If you need a good cry …

.. then go read this extraordinary letter and answer from Dear Sugar.

DEAR SUGAR, The Rumpus Advice Column #78: The Obliterated Place

Dear Sugar,

1. It’s taken me many weeks to compose this letter and even still, I can’t do it right. The only way I can get it out is to make a list instead of write a letter. This is a hard subject and a list helps me contain it. You may change it to a regular letter if you wish to should you choose to publish it.  [Read the rest of it]

Dank morning, foggy tree

Couple of days ago.

We have a fabulous big OLD oak tree that hangs over into our yard.  It is home to innumerable animals and birds.  It vibrates with life on a sunny morning.   This tree is one of the old protected oaks in the Sacramento valley.  It’s in a fenced off area of our neighbors yard.   The phone and power companies have to work around it, none of their ugly chop jobs to make way for wires.

For perspective:  the fence in front of the tree is 6 feet high.  Click the pic for a bigger version.

‘Sup?

I’m suffering some serious suckage in the Fresh And Meaningful Posting department.   I have all the regular excuses, none of which are very good, and then I have the real excuse, which is that I’ve been playing Scrabbulous via email with Az and Silverstar non-stop every time I sit in front of my computer.  Every bit of my creativity is going toward coming up with good words and blocking that damned Azahar from using all the red squares.  She’s relentless.

Yes, well, this is all very entertaining for me, but it begs the problem of getting the posting done.  I mean, MY GOD, I may have cooked something delicious and not written about it, or given poor Lewi another impossibly bad haircut and not shared.  What’s that, you say?  You hadn’t noticed?

Bitches.  Fine.  Be that way.

Also, I still hate Facebook.  I hate all the apps that need total access to all my info every time I accept something.  It feels like I’m being buggered sans vaseline each time I say yes to another request.  The other part I don’t like is that I think I’m doing it wrong, or it wouldn’t be so annoying.

Feh.  Feh and Feck.

R.I.P Arthur C. Clarke

Science fiction writer, Arthur C. Clarke, poses at his home in Colombo, Sri Lanka, in this May 9, 2007 file photo. Clarke, the author of more than 100 books, including “2001: A Space Odyssey”, died early Wednesday, March 19, 2008 after suffering from breathing problems. He was 90.

Arthur C. Clarke