. Spinning .

Silently doing what I can, donating, praying, thinking.

The magnitude does not relieve the grief of losing even one life.  The possibility that generations, family lineage has been wiped out in villages where all who were related lived within the reach of ocean waves.  That there is no fair and decent way to wage a war with nature; that what we’ve taken from the land has taken back from human life in one horrendous movement of the earth.  The gods of earth and wind, fire and water are always with us, and we have offended Poseidon in some way.

Nature compensates; nature is patient for a time.  And nature with the wrath of ancient gods will always win out above mankind.

And writing here is one of them, but there are a few gottado’s before I can sit down and tell you about my list of reading to do, my Christmas, and the acquisition of Photoshop, Illustrator, and Macromedia Studio. 

But first I must send out Christmas cards, wrap two more gifts, clean the house, and keep my fingers off the keyboard to stop myself from playing with Silent Hill 2 or Photoshop.

Guess what toys I got for Christmas–I call this one, my first, “Liquified Cars”

Merry Christmas everyone, and my best wishes for a New Year filled with good health, joy and knowledge.

Update:  The propane man came, and I am no longer a virgin.  Hey–wouldn’t you for heat?  It takes five minutes of holding down the pilot button before you can fire up the stove; body heat helps.  (And oh yeah, he believed it, so what can I tell you?)

Usual Cristmas Eve Day, trying desperately to push frames out.  One difference this year; the propane stove ran out of fuel.  It’s very, very cold in here.

Took the tree down; not in the mood.  Haven’t enjoyed Christmas in twenty years as a retailer, although making my customers happy with their framed presents for others does offset my own bah-humbug frame of mind.

Brrrr.  Hope the propane man comes soon.  I may kiss him, mistletoe not needed.

Willie singing "Take me down, little Susie, take me down…"

And Neha didn’t care much for my cowboy music yesterday? 

While it is true, perhaps, that being here alone listening to Willie or Waylon (oooh-that sexy gruffness!) may make my eyes twinkle a bit when a male customer walks in, it’s really just inspiring a rhythm to my work.

Truly, the "Stars & Guitars" album with Willie & friends is one of the best of his latest.  With Keith Richards, Jon Bon Jovi, Sheryl Crow, Patty Griffin, Richie Sambora Toby Keith, Nora Jones and the exquisite Emmylou among others.

Is it over yet–the shortest day?  Today has dawned with the dawning that the days are shortest when I need them longest, just before the Christmas crunch.  Traditions that I’ve clung to–cabinets of cookies produced for three weeks prior, the creche set I covered with material and bits of fur for hair and eyebrows when I was nine or ten (when I had the patience and beliefs of a saint), wrapping packages with complicated ribbons and bows…a decorated tree–are falling away from me as much as have the dolls and books and games I always sought from Santa. 

Or maybe just the dolls; the books are more a part of me than I’ll admit, although I will not so much as write my name inside to taint the sacred script.  And games, well I’m just beginning to accept that maturity is not a reason to give them up–they’re learning tools and I most eagerly anticipate delving into their new technology that the study of new media legitimizes.  Dolls were a large part of my childhood, being the youngest and considered too dopey for my sisters, they replaced them more than adequately.  No talking dolls–although Wanda the Walking doll was a Christmas gift once from an aunt and I never liked her–the doll, not my aunt.  Talking dolls were limited to only a half dozen short sentences.  My dolls spoke in different voices and on any topic I wanted them to opinionate upon.

But this year has done me in completely; no Christmas greetings were sent to friends, I’m cheating with those Christmas bags instead of wrapping boxes.  But for all I’ve lost this year I’ve gained a new best friend.  He must be that, for I am worried lest he get wet (though fully protected by American Tourister and an umbrella) on the forty-foot walk to work this morning in the rain.  For Del and I have big plans this coming year, and we like the same things and can enjoy them together; books and games.

And pain.  Standing from seven a.m. until ten-thirty at night on cement.  Holes poked in fingers from wire-wrapping hangers.  Hands dried out from Windex, starting to crack.  Mind numb from guessing who’ll walk through the door first, most likely the woman who just brought work in on Monday.  Facing one more marathon framing day tomorrow, then blissfully slip into a coma for weeks.