I’d like to take a moment tonight to thank you. All of you. My existence in this little corner of the internet(s) has been, at particularly dark times, my only connection to the world outside my door.
To those of you who’ve been with me for a decade, stretching back to when I was just a chick in a cubicle with a lunatic boss and a a handful of stories up my sleeve; thank you … for having traveled this path with me, supported me in big and little ways, and becoming some of the people I cherish most in this weird wide world. (I’d name names, but doing so would take me all night. Suffice it to say, if you think you might be on that list, you ARE.)
To those of you who have come along recently and shared pieces of your own stories with me; thank you … each and every one of you has made an impact on me and often brought a little light into an otherwise dark day. Your comments and e-mails reaffirm my connection to the rest of the world. Of special note are the women who were once girls like Ash, who’ve seen something of themselves in her story and ours. That you have allowed me little windows into your lives and encouraged me along the way is a precious gift I did not expect to receive. I wish for and work for a better world, one that will ease your journey.
Lastly, a Tip Of The Hat to my friend Brad out in Kansas City, who built Laurustina for me and has kept it alive and kicking ever since. You’re a prince, my man. A freakin’ prince.
The holidays really fuck with me. This is true for bereaved parents in general. It’s not just that first year without your child that’s ruined, but every year thereafter.
I used to love a fresh-cut Christmas tree. The bigger the better. There’s a hole in the ceiling of the living room, right in front of the picture window, where years of poorly judging the height of the tree have made their mark. And oh, the gifts, best we could afford, and stockings stuffed with treaties – always a Sunkist orange shoved into the toe. This year, the only tree we put up was the sad little Charlie Brown tree I picked up two years ago.
I wasn’t much of a cook in those days, so we always got our Christmas dinner elsewhere, big family gatherings with all the requisite commotion and children underfoot. I used to play nothing but those Very Special Christmas CDs for weeks and one of my best friends would randomly call, sing the words “Five Golden Rings” and then hang up, giggling as he did so because he knew I couldn’t help but finish up those four calling birds, three french hens, two turtle doves and that damned partridge in a pear tree before I went back to doing whatever I was doing before he rang me. Read the rest of this entry »
I spent part of the day rescuing video clips from old VHS tapes. This particular bit is from Christmas 2003, and in it, an 11 year-old Gabriel Jordan (aka Ashlie/Alice) explains the difference between the WWF and the WWE to his friend Leland’s grandfather Steve. It’s quite possible that the only people to be amused by this are me and Unkie D. but here it is anyway.