The move is D O N E !!! No more suburbia for this gypsy! I'm officially a backwoods country hick now. I couldn't be happier. As is typical, nothing truly good happens without some tremendous effort, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to those who helped me - Wendi, Rich (my boss, which is secondary to being my friend) and his wife Sue, and Bob. Especially Bob (newest dingo of the dog pile) - what an unstoppable brute force! I barely knew the guy - he just started dingo-ing about a month ago (well, I know him better now that we spent the better part of Saturday hauling, bumping into each other, and riding in the truck together for a couple of hours). And yet, he was very graciously willing to sacrifice his Saturday and help me. People with that kind of heart win big prizes in my camp.
Yesterday afternoon, I loaded up the last of the stuff in the garage and swept out the Kirkland house. I spent two minutes feeling nostalgic and wistful - remembering time spent with John (the good, the bad, and the ugly), recalling some wonderful visits with various folks, the ease with which Scott just sort of wandered into my existence there... I didn't brood, didn't ponder long. I just sort of brushed over my humble collection of internal movies in a very fast fast-forward to the rich bits. Then I washed the dirt and dust of the place from my hands and face, hopped in the truck and headed for home.
An hour or so later I pulled into my driveway, cut the engine, and sat for a moment just listening to the sound of the river. The river and nothing else. I let the cobwebs of the day get washed downstream in the current and thought, "I've done it. This is mine, my time. For so long this is what I've waited for and wished for and here it is. For however long I get to, this is my life."
The main cabin is pretty much arranged and unpacked and looks as though I've lived there for a long time. The Black Inkpad will take a bit more unpacking and organizing before it's done, but I've made great strides in getting my art studio done. It's as if the stuff belongs there, knows where it wants to go. I can't wait until I allow myself the freedom of a rainy afternoon spent deep in the clutches of my muse, hearty pot of deep brew steaming in the kitchenette, something bluesy and dreamy playing on the stereo... bliss.
This is the thought that occupies, "I've finally come home."
I'd forgotten about stars! I'd forgotten the glory of a night sky without the insidious glare of city lights. I'd been deprived for so long that I didn't even realize how much I was missing one of my favorite things. Well, no more. The sky finally cleared sometime in the night, and I was out on the back porch at ohgod o'clock this morning, sipping some deep dark bean, and staring up, up, up into the universe. It was so beautiful... like black velvet scattered with glitter. Combine that with the sound of the river and the scent of the pines.... *sigh*
I know I've said it already, but it bears repeating. This place is so much more me than I've ever been allowed. It's what I've wanted and longed for and hoped for, and unlike so much else that I could feel that way about, it really is everything I wanted, longed for, and hoped for. It's like discovering that, boy howdy, sex really is that much fun. It's like slowly relishing the flavor of fine, dark chocolate as is melts in a languid dream upon the tongue. It's the 20 course feast that once offered, actually delivers. It's the soft, airy silk that with each slight movement brushes against the skin like a lover. It is, it is, oh, it is... poetry personified. Swear to the gods, I think that if I could really write exactly how I feel I would spontaneously combust. That would be it. Blaze o' glory and all that. Done. Fini.
*heavy sigh* Stars
In your multitudes
Scarce to be counted
Filling the darkness
With order and light
You are the sentinels
Silent and sure
Keeping watch in the night
Keeping watch in the night
You know your place in the sky
You hold your course and your aim
And each in your season
Returns and returns
And is always the same
~Les Miserables
First of all, a tremendously loud shout out to our very own Haute Bisquette (aka Laura). Today is her birthday. I won't gush (much) and anyone who's read this blog with more than a passing glance knows that she's one of the aces in my game - I'm utterly proud of who she is (no matter the day or mood), and more than honored to call her friend. So, here's to you, Oooh. Grab that sezzy beast of a mountain man you've been tangoing with and dance like the tequila's already been passed around and ya gots firecrackers in yer toes!
And now for something completely different...
The other day I returned to Cap'n Kirkland after spending the afternoon arranging some of the stuff at the Granite Falls digs. I had planned to post about what a lovely rainy afternoon I'd spent in the peace of my new home, blah blah blah... Oh, it would have been poetic and wonderful, don'tchya know? Before I started to do that though, I checked my email and immediately started sobbing harder than I have in months.
In my email was notification that someone had responded to a dealie I posted here back on March 17th, Rox in my Sox. It was a message from Roxan's daughter Roschel. Today is the anniversary of Roxan's death. Roschel was feeling that horrid emptiness and decided to google her mom's name. My post was the first thing that came up - not at all what she expected to find. Certainly I never expected her to stumble upon it.
See, before Rox died, John promised her that he would look out for Roschel and make sure she was doing ok. Not long after, Roschel went off to live with some relative and John lost all track of her. It was one if his biggest regrets that he was never able to live up to that promise - one of those great unfinished things that we talked about when he found out how sick he was. So, to hear from Roschel after all these years; to find out that my little scribble reached out to her across the years and miles just when she needed it most; and for her to reach back across and sort of put some closure to something that pained me just because I knew how much it pained John... well... open the flood gates. I was a mess in the best possible way. I could just see John and Rox sitting around a campfire somewhere, having a heart-to-heart... John sharing how badly he felt about it all... Rox saying, "Dude. It's all good... watch this...." That would be so like her. It took me the better part of 1/2 an hour to get myself under control.
But it brought home again the sense of responsibility I bear for what I post here. It's all there for anyone with an internet connection to read. There's no telling how far the ripple floats in this enormous pool of words. but if you could...do you think you would
trade in all the pain and suffering?
ah, but then you'd miss
the beauty of the light upon this earth
and the sweetness of the leaving
calling all angels
calling all angels
walk me through this one
don't leave me alone
callin' all angels
callin' all angels
we're tryin'
we're hopin'
we're hurtin'
we're lovin'
we're cryin'
we're callin'
'cause we're not sure how this goes
~Jane Siberry, Calling All Angels
"Well there's more than
One way home
Ain't no right way
Ain't no wrong
And whatever road you
Might be on
You find your own way
'Cause there's more than
One way home"
~Keb' Mo', More Than One Way Home
Y'know... I almost started doubting myself. Started thinking that maybe I had overly romantic notions in my dream-filled head of life in the woods, that maybe it wasn't the soul's feast I'd imagined it to be at first sight. Foolish girl. Having delivered my first load (Grandma's old enamel cup is there now, so it's mine, mine, mine, all mine), I can very assuredly say that this is where I've belonged all along. This is the Pacific NW I've been searching for. This is the kind of place I longed for when I used to watch episodes of Northern Exposure (back in my D.C. days), bawl my eyes out, and think, "wherever that is, that's where I need to be..."
It's a place of peace and contentment, but not at all complacency. It's stirring in so many ways, not the least of which is the natural beauty that surrounds the place. It's in the heart of the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest after all. It's gorgeous, gloriously so. One would have to be comatose to not feel some sort of spiritual up swell. I can easily see myself getting lost in a creative vortex there.
Good pal Wendi made the trip up there with me and we spent some time wandering around down by the river, oohing and ahhing at the beautiful river rocks (which were only made prettier by the return of the rain). I found a huck of petrified wood bigger than my head, and so many pretty chunks of granite. I have plans to haul some of them up to ring the fire pit (currently surrounded by boring bricks).
We saw an adorable little black bear about two miles before the turnoff to the cabins. He was galumphing along the side of the road, took one look at Birddog and headed off into the brush. I took it as a good omen and as I was grinning, thought to myself, "Holy shit! I really am going to be living in the woods! Finally!! I've found a place in nature's playground."
...and in the heart of the gypsy played a wild, resounding back beat that lent itself to the cadence of the river and the tango and hush of leaves dancing in the trees.
Into the woods
And down the dell,
The path is straight,
I know it well.
Into the woods,
And who can tell
What's waiting on the journey?
~Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods
It's never a dull moment for your favorite gypsy. At the end of last month I was informed that my lease here is not being renewed, so I have to move by the end of this month. At first I was sad - I've called this place home for nearly four years now and it holds a plethora of memories for me. Granted it's been very difficult for me to manage financially on my own. Then I began to think about it, to think about the freedom it was affording me - the freedom to do something completely different. Rental prices being at a ridiculous high here in the greater Seattle area, I started looking further out. And the further out I looked, the further out I wanted. I pondered what would be most important to me in a new place and the word that always popped up first was peace.
I want peace - a peaceful place. I want a place of solitude and rest and reverie, a place that inspires me by the very nature of its quietness. A while back I posted that I felt a deep and nearly insanity inducing need to get away from it all. And so I am. I've found a place that all but screams in response to my soul's longing(s), a corner of the universe where every weekend spent at home will be "getting away from it all." As I've mentioned to anyone I've talked to over the past month or so, after the past couple of years I desperately need a place to land. Well, I've found it. Into the woods
Without regret,
The choice is made,
The task is set.
Into the woods,
But not forgetting
why I'm on the journey.
Into the woods
to get my wish,
I don't care how,
The time is now.
~Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods
I've found the perfect place for my restless spirit and I get the keys tomorrow. I'll be renting and moving into two little cabins up in Granite Falls. One cabin will be my residence and the other I'll use for my studio and guest house (mi bunk bed es su bunk bed). The cabins are very rustic and everything one could want in a woodland retreat. The property itself is absolutely lovely, nestled next to the Stillaguamish river (for all you worry worts, I'm not in the flood zone), at the base of Mt. Pilchuck. From the porch of the main cabin there are steps leading down to the river (there's trout in that thar water - slorp!) and the property is surrounded by the fragrant Douglas Firs that made me fall in love with the Pacific NW from the very beginning. The only sounds to be heard are sounds made by nature - the rustling of the trees, the rush of the river, and the twitter of birds.
I'm in love. I can scarcely stand the wait to have my first cup of murky bean on the porch that overlooks the river, to listen in the deep dark of a morning to what others would consider nothing. The property even has a fire pit that just begs for some gypsy dancin'. In an email the other day, Laura said, "I'm just incredibly happy for you-- maybe this is the break you've been needing-- a restorative, creativity inspiring space where you can throw yourself into your art(s) with reckless abandon." Mayhap, dear friend, mayhap. I'd be surprised if it turns out to be anything but. Into the woods-
It's time, and so
I must begin my journey.
~Stephen Sondheim, Into the Woods
First off, I apologize for the delay in getting this message out - it's been a very busy week.
More importantly, thank you all so very much for the tremendous support you gave me in doing The Breast Cancer 3-day walk! I can't tell you how much it meant especially to me, but to millions of others as well. Here's hoping that all of our efforts have moved us one step closer to finding a cure, better yet a preventative, for breast cancer.
The 60 mile walk was, in a word, amazing. I've never had an experience like it in my life. To see as something tangible the love and dedication that so many people put toward the cause was humbling. It was, as promised, a sea of pink. I've never much liked the color pink, but I've got to tell you, I have a whole new respect for it!
For me the walk itself was grueling, both physically and emotionally. I don't know when I've ever felt so completely exhausted in body and soul at the same time, yet so utterly satisfied. We walked, we cried, we laughed, we encouraged each other in every way, we sang, we held hands, we shared, we hugged - we were all friends who simply hadn't met before. The long and short of it is this - I accomplished what I set out to do and there is no way I could have done it without all of your help, financially, spiritually and emotionally. The encouragement I received along the way from all of you was impressive and only added to my determination.
There is much more I can say and so many stories I could share. But for the sake of brevity, I will merely say again a very heartfelt thank you. Together we have made a difference.
One more dawn
One more day
One day more!
~Les Miserable, One Day More
To say that I'm excited is a vast understatement. I can't sit still. I can't think of anything but pounding out the miles. I'm so ready to begin. It seems like years ago that I was first trying to talk myself out of this, first thinking, "Are you crazy? what makes you think you can do that?!" And the gypsy charged out of the woods and hollered, "You can't NOT do this! Get walkin'... get on down the road, gal." So, here I am, six months later, dancing at the gate and waiting for the starting gun.
This has already benefited me in so many ways - spiritually, emotionally, physically. The very act of walking has made me stronger and better in every way. I'm now down 6 sizes from where I was at this time last year. It has all come together. The spiritual, emotional and physical are the equilateral triangle upon which mankind's being is based - ruin one side and the integrity of the whole falls apart. A little over a year ago I was a geometrical nightmare. Now... now I'm complete. Ok, geometry lesson over - geometry was never where my math strength lay anyway.
Looking forward... moving forward... I'll see you all on Monday.
*cue longshot of a gypsy hiking off into the woods*
I read the comments to one of my posts the other day (...And Counting). Leave it to Tonto to turn me into a blubbering fool first thing in the morning. She and her daughter, Mandy are both listed on my t-shirt - both of them cancer survivors, both of them high at the top of my motivation for doing the walk. Last year I attended a fabulous birthday party in celebration of Mandy's 40th - it was a birthday party that some weren't sure would happen due to the particularly vicious nature of Mandy's breast cancer diagnosis. Her husband Mart promised her early on that if she fought hard and made it to forty, he'd throw her the biggest, baddest bash ever. They both lived up to the promise. It was one of the finest evenings of my life, and I was so glad to be there to share it. I'm honored to be walking for the entire Sherman clan - after all, cancer doesn't just leave its mark on the person who has it, and this is a huge, loving family.
Her words were so eloquent though, and what she wrote rang so true that it shook me. She said, " You are my hero and my friend, and I am humbled by the amazing person you are! As one of the 32 people on your cancer T-shirt, my daughter Mandy being another, we will never be able to thank you enough for this 60 mile walk you are doing for all of us. Every step you take, may mean a life saved, and a lifetime fulfilled. As a Mom of a breast cancer survivor, I know first hand how devastating this horrible disease is, and just how hard the fight for life is, and so do you, that's why this walk is so personal for you. Even though you won't have your tunes to help you "move on down the road", you will have angels and spirits all around you, and you will be walking to the beat of hearts that you have known and loved, and hearts unknown, and Sabi, that is the best tempo a gypsy could ever hope to walk with and for......"
Knowing Tonto as well as I do, those words carry such weight for me. She doesn't pull any punches, ever. It's why I love her so dearly. What really struck me though was her notion that I'll be walking to the beat of the hearts that I've known and loved - that beat being the best tempo for a walkin' gypsy. I never would have thought of it or put it that way, but it's so very true and so perfectly put.
I have decided to dedicate my second day of walking entirely to Tonto and her family. Without her love and support these past couple of years in so many ways, I know I wouldn't be where I am today. So it is with deep gratitude to The Universe that I'll be lacing up my shoes Saturday morning, and thanking all the gods for sending Tonto into my life. And I'll set out, grateful for every step that we have taken and will take in this beautiful friendship we share.
Love you Tonto, with all my beating heart.... hi-ho Silver! Away.....!!!!
I got my Birddog back! Thanks to Dr. Gary, my favorite mechanical guru, the ol' gal is up and runnin' again. It was just a gasket... a stupid, stinkin' gasket. I watched and learned. I hate being ignorant about stuff. One of the cool things I learned is that one can quite easily make a new gasket out of card stock. Yup. The same stuff I use to make my tiny art creations. We used Stampin' Up's Garden Green cardstock to make a new gasket. I was grinning big the whole time... thinking, "now there's a whole new realm of creativity to be explored... just think of all the different colors I've got in there!"
Anyway, I drove to work this morning for the first time in weeks, and it felt great! I sure missed being behind the wheel. I never thought a mere vehicle could generate so much emotion in me. But then, Birddog is no mere vehicle. She's a gypsy just like me... wakes up every morning wondering where she gets to go; gets fidgety if she's not allowed to roam some; and loves, loves, loves the open road. And the sound of her engine.... *sigh* When Gary cranked it over last night I swear my heart leapt in my chest. When I started her up this morning, I almost got teary-eyed, and said aloud, "Oh yeah, Darlin'... that's m'good dawg." She's just that much to me. Sure, a lot of it is the sentimental attachment to John, but it's much more than that. Birddog's been my freedom, my friend when everything else seems to fall apart. We've wandered through mountains and deserts together, slept together... hell, I talk to her, pat her haunches even. She's mine, I'm hers... never was there a gypsy wagon more adored by a gypsy.
I can't explain it, and while some might understand, others will just think I'm nuts (wow, nothing new there). Suffice it to say, there's just something about this gal and her dog.
Four short little days and I'm go for launch. Hard to believe the big walk is this Friday already. I'm excited, nervous, hopeful, emotional... I don't know when in my life I've ever felt this big a sense of anticipation. Never. Not in the times I've moved across the country, not when I got married, not for anything ever. This is big. In my life, it's huge. Not the task itself so much (although that's daunting enough), but the enormity of what it means and what it can mean.
I'm hoping for some kind of closure and release from some of the great pain I've felt in losing so many loved ones to cancer. I have 32 names on my t-shirt right now. Of those, 11 have lost their lives to breast cancer, 11 to other cancers. Further, of that 32 there are 20 people listed whom I've known personally. Most sadly of all, out of the 32 names only 3 are survivors while 7 are currently fighting the battle and not doing well at all. Pretty frightening odds stacked onto one single person's XL t-shirt (now imagine the 4000 people in Seattle alone who will be wearing similar shirts come Friday). There is room for other names and every time I open an email from someone I worry that I'll see, "Would you please add...?"
We are fragile enough creatures as it is. Please join me mentally, spiritually, and physically in fighting this monster that takes what is already too short (life) and turns it into an unfinished blink.
On the front of my t-shirt I've written one of my favorite quotes, and one that John used often when he was sick and people would ask him how he was doing: Any day above ground is a good day. Here's to better and more plentiful above-ground days for all of us.
"...I have squandered my days with plans of many things. This was not among them. But at this moment, I beg only to live the next few minutes well. For all we ought to have thought, and have not thought; all we ought to have said, and have not said; all we ought to have done, and have not done; I pray thee for forgiveness."
~The 13th Warrior
Odd real life images have been flitting into my existence lately. There's the woman who carries peanuts with her on her walk and feeds the crows. She passes my house and sets peanuts along the fence and the crows follow along like they're her personal flock. This morning on my own hike to the bus stop, I was startled by (and startled back) a family of raccoons. They were down in a ditch foraging for raccoony tidbits and all five of them turned in perfect syncopation and wrung their little paws like a fidgety Greek chorus as they watched me tromp on by. Around the corner and down toward the lake... there was a ring of fog lying just around the shore, making the lake look like something freshly risen from its Brigadoon-like hiatus. The lake was so beautifully still that it looked like glass with sailboats that had gotten stuck to it during it's previously molten cool down. Along the way I played soccer with a succession of apples that had fallen into the road from someone's tree. And then there were all of the curious characters on the bus ride - I'm certain I was one as well. All in all, it's been a fascinating meander through the morning since ohgod o'clock.
I didn't sleep well and was up at 4:30.
I woke up contemplating something that Laura and I discussed a couple of weeks ago. We talked about these good lookin', upstanding guys who seem to see beyond the "uglier" physical bits of us to find the beauty in our souls. At the time I equated it with not seeing John's wheelchair and the scars and all that went with being a paraplegic, but seeing the amazing man who was riding it. But, I don't think that's all it is. I think, in looking at some of the man choices Laura and I have made, and we have a propensity for picking the walking wounded out of a crowd and glomming on like nobody's business... I think we choose those blokes because of that woundedness, because it gives them the ability to see the caring, kind women we are, because they're less concerned with how the shelter looks than with how well the shelter will hold up. Just my early morning overly caffeinated theory for the day. (What say ye, HB?)
Speaking of , I fell into an amazing conversation with one such lad last night. It always spins me to find a kindred out there in the madding crowd. It was one of those gigs where both of us were talking fast and furious, trying to cram as much into a limited time space as would allow. I think the conversation lasted about an hour (I really have no idea), but could easily have continued on for... hell... days. It was great. It was just what I needed. I needed to be able to voice all my whack ideas and ideals without judgment of any kind, and I also needed to hear about someone else's woe to remind me that it's all relative. Life is what we make it, sure, but we don't usually get to choose the shitstorms, only how we deal with them. He talked about issues in his life and kept saying, "but it's nothing compared to what you've been through." Oh, please! While I'm bitching about an earthquake, someone else is trying to stand tall in the middle of a tornado, someone else is freezing to death in the snow, and some lucky slob is walking on the beach enjoying cervesas (right up until the hurricane leaves him clinging to a palm tree for dear life).
So, back to the sleeplessness... I'm freaked, that's why. Not just a little freaked. Not just oh-dear-what-to-do freaked. I'm talkin' full blown mad cow eye freaked. The big walk is just a week from tomorrow. And I'm totally freaked about it. Excited, yeah, that too, but more nerved up than I can recall being for any other occasion. Why? Because I want to do it justice. I worry that my body will try to stop me in my tracks - that my sometimes gimpy knee will choose next weekend to act up, that my previously broken foot will try to vex me. I don't care about blisters - I've been walking on blisters for months. I don't get to have my iPod with me (rules of engagement) and I'm not sure I know how to walk without my tunes. How do I keep the pace without Clapton axing out a perfect beat, without Mraz be-boppin' through my shoes, without 3 Doors Down driving me along with the sheer power of their ranting style, without Collective Soul yanking my spirit along, or Tunstall, or Raitt, or Keb Mo making me feel like being an average human being is just okey dokey, and all the other musicians I've come to refer to as my psyche's Walkin' Entourage? No worries, this is all just mostly normal Barb-arisim. I'll be fine. I'll walk down the miles.
Anyway, that's my story for today. Look at that, you get about four posts in one. Trying to make up for lost time, I guess. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Courage does not always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying, "I will try again tomorrow."
~Mary Anne Radmacher
Disclaimer: I don't normally post things that have been sent to me via email. Reason being is that most of you have already seen them. Plus, I'd rather come up with my own original stuff (I do all my own stunts, savvy?). But, this one was too good to pass up... thanks Haute Bisquette!
The views expressed in the proceeding spamalicious post are not necessarily the views of this blogger.
=============================
Why did the chicken cross the road?
BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!
JOHN MCCAIN: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue
with all the chickens on the other side of the road.
HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure - right from Day One! - that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.
GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?
COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.
BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of chicken?
AL GORE: I invented the chicken.
JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.
DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.
OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
MARTHA STEWART: No one called me to warn me which way that chicken was going. I had a standing order at the Farmer's Market to sell my eggs when the price dropped to a certain level. No little bird gave me any insider information.
DR SEUSS: Did the chicken cross the road? Did he cross it with a toad? Yes, the chicken crossed the road, but why it crossed I've not been told.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die, in the rain, alone...
JERRY FALWELL: Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth? That's why they call it the 'other side'.Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like 'the other side.' That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.
GRANDPA: In my day, we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heartwarming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.
ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never cra#@&&^(C%..........reboot...
ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken ?
The move is D O N E !!! No more suburbia for this gypsy! I'm officially a backwoods country hick now. I couldn't be happier. As is typical, nothing truly good happens without some tremendous effort, and I owe a huge debt of gratitude to those who helped me - Wendi, Rich (my boss, which is secondary to being my friend) and his wife Sue, and Bob. Especially Bob (newest dingo of the dog pile) - what an unstoppable brute force! I barely knew the guy - he just started dingo-ing about a month ago (well, I know him better now that we spent the better part of Saturday hauling, bumping into each other, and riding in the truck together for a couple of hours). And yet, he was very graciously willing to sacrifice his Saturday and help me. People with that kind of heart win big prizes in my camp.
