Thanksgiving Day

Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maximatotheextreme culpa.

I'm a week or so out of date, and it's just like the year I filed for a late extension on my income taxes. A few months later when the extended date came due I forgot, and then the next year I didn't want to file and remind them about me, and so it went for about 5 or 6 years. The burden just became larger and more ominous more difficult to confront until finally the IRS came a calling. Once the dragon is inside the tent it can no longer be ignored, and they consumed my tax return for the next half dozen years until I was caught up.

I've tried to start catching up on my journal entries, adding a paragraph or so for each day passed, but I was surfing and doing website reviews at the same time I was composing, alternating between a website and a day's worth of journal, but when a downloaded sample MPG froze my system the unsaved journal draft was lost. [The same thing has happened the last couple times I've tried to review that particular site, which might explain why it still has no review despite having been submitted more than once]. It does help me to understand the underlying emotions behind 'going postal', 'road rage', and 'ethnic cleansing'.

Anyhoo... without meaning disrespect to those I've shared adventures with over the past week or so, here's some of the high points.

Dinner on the 13th with Nia was pleasant. We started at my favorite veggie place, moved on to a later night tea house for conversation and to let me experience the joys of a heated car seat and we both enjoyed the experience. She wrote about it at embarrassingly positive length in her 11/16 entry, a charming lady, and one I'd be honored to see again.

The 14th Dad flew in from Phoenix for the memorial services of his late partner, and I had to juggle the airport pickup with meeting the Sears delivery folks with my new washer and drier. Although I had to work the next few days, Dad and I enjoyed some time. We cooked, we went out to dinner - much of our shared time had to do with food. One evening - the evening prior to the memorial service - we were heading over to the Sunlight Cafe, my second time that week, and all of a sudden I had to turn to Dad and say, "Dad, you're impaired. Please pull over." While I'd been at work he'd been saying good bye to his lady over a stiff drink or two, and had lost track. To his credit he pulled right over, gave me the keys, and ordered coffee as soon as we got to the restaurant. In over 30 years as co-adults - I'm 51, he's 76 - it's only the second time I've had to take his keys, and he's never argued the point. When I mentioned it the next day as a loving fear I had he told me that drinking to excess was rare for him, and that he rarely drives at night any more anyhow. I'll still worry. I don't wanna lose the fellow. I love him too much, and the fear of loss just seems to be greater than when we were both much younger.

Dad drove out to Bellingham to see his relatives Friday morning, and Friday night was the 8th annual "Eagle Hardware Field Trip". I've enjoyed hosting this every year at one of those large warehouse sized hardware chains. This year a couple dozen kinkoids, last year 35, some years even more, all leather clad and arriving in unison. New folks, old timers, a good mix. This year Elf and Omaha brought their daughter for her first time. We gather out front and enter together, heading first - of course - for the Cut Shop [ropes and chains]. It's always a lot of fun. Afterwards a dozen or so of us went out for dinner and I ended up with Rapunzel and Boop on either side of me snuggling and giving me belly rubs and flirting with me in a truly wonderful manner. I owe each of those ladies an evening of simple pleasure with no distractions and plan to deliver on that soon.

The morning after the field trip I was up early and off for a visit to Vancouver BC. On the way I stopped at the house of a friend who has had recent ails and who had called me that morning to tell me of a new diagnosis. I love him like a brother and wish I had curative pixie dust, but can only give love. I went over the car minimally to make sure it was border-ready and drove on North. Miss Andrea had invited me up to a party at Queer Space. She and I and a few other friends got together for dinner and then on in to the party. It was fun, although there were poly issues that strained the evening to a degree. She has a new top - an acquaintance of mine of some years - and although we worked together to make it an enjoyable evening for her, he can't deal with blood. She wants me to draw her blood. This party, for example, had her saran wrapped hair down to toenails, breathing through a snorkel, and then pierced through the saran wrap, with the blood leaking into starfished blossoms under the wrap. Spinal tap needles through the aureola side to side with fishing weights hanging suspended from them ... you know, the usual Peter Throckmorton stuff. The evening ended up being a matter of compromises all around, and we've since talked and agreed to not mix tops in the future. Everyone is still friends, everyone wants to see each other again, but the next time she invites me to a party to have her blood spilled he will probably rent a video instead. I'll look for opportunities to share time with him as well, as I enjoy his company.

Driving home was a rich experience. Eileen, former Washington State Miss Leather and life partner/slave of Erik, the Seattle NLA Chairman, needed a ride home to Seattle from the same party, as Erik was staying over a day or so. She is the sort of woman who is blessed/cursed with the true classic beauty that stops conversation when she enters a room. I'm honored that I'm one of the friends with whom she shares glimpses of the goddess behind the beauty, and the inner person is even more beautiful than the outer shell. Eileen has been dealing with a significant progressive medical condition for a couple years now, and we had one of those long drives where each side shares hopes and dreams and fears and tears. Her smile is powerful - you should have seen it turn the border guard into a human being - and the shared parts of her soul were received with respect.

Another several days of the Other Job brings us up to last night, when I left work early to drop by the Wet Spot for a memorial gathering of community members for a young lady who had passed last week, of a lifelong condition. I had only begun to know her and had found her bright and charming. She was much better known to a good friend of mine, and it was to give him support as much as anything that brought me to the memorial.

Which brings us up to the moment, which is midday Thanksgiving Day. I've cooked up a corned beef and a gallon or two of my trademark homemade egg drop soup and just picked up Number One Son from the bus stop. A diehard Japanophile, he brought a fish-egg spaghetti for the Thanksgiving potluck - his traditionalist grandmother would roll over in her grave. We're heading over to Al D's house for a gathering of chosen family.

I'll work on being more faithful to the journal, and look forward to having this catch-up burden off my plate. Best wishes to all on this Thanksgiving Day, and when you sit around your dinner table, wherever or however it may be, do make mention that Life Is Good.

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