Looking ahead

I was reminded of two Robert Frost poems today. I think they're fitting leaving 2008 and heading into 2009. I have no idea what the coming year holds. I stumbled my way through 2008 (I still can't believe it was 2008!) and I think I've found something resembling direction for 2009. Too early to tell, but it's a journey. I'll let you know when I get there.

Now for Robert Frost:

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

I don't remember reading this one in high school or college, but it is quite good. I think 2009 will see me diving back into books and painting tons of miniatures.

Fire and Ice

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to persish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

Just words

I've written 3,570 words out of my 50,000-word novel so far. Tonight was the first time since Nov. 11 that I've touched that story. It's not due to lack of plot or character development; it's because the hurt was gone and I wanted it to stay away.

My story is about an elderly widower who rescues a kitten and then tells the cat the story of his life. They become great companions. The cat is the narrator, and well, it makes a lot of sense in my head. I'm sure it sounds pretty stupid to most of you, but here's the catch: The main character is based on my grandfather, who died Oct. 16, 2008. So many of the stories he tells the cat will be from my grandfather's life.

I talked to Graham on Thursday and he asked if I was doing any better. I told him "yes" but as soon as I said the word, I knew it was a lie. I have been avoiding the issue by not writing, the very thing that I had chosen as my coping mechanism. The one thing I'm good at, or at least used to be good at. Avoidance is much neater and requires so much less effort. Easier to dull the ache with paintbrush in hand, or mindlessly playing PS2.

I knew I needed to write today; I doubt I will reach the 50,000-word threshold by the 30th. I guess the important thing for me to realize is that I haven't resolved much about my grandfather's passing. I know there's no timetable to this. I know it's possible for the hurt to be less intense, but I understand it will be there.

The vulnerability sucks. The fleeting thoughts that make tears well up; it's similar to when the ex-person left, but means so much more. Grandpa was always there. The ex... only in my life for 6 years. I could direct my anger after he left. Who is there to be angry at when a 94-year-old man dies of cardio-pulmonary arrest? No one was negligent, it was just his time. With Captain Asshat, there was him and the Whorebag. And that was much easier to get over. Divorce done, I haven't seen him since. My current situation is much better and I'm thrilled to be with Scott. He didn't so much replace the ex as make me ask, "I was married?"

I don't have a way to replace Grandpa. I don't want to. There's no placeholder, no one who can impart his brand of wisdom. I'm thankful for my memories...

I foolishly thought this would clear my head. Now it feels like I've lost ground. I've gone from being the Happy Me to the Depressed Me with the lump in my throat and the pit in my stomach. I should feel fortunate that this is my first brush with the death of a loved one. But right now, I am the little girl without a grandpa.

Linkage

Posted this in the other blog, here be linkage:

http://ghettokore.blogspot.com/2008/10/time-out.html

Flogging Molly!

The band at rest. 

So tonight was the second time I've gotten to see them. It was a great fucking show... tons of people, lots of energy. They played 19 songs (!) and it kicked amazing amounts of ass from start to finish.

I spent too much money on merchandise -- I got a hoodie and stickers and then got a flag and some patches after the show.

But here's the killer thing: We got to meet bass player Nathen Maxwell, mandolin player Robert Schmidt and accordion player Matt Hensley. They were very, very cool. 

I asked Nathen about getting to sing during a show and this was his answer. I suggested "Queen Anne's Revenge" and he said "Cruel Mistress" is a better song. But he also said he was lucky to play in his favorite band.

"Playing bass is easy," he said. "There's four strings, and I've got four fingers."

The guys were so laid back and genuine. They posed for pictures, talked with us silly fans and were grateful for the compliments. It's nice to know the band that's been my favorite for the past four years has nice guys in it!

Compared to last year's show (which was still awesome, since it was my first), there was just more energy. Dave King spent a lot of time visiting with the audience. He's such a great showman.

The thing I noticed -- when I was able to see the band (no thanks to the stupid tall fuckers who kept standing RIGHT in front of me) was the energy King puts into the show. I've seen them in the "Whiskey on a Sunday" documentary DVD, and it's the same intensity in Boise as playing some big-ass outdoor festival in Europe. That, to me, is the mark of a good band.

It never looked like they were going through the motions. I know they've played these songs hundreds of times, but it still looked fresh and sounded full and just flat out fucking kicked ass. There's no other way to put it. Their music has a very organic and alive quality to it. I think that's why I like them. 

Dog knows I'm not Irish, not unless they made it to Japan and mingled with my ancestors.

But seriously, here is the score of the night. I photographed it so I could make a playlist in order. And then when I went to buy my flag, the guy was up by the merch table and gave it to me. He said that since he got the autographed drum cover last year, he felt like sharing with another fan. I think he was a little drunk, but I wasn't going to argue.

I count it as proof that something, somewhere is looking out for me. Yay!

too cool

So I've got an iPod Touch. And I can post to blogger from it. Mostly wanted to see if it would work. And it gives me something to do while we're waiting for the D&D game to be over. And it provides a little bit of protection from the horrible book of jokes Scott is reading from.

Suck it, Clearwire

Got the DSL up and running. It's not the best, but it's way fucking faster than the dogshit they call Clearwire.



Oh, and that speed is going through the Airport, btw...

To the dogs

This obituary apparently ran in The Idaho Statesman on 2.10.08. And because the rag, known for its backbone and wide stance, pulled the obit from the web site, I'm posting it here.

Opi Gomez My son closed his eyes Jan. 25, 2008 as his head was in my hand. My dearest son, you came into my life and left your paw prints engraved into my heart and soul. Opi was a true angel that left paw prints on many hearts. He also taught many lessons to people, one being me. He was a unique and fortunate little angel. He had his mommy and daddy and his DOG HOUSE FAMILY. Opi spent his last years in full-time day care, with his momma Linda, Richard and Carley; not only was he cared for, but spoiled rotten to the point they thought they owned him. Opi was an avid traveler, going to Mexico quite often and across the U.S. many times. He loved to dress up and strike a pose for anyone with a camera. They say memories are golden, well, maybe that is true. I never wanted memories, I only wanted you. If love alone could have saved you, you never would have died. In life I loved you dearly, in death, I love you still. In my heart you hold a place no one else could fill. If tears could build a stairway and heartache make a lane, I'd walk the path to Heaven and bring you back again. We miss you dearly. LOVE MOMMY AND DADDY.
Published in the Idaho Statesman on 2/10/2008.

In typical Idaho reactionary fashion, people have written the paper to show their outrage at having a dog sully the sacred spaces of the obituaries.

They're all dead. They don't care.

Sheesh.