Merry Meet

It's Yule. I had several posts in my head. One was about the holiday and what Yule represents for Pagans. One dealt with what Paganism/Wicca is becoming versus what it is. The final one addressed issues with Christians and Christianity in the US these days. You won't be reading any of those. At least not today.


Today, we beat back the darkness. Tonight, there is magic in the air. The rest can wait until tomorrow.


Blessed Be!

Not So Unintentional Paganism

Every day I've posted music here, I've also posted music over at Pauline's site. It's been fun and an easy way to keep up over there without having to work too hard during the holidays. But tomorrow has had me a little stumped. Tomorrow is Yule, the Winter Solstice. Here, where I am happily out, I will be posting Pagan music (no, I'm not telling what; you'll have to come back and see). But I'm not completely out IRL and Pauline is certainly not out. Hell, Pauline isn't anything. She's not religious; she's not political. She's just a novelist. Period. And yet...I couldn't bring myself to post something overly Christian tomorrow. Lucky for me, Crow sent me an email after the post entitled Unintentional Paganism. In fact, the title of this post was the subject line of her email.


Here's what she said:
(A mutual friend of ours) sent me this link as his Christmas card.  I knew I had to show you, but when I saw the title of your blog post, I had to check to make sure we weren't seeing the exact same thing!!  This is so incredibly gorgeous, so rich in Pagan imagery, just a luscious video... I know you'll get it!


And you know what? I do. She is absolutely right and I totally get it. So tomorrow, I will post this over at Pauline's place. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more.


Those are sly Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

So This Is What They Mean

When I was really young (less than five), my family lived in Fredonia, New York, right on the coast of Lake Erie. According to a family story, my Uncle John (using his real name because, seriously, Uncle John? It's so common, it's practically a moniker) who has never lived outside of Texas was watching a weather report one winter and hearing about the massive snowfall that had hit upstate New York and said to my aunt that we had adapted to and learned to live in a way that my uncles and aunts could never even imagine.


Now that I'm living in Alaska, I've been feeling a little like that. First, we had to learn to sleep with the sun up, because it never went down. Then, we were scraping the car by mid-September. The first snow came before Halloween. The other night, we had 60 mile an hour winds. Those weren't the gusts. Those were the winds. The gusts were higher than that. The core temperature was 2F. The wind chill took it deep into negative numbers. And it is only December.


Lithus heads to Prudhoe Bay/Deadhorse today. Where the core temperature (e.g. not the wind chill) is -20F. Where the winds at the oil platforms are 112 mph. Again, not the gusts. Gusts will be higher, gusty-er. And suddenly, I'll take Anchorage and it's 2 degrees with 60 mph winds. Heat wave...We're having a heat wave...


So, brace yourself for a groaner, but it had to be done. Plus, it's a beautiful, beautiful carol.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Gift from the Goddess

Is this kind of talent a gift from the Goddess? Or is this a gift from this goddess to us? I'll let you decide. And that's all because she stands alone. Jessye Norman. Yeah, that Jessye Norman. You're welcome.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Christmas Explosion

Today is one of those days I truly love. Lithus took yesterday off (kinda - he managed to only go in for an hour) from work and we went shopping, planning, snuggling, wandering, kissing, laughing through the rest of the day. We even bought a microwave.


By the time we got home, we were happy, tired, and ready to dig into our rotisserie chicken bought from the deli. The living room is blanketed in bags and bows and wrapping paper and presents and cards and glitter (neither of us are 100% sure where it came from). He is feeling Christmas-y for the first time all season. I am feeling even moreso than I had been.
And today I get to wrap and donate and decorate and stamp and mail. Because yes, that kind of thing makes me very happy. I love being busy. I love being holiday busy even better.


At one point yesterday, we called my mother and asked "red or eggplant?" When she asked why, we wouldn't tell her. Being singularly unhelpful (humph and look, Mother), she eventually said "Either." So we made our own decision. But before we got off the phone, my mom laughed and said "I love this time of year." And you know what? So do I.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Video Killed The Radio Star

Here's the truth: I almost didn't post this video. It's that bad. In fact, it's so bad that some people attribute Boney M's musical demise to this very video. And there are other options, even of this version.


But here's the other truth: It's so bad, it's good. Would you like some wine with that cheese?


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Yule Carol

In the past, I have written about my love of A Christmas Carol. Talked about how it is the epitome of the season, if you are celebrating Christmas or Yule. About how what Scrooge really learns, not just the surface stuff, but what he really learns is so vitally important to me. My three favorite movie versions are George C. Scott, Patrick Stewart, and ... the Muppets.

Now comes a seque that totally and completely makes sense to me on an intuitive level. I hope you can follow me. If not...oh well. Feel free to pretend the top and the rest aren't connected (even though they totally are).

An email from Lady Blackbelt showed up in my inbox this morning...


are you gonna be in town?  was that you that said maybe to Cam and Mrs. Pike's evite?
*sigh*


Nope. It wasn't me. I wrote her back assuring her that, if I was going to be in the Boston area, she would already know by now. Because oh hell yes, they would know. See, the Blackbelts and the Pikes (okay, first Cam because Mrs. Pike hasn't been around as long, but she slipped right in as if she'd always fit, so she gets the credit, too) were instrumental in giving me back Christmas.


My dad was dead; I was getting divorced; my biofamily had chosen my ex. The Lovely Cats and the Divine M did their best, but they were a long way away. It was...not a good time. I'd muddled through, making the best of whatever I had left and trying to pretend my life hadn't changed so very completely.  But it wasn't good.


Then these people showed up in my world and everything started to change again, only this time, for the better. My fuck ups were supported (and even occasionally fixed) in spite of myself. My acheivements were celebrated. My tears were embraced. My laughter was shared ~ and became honest, again. They were even some of the first people I came out of the broom closet to, and they didn't care in that wonderfully appropriate way. From there, it snowballed. I made other friends who loved and supported me. I changed careers. I got my life back.


So, yes, Lady Blackbelt, if I was going to be in the area, you would know. You will know.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you hard cider.



Yep, it's another two-fer, because how do you choose????

Tuba Family Players

Last weekend, Lithus and I stumbled onto a free carols concert in downtown Anchorage. It was all tubas, all the time. In fact, it billed itself as Tuba Christmas. Tuba players from all over the state come together in various towns and cities, dress themselves, dress their horns, and play Christmas music. As the Divine M put it, Tubas huh. That must have been something. When I think of Christmas music (or I guess really music in general) tuba is not the first instrument I think of. Interesting.

Now, in fairness, while I do think of brass ensembles, I don't necessarily think of tubas. Or I didn't realize I thought of tubas. I had no freaking idea all of these instruments were in the tuba family. No clue. But they are. And it was a delightful, unexpected find. If you want to see pictures, they are posted over here, at my travel blog.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

We Interrupt This Program...

According to the AP:

WASHINGTON – Richard Holbrooke, a brilliant and feisty U.S. diplomat who wrote part of the Pentagon Papers, was the architect of the 1995 Bosnia peace plan and served as President Barack Obama's special envoy to Pakistan and Afghanistan, died Monday, an administration official said. He was 69.

The official spoke on condition of anonymity because the family had yet to make a formal announcement of Holbrooke's death.

Now, first, I pray this is a case of misinformation and I have to come back and apologize for not fact checking better.

Second, my heart breaks for the Holbrooke family and others who loved him. Losing a someone during the holidays really, really sucks. Really sucks. Especially how quickly this happened.

But third...as I said to Lithus Saturday (I think) when I first heard he had been hospitalized and for what, we are so totally fucked. The country, hell, the world, needed this man. Not as much as his family did. I no longer believe in the greater good crap. But we needed him. Badly. And we've lost him, just as much as his family and friends have. And don't fool yourself, whatever you might have thought about his politics or his style, he was the best chance we had in Afghanistan and Iraq.

So I ask the Goddess to give comfort to those who love him, at least as much comfort as can be found right now. But I also say, dear God help the rest of us, too, 'cause we could be good and fucked.

Those are sad Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Sale! Sale! Sale!

It's the time of year for good will, peace on earth, and BOGO sales. Who am I to argue? So here it is, your official Pobble Thoughts Buy One Get One sale. Enjoy.



If you have the time and the desire, go here for the official video. Sure, it's the same song but wow...Somebody let me know if that is indeed Ossie Davis in the audience.



And trust me; go here. In fact, go there even if you don't click on the one I've posted. It's that much better and worth it that much more.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you two coffees.

Unintentional Paganism

A couple posts ago, I wrote about Sea-Tac's over-reaction to a request to include some Hanukkah symbolism in their decorations. I've noticed many other places have removed traditional Christmas decorations, rather than include Hanukkah symbols, all in the cause of "not being offensive." Of course, it's not inclusive either, but now you're just getting picky and demanding (sarcasm). You know what is so exciting for me about this turn of events, though? The more general the "Christmas" decorations get, the more Pagan they become. I am now presented with gorgeous winter landscapes, woodland creatures in their habitat, sunrises and sunsets over water. This so works for me. 

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

I Got Nothing

Today would be a day I didn't blog because I have nothing witty, thoughtful, or even particularly boring to say. Except that I am posting music everyday for a little while ~ meaning don't expect it to end on December 26th. Christmastide doesn't arrive until the 25th, afterall. Digressing, Pobble...

Lithus is enjoying my enjoyment of cooking during the holidays. He's had homemade French onion soup and eggplant parm so far. Keeps looking at me, wondering what happened to his wife. I assure him it'll go away once the holidays do and my desire to cook will return to a desire to open a can.

Today we're going to a Christmas market. One of the joys of living downtown is it means everything is in walking distance.

We went for a drive last weekend with friends and ended up driving on an ice road. They actually plow them to clear the snow off the ice. While my Canadian readers (Hi GOML! Hi Wolfgrrrl) probably won't be terribly impressed ~ Lithus wasn't ~ it was big shit to me.

And yeah...that's about it. So let's get to the music, shall we?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thanks, Brian

See this man here?

His name is Brian Jolley. His mom and I are friends. While it is possible he doesn't even know I exist, I think it is more probable that, if his mom pushed, he would think hard about it and finally come up with "Oh, yeah...Pobble...I remember hearing about her. I think..." I, on the other hand, know he exists. I know a lot about him. Although his story isn't mine to tell (it would make you cheer, make you weep, make you proud, make you angry, make you smile...you get the idea), there are some things I can say:


He's young; he's handsome. He can be goofy. He's loyal and kind. He's a good man. A son, a friend, a nephew, a soldier. And, unlike when these pictures were taken, he's home, in the US ~ after two full tours in Iraq, almost back to back.


Did you catch that last one? He's home. He's here. Stateside. His holidays won't include IEDs, care packages, or body armor. Thank the Goddess.

It's easy to forget, though, that just because Brian is home doesn't mean they all are. Too many soldiers are celebrating the holidays in conditions we don't want to imagine. For many others, even though they are home, they still aren't, not really. Not in their heads or their hearts. So, as you give thanks, attend parties, drink egg nog, decorate trees, do all the wonderful holiday things we do during this time of year, remember. And stop to say thanks.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.



Editor's note (that's me) ~ The video was originally Bing Crosby and David Bowie singing their truly magnificent version of Little Drummer Boy, but it's been removed for copyright reasons. Boo on them. So, instead we've gone with the, admittedly more cliched, song here. It's cliched because it fits, after all.

Finding Christmas

The holiday decorating is a little different this year. I'm okay with this. In fact, I'm quite happy. Plus, if you have to have an artifical tree, it might as well be Gothic black. :)

 Those are Christmas-y Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Critical Mass

You know what December means, don’t you? Of course you do. It’s time for my annual column on giving. Honestly, I can’t believe it’s already time to be writing this again. Last year so many people were in hard times that I wrote this. Guess what? For as much as things have changed over the last twelve months, not much has changed over the last twelve months. At least, not as much as most of us would like. So maybe we should talk about critical mass. As usual, if you aren’t giving this year, or can’t give this year, that’s okay. But if you are or want to but don’t know how, here are a few thoughts…

1.      Pick an organization or cause you care about and pledge to give them…however much you can every single month of the year. Choose one of the suicide prevention organizations I wrote about last month. Or a shelter you know about. Or the ASPCA. Whatever cause touches your heart. It can be five dollars. Seriously. It can be ten dollars. The individual amounts don’t matter as much as the twelve payments. Remember, we’re looking at critical mass, here.

2.      Get in touch with your best friend, your colleagues, your condo association, whomever, and all “adopt a family” together. Or a single child off of the mall’s Angel Tree. Or a senior. The point isn’t to give the most presents or even to give to the most number of kids. The point is to make your money - and your best friend’s, your colleagues’ or your condo association’s money - go the farthest.

3.      Get those same people together and everybody pitch in for a single toy. Schools, Toys for Tots, hospitals, human services organizations…again, take your pick and give them one present from all of you. There is no such thing as too small a donation.

4.      Every time you go to the grocery store between now and December 23^rd, buy one unit of whatever nonperishable food is on sale. Or whatever toiletry is on sale. One. As you leave the store, drop it in the collection barrel that you know every single grocery in the area is going to have up.

5.      Think socks. Or underwear. Or mittens. Are they glamorous and exciting? Aw hell no. But you can get them at the Dollar Store and at discount stores and on sale for very little money. And when it’s winter and someone is cold, I promise, they will be prefer to have several pairs of socks over an iPod.

6.      Still too much this year? Believe me, I get it; I’ve been there. Look at your own closet. Anything still in reasonable condition that you don’t wear any longer? Coats, sweaters, hats, scarves – all good options, so long as they are gently worn. Even backpacks and purses. Shelters will find use for them.

And maybe, there’s just nothing. There is nothing extra to spend, nothing extra to give. None of us want to be there and yet, it’s the way of the world sometimes. There’s still something. As you walk by someone on the street, holding up their sign, look them in the eye. Acknowledge they are a human being. Tell them you wish you had something for them and that you’re sorry you don’t. Treat them as the equal they are. Show them some respect. It’s so little, it costs us nothing, and yet it can mean so very much. And really, isn’t that what this time of year is supposed to be about?

Those are Pobble Thoughts. Grateful some things have changed Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you a whole hell of a lot ~ and, yes, coffee.

East Coast and ... Alaska?

Back just before we left Vancouver, Washington, I wrote about my dislike of the culture in the Pacific Northwest. Go on, click on the link and read it if you don't remember. It's a short post. And it boils down to the people in the west just weren't as nice as the people in the east.


Alaska, though...wow. Alaska feels like home. Feels far more like the culture I'm used to. The car battery died a few days ago, while Lithus was in Europe. I trudged back into the apartment building, asked if anyone had a recommendation for a garage. That wouldn't do.


Suddenly, two people who work for the apartments and another woman who doesn't but whose business rents space here were determined to find someone here in the building who could give me a jump. Twenty minutes later, a man I'd never met before was using the jumper cables from a woman whose name I never got to start my car again.


But it's cold here and whatever caused the battery to die initially didn't get addressed so by the time Lithus was home, it was dead again. Saturday night was the Company's holiday party. It was being held at the hotel directly across the street from our apartment. Lithus asked his boss if Boss would mind giving us a jump, since he was going to be in the area. That wouldn't do.


Sunday morning, Boss and Mrs. Boss showed up, drove us all to breakfast, and then jumped the car. When it was obvious what was wrong, there was no way we were (okay, Lithus was) going to be allowed to work on the car in the cold parking lot. We drove over to their house, parked the car in their garage "to warm up and thaw out" as the four of us went for a drive up to Big Lake. Once we got back, the guys tinkered with the car while Mrs. Boss and I went upstairs, ordered pizza, and drank lemon drops. By the time Lithus drove us home (did I mention the lemon drops?), it had been decided that we would take over the garage again today.


Last night, our friend, Nicki, called. He had today off as well and wanted to know if we could all get together. Lithus told him that, sorry, we were working on the car this afternoon. This wouldn't do.


At 2:00, Nicki showed up at Boss's house and spent the next two hours working on the car with Lithus.


No, we won't let anyone, even a stranger, pay for a jump.
Of course, we'll stop by. And feed you pizza and booze.
You will use our garage.
I will help you work on your car.


This is what I'm used to, yes, even from stoic, aloof New Englanders. This is what home is supposed to feel like. This is what good people do for each other. This is the east coast...and Alaska.



Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

It's Not All About You

A couple years ago, a decisive blow was struck in the great War On Christmas ~ which can be seen at every mall, grocery store, craft market and parade in the country, by the way ~ at the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. A rabbi was walking through, on his way out of town, and happened to mention that, given the plethora of Christmas decorations, it might be nice to see a menorah along with the rest. In typical over-reactive style, instead of just adding a menorah, the wise folks at Sea-Tac took down every single decoration that was identifiable as Christmas-y. Because, after all, why be inclusive when you can martyr yourself to political correctness and scream about the War On Christmas?


So Happy Hanukkah.



Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Wassail = Drunken Joyous Party!

Wassail! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl , we'll drink to thee.

Now, maybe it's just me, but any song that starts off like this should be a racuous one. Lots of toasting and laughing and enjoying oneselves.

Somewhere along the line, however, this has become sung like a dirge. I could find instrumental versions of it that sounded as if the carolers were actually having fun, but I couldn't find any vocal versions where they sounded either bored out of their minds (the best option) or suicidal (the worst). So, here we have an instrumental version ~ and the lyrics below. Read them; you'll see what I mean. These people knew how to party.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.






Wassail! wassail! all over the town,
Our toast it is white and our ale it is brown;
Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree;
With the wassailing bowl , we'll drink to thee.

Here's to our horse, and to his right ear,
God send our master a happy new year:
A happy new year as e'er he did see,
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

So here is to Cherry and to his right cheek
Pray God send our master a good piece of beef
And a good piece of beef that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.

Here's to our mare, and to her right eye,
God send our mistress a good Christmas pie;
A good Christmas pie as e'er I did see,
With my wassailing bowl I drink to thee.

So here is to Broad Mary and to her broad horn
May God send our master a good crop of corn
And a good crop of corn that may we all see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.

And here is to Fillpail and to her left ear
Pray God send our master a happy New Year
And a happy New Year as e'er he did see
With the wassailing bowl, we'll drink to thee.

Here's to our cow , and to her long tail,
God send our master us never may fail
Of a cup of good beer : I pray you draw near,
And our jolly wassail it's then you shall hear.

Come butler, come fill us a bowl of the best
Then we hope that your soul in heaven may rest
But if you do draw us a bowl of the small
Then down shall go butler, bowl and all.

Be here any maids? I suppose here be some;
Sure they will not let young men stand on the cold stone!
Sing hey O, maids! come trole back the pin,
And the fairest maid in the house let us all in.

Then here's to the maid in the lily white smock
Who tripped to the door and slipped back the lock
Who tripped to the door and pulled back the pin
For to let these jolly wassailers in.

Moose

One of the things I have wanted since arriving in Alaska is to just wander up on a moose. Everybody assured me it would happen. There are something like 1500 moose within the Anchorage city limits. Lithus has come and picked me up and driven me to where he'd seen a moose but, alas, I had yet to spy an unsolicited moose. Until last night.


The other night, we were driving home from the airport ~ because Lithus has finally returned from Europe ~ when the car in front of us came to a complete stop on the highway. Our cabbie changed lanes and slowed dramatically, too, coming to a complete stop...directly in front of the moose, standing in the middle of the road. And we all just hung out and waited until she had moseyed on across the highway. Her friend stayed on the side of the road, watching, until she decided to head off the other way.


I am told she was a yearling, or maybe two, but still very young. Dear Lord, she was huge. And beauitful. And moosey.


Which helps make today's music choice quite easy...



Those are moosey Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Growing Up Musical

I do not remember a time in my life when music wasn't a part of it. My father was a singer and musician. My grandmother was an opera singer. My mother played piano. Growing up, Crow and I were always involved in something musical. While it never felt forced, I remember looking at Daddy at one point in my late teens and knowing it had been intentional that we had grown up musical.


For ten or so months out of the year, the music that floated through and around the house was usually classical and showtunes, with some 1970s protest folk thrown in for good measure. But from the Friday after Thanksgiving to shortly after Epiphany, it was all Christmas music, all the time. The Canadian Brass. The Philadelphia Brass. The Kingston Trio. Later, Manheim Steamroller and George Winston were added into the mix. And, of course, Handel's Messiah.


After my dad died, we were quieter for a while, but I knew I was healing when music started making its way back into my world. In light of all this, we're going to try something: musical posts. Just for the season. If I actually remember to do it everyday.


We'll start here because, while Daddy had already died by the time flash mobs came into being, I think he would've approved. Especially of this one.


Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you an eggnog latte.

The First Christmas Post of the Year

Because this really never gets old...



Enjoy!

Those are Pobble Thoughts and the musical stylings of Straight, No Chaser. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Thanksgiving: A Perspective*

Well, it happened. I have landed on my butt on the snow. It was my own damn fault. I was not wearing particularly aggressively soled boots and I was pissed, so I was striding along as if I wasn't on icy, snowy slickery-ness.

Now, let me give you a little background information. Lithus and I live right on the edge of "the good part of downtown" and "the bad part of downtown." What this means is, if you look out the east windows of our building, you see modern, sparkly buildings. Downtown shopping. Businesses. Parks. Starbucks. If you look out the west buildings, you see older, lower buildings. The soup kitchen. The halfway house. The drag clubs. The by-the-week flophouse "hotel." You're never quite sure who you're going to meet. It's part of what we love about the area.

Which brings us back to our story... First, I slipped and the man coming down the parking lot behind me called out for me to be careful. Being pissed already, I managed a grimace and a wave. But I didn't slow down. Another fifty steps and down I went. By that time, the man had closed the distance. Not in a scary way, or anything. Just in a he was walking faster than I was, even with my angry stride, way.

He bent down and offered me a hand. I, not being the least bit angry at him, accepted it with a grateful if ego-bruised smile. He held onto my arm long enough for me to get good and stable and before we started to move again. We were right at a place where our paths diverged so I said another quick thank you and started toward my apartment building. He stopped and said "Thank you for letting me help you."

...
...
...

Did I notice he wasn't very clean? Or that he didn't have all his teeth? That he was probably a resident of one of the establishments around me, if he was a resident anywhere? Of course I did. I am a city girl and I am a people watcher. Either of those things means you always know who is around you, behind you, approaching you. Put them together and trust me, I see everything. But I'm also good at threat assessement. This guy just wanted to help me get back up on my feet and stable. And trying to get my feet back under me, his cleanliness and oral hygeine were the least of my concerns.

I want to be surprised at the thought that perhaps someone ~ okay, a woman alone ~ wouldn't have accepted his help. I'm not. It makes me sad to not be surprised. And it makes me sad that he had to thank me for letting him help me. Not sad for him, though. He's not the one who's lost his humanity, after all.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

* with thanks to Lori for the title

Mini-Blogs

These are thoughts that have been full-blown blog posts in my head in the shower or while I'm doing dishes or whatever but that haven't made it here. Until now. In mini-form.

The ravens ride the drafts by the building. I can't help but think they are playing and having a grand old time.

Friday night, I went to the tree lighting in Town Square (yes, that's actually what it's called: Town Square Park). It was wonderfully, Christmas-y awful and I had a blast. Plus, as I texted Crow, in Alaska, when Santa shows up, he has a real sled and all the reindeer. And they are huge. HUGE.

A friend (hi Denny) has had to change the settings on his blog to no longer allow anonymous comments because people have been showing their tails. Another friend (hi Lori) had to do that a couple years ago, as well. I realize I'm preaching to the choir here, but folks? Is it really that hard to be polite, even if you are anonymous? Isn't it more important to be polite when you're anonymous and aren't able to take responsibility for what you say, what you write, how you impact people? Yeah, I know...the choir.

And yet I do understand the freedom that comes with anonymity. I don't blog nearly as often or as freely as I once did because this blog isn't as anonymous as it once was. In the first 3 years of this blog, I remember editing myself all of twice. Once each for Dreamer and AppsRUs. And those edits were word choice, rather than content. In the last 3 years of this blog, there have been more edits and in the last 3 months...wow. Lots of edits. Edits that have turned into "fuck it, this is too hard to even try to write" content edits, rather than word choice. I'm not nearly as interesting edited, though. Anonymity is quite freeing ~ although it still doesn't give us permission to be mean to each other. In case you were wondering.

I've found a new doctor. This is exciting because I really haven't been in a place to have a doctor since moving from Massachusetts. That's not to say I haven't been to a doctor in that long. I just have gone to walk-in clinics or made single appointments with a friend's doctor or whatever. To have a doctor, that I can build a relationship with, that I can explain my heart-thingy and my Vasal Vegal Vaclav Havel Viva Vegas thingy to...well...it's nice. Especially since I am incredibly picky about my doctors. A string of bad ones when I was a teenager and young adult have made me wary. I think, however, I like my new one. I know I like the clinic itself, which is always a good start.

It's going to be a weepy holiday season this year. It already is and we're not even into December yet. There are years when I am so overcome by the beauty of the season, by the words of the carols, the expressions of love, that I tear up. Yeah...this is going to be one of those years. It always starts with the coffee commercials. Damn Folgers, anyway.

My all time favorite celebrity crush has been Brian Dennehy. Since I was about twelve. Seriously. Fine, I admit it, I have...unusual...tastes. My top three have been pretty solid for a very long time: Brian Dennehy; Morgan Freeman; Chow Yun Fat. So who the hell do I throw out to add Tim DeKay to that list? (Curiously, I have lost interest in all the "young ones" from that original post. I like a man with some miles on him, apparently. I'm infinitely okay with this.)

Speaking of celebrity crushes, I still really Tim Russert. The political climate is such that we need him, his quiet, if insistant, dignity and intelligence.

And those are Pobble Thoughts, in mini form. That and a buck fifty will get you a demitasse.

Releasing Anger

For awhile now, I have been aware of being so fucking angry. I've been angry at politicians; at the people around me; at the left; at the right. I've been angry about money. I've been angry about security pat-downs that don't make us safer and people who claim to want the Constitution upheld on one hand, while shredding it on the other. I've been angry at people who hate and I've been angry at people who are apathetic. I've been...you get the idea.

Talking to friends and acquaintences, I've learned there is a lot of anger going around right now. You can't turn on the news or open a website without hearing someone yelling about something. And you know what happened? About a month or so ago, I got angry with myself.

See, this anger isn't me. I'm the one who has been accused of being, dare I say it, Polly-Anna about life. And I miss that. So I'm choosing to not be angry about ... everything ... any longer. Honestly, I think the world could use a little more peace right now, anyway.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

For the Record #1

When I receive an email that is intentionally emotionally manipulative and contributes Absolutely Fucking Nothing to the world except more self-righteous crap that doesn't accomplish anything, it makes me the view the sender differently.

If that same email ends with
You now have 2 choices. You can either foward this on to everyone you love or you can delete it as if it has never touched your heart, thus making you an evil, puppy stomping bitch who single handedly let the terrorists win and makes baby Jesus cry. Your choice! :)

or any of the myraid of variations therein, I will opt to be an evil, puppy stomping, terrorist abetting, baby Jesus tormenting bitch every time.

Just for the record.

It doesn't seem this week is starting out any less weird.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Ps ~ No, that last clause about stomping puppies and letting the terrorists win wasn't really at the end of the email I just received ... but good Lord, it could've been.

Weird Week

Yeah...that pretty much sums it up. Nothing earthshatteringly bad. Nothing announcement inducingly good. Just...weirdness.

* My mom had her hip replaced. I could only be so involved. Alaska is a long way away from Nevada.
* Snow. Before Thanksgiving. Hell, before Veteran's Day. And sun that doesn't come up until almost 10:00 a.m. It's all taking some getting used to.
* My first book has been remaindered (going to be taken out of print due to low sales). Very sad.
* Christmas music is already ... everywhere. I'm a not-no-way-no-how-never-before-Thanksgiving-type o'gal. This is proving to be more jarring than I ever would've imagined.
* Lithus has only been home for about 4 of the last 14 days. He is, as I write this, in flight on the way to Spain. Yes, Spain.
* I've discovered Wii boxing. Love it. Although I tried to "box" in a ring with a cartoon character opponent and hated it. Didn't like the look of hitting a person ~ even an animated one. Totally ruined that workout. Have learned to go around that part of the game.
* I've reached out to my local Romance Writers chapter. They have responded more warmly in emails than my previous group did after months of my attending.
* In spite of the above bullet, I find I am missing my old group.

In writing this all out, it seems so...mundane. Reading it over, I'm thinking Dude, Pobble, what the hell is weird about any of this???? Yet living it, it was weird. Again, not dramatic. Not painful. Weird. In spite of how it translates. *shrugs*

Hoping today resets a bunch of stuff and tomorrow changes things up.

Those are weird Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Oh, To Be In New York...

This is a signal boost. But it's not just a signal boost. It's also a request to allow me to live vicariously through you if you live anywhere near NYC. Or live vicariously through your friends who live anywhere near NYC, who you might tell about this event. Because I Want To Be There!!!!  But I can't be. Anchorage is no where near close enough. Sigh...

But, if you are, or if your friends are, you should go to this:

A Staged Reading of Tupla, or Anne&Me
Friday, November 12th
8:00 pm
WOW Cafe Theatre, 59 E. 4th Street, New York, NY
(be sure to click on the link up there because I suck at embedding things but the RSVP/donation button can be found in that link, so you have to go there if you, well, want to go there)

So...why should you go? Let me count the ways...

1. It's new theatre. This is important for SO MANY reasons. Revivals are great. Sequels and prequels have their place. But new theatre is vital.
2. It's a new theatre. Venues that are willing to take chances, present works that aren't found in every high school theatre class, that challenge us, are vital.
3. The play itself is thought-provoking, beautifully written, and actually took my breath away on more than one occasion.
4. The playwright (who, no, I do not know personally) has a voice that needs to be heard. I also truly believe she has a voice that will be heard. Wouldn't you love to be able to say you attended one of her first????
5. It's ten dollars. Good grief, when was the last time a night out only cost ten bucks? Let alone live theatre.
6. According to the web site, there will be cake. Hmmm...perhaps I should make this number 1. Cake is always a good thing.

So what are you still doing here? Go click on that link. If you're in the city, buy a ticket. If you're not, foward the link to someone who is. Trust me, you'll thank me ~ and they'll thank you.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ but $10 will get you live theatre.

Halloween and Samhain

Blessed Be! It's Halloween. It's Samhain. It's All Hallow's Eve. It's a beautiful, wonderful day.

Lithus got weather grounded in Valdez last night ~ and again this morning ~ so it's not quite the celebration we'd planned or expected. Still, it's Samhain and that's never a bad thing.

Tonight, the jack o'latern will get carved and put in the window. The feast will be made from seasonal foods and thanks will be given. And, of course, those who have gone before us will be honored. Well honored and well loved.

Enjoy your spooks and goblins and heeby-jeebies. It's the witching hour after all.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Going Out

Going out isn't my strong suit. I am always about three large steps away from agoraphobia, which is odd when you consider how much I adore doing. Doing, as in going for coffee. Doing, as in wandering around my favorite places. Doing, as in anything that gets me out and about and in the world. But first, before I can begin doing, I have to go out. Which isn't my strong suit.

It's part of what makes being a writer an appopriate career choice, because I can quite happily stay home for days on end. It's also part of why I prefer to live in downtown, because when I can just walk out my door and be there, going out is easier.

Today, I finally decide I should go out. I had been out with Lithus several times. I'm not a complete hermit. But, in terms of just walking out and discovering the world, I hadn't really done it since my birthday. Until today.

Downtown Anchorage is wonderful. Autumn is wonderful. The sounds and smells and feelings of being out were exactly what I needed today.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Unabashedly Not Working

But glued to the television watching the rescue of the Chilean miners.

No Earthquakes!

Commercial Break (with Happy Tears)

My deadline is *gulp* Friday. I'm going to more than make it. I'm calm and cool and pleased. I am, also, still very focused on writing that, not Pobble Thoughts.

But for various reasons, I was recently reminded of these two commercials, found myself swallowing back happy tears as I watched them, and decided to post them. Just 'cause.

This is one I've posted before but still love. The chickens look a little freaked out but the penguin is the happiest looking penguin ever.

And this one is one my dear Lithus sent me early in our relationship. He and I were still trying to figure out how to live with each other, how to love one another, how to fit the pieces of two very disparate lives together. While this commercial certainly didn't solve all our problems, it undoubtedly made making up from that particular argument a lot easier. And now, it's hard to remember we ever needed it. That doesn't make it any less special to me, though.

Those are Pobble Thoughts until Friday. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and a smile.

The Apex of Everything (Well, Maybe Not But Still Damn Cool)

Because if it gets better than this, I don't know how.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

Forty-One

A year ago tonight, I had the best night of my life. Period, bar none. The Lovely Cats and Lithus, with more than a little help from Seven, threw me the birthday bash to end all birthday bashes. It was a family reunion of people who aren't family to each other but all are to me. It was seriously, the best night of my life. And that says something considering how really fucking cool my life is.

My birthdays have always been good, actually. 

* A pinata in the backyard when I was eight. Beezy came over and helped my dad host, because my mom was in Europe. 

* Turning nine and having a Barbapapa themed birthday where it was just my mom, dad, and Crow because we hadn't lived in Lynchburg long enough for me to have friends yet. It was a far better time than it should have been, given that description. We played Keep Away from the Barbapapa and ran through the house, laughing like loons. 

* Twelve, I got my cat Trilby. 

* Thirteen was the year we took several families to Lynchburg's nicest restaurant and then back to the house for the chocolate bombe my mother had made from scratch. And yes, all of that was at my request. People kept looking at me, asking if I really wanted to do this. But I did. 

* 18 was my surprise party. We were doing Uninvited and the cast and crew showed up after I did because they all had to wait for me to leave the theatre first. I kissed far too many guys that night ~ only one of whom was my actual boyfriend ~ but I was legal and that had been an issue for some. 

* 22 was the year Jules and I got lost in the Combat Zone, driving a jeep, dressed for clubbing, asked directions from a gang, and lived to tell the tale. TTG she was driving.

* 30 was in DisneyWorld and mom gave me my grandmother's pearls. 

* I've been told I had a good time at my 35th (waves to Cam Pike), but 36 is my favorite one from the Boston years, because we all just sat around the Library and enjoyed each other's company. 

The only truly bad one was 16 because Gail died on my 16th birthday ~ but then my friends in Philly threw me a surprise Sweet Sixteen in March or April or something, because everyone should have a good 16th birthday memory.

You get the idea.

Last year, though...last year was not only the best birthday, it was the best night of my life.

This year is very different. It's been a year no one expected. But my birthdays have always been good, and in that way, this is year no different. I slept late, have been lazy and gentle with myself, watched NCIS and White Collar because I wanted to, not because they are good to write to. They're both pretty good shows, even when you do pay attention to them. Lithus has called frequently. Crow, BIL, my Heart and the Hatchlings nearly woke me but didn't quite. My friends have been in touch. And about 3:00, I walked out of my wonderful, downtown apartment wearing my wonderful leopard print pumps, and headed to Cake for a cupcake. They had pecan tarts. Hello. 

Lithus gets home Tuesday. We're celebrating together Wednesday night. I am peaceful and happy and content in a way I haven't been in a very long while. It's good to be 41.

Scenes from Forty

Topsy Turvy cake by the Lovely Cats. Yep, she learned to make a topsy turvy cake for me.

Lithus and the Princess, being fabulous

Nemeria and me

P. C. (Yahoo Billy); yep, he's still around. And he's the world's greatest sport.

Lithus and the Divine M

My best friends, the Divine M and the Muppet

(Note: there were many other people there, but these people have been on this blog before and I have their permission to post. If you aren't here, it's because I didn't want to assume.)

Scenes from Forty-One:

What I wanted from Lithus!!!! (the feathers will drop after a few days)

With our purple furniture. Purple and red make quite a statement. Not sure what the statement is, but you can't help but hear it!

I'm blessed. I'm happy. I'm at peace.

 Happy Birthday to Me. :)

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee.

A Small Lesson...

...from Me to You.

When you have been working all day and have only had about 450-500 calories during the day and most of that has come from the milk you put in your coffee and then decide that, when you are done work for the day, it might be nice to have a glass or two of wine...

Remember You Have Only Had About 450-500 Calories and It Takes Very Little To Get One A Tad Intoxicated.

Watch how much wine you actually pour into your glass. Seriously.

Then go to bed.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee. If you can figure out how to work the coffee maker.