.

The tax application is still down. The web site is displaying the "Pardon our dust while we upgrade." sign.

I'm back at my desk, listening to Dwight Yoakam sing gut wrenching love-gone-wrong songs and working on a database deadlocking problem. Sometime this afternoon, when they fire up all the document scanners, they should notice that all 3 of them won't work at the same time. That would, of course, be because the software they bought to run them, deadlocks itself. So I'm working on the "quality control" issues for a software vendor that hires 19 year olds for three times my annual salary.

My boss has just buzzed me. Apparently the whiz kids we paid 65K for the scanner, don't know how to set it up. I'm supposed to be able to figure it out.

Dwight is crooning, "Oh this time, is the last time, I'll endure the pain. Oh, this time, is the last time, you'll ever hurt me again."

I wonder, if Dwight, country crooner that he is, wouldn't remember to plug in the server, pay the pest control people to keep the rats down, and hire a company with a proven track record.

Sing it for me Dwight.....and while you're at it....hand me that cable.


Wire me up baby!


Hand me that disk drive Dwight.

Ok, they told me I had directions and I was supposed to go ahead and configure the new scanner computer.

I can follow orders. I can follow directions. So I did as I was told.

The partitioning directions said set the C drive to 33 GB and set the D drive to 45 GB. So that's what they were set at.

Not my fault the scanner company shipped the wrong sized hard drive.

The paritioning program fried the hard drive like a piece of chicken.

Operating system gone. Scanner dead in the water.

It arrived at 7 a.m., one hour ahead of schedule. It died at 2 p.m.

Never let it be said, I don't follow orders. Never let it be said I wasn't laughing the whole time I told the service tech to get his tiny hiny on the phone and order a new disk drive.

He gave me static. I phoned the boss, she applied the half nelson. The new drive was ordered. It will be fedex-d and arrive on Thursday. The little service tech will have to drag his butt back to the shop and fix it.

If they had shipped the right size hard drive, and partitioned it at the factory as we had asked them to....well....they wouldn't have a problem now would they?

They still refuse to do the partitioning at the factory, so I told them to ship 4 hard drives and when I get done learning how to do the partitioning I'll ship them back the one's that aren't broken.


Hey, they got what they asked for but not what they wanted.

Maybe Dwight has a new disk drive on the tour bus.



Wire me up baby!
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Thinkin' of Cousin Tuesday

Alaska Stand Memories?

The Alaska Stand



Home Sweet Home
The Pinball Temple





Pinball Wizard?
Current Photo of the former hallowed pinball row.



Thinking of Christmas past. When we had no doubt that everything would go on just the same forever. Thankfully there is the warm gift of memory.

Merry Christmas.

Luv ya,
Cousin Monday
Friday, December 23, 2005
For Cousin Tuesday

Dark Stranger? Strange Darker?


"Merry Christmas Cousin"


"HOOOOOWL"
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
The Dwight In My Closet

Dark Stranger? Strange Darker?



No Tell Motel?
Another cold day in hell.........

Another bright day on the job.



Ok Cousin Tuesday, I know the boardwalk is on one side and the ocean is on the other. But darned if I can see which side.

Since it's too foggy to stand on the balcony and toss beer bottles into the pool, let's go out for a nosh!

By the way...the Valiant is running well tonight!

Shall we have supper in the Garden Room?

Oh, and by the way, please remind me to go to school as far away from Maryland as possible? Also to never work for the Comptroller or invest with Wachovia? Thank you so much.

Now that we've gone back and started over again...I'd hate to f**k up my second chance!

Snuggles,
Bernie Jean
Monday, December 19, 2005
If I had a Shun....

Which one should I stab you with?


"If I had a Shun knife...I'd use it in the morning, I'd use it in the evening, all over this land......."


My hero, Alton Brown, mugging with his selection of custom Shun knives.

What can I say. A man smiling with a fist full of knives. Perhaps he has investments with Wachovia. I called today to ask about the accounts again and now they aren't visible on the computer any more.

You think, with it being Christmas and all, they'd at least send out a jar of Vaseline with their monthly statements.

Now I've got to fax these clowns a copy of last month's statements to prove we have accounts. Of course American Skandia, true pirates of the lowest order, won't discuss the account with anyone but the broker. The broker says they can't find the account.

Where's Captain Jack and the Black Pearl when you need him.

I say we pilfer ourselves a full set of Alton Brown knives and help the Wachovia pirates with their memories!

At least Captain Jack would admit to being a pirate. These chinchilla testicles won't even admit to being alive! Amazing how their phones don't work.

NEVER LET ANYONE YOU KNOW BUY AN ANNUITY. NEVER LET ANYONE YOU KNOW DEAL WITH WACHOVIA! The financial institution that blames every thing they don't want to admit to on computer problems. Either they have the world's worst computer system or they are the biggest bunch of pirates to sail Tampa bay since the glory days of the Spanish Main.

Lock up your money. Get out your knives! We be under siege!
Friday, December 16, 2005
This much I know.....

Boardwalk Rainy Morning Long Ago.


"I've had second thoughts about every reason
We let love slip away from our lives
And there's no place left to look
That I don't see some small reminder
Of all the chances I just let go by"
~~~ Dwight Yoakam "This Much I Know"


Dwight is still serenading me. Don't know why, haven't thought about it really, but he seems to fit the situation.

Filing NASD complaints agains Wachovia. Sawing through mountains of red tape. Gaffing through an ass backwards software installation.

I feel like Dwight in the pic above. Walking down an empty, rainy, cold street. That's my story in life. Luckily I've got the chops for it.

Cuzin Tuesday...if you're out there reading this. It's good to know you're out there somewhere. You know how things get.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Flashlight
As a kid, I didn't read under the covers with a flashlight. No after hours bliss with comic books for me.

It seems I waited 30 years for such antics. Here I am, in the dark, in my bedroom, pretending I've gone to bed. I'm sitting here with my laptop on my legs and Dwight Yoakam singing "Hold On To God" through my headphones.

I'm sneaking some peace and quiet after a day of fighting, snipping, and being generally worn out all the way around.

But here I am. A shiny new wireless network card flashing digital morse code to a wireless router tucked behind a bookshelf in the junk room.

Today was the day I had the DSL upgraded to fiber optic. Geeze, what was I thinking? Now I have fiber optic phone as well. They came and put a new phone box on the side of the house. Then they drilled two new holes in the junk room wall and brought in a router connection, fiber optic power box, and a battery backup. The whole shebang is attached to the baseboard in the back bedroom.

Verizon wanted to put it in the basement. But that is somebody else's apartment. So I have the whole works in my apartment. What a hassle.

I have decided to take the adversary back to Florida next weekend. My Christmas present to myself. I need some time off. I'm getting worn down.

She's resisting. She wants to bitch about the current situation but she doesn't want it to change. I gave her the decision either go back to FL or get an apartment here. She won't make the choice...so I will.

It's probably the completely wrong thing to do...but I'm doing it anyway.

Thanks to the new ficon....the musicmatch juke box is smoking fast. Dwight is trucking through with no delay time.

The wireless card is blinking it's little eyes in the dark.

The laptop is getting very hot on my lap. When I run it on the table I put little rubber feet under the corners to put it up off the table top so it will run cooler. Some ninny put the CPU cooling fan on the bottom of the unit....then they made the unit sit flush on the table top.....or in my case leg-top

So I'm listening to my guilty pleasures and blogging away.

Wish me luck with all this madness.
Nothing More Can Be Said

This is my alley bub.


I couldn't change your heart
I couldn't change your mind
So I just had to learn to live with
This empty life you left behind

You didn't try to hear
You didn't try to see
No you just stared right through the teardrops
Like there was nothing left of me

Nothing but sorrow, nothing but pain
Nothing but memories that whisper your name
Nothing but sadness, nothing but fear
Nothing but silence is heard around here

Bridges were burned
Lessons were learned
Promises made that were broken
Tender lies so softly spoken

You didn't try to hear
You didn't try to see
You just stared right through the teardrops
Like there was nothing left of me

Nothing but sorrow, nothing but pain
Nothing but memories that whisper your name
Nothing but sadness, nothing but fear
Nothing but silence is heard around here

~~~~~~ "Nothing" by Dwight Yoakam
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Flight Plans
"All they sold is a one way ticket , cau's you don't come back to here.
Ran all night with the damned and the wicked tryin' to break on out in the clear.
I caught the first thing smokin' and I took it for a long, long ride.

Now my path is laid on the star crossed night as satan showed his hand.
I heard angels weep as they watched the plight of a soul without a chance.
I caught the first thing smokin' and I took it for a long, long ride.

From and empty grave on the other side I could hear the demons wail
The truth I sought came wrapped in lies, was the postage due in hell."



Dwight Yoakam's song from "South of Heaven, West of Hell" is today's theme song.

Wachovia Securities in Ft. Myers Florida tied my 80 year old mother's money up in annuities she can't touch for 8 years without paying a huge penalty. I've called them on it and asked for refunds on her behalf. Of course, now they won't answer the phone or return calls. In my personal opinon Kevin Wolfe of Wachovia securities is either an imcompetent financial manager or or a manager who is much more interested in how much money he can milk out of an account without regard to what happens to the client.

If any broker tries to sell you an annuity tell them to shove it! They get a fat comission and sell you down the drain. If you want to gamble....go to Vegas and have some fun. Don't pay to send your planner so he can gamble with your money!

Ah, to hell with work.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Work that Body

Ah, to hell with work.


"The body is not a temple, it is an amusement park." ~ Anthony Bourdain

The thought hit me like a cold coke dropped through the driver's side window at an Arby's pull up window. Cold, wet, galvinizing, inciting immediate reaction.

Instead of all this "worshipping" the body and beating myself with should and shouldn'ts what if I looked at the whole self care thing as maintaining a roller coaster or a fun house ride.

What if eating brocolli became repainting the tracks for the roller coaster of rapacious romps?

Eh, I don't like that turn of phrase either. To be brutal, the thought is lost now. I started this post on Dec 9th and today is Dec 12th. The 9th through the 12th were monopolized by failing web servers, missing scanned images, overloaded laundry baskets, empty pantries, stacked bills, missed deadlines, sick animals, acrobatic houseguests, and a score of other things that I took care of at the expense of having one moment's peace.

Yes, that is one hell of a run-on sentence. Breathless, tumbling, confused, mercurial....just like the weekend was.

This morning my co-workers celebrated my belated birthday with bagels. It was a relief to be able to stand still and nosh.

I came in early this morning for a meeting. Still missed the meeting because I was late, but i the scheme of things I was still early.

The Metropolitan Poultry Company truck picked today to break down in the middle of the Severn River Bridge. So all traffic was frustrated, constipated, and running twenty minutes late. I had to go east and drive 3 miles out of the way to be able to get on the west bound road.

Any morning you start out making a left to go right....you know it's going to be a rumble tumble day.

I'm sure the necessary channels will rumble about my lateness. But at this moment, I'm drinking my tea and bracing myself for the rest of the day.

New equipment hit the loading dock this morning. Contractors will arrive later on in the day. I will be expected to install software without instructions. Should be primo as usualy.

I'm ready.

What the hell.

After 3 days I've finally managed to finish this blog entry. Things are back on track and crusing along.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Menu Selections

Spice.


tonight's sumptuous break from the grind is an early birthday present. Last night, while standing in line at the Barnes & Noble with an armload of calendars, I spied "Kitchen Confidential" on the "impulse buy" rack next to the latest "rag mag".

Not only was it the audio version, read by the author, it was unabridged and on sale. $19.95

I left Barnes & Noble with four calendars and 8 hours of Anthony Bourdain recounting his crisp and personal prose.

Am I the culinary type? No. Anthony Bourdain would lump me in the same category of culinary sophistication as a starving dog. Disordered eating is my battle scar and daily curse. I wouldn't eat three quarters of what this guy claims is manna from heaven.

No what I covet about Anthony Bourdain is his narrative style. Down to earth without being so regional it makes you barf. Personal without being precious. Honest story telling without emotional bombs littering the landscape. No confessional despite the title "Adventures In The Culinary Underbelly".

Bourdain says what is, what he remembers, what he thinks, and what he believes. He doesn't dress it up into a harrowing tale of hard times or insane self-abuse.

He tells the story. Straight out, he makes you want to know what comes next. His words keep your mind twinkling with images that you know yourself by heart in some way or another.

He makes it seem easy.

Perhaps that is the thing that brings out the most jealousy. He makes it seem so easy. Just like water trickling down a stream in a peaceful glade.

Easy, honest, up close but not cloying.

I could care less about reading the life story of a chef. Bourdain cooks up, instead, a life both extraordinary and everyday. He's the kind of guy you must know from somewhere. His way of stringing words together smacks or practical but paints a picture you can't look away from.

I turn on his television show, just to hear him speak. Just to hear his narrative trace over the film footage of his adventures eating around the world. I watch him on a cable channel that doesn't even have a clear picture. Most of the time I can't see what he's talking about. I can only hear him. Loud and clear.

Serving up platters of delectable prose. The kind of thoughts and words and stories I could feast upon until I burst.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Thunderball
He always runs while others walk
He acts while other men just talk.
He looks at this world, and wants it all,
So he strikes, like thunderball.
He knows the meaning of success.
His needs are more, so he gives less.
They call him the winner who takes all.
And he strikes, like thunderball.

Any woman he wants, he’ll get.
He will break any heart without regret.
His days of asking are all gone.
His fight goes on and on and on.
But he thinks that the fight is worth it all.
So he strikes like thunderball


Thunderballs!
Just a little is enough....

Tiny Happy People


I became ill a few years ago and at Christmas time didn't have the energy to put up a tree, do a big card list, and go through the whole bullhooey.

That year I delved into my storage closet and picked out a single Dept 56 ceramic Christmas house. I plunked it on the table and plugged in the light.

There on the table I had the perfect Christmas in minature. A decorated brownstone house strung with Christmas lights, a leafless oak with lights in the branches, a Christmas tree in the window, a man and a dog playing with a rope on the front steps.

I found that I enjoyed sitting in my candlelit living room looking at my perfect little Christmas world on the table.

In my mind's eye I created the story of the man and his dog. I created the story of the happy little brownstone.

I took my little bit of energy and spent it enjoying.

This year the family is in chaos. Instead of craving a sleighride I'm hoping I can avoid an ambulance ride.

So again the little brownstone with the happy man and dog are on the table.

Ten minutes each evening I escape the fracas and travel into the tiny world and enjoy myself.

Sometimes a little is just enough.
Monday, December 05, 2005
The misadventures of Tom Jones

Still cute as a wink.

OK, there is absolutely no way I'm going to be able to write anything serious here today. My heart will explode if I start thinking about all the nasty things on the to-do list.

Tom Jones was on public tv last night. They were showing a retrospective of his carreer. So Tom Jones gets the spotlight here today too.

What is it about Tom Jones?

I was a kid in the late sixties and early seventies when Tom hit the scene. I liked the way he sang. I like the sparkly suits. What did I know from tight pants and hip shaking?

My mom thought Tom was a looker. She bought a Tom Jones album. My dad had a fit. My dad looked like Robert Wagner...so what did he have to pitch a hissy about? But then again it was the same cheatin' and bein' possessive jazz like that "Trapped in a closet" story that R. Kelly thinks he invented. Cheatin', lyin', and sneakin' around has been going on since there were more than 2 people in the world.

Back in the sixties my dad, besides being jealous of Tom Jones, was steppin' out on the side. The side, the top, the bottom, and around the back. He was a dog and not in a good way.

I was a kid and all that was in the undertone of the background. A static current of unrest jsut before my family broke apart and sank into oblivion.

I was semi-oblivious myself sitting in front of the monster sized color console tv watching Tom sing.

I liked his laughing eyes. (You can tell this man is laughing at the whole wiggly-jiggly all the time he's doing it!) I liked the voice.

When I saw Tom again last night it finally hit me what a screaming henny fit his dancing must have caused back then. Hell, it's unnerving today!

The women on stage now dance that way. The guys today aren't that limber. They're too busy trying to keep their pants up to display and sashay like Tom.

In fact, looking at Tom from today's viewpoint...Tom had some booty goin' on! :) (Apologies to Mr. Jones.) Err....I mean he is a fine, healthy, handsome man....in those skin tight pants and platform shoes.

I've got Tom tuned in thie morning on Music Match. The picture is of a Tom Jones from the 90's. He's wearing a sky blue mesh shirt. He's looking like he could swing a sledgehammer clean through a block wall. He's still built like a brick....er ummmm a bulldog! He's in find condition. He's still got that twinkle in his eye. That's something the young boys twitching their biscuits in baggy pants don't have. They really thing they are the only slice of cheese in the ice box.

I believe Tom knows he's part of the cheese shop, granted a mighty fine slice, but he's aware and he's winking at it. And really so are we. It's light, it's fun, it's a break from daily doom and disaster.

Thank God.

He's singing "I'm Never Gonna Fall In Love Again." My heart is so broken, I feel like I never will either.



Brick House
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Cold as a.......

Sigh


Forecast is calling for snow.

New snow shovel in the back seat of the car. A plastic snow "pusher". At least it's not as heavy as the metal shovel I used last year. Better on the back to push the snow across to the yard than try and hoist it up and toss it.

10 Pound container of ice melt on the portch.

Trapped with an angry house guest that doesn't want to move out and doesn't want to stay.

Oh it is a cold day for sure.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
I can dream can't I?

Sigh

Wishin' I was chillin' in a deluxe bachelorette pad.
Geeze!

Geeze


Ok, I've bent over backwards trying to get things working. In the mail today I get a letter saying the house in Florida was damaged during the hurricane. The neighbors want to talk to us and see what we can do to get the roof covered up . Apparently the thing has been open to the elements for 2 motnhs. Thrills, chills, and spills.

The time has come to sell the place....to sell it as is.

Time has come to get a small apartment for her and get her used to the idea that she is a citizen of MD. At least for now. At least until a miracle comes along.

Last night the financial planner came by. She is going to outlive her money thanks to the assholes at Wachovia. They played her account and made more money off of it than she did.

Now they've got her stuff tied up so she can't get to it. Those fu**ers put it investments probably won't live long enough to get any money off of.

It's time to see if we can't just rip the wheels off their little red wagon too.

Gloomy Saturday night. Snow and sleet expected tonight and tomorrow.

Looked at Heartlands today. God...spare us all from places like that.

Things are dark. All the way around.
Friday, December 02, 2005
For Cuzin Tuesday

Vroom


What do you say? Monday & Tuesday crusin' to the beach. Just a shiny red mustang and two chairs in the sand?

Wouldn't it be nifty.....even if we are both somewhere about fifty?

Warm sand between your toes, beer bubbles ticklin' you nose.

Sun wavering around the horizon, no economizn!

First class all the way......

Even though we've only been married a few days.... I know I'll love you forever

And a day
I had a life once, now all I have is a mission

I am the mission.


I had a life once........Now all I have is a mission.

The resistance is hunkered down in the trenches. Lack of rest, constant stress, unfavorable financial prospects have all led to a bone deep fatigue.

We have lost our memories of joy, repose, fun, frolic, anything but the dark, muddy trenches of the struggle.

The fight goes back and forth. The adversary has screaming fits at intervals. Pique, spite, anger all combine to mask what must be a profound depression and confusion.

I have to admit to uttering the words, "I'm depressed." for the first time in years. And brother I am depressed.....

I HAD A LIFE ONCE..... NOW ALL I HAVE IS A MISSION

My mission is to relocate and provide a safe haven for the adversary. Once again, I appear to have been robbed of an inheritance by a man dabbling in the books. It is going to be difficult to keep the adversary well and with sufficient medical care with the assets. The adversary is going to outlive her means. This is sickening.

Guilt floods us. We at the resistance are afraid that we should have done something to stop this asset decline years ago. We feel guilty for taking the one time grant from the adversary, for taking funds for medical treatment from the adversary.

We are overcome by fatigue, guilt, worry, and concern.

Our late lamented Carl Kolchak said "What if everything you feared was real."

In many respects, that day has come for us.
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Ain't no Hollaback Girl

I Ain't No Hollaback Cat!


A few times I been round this track so it's not just gonna happen like that!

Resistance has gone deep underground. Discouragement abounds. A strategic review reveals significant progress. Mid-struggle blues has everyone tired. Looming snow clouds have the trench warfare looking trenchy and unappealing.

Last night we enjoyed a bit of music with Ottmar Liebert. He comes onstage, sits in his little plastic 60's chair, and plays with his eyes closed. Barefoot, with his head shaved, skinny to the point his clothes hang on him like suggestions, Ottmar plays magic.

Last night he had a string quartet, a five string electric bass player, and a percussionist with him.

I listened to most of the concert with my eyes closed. Staring at the strange assemblage of musicians each with their own eyes closed, didn't lend much to the music. I needed the time out. I needed the beauty.

A voice kept singing inside my head that I deserved that beauty everyday. It urged me to expect that beauty, to await it and it would appear.

Funny, I had forgotten that thought until just now. I am convincing myself at this moment that I deserve beauty in my life, that beauty is my birthright, that beauty exists in the world, that beauty exists in startling bounty and profusion in my world.

Beauty falling in rays like the light from the sun. Beauty that escapes words, that expands and exceeds the power of story. Beauty that feeds the soul, swirls with life, holds all the secrets the books can not print.

Tonight is the financial planner and the moving of the resources. The making of the budget. The hammering out the first of the major accords, the throw of the dice that lets us know what living arrangements...which beauties will be ours.

The resistance is quiet today, blinking slowly, on the lookout for beauty. Battle hardened, closed but open too. The resistance is being tested. It holds by the grace of God by the beauty of God in the world.

Godspeed the Resistance!