Does anybody want any flotsam? I've gotsam.
Does anybody want any jetsam? I can getsam.
I can play chopsticks on the Wurlitzer,
I can speak Portuguese like a Berlitzer.
I have gray hairs now. That's plural. So let's not pretend it hasn't been long since we last talked. Let's not pretend some of you aren't glad I now have the mature silver of wisdom flowing through my tresses--you know who you are.
The gap between then and now hasn't been filled with all bad, though.
My boys have seen the Pacific Ocean. And Minnie Mouse. They've climbed rocks in the Rockies and learned geometry...they've grown into their relationship with the Divine, able to bring up Jesus in everyday convo (as in: "Can I ask Jesus for a new 3DS XL with Motion Control--or is that greedy?") and they've become--God help me--tweens.
We're alive after all. And kicking, though I not as high as I used to. Hub passed the benchmark of 40 with grace and aplomb. He's only mildly forgetful--not so much that he needs post-its to remind him to take his pills, but enough that he can't remember what sugary sodas taste like and doesn't pine for them anymore (unless he's sneaking it behind my back, getting a fountain drink fix at the local dive bar, a Pepsi cheater!).
Skeeter's deaf and blind. He still does the Happy Dance across the rug on his back after a good breakfast though.
Birdie left us for Dog Heaven, a rare cancer, aggressive and quick.
And another nephew, David B.,34 years old, gone Home too soon.
That's just a taste. I haven't abandoned you...I would never. You're etched on me like runes on a stone, my love song to the internet: www.wearenotalone.com.
See you soon!