The Beginning of the End

The Senate Armed Services Committee voted Thursday to end "don't ask, don't tell," the controversial policy barring openly gay men and lesbians from serving in the military.

The measure, which passed 16 to 12, includes a provision ensuring that no change would take effect until after the Pentagon completes a study about its impact on troops, due to Congress Dec. 1.

The House was scheduled to vote late Thursday or Friday on an identical measure. Lawmakers there expect it to be approved, and the full Senate would vote on it next month.

The provision, which lawmakers are attaching to a $726 billion defense funding bill, would take effect only if the Defense Department study determines that changing the policy would not affect the military's ability to fight wars or recruit soldiers. ...

"We believe changing a major social policy in the middle of two wars would be a mistake and distraction," said American Legion National Commander Clarence E. Hill.

Duane J. Miskulin, national commander of AMVETS, said Congress should wait to act until after the Pentagon completes its study of how to implement a repeal. "We can't simply overturn 'don't ask, don't tell' and deal with any unintended consequences after the fact while trying to fight two wars," Miskulin said. ~ By Perry Bacon Jr. and Ed O'Keefe Washington Post Staff Writer Thursday, May 27, 2010; 6:57 PM

You know what I think? I think those soldiers fighting in those two wars have seen so much more horror and have such bigger issues to deal with right now that who the person waiting back home for their buddy is really ain't gonna matter. These straight men and women aren't children playing dress-up or Elliot Ness and Al Capone in the backyard. The are soldiers. Grown and all. And have more to worry about right now than if the guy at their back or the woman at the wheel is gay or straight. Stop using them as an excuse to not do what's right. Trust me, they don't need your protection nearly as much as you wish they did.

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

Addendum: The House has voted to repeal. And shame on you, John McCain.

Respect

Have you ever noticed when someone says "No disrespect meant..." or "With all due respect..." what follows is usually not terribly respectful?

It is so much easier to request/demand/expect respect for the issues and causes we believe in than it is to offer it to issues and causes we disagree with.

We have almost entirely lost the ability to argue and disagree respectfully. Even when it starts that way, when the other person doesn't change their mind, it devolves.

Agreeing to disagree and/or admitting we recognize and acknowledge the other side and experience ~ and still don't change our minds ~ isn't acceptable. We don't want respectful disagreement; we want to be right.

Somewhere along the line, being right took the place of being respected.

Just some things I've noticed the last week or so.

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

Fashion and Alaska

First, let me say that the hospitality I've received at the little inn here in Clear has been impeccable. The owner is delightful and warm and welcoming. Just so there's no confusion after that last post.

Now...Lithus and I have identified three main fashion styles that I wear: Victorian Gothic; Rockabilly; and what Lithus has lovingly and with great appreciation dubbed "Fallujah journalist", e.g. cargo or capri pants, one of his button down shirts, flip flops and my hair pulled up and away from my face.

From the very beginning and that infamous trip to the North Carolina swamp, I have bopped around helibases in my heels, wearing my own style. The only time I wore sneakers was the hard push to get the aircraft back from Mexico in record time, and I was walking 5 miles a day every day that week, not to mention in and out of the aircraft and lugging luggage. Otherwise, I dress the way I dress.

Here in Clear, I'm playing my cards just a little differently. Spending more time dressed in my Fallujah journalist wear and less time in my Victorian Gothic. Were we going to be here all season, I might feel differently about it. I might, indeed, pull out my new heels and my black skirts and even my bangles. For only one more week, yeah, I can handle cargo pants and flip flops. But my heels are coming back out as soon as we hit Fairbanks. ;)

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

Clear, Alaska

I don't know where to start. Truly, I do not. Have you ever seen the movie My Cousin Vinny? Marisa Tomei and Joe Pesci play New Yorkers who show up in a tiny southern town. Hilarity ensues. My favorite scene (everyone's favorite scene, in my experience) includes this exchange:

Mona Lisa Vito: [Vinny looks at her funny] What?
Vinny Gambini: Nothing. You stick out like a sore thumb around here.
Mona Lisa Vito: Me? What about you?
Vinny Gambini: I fit in better than you. At least I'm wearing cowboy boots.
Mona Lisa Vito: Oh yeah, you blend.

My friends, here in Clear, Alaska, (pop. 216) I blend.



And I even dressed down this morning.

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

Fairbanks International Airport...

...has internet access. For the first time in three weeks, I have internet access! I want to shout it from the rooftops. I won't. Even in Alaska, that's considered a little crazy (at least, I assume it would be, even here ~ although thinking about it, maybe not. Still, why risk it? Digressing Pobble...) I'm also assuming our hotel will have internet access, so I will be back up and running sooner rather than later. Just in case, though, I'm squeezing a quick post in while I wait for Lithus's flight.

So what have I been doing the last three or so weeks without internet access? I wish I could tell you I've been writing furiously and productively. While I haven't been completely uncreative, I haven't been nearly as productive as I needed to be. I also haven't been working out, eating well, or curing cancer.

During the days, I have been alone. Do my long time readers remember how much time I used to spend alone? How happy I was that way? And do you realize that from the time Lithus and I arrived in Connecticut for what was supposed to be 10 days before Malaysia back in October, I haven't been alone a single night. So I have been being alone.

I have been coming to grips with October through January. They weren't good. They were so not good that, while I have begun to come to grips with them, I am still not ready to share them. Not even here. And luckily, I have been able to identify the positive stuff that came of that time as well as the negative. However, that was not quite as necessary as admitting the negative because the entire time, I was forcing myself to see the positive, while shoving the negative as far down in my secret soul as it would go. The point is, I am finally coming to grips with it.

Lithus and I have been rediscovering who we are together. We have laughed more in the last three or so than we have since October. And part of what kept us going during last winter was our ability to laugh, so that's saying something.

I have been getting on top of the financial issues that exploded by November and only got worse as time went on. Things aren't resolved yet but they are getting better. Every day, it gets a little better.

I have acknowledged I'm behind the eight ball with the next book. I have even been able to email my editor and say that to her and ask for her advice.

I have been exploring Anchorage. What an incredibly great city. I'm seriously falling in love here. Who would've guessed it?????

I have been writing letters. Most of my addresses are on my email (*cough*Cam and Mrs. Pike *cough*) so some have sat on my bedside table, hoping for a whisper of internet. Some, though, I have in an old-school, pencil and paper address book. And I've been writing letters again.

I have realized all the things I've learned and gotten to a point where I can be grateful for those lessons, even as learning them was so incredibly painful.

I have come to grips with relationships and people who were no longer what and who I had known them to be.

I have been able to find gratitude for new relationships and people I had no idea could be what they have become.

I have been busy. Doing nothing. And doing everything. And sometimes, that's the best busy we can be.

Hopefully, I will have access and will be around online again. Fingers crossed, anyway, because as good as the last few weeks have been, I'm starting to get antsy. You'll know almost as soon as I do. :)

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

addendum: Four hours later. Have made the hotel. Have internet access. :)

New Job, New People, New Issues

• Wow, pilots like to talk. The there I was story comes easily and often. The old guard at Carson wasn't like that. They were more been there, done that, don't really want to talk about it kind of guys. These guys at the new company? Wow...they like to talk. So we listen and we nod and we make impressed noises. And I think about the stories I have been told by the stoic men I met at the beginning and manage not to be too smug. At least on the outside.
  
• This is not Lithus's new company. It easily could've been. This is what he will be doing come fall, after fire season is over. The riggers have to get to the oil rigs somehow, as do their groceries and their gear. I'm not the least bit worried about Lithus. Fire fighting has a higher "exposure rate", as he would put it. It still makes me sad. It's a wakeup call. They weren't my friends. They could be this time next year. And they were someone's friends.
• The new company offers employees what's known as crew housing. The pilots, the mechanics, and anyone else involved in the gig stays in housing. A townhouse, a large apartment, a duplex, a trailer, wherever. Everybody gets their own room, with shared public spaces. It's...different. Not uncomfortable, really. But not comfortable, either. Never thought I would miss the flophouse from Medford last summer.
• Meeting all these new people, even liking all the new people I'm meeting...I miss you, Roarke. I think Lithus does, too.

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

RIP Saturday mail

Once again, the US postal service is talking about doing away with Saturday mail service. This idea was floated several years ago and the outrage was a little over the top. Now? Not so much. The "man on the street" interviews are basically indifferent. We don't use mail for anything except bills and junk any longer. We can get our coupons online. Our news. Our communication with our friends.

Honestly, I won't miss Saturday mail either, myself. But I do miss mail. Letters. Postcards. Greeting cards. Nemeria and I still write letters. I send about 10 people postcards from just about every stop we make on the road. There are a couple friends who exchange cards with me on a semi-regular basis.

We are a dying breed and I realize this. There used to be a program online called "The Letter Project" but even that has gone away. Personally, I email far more often than I write a letter. Sometimes, I don't even bother with an email but trust this blog to keep people up to date (with apologies to you, dear AppsRus, who falls deeply into this category).

Yet, I do miss mail, even as I don't use it as often as I want to. What about you? If it was still possible to send packages for birthdays and holidays, would you miss mail delivery?

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

Happy Things

1. The sound of helicopter rotors starting up. I don't even have to be on the flight. I have come to love that sound.

2. Bald eagles. My God, they are amazing.

3. That 10-20 minutes between the time the night shift mechanic leaves and the other day shift pilot gets home. Technically, there's nothing different about that time. We don't do anything that we haven't been doing while the mechanic is here or we won't do once the other pilot gets home. There's just a difference in the quality of the silence.

4. RuPaul's Drag Race. Pure, over the top, draggy, queeny, bitchy fun. The rest of the world can have Survivor and American Idol. I'll take RuPaul any day.

5. Nasal spray. I know ~ it's supposed to be horrible for you. I know ~ it's supposed to be addictive. But it is allowing me to breathe right now and I'll take that.

6. Coffee bags. They are great for allowing me to have coffee on the road. And you know I love me my coffee.

7. My "I've Got Great Hands" and Steel Workers Local 19 t-shirts. The first is from Bil. He gave it to me last time I was with them (The Ugly Times, as it's been dubbed) when I realized I was going to be living with a 13 year old and didn't own appropriate pajamas. When I tried to give it back to him as we left this time, he looked at me and said "Nope, that's yours." Which is a good thing because the thought of giving it back was making me cry. The Grill Master is a part of Steel Workers Local 19. One year for Christmas, he asked what I wanted from him. He didn't believe me when I said I wanted one of his shirts. He offered to get me a new one but I didn't want just any Local 19 t-shirt; I wanted one of his. So I got it. Carrying pictures of everyone I love and miss isn't realistic. Instead, I carry articles of clothing. These are my two favorites.

8. George. George is my leather duffle, named after George Bailey of It's A Wonderful Life. In some ways, he's totally impractical. He's heavy empty, doesn't have wheels, and is only so big. In other ways, he's the most practical piece of luggage I own. Because he's hard leather, I don't have to worry about anything doing it damage. It won't rip; it won't be punctured; the seams won't pull. He is virtually indestructible. Plus, he harkens back to the days of Indiana Jones and adventure travel and everything inherent therein, which doesn't suck.

9. The way Lithus reaches for my hand when we are walking. Every. Single. Time. it makes me feel loved and warm inside.

10. My lopard print coat. These days, most of my feel good, kick ass clothing are in storage. But not my leopard skin coat. My leopard skin coat is on my back. And I feel great wearing it.

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

Seriously?

Lithus and I have moved to Alaska. Seriously. It's been a few weeks coming. Remember that post a while ago where I wrote that we were very, very close to (my definition of) stability? Well, we have gotten there. In ... Alaska. This past Sunday, after a very long day of traveling, we arrived in Anchorage. And, wow, that was two days ago. It already feels longer, in a good way. As the Divine M put it "I took three days off from work and my best friend moved to Alaska." Well...yes.

Sunday night, we were met at the hotel with a message for Lithus to call his boss. He called before we had ever made it to the room. "I'll be there within ten minutes to pick you up. We're looking forward to meeting you and your wife." So we made a mad dash up to the room, dropped our bags, tried not to think about the fact that we'd been up since 2:30 a.m. Anchorage time, and raced back downstairs, where Boss Man was already waiting. We went to his house for vodka and chocolate cake. I can live with this kind of a boss. I saw a bald eagle. Not in a zoo. Not in a wildlife show. Just flying around, as if it was a big old (predatory) robin.

We also got the word that we would be leaving the next day for Kenai. Sure enough, the next day, we were on another plane to Kenai. It's a 20 minute flight from Anchorage. No security to go through. No random searches. You just walk up to the counter, give them an i.d. They hand you a ticket and you get on the plane. Me, my leopard print jacket, my high heels, and a dozen oil riggers. It's possible I run the risk of becoming a local character in record time.

Last night, we went to Louie's Steak and Seafood for dinner. The blackened prime rib and the king crab salad are not to be missed, should you ever find yourself in Kenai around dinner time. The animal heads and bodies and furs and pelts are a bit much but if you focus on the food, it's yummy goodness. (Note: Among all these carcasses is a crafted, beautifuly made, yet very human head. It's possible I am the only one in the place that found this...odd.) Anyway, be sure to ask for Lisa as your server.

Today, I am trying desperately to be quiet in spite of my lingering coughing and hacking and snorting and sniffling, as the overnight mechanic is asleep in the next bedroom. Lithus is at work. Assuming the sun that has peeked through the clouds is staying where it is and the snow doesn't start again, he will be flying some today. If the snow starts again, it could be tomorrow. Apparently, so long as we're back in Anchorage by Thursday, late afternoon, it really doesn't matter. After all, all we have to do is show up at the airport with our i.d.'s.

I know I'm not doing any of this justice. For a writer, I am finding myself completely incapable of expressing the surreal nature of it all, the absolute joy of the moment, the uniqueness of everything around me. But trust me ~ it's all of those things and so much more. And maybe, if I can find the words, I'll be able to tell you. Until then, we've gotten some stability back, and that's a good thing. Even if ~ especially if ~ it's a little different than most people's stability.

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

Sick.

And sick of being sick.

Lithus has dubbed this year as The Year We Are Ill.

Neither one of us are sickly people. We are sure that we will be healthy for the next ten years because of how sick we've been this fall and winter. I can live with that.

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

Perspective

Prior to my divorce, I watched and read the news avidly. I am an aware, active, socially conscious participating member of my society. It was my right and my obligation to know what was happening in the world.

Then the shit started. I was miserable all the time. The last thing I needed was a 24-hour news cycle. I stopped watching the news. I stopped reading more than the headlines. I discovered I still knew what I really needed to know ~ a lot can be addressed in a headline ~ and was less miserable. Victory!

Since the last presidential election, though, I have gone back to being a newsy. The campaign was historical, pivotal, even. And the politics that have occurred since then, important. Only I'm grumpy again. And I don't much care for being grumpy.

Honestly, I don't think I can disconnect as completely as I did during and after my divorce. I'm just not a only-read-the-headlines type o'gal. I really do want to know more about what's happening than can be summed up in an average headline. At the same time, perhaps some moderation is in order.




Yep, I can live with that.

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

Addendum, not even an hour later: Or maybe I'll just stay grumpy.

Facebook

I have a professional Facebook account, but do not have a personal one. You cannot find the Boston Pobble anywhere on FB (unless it's in someone else's photo album). And not many of my personal friends are friends on FB. It's complicated to keep the two lives separate. Hell, I even un-friended my mother and Crow, in an attempt to keep the two worlds separate.

My attitude about it is, if I want to keep in touch with you, I have. If I want you to know about me, you do. If we don't know how to reach each other outside of FB, odds are good we don't have that much to talk about anyway.

All that being said, looking through friends' FB friends list is...interesting. Friends from years (years) ago, who used to mean so much. Ex-boyfriends. The kid I had such a huge crush on in 6th grade (has turned out very handsome in his suspenders and round-rimmed glasses). Kenike to my Rizzo from Grease. The kid I used to get into fights with almost every freaking day on the school bus (turned out quite handsome and appears to actually be a functioning member of society ~ a fact that doesn't really surprise me but still...) The men and women who helped raise me. Mentors, friends, enemies. Several boys I sent away, with good riddance. The one who got away. All of us, older, wiser, grown up.

It's been a fun trip down memory lane. Don't need to poke any of them or send any of them friend requests. It's why I don't have a personal account. And yet... most memories made me smile, and that's worth a whole lot.

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

New Respect

I have always respected and adored Sesame Street. Those people, the Muppets, their creators, the adults who have committed their lives to the show, taught me and the generations that have come since our ABCs, our numbers, and so much more. And let's be honest, the "so much more" is the really important stuff. My admiration and gratitude to them knows no bounds. Are we clear on this? Good.

Then you understand what it means when I say, as of this afternoon, I admire them more than ever. Why, you ask? Three words:

Elmo's
Potty
Time




Yep. And special props to Roscoe Orman. Who, with all the seriousness, legitimacy and love required of the dad-figure he is, and the total commitment from the actor he is, talks and sings and advises about...going potty.




There are so many reasons I have never had children. Bodily functions are high on the list. So props ~ mad props ~ to Sesame Street.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee, unless you're Roscoe Orman, in which case, I'm buying.

Book Signing, Reporting In

Well, the first signing for the new book has come and gone. It was lovely and a success.

When we first got to the store about 3:40, the power was out all over Tahoe City. Luckily, the sun was shining. My attitude was, if the bookstore was going to be open, I was going to be there to sign books. I might not sell a single one, but I would be there. So we set me up and, right at 4:00 (the time the signing was supposed to officially start), the lights came back on. Go figure.

The Bookshelf is a small, independent bookstore that caters to a mostly tourist crowd. We had no clue how many people would show. But again, they wanted me; I was there. As it turned out, we had five people stop by and buy 12 books. What I found out later was that it was one of their most successful signings ever. The weekend before, they had an author in who claimed he was too famous to do signings ~ he only did presentations. So he was there with a slideshow and handouts and a bazillion copies of his books. Three people, including his sister-in-law, showed up. (Note, his sister-in-law apparently both of my books, which I'll take, quite happily.) Do me a favor would you? If I ever get that bloated, somebody slap me back down to size, okay? (Cam Pike, I'm talking to you) Okay.

They had a nice setup: homemade brownies, pineapple wine, and juice. We added flowers and chocolates to my table. I learned to have a piece of paper for mailing list requests (duh, Pobble), so that and a second pen are now on the signing checklist. All in all, it was a fun couple of hours and I sold 12 books to people who came into the store. Whenever I sell one, I'm excited. Twelve was more than I'd expected. :)




Plus, I have to share this picture from a friend of mine in the Portland area:

How cool is this?????? She says it's a lousy picture (but I got her permission to post it anyway) but when you think to do something like this for a friend, there is no such thing as a lousy picture (at least in my opinion).

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

Book Signing

I have to leave in about 30 minutes for my book signing. The butterflies have started. Wish Lithus were here. Since he's not, it's you guys...

Hair and makeup done? Check.
Gorgeous outfit courtesy of Crow and Seven? Check.
New hair color holding up? Check.
No holes revealing anything improper? Check.
Tattoo covered for conservative readers? Check.
Special book signing pen from Lithus? Check.
Business cards? Check.
Special thanks to Pobble Thoughts readers who let me celebrate and still laugh at the surreal nature of this whole thing? Check.

I think I'm ready. Although the fact that there are people out there who want to meet me and get my signature on anything other than my taxes continues to amaze me.

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

Defining Stability

I have known for a long time that my definition of stability is different from ... just about everyone else's. Home? Unnecessary. Pictures on the walls? Nice, but not needed. Wake up in the same room, in the same town, most mornings? Um...do you know me? My stuff around me? If I've got my bear, something that belonged to my father, and the knowledge Boston is still there when I'm ready to go back, that's really all I need. The local joint where everybody knows your name? Oooo...you almost got me with that one but ~ I can do without it.

Here's what I need:

I need to know my bills are going to be paid this month ~ and next.
To know when the next several paychecks are coming ~ and approximately what they will be.
Bear, something that belonged to my father, and the knowledge that Boston is still there when I'm ready to go back.
To wake up next to Lithus far more mornings than I wake without him. Far more mornings.

We're close, people. We're really, really close. Good news soon (I hope!). Until then...

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

Ps ~ I am aware that, should Boston not be there when I'm ready to go back, it means we have far bigger problems than my own personal sense of stability.

EEEP! (yes, again)

Book Signing
Date: Saturday, March 20
Time: 4 - 5:30
Place: The Bookshelf at the Boatworks

Join us for an opportunity to meet Pauline and pick up your copy of (the new novel), the second in the L****** F***** trilogy. Refreshments will be served.

You'll please excuse the edits to keep this blog from being picked up in a search for Pauline or her books. ;) And you'll be there, right? Of course you will. Just remember to introduce yourself!

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

Playing Cribbage

(note, much to my very deep chagrin, this is NOT my cribbage board. how much would I love it to be, though?)

When I was about 12, my dad taught me to play cribbage. It didn't take long before I was hooked. When the occasion arose, we would each play with other people and yet...we always came back to each other. We used the cribbage board that had been made for my grandfather during WWII. We bought a deck of cards that wasn't to be used for any other card game except our cribbage games (cards were big in our house, so a clean deck that you could put your hands on was a rare thing). Eventually, we upgraded to two very specific decks, instead of just Hoyles, so that they didn't have to be labeled ("CRIBBAGE CARDS: Do Not Use!") but were instantly recognizable. We never said goodbye to each other until we were in the middle of a tournament. That meant we had to get back together to finish it up. One of us would take the board; the others would take the cards. Again, we had to get back together to use them.

He taught me to ask "Feel like getting your ass whipped?" when I wanted to play. He taught me to answer "Think you're man enough?" when he asked the question of me. We shortened it to "Feel like it?" if the situation wasn't appropriate for the whole patter.

We played cribbage on the back deck, after the rest of the family had gone to bed. We played in Lynchburg and Boston and Denver. We played in airports and airplanes and on trains. Hospitals, restaurants, and colleges. Rolling across the English countryside and flying over the American one. We played cribbage the night before my first wedding day, after my bachelorette party. We played drunk, sober and in between. We talked about nothing while playing cribbage. We talked about everything while playing cribbage. We were supposed to be playing cribbage the night he died.

When he was cremated, I had the cards put in his casket with him. I kept the board. It's in my will that I will be cremated with the board. After all, we're in the middle of a tournament.

So why am I writing about this now, given that Daddy's death was over 12 years ago now (holy shit...) and my is many, many, many years out? Because a couple nights ago, my heart came to me and said "Aunt Mame, would you teach me to play cribbage?"

So I did. And so we have. Who knows if it will be a few days, a few months, or a lifetime treat for us. Only time will tell. I have already, however, taught him to ask "Feel like getting your ass whipped?" and to answer "Do you think you're man enough?"

Daddy would be pleased. I know I am.

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and your ass whipped, 'cause I think I'm man enough.

Eeeeeep!

Guess what hit the stores today? And reviews from ARCs are already coming in. Now, I don't read reviews so I don't know exactly what they are saying but I do know they are pretty solid. They aren't as strong as Angie and Chris's but, to be honest, the story isn't as strong as Angie and Chris's, either, so I can live with this.

To paraphrase Eloise, ooooo, I just love release day!

Those are Pobble Thoughts. That and a buck fifty will get you coffee ~ and $6.99 will get you FALL INTO ME! ;)

Uncle Lithus

I am not a mother. Not only physically, but emotionally. I am not a mother. If I could give birth to 12 year olds, I'd have half a dozen kids. About the time other people start getting frustrated with them, I fall in love. But you have to get through those first twelve years before they start getting interesting. And really, I got nothing there.

I'm an amazing aunt. I have nieces and nephews who will attest to this. And I love being an aunt. You know why? You give them back. It is, however, hard work for me. It doesn't come easily. If I could get away with ignoring them until they turn twelve and then be able to have the relationship with them that I want, I would do that. Kids are smarter than that, though, and won't just automatically trust and love you when they turn twelve, if you've been ignoring them the last several years (sneaky buggers that they are). So I work at it and lay the groundwork for later.

Lithus, though, is a different story. I have heard him have great adventures with the Hatchlings, traveling to ice kingdoms (the frozen food section at the grocery store); the plains of Africa (the dry spot in the backyard); paint great masterpieces with the masters of the Renaissance (sidewalk chalk); and explore undiscovered caves and caverns (that spot between the couch and the coffee table). This morning, he and the Hatchlette learned the difference between a sea slug and an orchid ~ which, based on the pictures I saw in the magazine as I glanced over, drinking my coffee, isn't as obvious as one would expect.

So I drink my coffee. Lithus discovers pirate booty. I read the occasional snuggly story. Lithus becomes a royal steed that flies. The Hatchling and Hatchlette laugh and squeal. And I am amazed, convinced it's one of the most beautiful sounds I've ever heard.

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