August 18, 2002

"Impish Mood"

Laura, with tongue stuck out, roughly 1995

Last night, after I'd exhausted myself game playing, a new magician named Marishka is level NINE (Dark Elf, of course!), I pulled out a drawer from Laura's dresser, and combed through old photographs. It was fun reliving old memories. A few illicited some sniffles, but the picture above made me laugh! Laura was in an impish mood that day!

I don't know whether the pictures were the trigger, but I dreamt of Laura again last night. We came home to find Laura sitting on the floor, by the bed, smiling.

She looked a little tired, but happy, and not too worse for wear. ''How'd you DO it,'' I asked her. ''Did you just pull that nasty pipe out of your throat and walk out of that place?'' She just smiled, and asked for a big mug of ice water!

August 19, 2002

"Cause Enough"

I felt inspired early last evening. It started, as it always does, with a sentence in my mind that inspires curiousity about where it leads.

Laura, the morning of her heart attack, had plans to make revisions to her autobiography, for she'd copied the files into a new folder, and told me of it. She hadn't got a chance to do any more than correct some bad email addresses, yet I know there was more she intended.

What had she planned? Would she speak of our seven months here in Yuma? Would she end it on a happier note than she'd left it, still in grieving over the loss of Shayna? Such questions tore at me. I could not ask her now.

But then, a sentence began in my mind. ''Would this be how Laura's saga ends? Still in pining for a love of seven months, only 'mostly recovered', as Laura left you with, before her end. But is this how she meant to end the book?''

I got up, and followed the trail of that thought, and I believe I've brought a sense of closure to Laura's book. I read it to Julia, and she was also moved. She helped me with a few minor corrections, and I sent it webward.

Later, that evening, while sitting with Julia and talking, sipping a glass of milk, a deep sense of peace came over me. It was as though I could feel Laura's spirit crying, ''Thank you, thank you for finishing what I could not!'' I could almost feel her teary eyed embrace, her deep pride in me. I cried, as I answered her back, tears in my own eyes, ''Yes, Laura, I know, I know,'' and I embraced HER from beyond . . .

. . . but there isn't supposed to be any 'beyond', the skeptics say. Whether a figment of my imagination, based on how well I know Laura, or whether some essence of her soul remains, I felt her last night. I do not need to know the particulars, for this is indeed, how she would have responded, if she could respond.

And, may it be, some angel-spirit still wandering the earth, I embrace that possibility as well. Still, more importantly, I feel I've ended something that needed an ending, and that is cause enough for peace.

August 22, 2002

"Need It"

It is the middle of the night sleeplessness again. I think I shall have a few words and then try again for sleep.

Today will be a big day for Julia, as she has another job interview. The horoscope says ''You can now develop new sources of income and self-worth. This is a good time for financial affairs. This is an excellent time to build for your long term security.''

We hope something will come soon, as both the short term and long term security need it.

Meanwhile, there are prayers for a friend with a very sick Mother, and for those recovering from surgery and soon to be recovering from surgery. I would learn to channel strength from the hidden streams. I could learn to harness such strength. But first I must remember to breathe . . .

. . . and sleep, I will return to bed now.

August 24, 2002

"For Awhile"

While listening to the passionate singing of Ugo Farell, I let my sad thoughts and tears have their way:

The long howl escaping from within - to what, then does the truth lie? The truth does not lie. Unsettling truths will settle, like so much bone dust. All is over. No more can be said. If I know it not, it can never be known. Sing for me, soprano, wail for me, in your fine, clear high tones, for I may not know. You were always your own spirit, no one owned you, not even the wind. What can I release, that you have not released? For awhile, we lived in your world. For awhile, we each felt your glow. For a while . . . and now the night sky shines a little brighter. Your star is there, we see, but cannot touch it. JAL, 8 - 24 - 02

August 25, 2002

"Life GEMS?"

One morning I arrived at work to hear National Public Radio on the small black radio that is cleaner-side. That's nothing unusual, but the utterly odd newstory had me lingering near it to hear it to its conclusion.

Making DIAMONDS out of cremated remains called 'LifeGems' was the focus. Luckily, THIS morning I found an article in Starnet about it as well. Yes, they really can extract carbon from your loved one's cremated remains and make a diamond out of it!

People aren't likely going to be rushing out and doing this, however, for just one quarter-carat of these 'beauties' costs $4,000 and a 1-carat gem is $22,000! Not only that, the company requires a minimum order of TWO stones.

They've already got their first buyer interested, however. A man from JOLIET, ILLINOIS, (my birth place!), who is seriously ill with emphysema says his family plans to place an order when the time comes. His wife and five children will 'have something far more intimate to pass down than his few personal possessions. "This will be something that is beautiful, has value and comes right from me," he said.'

The Chicago based firm also plans to market this service in Japan, where the national cremation rate is more than 98 percent, and even to veterinarian's offices, so rich people can flaunt diamonds from their beloved pooches, for instance.

Meanwhile, here in the hinterlands of America, some consider simple cremation odd, as 'The Cremation Association of North America reports that [only] about 26 percent of the 2.3 million U.S. residents who died last year were cremated,' though they expect those percentages to grow to nearly 40 percent by the year 2010.

Cost alone may increase its popularity, though ecological reasons certainly are enough in themselves. The waste of devoting such a large chunk of land for a casket burial seems illogical in a world that is increasingly smaller everyday. Yet there are those who believe the body must remain intact for 'resurrection day' when 'the trumpet sounds'. ''Ella no cree (She doesn't believe),'' I understood the Spanish ladies at work, when they'd learned of our plans for Laura.

It's not 'creepy' to have the ashes nearby. It's oddly comforting, in a way. We can't have her physically near us anymore, but it's nice to have this much physicality. The newstory reported, however that ''One expert on death and dying said that survivors who scatter a loved one's ashes sometimes have more difficulty coping with death because they don't have personal mementos to cherish - a gravesite to visit or a vessel to hold onto. "There is a strong human need to have something tangible because memories fade and float away," said Kyle Nash, a grief counselor for physicians at the University of Chicago.''

Still, a gravesite to visit, or an urn to behold on a shelf do not replace memories. Yes, the memories fade with time. Far better are the gems that we have of Laura's photos and her own writings, and the writings we've made about her. These are the REAL life gems. Although they didn't cost an outrageous amount of money, they are priceless.

August 26, 2002

"Meanwhile, in Everquest . . ."

Could it be very long before you'd start hearing about the saga of Everquest? Nah, of course not! The 'wars' must go on, of course.

Except for Kaaldar, he ain't up to fighting without his Spelldoc. He loaned most of his good stuff to his brother and sister (except for his trademark robe), and headed off to 'The Rack', a bar deep within Neriak to get himself good and plastered on Elven wine. He spends his days there telling anyone drunk enough to listen about his glory days with the great Spelldoc.

Meanwhile, I needed a magician to join the troops. There was one, a High Elf, holed up in the halfling town of Rivervale who'd reached level twelve before I tired of him. I tired of his incessant whining. I visited him briefly to consider re-enlisting Razhann, but he whined one too many times, ''Oh, I DON'T want to wear anything that's been soiled by a filthy, smelly STINKY INKY!'' I told him, ''That's it, you can rot in Rivervale!''

It turned out, Kaaldar has a baby sister, who was just of perfect age to begin training, and she happily accepted his cast-offs, as well as a nice magician-only 'elemental binder' crown that had been gracing Razhann's head. She didn't even complain of its smell, either, but happily doffed it. Marishka's already level fourteen and is doing the muddite minors in the Gorge not far from the Misty Thicket.

sexy Marishka, wearing her 'Green Silken Drape' robe
(for some reason, that elemental binder is invisible)

Bonevivant (level 13), meanwhile, has been continuing his path of 'evil'. He slaughtered so many of the High Elven invaders near the Nektulos wizard spires that he's earned the WORST possible faction with 'Keepers Of The Arts', the guild for the magicians, enchanters and wizards of that race. And he's quite proud of that, too.

His path to further 'evil' has been curtailed, though. Those pesky 'Missionarys of Rodcet', (another set of unwelcome invaders to Dark Elven terrority) ganged up on him, and he's given up battle on them for the moment. The fire drakes and fire elementals in the nearby Lavastorm Mountains are better opponents for him at this present time.

But he'll be back to terrorize them again!

August 27, 2002 - A

"The Strangest Things"

The strangest things make me cry. Yesterday, when I opened the lid of the big freezer, I saw two loaves of Laura's bread tossed in, still in their Fry's grocery bag, and tears came to my eyes. Laura bought this special 'light' bread. Oh, it was tasty enough, but the pieces were extremely small. Two didn't even equal one ordinary sized slice. And I cried because Laura would no longer have her toast, with its whisper thin coating of peanut butter and smear of jelly. I cried, because it dawned on me yet again, Laura would not ever be walking through the front door of our apartment ever again.

I cried. This morning, I cried, when I was rooting around in my jewelry chest. In the back of one drawer, there's a whistle. Laura got us each one when we were hiking in the Catalina mountains. We were to toot on them, should we ever get separated.

I cried, for I wanted to toot so loudly on that whistle, Laura would come running from where ever she's gotten to. ''Come back, Laura, come BACK! Too-o-o-o-o-o-o-T! Ble-e-e-e-e-e-a-T!''

But I know there is no whistle loud enough that she can hear. We are each lost on our own private trails. My trail has a finding and a long way to go, and people to walk it with.

But I do not know where Laura's trail goes. I fear for her. There is no one to walk it with her. We have taken our last step together.

Oh, Laura, I do miss you so . . .

August 27, 2002 - B

"For These Colors"

Laying down to the quiet and dark room, suddenly feeling it oddly like it was the room in which I laid as a teenager at Grandmother's house . . .

. . . or does it just feel that way when time seems not, and all things blend?

I don't know, was it something about the quietness? Or was it something about the book I've been reading, the deep passions of the 'Cry To Heaven', as were the mostly silent yearnings of my youth . . .

. . . and now, me, middle aged, a little louder in my passions?

I was thinking of all loss, missing my grandmother, in that house in which I grew up. What would I say to her? I the wild dreamer, who kept such dreams under cloak?

Still, such thoughts, such fevered thoughts that I could not lay there in this present darkened room, thoughts that propelled me to the computer, and will any wisdom come from these thoughts?

I do not know. I am here and I do not know. Still, there is a time for settling things, or do things just gradually settle? The QUIETNESS of this house, I am not used to the QUIETNESS of this house. Julia and I are such quiet folk. With Laura, there was always excitement.

How did she do that, bring such intensity to everything? We mellow folks wonder. Still, my mind has its own intensities, and it is to that I am drawn, like the color from which will be formed SOMETHING. For these colors I am grateful. These have always been with me, from that teenager in that bed so long ago, to the very adult me, older, wiser, and all that. I am still blessed all the way with the endless spectrum of thoughts. With these shall I take a pail and brush and splash against the walls of our cave, even to the walls of YOUR cave?

I grab a pail, and start flinging wildly.

A doodle from January 29, 2000

A release in that, yes, a release. What can I think that I might share? Through silent days to nights of exploration, there is always the thinking. There is always the writing. There's a comfort in that.

August 28, 2002

"After All"

For most of the morning, a seething scowl encapsulated me. I hated the jacket I was working on. It was taking TOO much time. I hated the chatter I could not understand. I hated the heavy sense of boredom that had overtaken me. What could Julia and I do that was different? Laura always had such a sense of adventure, she could not tolerate boredom.

But every night, it has been the same. We'd each take to a computer, and there we'd be, ALL night. Now I love the web, and I enjoy Everquest, but that keen sense of ennue was driving into me.

But what could we afford? I dared not let myself hope Julia will get a permanent job. And bitter the ruing of this. I could not weaken myself to hope, and seethed some more. Finally, by lunchtime, I'd finished the jacket, and my hatred of it lessened. I wouldn't have hated it so much, had it not been an unfinished piece from yesterday.

The tasty lunch of shredded beef on rice that Julia had lovingly prepared for me soothed my bitter spirits some. Once I sewed through the remainder of my workpile, leaving an empty chair where it had sat, I was some happier still.

But what would we do this evening? Perhaps fate derailed the usual plans; our ISP was down, and we could not access the web.

I then reclined on the sofa and read more of ''A Cry To Heaven''. It was getting rather engrossing. I begged Julia make us those raspberry drinks which are so tasty. Then we needed to venture out. A friend had told us of a medicine that helps his hives, and indeed, the Benadryl has eased Julia's 'need' to scratch. But she'd used all the pills from that box, and we needed more.

I conned Julia into driving, and found myself enjoying the scenery on the way to the drugstore. It felt good to be getting out, if only to a drugstore. The houses along the way each had something odd about them, a trim, or a decoration. Once at the store, some white chedder cheese popcorn called to me, and I grabbed a bag. No sugar in them, I am doing good with abstaining from sugar, after remembering how 'plastered' to the ceiling I'd felt after a sugary drink and a huge cookie the day before . . . THAT day.

All the way home, I picked at the popcorn and even fed Julia a few. It was pleasant luxury to be reclined on the sofa, with those huge pillows Laura used to use to prop herself up, and read as Guido's and Tonio's lives became intertwined. Julia had bought some inexpensive imported beer at a speciality shop earlier, and I enjoyed a few sips out of the tall tapered glass, fascinated with the way the bubbles floated after each sip.

It has proven to be a happy night, after all. Sharing popcorn, beer, ice water with Julia and reading a good book, simple pleasures, yes, are satisfying.