Hello, see ya later ...

As those of you still paying attention may have noticed, I'm not blogging. It wasn't a conscious choice, it just kind of happened. Maybe the urge will return, maybe not. You'll know because I'll start commenting on somebody else's blog first, I bet. So, my blog buds who saw me through the last crazy year of my life, so long for the moment. Have fun in the blogosphere and let me know if anything momentous happens.

Mim? Meem? Mime? (No, too wordy)

PJ has tagged me, so I have to join back in the blogging community, I guess. I've been actually ignoring all of my favorite blogs recently, to say nothing of my own. New job and some other emotionally distracting stuff has been taking my attention instead. OK, here goes:

- Link to the person that tagged you. (done)
- Post the rules on your blog.
- Share six non-important things/habits/quirks about yourself.
- Tag six people and at the end of your post, link to their blogs.
- Let each person know they have been tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

1. I've had short hair for most of my 44 years, except that I grew it out in high school, then dramatically cut it all off, did the same thing in college and now, have actually had it kind of long for two years. A life record.

2. Though I hang out with mostly Anglican bloggers, the current politics of TEC have bored me into ignoring most of what is going on. Sorry, folks. I know it's important and all that, I just can't force myself to care all that much. I went through the same thing in my own denomination -- from activist to apathetic. Maybe it's a phase.

3. My cat has had a gross skin disease for over a year now. I took him to the vet repeatedly at the beginning and dropped major amounts of money I don't have on shots, pills and more. The vet clearly didn't know what was wrong and the cat doesn't seem to be suffering, so now I just accept the disease as if it were male pattern baldness-- something that can't really be helped. I know, I know, I'm a bad, bad cat owner. Feel free to send money and I'll try another vet.

4. I've taken to considering the following a complete meal for myself and my son: carrots with ranch dressing, apples with peanut butter, crackers and cheese. And on a good night, hard boiled eggs with mustard.

5. I'm very moody. Ask anybody who's ever had to live with me.

6. Although I complain too often on this blog about what I find lacking in the various worship services I attend, I'm a worship junkie. I really can't go long without a service. And if I had all the time in the world, I'd probably go to several every week.

My blogging circle is so small these days, it's more like a semi-circle, but I'll try Diane and Laura.

On to New Hampshire

Well, for all intents and purposes, Dennis is out of the race. Not that this surprises me, but still, I had hoped he might make just a little bigger splash. Richardson is still in and, let's face it, he's great vice presidential material. Southwest state, latino heritage, solid experience. I still like him for his diplomatic experience and outstanding environmental stances.

So, if I'm to be a pragmatist now (which I always am, really), do I choose John or Barack? I have to say, there is something lovely about the idea of having a US president named Barack Obama. But did anybody else find that his post-caucus speech was not all that? It has been getting nice reviews, but as far as I can tell, he didn't really say anything.

Discuss.

A Poem for My Ex

On New Year's Eve day, my ex and I had a ritual of divorce. It was sad and powerful and beautiful. We each had two witnesses with us. We shared Scriptures and prayer, we offered our regrets and asked and received forgiveness, we shared our gratitudes, we shared our intentions to move forward in friendship and mutual care and to always put our son first. We held a rope between us and spoke words of release to each other and then had a friend cut the rope, freeing us to move forward into the future with love and joy. We held each other and bawled like babies.

In honor of the man with whom I shared 15 years of my life, with whom I grew up and learned how to love and learned some of my limits of loving, to the man who is a wonderful father to our beautiful boy, I offer this poem, with sincere hope that he finds love again.

"I Love the Way Men Crack" by Ellen Bass, from Mules of Love, Vol. 1.

I love the way men crack
open when their wives leave them,
their sheaths curling back like the split
shells of roasted chestnuts, exposing
the sweet creamy meat. They call you
and unburden their hearts the way a woman
takes off her jewels, the heavy
pendant earrings, the stiff lace gown and corset,
and slips into a loose kimono.
It's like you've both had a couple shots
of really good scotch and snow is falling
in the cone of light under the street lamp—
large slow flakes that float down in the amber glow.

They tell you all the pain pressed into their flat chests,
their disappointed penises, their empty hands.
As they sift through the betrayals and regrets,
their shocked realization of how hard they tried,
they way they shouldered the yoke
with such stupid good faith—
they grow younger and younger. They cry
with the unselfconciousness of children.
When they hug you, they cling.
Like someone who's needed glasses for a long time—
and finally got them-they look around
just for the pleasure of it: the detail,
the sharp edges of what the world has to offer.

And when they fall in love again, it only gets better.
Their hearts are stuffed full as éclairs
and the custard oozes out at a touch.
They love her, they love you, they love everyone.
They drag out all the musty sorrows and joys
from the basement where they've been shoved
with mitts and coin collections. They tell you
things they've never told anyone.
Fresh from loving her, they come glowing
like souls slipping into the bodies
of babies about to be born.

Then a year goes by. Or two.
Like broken bones, they knit back together.
They grow like grass and bushes and trees
after a forest fire, covering the seared earth.
They landscape the whole thing, plant like mad
and spend every weekend watering and weeding.