decade | dec·ade /ˈdekād/


Somehow I got lucky. 

This time of year is the absolute worst for me.  Somehow this time around it’s not so bad.  Perhaps I’m truly entering the state of acceptance I spoke about working on for so long.  ...truly being ‘okay’ with the way things are instead of wishing for them to be different.  …or longing for them to be the way they used to be. 

I’m thankful I’m in a new/old place and have found good friends.  These friends are ones I enjoy spending time around, talking and laughing.  …contemplating secret plans to infiltrate Mount Weather.  Speaking in a ‘hush hush’ voice about the weird, science-fiction bugs we find.  We also toss around speculation regarding the water intake/output sewers strategically placed along the Shenandoah. 

I’m grateful. 

My co-ed softball team handed the Buckhorn Bar their only loss for the season before I left Laramie.
With those things being said, life is good. 


I went canoeing in October.
There were lots of fish but not many birds.
The waters of the Shenandoah are crystal clear.  Along our twenty mile route, we saw a red-eared slider turtle camped out on the bottom of the water way.  It was neat. 

I’m lucky to have found a new friend who spent his time in the 80s in Richmond, Virginia.  He lived next to some of the members of GWAR.  His stories are splendid.  They range from meat grinding to Butch Casualty and the Slam Dance Kids -- each one spectacular as he reminisces with a flare of mischief in his eye. 

When DirtWoman passed away a little while ago, this guy told me stories and handed me a cut-out newspaper obituary article from the Richmond paper.  The article re-told some of the antics of Dirt Woman.  She (he) wrestled with Varga from GWAR.  Of course the match was fixed.  And it wasn’t Varga; it was somebody else.  I can’t remember exactly who.  I’m intentionally mixing up the Varga thing because recently as I was flipping through an early edition art history book over at this guy’s house, I came across a sketch by Varga.  Just sitting there, right in the book. 

On warm nights I ride my bike over to this guy's family house.  We sit in the kitchen for hours conversing over food, drinks, and smoke.  We laugh and laugh and laugh.   I’m fairly certain he was a pirate in his past life.  I’m also fairly certain during those times we ran in the same circles.  We plotted to take over the world. …or at the very least, we conspired to make it as difficult as possible for those plotting to take it over. 

Sometimes I miss my friends back in Wyoming.  …most of the time I miss them along with a feeling of wistfulness.  I like to imagine them here with me now in the low, old mountains of Virginia.   I like to think about them joining me for some afternoon coffee made the Bali-way as we jam out acoustic style next to a dog named Linus and another dog named Rad. 

We’d be causing trouble and having fun with this new group of intellects and outcasts I’ve found myself bobbing in the waters alongside. 

…seventeen hundred miles away from Wyoming.
…next to the mountains nonetheless. 

And I’m thankful. 

The weather has been agreeable; sometimes the sun even shines.
I finally made it to Mexico this year.  Twice.
I saw the Mojave and spent a little time in Joshua Tree.  The deserts of California are beautiful.
My co-ed softball team also handed the Buckhorn Bar their only loss for the season before I left Laramie.  Did I mention that?

So with those things being said, life is good. 

And life is good despite exactly ten years ago spending the month of December and Christmas in a Washington DC hospital.  This is anniversary season.  But this time around the joy of Christmas hasn’t quite brought me down.  I actually kind of like the twinkly lights.  I also have plans to return to that place, Seven West, with Clementines for those who are spending their time in the sterile hallways during the holiday season as I once did. 

This time of year is always tough.
But this time around I’ve finally learned after stretch of pedaling hard uphill, it feels good to just let go and coast.

And for that, I’m thankful.



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