Telegram

Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show.
Wednesday, December 31st

Epilogue


It is very early. The sun won't be up for at least an hour. I know this will probably be the best time I have all day to write my last Holidailies entry: I'll work a regular day, and then back to do the wedding which starts at six. I just got up and nothing has happened yet, so I won't write about anything topical. Not in a reminiscent mood right now, so I'll leave the review of the year to another time. The attic is full of trivia and speculations, ditto. Holidailies readers, thanks for dropping in. What you see is pretty much what I offer. There won't be much about politics, or celebrities, or culture. I may be circumspect to the point of obscurity sometimes, but I'm trying to respect the privacy of others in my life, and I'm not writing for readers, though you're always welcome. If the entries are confused, strange, narcissistic, pretentious, belabored: at least they have had the virtue of being short. Thanks to Jette and celluloideyes for all you've done, and thanks to Becky for her continued interest. It's still dark, and I need more coffee.
David on 12.31.03 @ 07:00 AM CST [link]


Tuesday, December 30th

On the Edge


Well, it's official: 2003 intends to go out the way it came in, with an event that completely sucks. Things were relatively quiet at the church and I took the opportunity to start putting away the Christmas candelabra and some other odds and ends left over from Advent. There were sirens. I had joked with P earlier in the week that when I'd seen the ambulance on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day my main thought had been, "I hope it's not one of ours." Today my joke came back and bit me. My dear friend's mother, who was also my friend, died at her home a few blocks from the church. I can't say it was unexpected but it was completely devastating anyway. We're on skeleton staff anyway, the week after Christmas, and enough is enough. We put on a good face for the wedding rehearsal but we're giddy from our season in the trenches. The hand reached out one more time.
David on 12.30.03 @ 06:39 PM CST [link]


Monday, December 29th

Review


It doesn't seem like a year in which much happened, but a lot did. Two friends were diagnosed with breast cancer; one friend lost a child; another friend found the child she had given away. I was away when the blizzard hit in February; the self-evidently vacant house was broken into by a serial burglar. Shortly thereafter she was caught, and by years end she had gone to prison. It rained in buckets, and torrents, and cascades, seemingly for months at a time. Roadways through the swamp were covered with water at Christmas, the first time I've seen that happen. I volunteered with the VNA, and SHADC, and the AAUW, and the ACS. I bought a car. My father was in the hospital, twice, and came out healthy but humbled. I saw Betty and Eunice together in Lent, at one of our musical services. Eunice died suddenly in August and Betty underwent heart surgery in the fall. But I've seen more weddings than funerals, and more baptisms than burials. I started to develop a social life, tentatively. It's been a year of vinegar and ice-cream, and the vinegar wasn't all bad, and the ice cream wasn't all good.
David on 12.29.03 @ 03:48 PM CST [link]


Sunday, December 28th

Reunion


I never kissed her when we were in high school together. It is many and many a year later, and I saw her on Christmas Eve. I recognized her quickly enough, the fact that she was sitting next to her mother helped, and she greeted me enthusiastically, so I kissed her. On the cheek. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time, and it wasn't that far wrong. I've kept up with what she's been doing in recent years, at one degree of remove, and she is one of the few I remember vividly from those days -- smart and attractive, and so doubly interesting. we were in all the same classes for years and became friends; in those days I was moody and mysterious, which is to say shy, so that was it. We went off to our colleges and our lives; my life brought me back here and hers took her elsewhere. In recent times I found that I had become friends with her parents, and I found that my walk into the future had circled back on itself. I think that's worth a kiss.
David on 12.28.03 @ 04:25 PM CST [link]


Saturday, December 27th

ABCs


In anticipation of the New Year, I'm going to give my readers (while I have some) the opportunity to offer me counsel. I was at the library this morning looking at books, arranged alphabetically by author's last name. I resolved to try reading some new stuff (new to me), by new people (new to me); and to be perfectly orderly about the whole thing I'm going to start with "A" and go through to "Z". So, readers: I am open to suggestions, and any and all suggestions. If you know of an author, whose name begins with a letter of the alphabet, leave the name in the comments section, below. Alternatively, contact me privately. For my part, I hope to start and finish a book under one letter before I start on the next. E.g., if I give up on, say, Margery Allingham, I'll go back to the well and try Sherwood Anderson, and not move on to Niven Busch. I'll be reading other stuf, too, and I'm not going to try to read one a week or anything. But I'll write a little report every time I've moved through a letter of the alphabet. Let's see how long this lasts.
David on 12.27.03 @ 01:34 PM CST [link]


Friday, December 26th

Ruth


I guess it was Christmas got me thinking about her. Six Christmases come and gone, since. Looking back seven years, the last time we had Christmas together, I don't remember much. there must have been a tree, and presents, and I'm sure Bob and Bill came around. I do remember that holiday season we agreed that I would read "Anne of Green Gables" to her, something familiar in case we had to stop for a day or six, so we wouldn't have any trouble picking up the thread. We ended up reading four of them in a row. I read her about eighty books those four years. I'm sure the home health aide and she exchanged gifts, and the nurse. She dictated a letter that I would print out and enclose with the cards. She had a gift for friendship, an open and loving heart, and the perseverance to maintain that love across time and distance. I am delighted that I had the good fortune to be born her son; but I'm honored that I had the chance to become her friend.
David on 12.26.03 @ 03:32 PM CST [link]


Thursday, December 25th

Morning Has Broken


What appears to be the most casual is sometimes the most formal. Our Christmas morning service is widely advertised a a "come as you are" affair, casual dress, pick-your-own-hymns, no ushers, no offering; a holiday gathering of the relaxing faithful. But underneath, the service has its own rigid structure to which it must adhere -- a structure which the extended family most attached to the service enforces, with kindly authority. It originated, years ago, as a truely informal gahtering of some folks and a pastor. But repetition imposes its own order, and this scene has been repeated twenty times or more, with the same cast of characters. We sing, we welcome the out-of-towners, we show off our favorite gifts, and then we go home. It's fun, and it's my one chance to be one of the gang, but make no mistake: it's formal.
David on 12.25.03 @ 07:20 PM CST [link]


Wednesday, December 24th

Christmas Eve


It's possible I'm mistaken, but I think this is the fifth anniversary of my employment at the church. One Christmas Eve, I was asked if I could possibly sexton the worship services that night; the regular worship sexton was going out of town with his family and, I think it was hoped, a bachelor with no apparent attachments would be a good substitute. My brother was coming up but I was willing to ditch him -- he thought I was a little crazy, anyway, for wanting to go to church at all, so if I had "responsibilities" it would be easier to explain why I'd rather go to church than spend the evening with him. Now there was money involved. I opened the building for the brass band to warm up before caroling on the green, rang the church bells along with "Joy to the World", lit and snuffed candles, and turned off the lights and went home after midnight. And here I am, ready to go through it all again, within a fellowship no longer strange.
David on 12.24.03 @ 02:02 PM CST [link]


Tuesday, December 23rd

Art


There are two shepherds, three wise men, an angel, Joseph, and a madonna and child. They are carved out of sturdy tree branches, measuring about one foot to three feet in height. Harry emphasizes the natural grain and individuality of the wood in each of his pieces. A shepherd is hairy with tree bark; grain lines recapitulate the curve of the angel's wings. Harry limps a little more than last year; he can't carry the heaviest of the pieces down from his studio to the car. I went to his house this afternoon to help him bring them to church for Christmas Eve. The schedul;e was off because of the memorial service this afternoon; when we brought them in the sister of the bride in Saturday's wedding was rehearsing her solo. As I was carrying him up the aisle, a King from the East looked into my eyes with a solemn gaze.
David on 12.23.03 @ 06:28 PM CST [link]


Monday, December 22nd

Questions


How has your year been?
Who do you know now, who wasn't in your life when the year began?
What did you do? Was it worth your time?
What did you look forward to the most? Was it everything you expected it to be?
Has your appearance changed? Would I recognize you?
Did you cry a lot?
Were you uncomfortable?
Where did you go? Will you go back again?
Who helped you the most? Did you realize it at the time?
How have you been sleeping? Have you had any strange dreams?
Did you eat out a lot? What was your favorite dish?
Who do you miss the most, of all the people you don't see any more?
Did you get scared at all? Were you courageous anyway?
Have your hopes been realized?
Did you find love?
Are you happy yet?
David on 12.22.03 @ 05:58 PM CST [link]


Sunday, December 21st

Day


I left the house befroe the sun came up. I got home an hour after darkness fell. In between, we celebrated two Advent services; held a children's Advent festival with crafts, cookies and song; sent a bell choir to the local senior citizen housing; were the last stop on the ecumenical "Walk to Bethlehem", with costumed wise men, gospel readings and more Christmas hymns; and this evening the junior highs are going out to sing carols to the shut-ins. In addition to the four Christmas Eve services and one on christmas morning, we have two weddings on the schedule in the remainder of the year. Unscheduled but necessary are the two funerals we will hold this week; two church members died yesterday. It's funny that it took that, the slap in the face that those deaths brought, to fill me with something like the Christmas Spirit. Life never seemed so precious, light never seems so precious. Christmas is all tangled up in grief for me and it seems right: a man I knew collapsed and died and we sang, "Joy to the World". The junior high girls don't want to admit they sometimes still play with Barbies. May those who sow in tears, reap with shouts of joy!
David on 12.21.03 @ 06:46 PM CST [link]


Saturday, December 20th

Men


There are six of us who regularly attend the Men's Bible Study on Saturday mornings. It isn't actually a bible study right now; the discussions are about the differences (theological, liturgical, political and practical) between various Christian denominations. This morning we started off talking about refrigerators. H has decided to get a new one, and wonders if the appliance store is a good place to go the Saturday before Christmas. B notes that, in the real-estate business, he sees kitchens which are more and more elaborate, yet people are cooking less and less. We note that the Progressive dinner has been catered in recent years. I promote my idea of the modular refreigerator, where you buy cubes that cool, say, six cubic feet, and if you have further need you buy more cubes. J wants a recliner that pops out beer cans when you lean back. The origin of the ice-maker is discussed. I remember the full-sized Frigidaire I once had in my dorm room. I only had to shop for beer once a week. If the microwave could read bar-codes you wouldn't have to tell it how long to cook anything. Or why not a smart refrigerator which knows the expiration date of all your perishables, and orders new from the store when you run out? Why is the date on some eggs the day after which they're no good, and on other eggs you still have three weeks to eat them? E never has eggs in his refrigerator that long. You'd also need a scanner in the garbage pail. Eventually we went in and discussed the Episcopalians for a while.
David on 12.20.03 @ 01:37 PM CST [link]


Friday, December 19th

Kids


How can anybody so cute be so irritating? I am not talking about her, for once -- she's back from Polynesia and stumbling through the darkness and the slush like the rest of us. I am not talking about myself, for once -- well, I am, but not primarily about myself. I am talking about the phalanx of nearly-indistinguishable threes and fours who invade our nursery school every weekday. The one thing you can be sure of: The cuter they are, the deadlier the explosive within. And now, a week before Christmas, they're all jazzed up, and it's too cold and icy for them to set foot outside. So it's an endless montage of songs and sass: of running in the halls and nose-picking and not being quite competent to use the water fountain without dripping on the floor,the front, and the face; of hitting when the teacher's back is turned; of insults only a four-year-old would understand, or get upset over; of theatrical weeping fits and uncontrollable rages; of naps over too soon, which do little but undermine their already vanishing emotional stability. And yet: When I go into the classroom to change a lightbulb, I am greeted with shy awe and admiration. For those few minutes, I am Prometheus.
David on 12.19.03 @ 05:33 PM CST [link]


Thursday, December 18th

Pretty Paper


I spent an hour or so this afternoon wrapping gifts. I tried to get in the spirit of it, playing my most ecclesiastical recording of Christmas music, but my enthusiasm flagged well before I was finished. I am a pretty good craftsman with paper, all that time in the studio was not spent in vain, but it is a peculiarly pointless exercise. The best-wrapped gift at Christmas is like the handsomest Tom turkey on the day before Thanksgiving. I am such a Calvinist that I try to be as thrifty as possible in the use of the paper, and to dole out the space in the boxes for mailing as rationally as possible. I fill up the odd cracks with various pieces of plush that I get at Rummage for free. Very efficient, and no less efficient at sucking the last bit of fun out of a trying annual activity. Next I have to do some cards.
David on 12.18.03 @ 04:52 PM CST [link]


Wednesday, December 17th

Bad Nurse


It's generally not a happy experience to see a local institution on the national news, in association with a crime spree. The institution is a hospital, and the criminal is a nurse; one of his recent victims lived about a mile from me. It's a topsy-turvy world: Hospitals are not only places where the sick are healed and the broken mended, they are ghettos where the dying are sent to be isolated from the living. Where better for a killer to work in secret than a corpse factory? I think of the nurses, home health aides, therapists and health care workers I know, and of what fine representatives they are of their callings and of humanity. Some of them probably knew him or worked alongside him. Now, in his instant of notoriety, he has soiled them all with the blood he has spattered.
David on 12.17.03 @ 05:48 PM CST [link]


Tuesday, December 16th

Dot and Dash


So why Telegram? Nobody asked, but I'll answer anyway. Admittedly it's not as interesting as the story behind LYP. I'd had a few free diaries and journals which were generally called My Parnassus, and I lost interest in every one of the succession in short order. Last summer, I learned about a project called 100 Words, where you write an entry every day exactly one hundred words in length. This seemed like the right amount of work, over a limited time period, with just the right amount of challenge in it. I completed the assignment in July and, having got the habit, looked for a free site to continue the discipline and chose Journalspace. Not too great but free and easy. As I was registering, they asked me to name my journal; I drew a blank and then my eyes rested on a Barbara Tuchman book. Telegram in the title. Telegrams are short, as I expected my entries to be. Telegrams are acclaimed as an early use of binaries in communication, and underneath it all this stuff is nothing but dots and dashes. My Journalspace goodies ran out after three months, and so did I, to my own domain. I found out in July that writing a little every day wasn't that hard (not as hard as reading, but that's not my job), so I've been doing it ever since.
David on 12.16.03 @ 05:32 PM CST [link]


Monday, December 15th

House


Progress isn't what it used to be. The church offers an annual "Progressive Dinner" in this season, and I was bagdered into attending the appetizer hour this time around. There were very few dyed-in-the-wool progressives about,and very little progression: There was only one stop after appetizers, and that was dinner. I drove past the home the hots live in twice before i had the nerve to go in the driveway. It was a grand house, almost a mansion, impeccably decorated. A nice place if you want to have 150 gests over and not have anyone feel crowded. Only one person expected me to park his car, but I was there long enough to feel out of place by the time I left. a friend of minewas hosting one of the dinner parties and had a cancellation, and I was invited to her house. When I got there I found myself surrounded by single ladies, seventy-five and up, and had a fine time talking about the old days. If progress were always this mild and gentle, it would be a baby soap.
David on 12.15.03 @ 05:47 PM CST [link]


Sunday, December 14th

December Bride


It has been a turbulent day; the wind has blown, the snow, ice and rain have fallen, and I was out there, rushing from task to task in the midst of it. it was starting to get messy when the 9:00 service approached, just enough snow on the ground to make things interesting, but when it was time to get ready for the wedding this afternoon, conditions were asmessy as they can get. I salted and shoveled and a county plow came by and threw great grey gobs of slush back on the sidewalk in front of the church. Old country grandma, wizened and stooped, made it inside somehow. The coordinator was home with the flu, and the pastor and I instructed the wedding party on how to process. The limo arrived, half an hour late, and the bride, sore distressed, gathered her gown up around her waist to hop out and across the sidewalk to the church. The wedding itself was pretty, all candlelight and wreaths and Pachelbel. Afterwards they wouldn't leave, and when I finally got everyone off to the reception, I found my car in an icy cocoon, and I realized how long I'd been at work.
David on 12.14.03 @ 07:01 PM CST [link]


Saturday, December 13th

Aging


There is nothing like an old friend. I have lots of them and they are, mostly, new old friends. I've known them only a few years, and they are well into the fourth quarter-century of their lives. They are vigorous, wise, humble, interesting and friendly, almost without exception; but the fact that they will not retain all of those qualities much longer lends a certain poignancy to the love I have for them. It is love, racing against the clock. We imagine ourselves to be independent when we cannot see those on whom we depend. We imagine ourselve to be important when we are paid to go somewhere and work every day. We imagine ourselves to be invulnerable because we have not been laid low by illness. My old friends no longer believe in these lies, and the truth has set them free. Even as the sand runs from the hourglass, they rejoice in what remains.

Today we sold cookies to raise money for the Adult Day Center, SHADC. The cookies, thousands and thousands of them, sold out in less than two hours, most of them gone in the first forty minutes. A loving gift from my old friends, to their old friends.
David on 12.13.03 @ 04:16 PM CST [link]


Friday, December 12th

Envy


So they've gone to Hawaii, for a wedding. I don't much care for this. They left before the snow, enjoying the tropical breezes, native hospitalities and sensuous delights, while I was walking in cold wet socks across a slippery, barren landscape. Never mind my Thoreau moment; I could have had that looking at the surf and a Polynesian sunset. They missed the wind and the rain, while I was walking in cold, wet socks (again) across a saturated, mushy landscape. God created Maui, between waters and waters, just as He did the Great Swamp; I could meditate just as easily there as here. The bright side: She made little cookie reindeer, with pretzels for antlers and M & Ms for eyes, and one of the antlers broke off, and I ate it. Thanks, Jen; wish you were here.
David on 12.12.03 @ 05:20 PM CST [link]


Thursday, December 11th

Waters


I went to sleep last night under several inches of snow, surrounded by a sea of snow, with archipelagoes of footprints strewn across its map. This morning I got up, and, when it was light enough to see, what did I see? Not snow. Just a sodden, demoralized landscape, full of water with more water pouring down into it to make it overflow. no footprints, just footnotes; little mounds here and there of shriveled snowdrifts, and soon they were gone too. The rain poured down and the wind kicked up, like it must have been at the the creation. Waters above, waters below, and a firmament in the midst of the waters. And the wind of God moving over the face of the waters.
David on 12.11.03 @ 05:14 PM CST [link]


Wednesday, December 10th

Visit


It is the beginning of the future, it is the end of the past. Careful steps across the snowy ground, a little something for the grave. Cane. Back across. Careful. Shoes a bit wet. Into the car, start the engine. Back out of the parking space, turn right. There are the boys. Stop, lower windows. I'm fine. I miss her. They're fine boys. Seventy-nine. He died last year. Don't much care for Christmas anymore, since she's gone. It's not the same. Going away on a boat. Flew down to see oldest daughter in North Carolina at Thanksgiving, had a great time talking with the stewardess. The whole family on a cruise for Christmas. My friend died last year, his wife in California. Watch out for the rain tomorrow. Good to see you.
David on 12.10.03 @ 06:20 PM CST [link]


Tuesday, December 9th

Fundamentals


The staff Christmas party was much less grim than I had expected it to be. It was held in the lovely home of our associate pastor, the others had gooteninto the wine by the time I arrived, and it ended just soon enough. I knew enough to gravitate to the kids' table, median age over fifty, but it is named after its location (kitchen) and not its occupants. Of course, what was potentially the most interesting snippet of conversation took place at the other table. I'm not sure what three Presbyterian pastors, two ministers of music (female), and two secretaries had to say on the subject of oral sex, but I am going to make it my duty to find out.
David on 12.09.03 @ 05:37 PM CST [link]


Monday, December 8th

Wealth


I may get rich some day (though I doubt it), but it will not be because I have come up with a successful "get rich quick" scheme. I have a pretty good imagination, I think, but not one capable of imagining what makes people part with their money. Not the disposable camera, nor the seasonal banner, and certainly not the tiny radiotelephone through which you can sent little telegrams; none of these would have comwe to me as ideas of any sort, and I would have scoffed that anyone would spend money on them. I think more in terms of hats that grow broccoli, kerosene-powered perfume atomizers, and spare tires that are also musical nstruments. I am confident there's no money in any of it.
David on 12.08.03 @ 03:57 PM CST [link]


Sunday, December 7th

Long Play


I spent a lot of time in stores, picking out records. I spent a lot of money to get them. I thought about the ones I wanted next, and pursued them; I listened to them in solitude and in society; I imposed upon those I loved by asking them to go to unpleasant, noisy stores to get more for me. Then the CD came along. New records were almost impossible to get. Eventually I got a CD player and my record player went into disrepair. The records went into storage, in more and more remote areas of the house. When I got a new record player, and access to all the records I could ever want, the fever was off me. Many of the records are long-gone, donated to rummage (that word!), and I hardly ever listen to music at all any more. My obsession fueled itself, and then the fuel was exhausted. But just because I was obsessed, that doesn't mean I was deluded. Possibly my indifference, now, is the real delusion.
David on 12.07.03 @ 05:50 AM CST [link]


Saturday, December 6th

Road Taken


There is nothing like having a whole world to yourself. A world newborn, or, at least, newly dressed. The snow continued through the morning and early afternoon, sometimes rather fierce, and when I decided to go home, my car was standing in seven inches of new snow, a hundred yards from the sloppily clear main road. So I walked. As I went down the center of the street, the snowfall nearly stopped, and I was alone out there. There were some cars and trucks going by, but I was the only one who, by chance or design, chose to walk in the winter landscape. It wasn't especially picturesque, no gossamer lines on branches and briliant highlights. It was a heavy, leaden snow, on a heavy, leaden afternoon. But still, to be out there in it, in that peaceful island isolated from the tempestuous bubbles all the other people chose to be in, was a rare chance, a window of eternity into the hour of my walk. Later I got a lift back and drove my car home.
David on 12.06.03 @ 05:48 PM CST [link]


Friday, December 5th

Waiting It Out


The best thing about the storm so far is that leaves me that much closer to its end; the best thing about winter is that, having started, it is aiming inevitably towards its close. The snow nearly stopped for a few minutes, but went back into action just in time for me to start driving. Now I'm home, thinking about what it means to be patient. You can't be patient for what you already have, you can only be patient for what is to come. It makes no sense to patiently await what can never be, but only what is possible. And we are not patient for what we detest but what we desire. Maybe these are platitudes, almost tautologies, but they serve to uncover in a commonplace virtue its deep connection to another, to hope, to the convincement that there is some good which we have some reason to expect and to seek. "If you do not hope, you will not find out what is beyond your hopes."
David on 12.05.03 @ 05:59 PM CST [link]


Thursday, December 4th

Betrayal


I was counting on you to be ther when I turned to you: Maybe I did neglect you, treat you badly, and ask a lot of you. Maybe I should have coddled you, given you a little TLC from time to time, celebrated your devotion and reliability. But the best ones, you never realized how much you relied on them until they're gone. The others I have never fully trusted. The water-heater gurgled its life away last winter, and I knew in an instant what was happening. The toilet barely does its job, rebellious, surly, shirking servant that it is. The furnace conspires. The mirror still shows me what I want to see, but one day will present me with the face of an aging stranger. But you...my number-one camera, to have a mental and physical breakdown when I'd just made a bunch of Christmas pictures...you break my heart, you shatter my day, you ruin my plans. You are a disappointment to me.
David on 12.04.03 @ 04:55 PM CST [link]


Wednesday, December 3rd

Tardy


I have already gotten my first Christmas card, from some friends who live locally but went to Texas for Thanksgiving. This worries me. I have long thought that there should be a special holiday dedicated to the giving and receiving of annual correspondence. There's enough to do between the end of November and the beginning of the new year. But try going out and getting a box of Epiphany cards. Twelve days after Christmas: that's a deadline I have a ghost of a chance of meeting.
David on 12.03.03 @ 05:45 PM CST [link]


Tuesday, December 2nd

Party Line

music: Hank Garland

My birthday finally limped to an end today, two days after the actual event. I would have done without the official recognition today, if I'd had the choice, but I was obliged to accept the brief celebration, arranged for the convenience of the higher-ups; it was sandwiched into the brief period after their lunch, before the beginning of their staff meeting. Indifference was rampant but the cake was good. Those who like and appreciate me had already taken the opportunity to say so, and the rest got to put on a show. it wasn't a terrible event, it was just superfluous; and when you're an adult you learn to suffer through occasional honors you'd just as soon forego.
David on 12.02.03 @ 05:42 PM CST [link]


Monday, December 1st

Last of All


It's about love and the expression of love, which is service. When love is exclusive, and that's a good thing, you serve one another, and the ideal is that the service be mutual, reciprocal, and roughly proportional. This is great, this is wonderful, but it's a little like you're living in a stockade, and whoever's inside is going to count a little more than whoever's outside. Now the single person, without the encumbrance of exclusive love, is free to be the lover of all and the servant of all. There's no expectation of reciprocity, or mutuality, or proportionality; you're free to give fully without the expectation of getting anything in return, without imposing a duty on anyone, and without getting angry or heartbroken over not getting what you think you deserve. With love, after all, the only way you have it is by giving it away, and when you're outside the stockade you can sow it as recklessly and prodigiously as you please.
David on 12.01.03 @ 06:02 PM CST [link]




Home
Archives

links
a b c d e f g
h i j k r x
December 2003
SMTWTFS
 123456
78910111213
14151617181920
21222324252627
28293031   



Powered By Greymatter