tedwords

Well, it took a few days, but yesterday, I received the anticipated call from my mother. I was at work, and was wrapped up with something, but I played her message while driving home that night, navigating those old S curves.

"Teddy? I just wanted you to know that I loved your book. It had everything...I laughed, I cried...it was the best Christmas I received this year. I love you, sweetie."

So, I guess that "Project Moonfall" was a success. I'm glad, because I took a lot of time on it, more than I ever have for a Christmas present. Josie says that she's jealous, but I reminded her that my next project after The Late Night Show finally (finally!) wraps up is a look at our break up years. I'm thinking of it as a gay Love Letters .

###

In the meantime, Corb and I are making our plans for the New York trip, which takes place January 1. This morning, his mom wrangled us into taking one car to drive down. We had really been hoping to avoid that, but it does save on costs, so I guess it'll be endurable to spend four hours holed up inside a car with Corb's mom and her boyfriend. However, if she tries to save money by staying in one room together, I'm putting my foot down!

###

Oh, almost forgot. All my photos this week were taken during our Christmas party last Saturday night. After some light snacks, we drove to LaSallette in Attleboro, MA, to go check out their annual light display. It was a pretty sight, although navigating a group of fifteen around was something like herding cats.

Happy Merry to all my friends out in LJ land! As you can see, Corb dressed Rrramalita up for the holidays...I hope that everyone that I've had the good fortune to meet and get to know...all those who have shared their stories this past year...I hope you all are having a wonderful holiday season, and are enjoying this time of the year as much as Corb and I are. Have a drink on me, wouldja? Preferably a martini.

By the way, I read the title of the new Harry Potter book yesterday. I think I'm going to reserve coment, and see if it grows on me.

Ghost of Christmases Past For the past year Corb has been insisting that our apartment is haunted by an old man, whom he has seen in our little bedroom (where we sleep) on several occasions. I've actually never seen the guy--until now.

( Read more... )

During times of stress, I often find myself turning to a sure-fire source of comfort food. It’s never once failed to make me feel better.

Tea with milk and sugar, and toast (slightly burned) smothered in lots of Skippy peanut butter.

The smell the taste the feel always remind me of my parents’ house. Every night, I would go down to my grandmother’s apartment to watch TV. I’d sit next to her, eat my fill of toast and tea, and wait for nine o’clock to arrive, for my parents to call me upstairs, to bed. Sometimes, I’d fall asleep, listening to the sound of Nana’s crochet needles clacking together.

Toast and tea. You can have all the booze and sex you want. For me, I have a better cure for the woes unleashed from Pandora’s box.

December 16, 2003

Dear Thumbkin,

Just who the hell do you think you are? Do you realize that at least seven of your feline lives are hanging by a thread? Do you?

Do you really think that, just because you're hungry this morning, you have the right to trash the house? Do you really think that gives you a green light to jump on to the dressers and knock things down?

Do you really think it gives you a reason to jump on my bed table and knock over my glasses, causing the left lens to pop out, and the screw to fall on to the floor? Do you know what it's like to have to scramble around on your hands and knees, totally blind, trying to feel around for a screw that's roughly a tenth of the size of your tiny nose, little cat? Do you know how long it took to find that screw? How I ended up picking crumbs out of the rug? Plastic cuttings? Little hardened objects I don't really even want to contemplate?

Do you really think it gives you the right to scamper into the bathroom and tear up the blue throw rug that's next to the toilet? We like to have nice things next to our toilet, too, you know, especially things that are cushy and soft, and feel good next to our feet. It’s kind of a comfort on those mornings when you don't really want to get up. If you use your claws to tear out the threading, they don't look half so pretty, or feel half as good, any more…do they?

And, while I'm at it, do you REALLY think it's appropriate to wait until I'm done cleaning out your kitty liter box, making sure it's nice and clean, and free of any offensive odors, to then saunter on over, two seconds after I'm done, squat down and dump into it something that smells as though it crawled up your ass and died there days ago? Each and every time? I mean, is that really thoughtful? COULDN'T YOU HAVE HAD THE DECENCY TO WAIT JUST A FEW HOURS?

I'll get your food, you stupid cat. I'll get you some stinking fresh water, too. But you'd better watch out, just mark my words. You may not want to know what I might be leaving in your Friskies, one of these days.

Well, not really, but...it's awfully tempting, this early in the morning. Sigh.

Just get over here and let me pet you, wouldja? And also, make that cute little leopard noise I love so much, And try not to dig your claws into my arms after a few seconds, okay? You might just earn redemption that way.

January 5, 2005

Walking through the snow...

TJ lowers his head and bends down to shove a handful of snow into his thin little fingers.

”I know where the snow comes from, you know,” he turns and confides to me.

”You do?” I ask, trying to stifle a grin.

”Yeah,” he replies, his brown eyes warm and trusting. ”Snowflakes are pieces of the moon,
falling down from the sky. See how some of the pieces shine, just like the moon?”

I’m charmed by the sheer beauty. “Snowflakes are pieces of moonfall.”

How did this kid, this kid who’s usually so solid and logical about everything, come up with a story like that? It makes me grin, but more than that, it makes me love him even more, catching this glimpse of the lovely, poetic soul that lives inside his small frame. Every now and then I’m offered a sneak peek, hiding behind his shy smile, like a child hidden in a secret space, playing hide and seek.

“Pieces of moonfall.” I love it. Makes me want to go outside and grab a handful of snow for my freezer.

For summer.

I can take it out and remember this moonfall. I can sift it through my fingers, feel its cool touch. I can look up at the sky, and imagine nighttime, and remember the special glow of the moonbeams on a cold snowy night in March.

And my boy. And his theories.

March 17, 2004...for the Mom project, which I've named "Project Moonfall"

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