Kick back in my step, smile on my face, and confidence back in my voice. Yeah...yeah, I can do that.

That was one of the best conversations I've had in a long time.
Thank you, Daddy.

I miss you all. A lot. And it sneaks up on me, making tears leak out of my eyes, no matter how much blinking and fanning I do. I'm not above crying in a bathroom stall, and I'm trying not to strain beneath the weight of my own criticism. I am happy for the new smiles, the new languages, the new grace...it's the old smiles and familiar tones and worn in, comfortable grace that are reminding me of who I am right now, that are whispering to me even if I think the air is silent. I find power in knowing you are there, and you know me for who I am. And love me so.

Even if I forget to give you a spoon.

A fight broke out. Origin, unknown. Yelling, bowing up, removal of clothing to prepare the fists for full swing. Women, screaming on the side, using logic and shrillness to diffuse the climax of this scene. A child darts out, and yanked aside by the arm like a precious stuffed monkey, she might have wondered during her arc through the air between the sidewalk and safe haven of store door, "why are they fighting?" Circling ensues, like prize fighters in the ring, like a bull and a matador intent on the others first move. An arm is extended, the hand rigid. Fed by the world's movie bred illusions, the air waits to be filled with gunshots. But no, it's an olive branch, not a piece of deathly steel. The opponent's body language stutters, and then comprehension clears the tension from the air as if it was erased. They grasp hands, a man's handshake. Much gesturing and explaining leads way to a man hug, the stout grip of opposite paws, the chest touch, and the vigorous back pounding. Resolution sings a bittersweet song. It is much better to be relieved and whole than to be proven right and dead.

All of this was executed in English, in my neighborhood, at the end of a busy day. It could have happened on mars in a Martian dialect, for all I understood. I don't even have to leave my house - there's theatre in the streets.

I walk A LOT. Which I love. And my feet hate. My toes and heels look like they're about to fall off. I think they might, just to prove a point. And walking in fit-lops in New York City gives new meaning to the term "Jiffy feet." Alicia ain't got nothin' on me no more.

So, I'm trying to take mytendenciesendancies and use them as a ladder to climb to a different level in my life. Because, as I've said countless time before, the things I fret about, the things that I really let fray my nerves, they are stupid things, compared to what others have to worry about. I have to concentrate on being as large in reality as I am in my mind, in my fiction. It is a struggle for me to use my voice, but I have to find ways to give it strength. My life is GRAND, isn't it?

I've mentioned it here before, but I just want to put the thought in your hearts again. My Aunt Jan Kibler (not my Dad's sister, but my Mom's best friend) is not doing well. She is in the hospital right now, and the easiest to say is that it's complications from surgery. Please pray for her. For her recovery, her strength. And pray for her husband, and My Boys. She really needs all of the positive energy she can get. She has much to live for.

PURSUE HAPPINESS.

Who knew that happiness could take so many forms?