Love Was When I Loved You, One True Time I Hold To, In My Life We'll Always Go On

--"My Heart Will Go On", Celine Dion

There's an episode of Friends where Phoebe is mad at Ross for something he did in a dream she had. It's funny because she gets all worked up over something that never really happened and there's nothing he can do or say to make up for it until she admits that it wasn't anything he did in reality, but something he did in a dream.

I go through the same dilemma sometimes. Sometimes it more what I perceived an individual did to slight me than the slight itself. I mean--it's all perspective when it comes down to it. What a person does isn't nearly as important as how we react to it, right? For instance, a friend could insult me today and I could laugh it off whereas some days (most days) I could really be stung by it. A lot of different factors can enter into the complex equation of how a moment will affect us. More importantly, seemingly random stimuli can alter whether or not a given memory actually stays with us. Chance encounters, snippets of conversation, &c... are all fair game to be retained if the stars align in a particular way.

That message seems to lie at the heart of the book I recently finished, Jonathan Tropper's This Is Where I Leave You. It tells the story of three brothers, their sister, and their mom, coming together to sit shiva for seven days after their father dies. They're all in the thirties and forties. Most of them are married. Some of them have kids. But they all haven't seen each other in years, even decades. Normally, this would be a recipe for some great angsty family drama. While the novel does have it fair share of drama, it also mines weaknesses of the human condition for some pretty gutsy (and hilarious) moments of humor. It's the kind of book you feel embarrassed to read in public simply because it has the audacity to both make you laugh and make you cry.

Our guide through the seven-day journey through hell in a hand basket is Judd. His wife recently left him for his boss, following a pretty devastating miscarriage. And just to ratchet up the hilarity is the fact his wife Jen tells him she's pregnant near the beginning of the book. As aforementioned, such details don't exactly spell out comedy gold, but Tropper has a gift for seeing the drunk leprechaun at the end of every thunderstorm.

One of Judd's key personality traits is, much like Phoebe, he likes to daydream about people he sees in the street, on the road, or even in Church and imagining what their life is like. More specifically he likes to imagine about women he sees and what their life would be like if they were to start dating, get married, have kids, &c... What's great is that for every relationship he imagines working out, he has one that ends in disaster for whatever reason his imagination can surmise. What's also great is that he proceeds, still much like Phoebe, to base his behavior around them on these daydreams as if he absolutely knows for certain that this will be their future together. While I wouldn't go so far as to sat these visions take up the bulk of his day Walter Mitty-like, it is a key trait to unlocking what makes Judd tick.

A lot of us, if our husbands or wives, boyfriends or girlfriends, were to leave us right before our dad died would probably be imagining a better life being out there, right? And this better life for a lot of us would probably include an upgrade in the significant other category.


near, far, wherever you are
I believe the heart does go on

Another major motif in the book which I like and which ties into Judd's personality is the fact a lot of the characters make decisions in the book based on prior histories with other characters. Old flames have one last fling with one another after not seeing each other in twenty years. Brothers hold grudges over events that happened in high school. Hell, a relationship develops out of nowhere simply because two of the characters have been neighbors. It's amazing how many people make what looks like to be the wrong choice because of nostalgia, because of a memory of how things used to be. More specifically a lot of the characters make decisions because they want to bring back the old days when everything seemed to work out in the end, to replace present day where almost everything is fucked up in one way or another.

That also goes to the point that sometimes the decisions we make in our lives are mercurial and aren't based on reason. I hate to give her credit, but Breanne had it right when she told me all those years ago when she said that more than fifty percent of the decisions we make aren't based on logic. She said that more than fifty percent of our decisions are based on emotion, on instinct, on what our gut is telling us to do. And this book seems to postulate--indeed, its main focus seems to be--that memory is directly tied up in everything we do. The characters may not remember everything as it happened. Some of the characters even have conflicting versions of the actual account of the way things went down. Yet they sure all remember how it made them feel and they sure all know how it apparently affected the course of their life to come. Every one of them harbors a decision or two that followed wherever they went, a decision that at the time was made in the heat of the moment and ended up closing certain avenues while opening other ones.

Deep in the heart of the all--in Judd's mental wanderings, in the last flings of high school sweethearts, in the blossoming of new romances--is that love is tied up also in memory. Tropper seems to throw out there that love, like memory, might be subjective, that it isn't a genuine article at all. He puts forth that love may be flimsy at best, subject to the same twists of circumstance that makes some memories permanent and others fade away. More than anything he says that everybody is capable of love; that it relies on instinct and going with the flow of fate more than anything else. And because of that people are capable of being in love with more than one person at a time, that there isn't anything wrong with loving your husband AND still being in love with the guy with whom you had all your firsts with. He seems to be saying it's okay to still love your wife even after she's cheated on you with your boss because, hey, you fell in love with her once. He wants to say if you're capable of loving someone in the best of times, you should be capable of loving someone in the worst of times too.

Love and memory. They're all tied in together. For just because your father dies doesn't mean you stop loving him. Or just because your family has grown up and apart, and aren't the family you once shared the dinner table with, doesn't mean you get to ever stop loving them. Or, finally, just because you stop being that person you used to be with that certain person he or she used to be doesn't mean the feelings you once felt for another are no longer real or go away.

People are entitled to how they feel forever. Loving the memory of someone is just a good a reason as any to continue loving them now, I say.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

But I Would Walk 500 Miles, And I Would Walk 500 More, Just To Be The Man Who Walks A Thousand Miles, To Fall Down At Your Door

--"I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)", The Proclaimers

I've been thinking about buying a new pair of cowboy boots.

I know--cowboy boots aren't exactly everyone's cup of tea. Plus, wearing them in California isn't exactly a common occurrence, but ever since I had my first pair gifted to me about seven years ago I've thought, somehow in some way, they work for me. I mean--I'm not exactly known for my overwhelming love of shoes. I don't rush out and buy a new pair every year. Overall, I'd much rather have a good pair of shoes that goes with everything, or at least what I normally wear, and lasts a long time. I don't need to know what everyone else is wearing. Hell, I don't even need to know what goes with what. I like what I like and I don't necessarily feel the need to have seventeen pairs of shoes for seventeen different occasions.

Cowboy boots fit the bill.

Mostly I'm just looking for something to reward myself with after getting this new job. For almost a year now I've had to curtail my impulsive purchasing. Rather than buy everything I wanted when I wanted, I only did it half the time, which is my version of self-control. And high on the list of things I wanted to buy this year were cowboy boots. Before it always seemed like a splurge rather than a necessity since the chief reason I want them is to proclaim my desire to be somewhat different than the teeming masses who go out in the world. Yet somehow I felt wanting to be different was not truly a worthwhile reason to spend northwards of $150 on a pair of shoes. There are other ways to verify my uniqueness, ways that don't require me to spend a day's wages on a single item.


and when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream
I'm gonna dream about the time when I'm with you

I don't know what it is about me that equates being different with being myself, but I feel like there's a part of me that's forever stretching to display all these different sides of me in order to get someone to notice me. I've never thought of myself as someone who gravitated towards the spotlight. However, deep down, while most of us don't need fame exactly, we're all searching for some type of recognition. Like Radiohead said, we want someone to notice when we're not around. We want to make an impression on the people around us, good or bad, just to assure ourselves that somehow we matter. And it can be showcasing our talents, or befriending a thousand people, or even something as simple as wearing a specific type of footwear, but we're all searching for that next best thing that will get the world to see us for who we want to be.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

The Handshake, Seals The Contract, From The Contract, There's No Turning Back, The Turning Point, Of A Career

--"Everything Counts", Depeche Mode

Come Monday I shall be back among the gainfully employed. I was recently offered employment through DSS with Honda for a long-term assignment. I'll be doing what I basically did at my last job with Eclipse/Fujitsu Ten. As a Credit Analyst I'll be in charge of maintaining different businesses' credit lines, collecting on overdue accounts, and staying on top of any potential problems that may arise. The pay's more than good and while the long-term designation as opposed to permanent designation is somewhat worrisome, even that isn't enough to detract from my excitement at being back to work again.

The only aspect of going to work on Monday that might diminish my enthusiasm is the idea of losing all that free time. I wouldn't recommend being out of work for a year, but my "sabbatical," as Miss Flib called it, did me some good when it came to recharging my batteries. I didn't have to worry about who I would have to haggle with or contend with the next day. I didn't have to come home stressed out about that day's worth of work. And I didn't have to make sure to stay rested and refreshed just do it all over again the next day.

I do need structure in my life just to keep me sane. But there's something to be said of living your life unfettered for extensive stretches of time. I'm just sad that this stretch is quickly coming to an end.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

She Looks Like The Real Thing, She Tastes Like The Real Thing, My Fake Plastic Love

--"Fake Plastic Trees (cover)", Molly Tuttle

When it comes to music one might say I possess eclectic tastes. From country to j-pop to alternative, there isn't a style of music I haven't at least given a fair shake of trying to get into. And while I haven't embraced every genre of music equally, I can safely say that when it comes to a musical library that spans all eras and all types my library is one to be reckoned with. I don't say this with any ounce of arrogance. I know I'm not the musical gourmet; I don't claim to have the best taste in music. But I am rather proud that no matter who I'm with I know I can at least get along with whatever they're listening to--be it classical, christian, or hip hop.

That being said, a guilty pleasure of mine has always been a good cover of an already established hit, especially when that cover is being done by a relative unknown. I adore discovering somebody just getting their foot in the door by tackling a song that some would claim to have already been done to perfection by the original artist. While it's true that a good cover would have never been born without the original recording, I'm of the opinion that, yes, sometimes the copy can be better than the original. I mean--when I first heard "Silver Springs" being done by Stacee Dupree, I would have been hard-pressed to give you definitive answer as to which version I thought was better. Or when I first stumbled across Mary Lou Lord's version of "I Don't Want To Get Over You" by The Magnetic Fields I actually thought it was her song. It wasn't until later that I heard the irrepressible original. Indeed, some of Mary Lou Lord's best work have been covers and she still manages to be my overall favorite female singer/songwriter.

When it comes to a lot of different areas I'm not one to stand on ceremony. To me it really doesn't matter who did it first. I just want to know who does it the best. Sometimes innovation isn't as important as refinement.

That brings me to Molly Tuttle, a teenager from the Bay Area of California with a background in bluegrass and folk music, and her awesome rendition of "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead. It's no big secret that I love bluegrass music and the musicians who perform it. It's also no secret that I hold a special place in my heart for individuals who show a talent for the arts at an early age. Molly Tuttle fits both of these criteria. Not only can she play the banjo and the guitar, but she has an uncanny singing voice that is almost pitch perfect. What may come as a surprise is that I've never been a huge fan of Radiohead. I've never disliked them per se, but it has never been an all-encompassing need to delve further into their back catalog. One could say that admiration for them pretty much began and ended with "Creep".

You can imagine my surprise when I instantly became enamored with this version of their "Fake Plastic Trees" the other day. Not only did it make me feel like I had missed out on an absolutely great song when it was first released, but it gave me a new appreciation for what makes Radiohead, well, Radiohead. Yes, part of the intrigue to this version of the song was that the voice behind it is a tad more pleasant to the ear that Thomas Yorke (That's another thing, I'm a big fan of female singers as opposed to male singers. I always have been.). And, yes, this song is more clearly defined than some of the others in their repertoire. But I think the real reason I feel remiss that I never appreciated this song in its time is expressly because I've been playing this cover version of it with great frequency in the last few days.

That's what I like best about covers. They can point you back to the inspiration behind them while at the same time stand on their own as a work of art. A good deal of people will tell you that a cover will never be as good as the original because it lacks the authenticity of its first performer or of its creator. I say, however, that there is an authenticity to taking something that holds true as something monumental and making it your own... as long as you completely make it your own. I don't abide people who change one facet and claim that they redid it with their own shine; those works can be truly qualified as being pale imitations. But when someone of genuine talent takes a monumental work and pays homage to it by applying their unique gifts and perspective to it, then I believe something as great, if not greater than the original, can arise from the combination. After all, to borrow my friend Casey's remark when we had this discussion tonight, "just because you're the person who invented French Toast doesn't mean you're the only one who can perfect the recipe."

"Fake Plastic Trees" may have been a song that didn't need perfecting when it was first recorded by Radiohead, but like anyone who ever made a great cover, Molly Tuttle perfected it anyway.

Enjoy the song.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

And I'm In Pieces, Baby, Fix Me, And Just Shake Me Till You Wake Me From This Bad Dream, And I'm Going Down, Down, Down, Down

--"Baby", Justin Bieber

I went into watching Country Strong expecting a feel-good movie. Usually when one purchases a ticket for a movie set in the heartland or in the South one can expect a plot involving the triumph of the human spirit or some other uplifting message. While Country Strong does have its moments of inspiration one will certainly walk away feeling very much shaken by what transpires.

I shan't give away all the plot turns that lead me to say that, but I will speak on one aspect that especially affected me. Tim McGraw's character, the husband of Gwyneth Paltrow's character, Kelly Canter is a man whose been let down one too many times by his wife. I don't know if it's the proper aspect to be admiring, but he does a remarkable job of portraying a man whose disappointment and frank distrust of his wife's ability to recover ultimately lead to a tragic choice. On one hand, you want to hate the guy because while he still wants to be her manager and friend, he has basically frozen her out of ever being his wife again--at least how she used to be his wife. But on the other hand, Kelly's mistake is a huge mistake marriage-wise and you kind of sympathize with him for being so distant from somebody he used to love deeply. It's a delicate balance to maintain and he manages to carry it off well. You feel him emotionally starving his wife, but you also feel why he does it in every scene in the film.


and I just can't believe my first love won't be around

That got me thinking all the way through dinner with my friends and on the way home afterwards. Sometimes couples grow apart because it's the natural order of things. Other times it's one incident that changes the relationship forever. One fight, one wrong choice--and you can instantly fall out of love with someone. I mean--the romantic idealist in me doesn't want to believe it, but I have to admit that given the same set of circumstances encountered in the film I might have been led down the same road that Tim McGraw's character was.

That's what makes Paltrow's arc so convincing. You feel the helplessness of a person whose life fell apart in the matter of one moment. You feel her struggling to get her life together even while almost everyone around her doesn't believe she has it in her any longer. Most of all, you feel that she honestly could survive her journey back if her husband would simply back her play. When he doesn't time and time again you begin to understand that however this film ends it's not going to be pretty. More than that, you begin to understand that sometimes strength isn't the courage to overcome adversity.

Sometimes courage is the strength to recognize that there are some obstacles that can't be overcame, some challenges you can't win, and to press on regardless.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

It Turns Out Freedom Ain't Nothing But Missing You, Wishing I'd Realized What I Had When You Were Mine, I'd Go Back To December

--"Back to December", Taylor Swift

A tradition Lucy and I share is the idea of a "present-to-be-named-later". I don't know about anyone else, but I have a real problem with patience when it comes to waiting for gifts. I can't tell you how many times I've asked for something from my family or friends only to be driven mad with anticipation. Conversely, I can't tell you how many times somebody I know has wanted to surprise me for one of my birthdays or Christmas with a gift they think I will appreciate, only to discover I've already purchased it for myself weeks prior. I never much saw the point in waiting for an artificial day upon which to show somebody you care. If you think somebody will like a little trinket I would think it would be okay to send it to them, in honor of their birthday or what have you, immediately even if their birthday is still weeks or months away.

Tired of bumping heads over the issue we came up with the system where birthday gifts can be sent as early or as late as one wished, as long as we were both sure that the effort (and delay) would be appreciated. Rather than guess blindly at what she might or might not have picked up for herself, and rather than hint around the question, Breanne knows she can basically cash in her birthday or Christmas gift "to be named later" and tell me exactly something she has just seen that she wants me to get for her, and vice-versa.

That's how come I'm getting my brand-spanking new copy of De Volgari Eloquentia as my Christmas gift from her only this week. Hell, I didn't even know I wanted it until January 2nd. Rather than flit around searching for something I didn't have or try to deduce something I might like it was a lot easier for her for me to tell her much I wanted this game and how she could count it as my end-of-the-year gift. Another nice thing about this arrangement is the fact I could have held out for a couple of months, holding my virtual coupon for the same duration, until the perfect gift showed up on my radar.

I know--some may complain that it defeats the whole purpose of demonstrating how well you know a person by being able to suss out their perfect gift without their consent. My theory is, though, that we've both done a lot of the head-scratching to come up with that impossibly flawless present for one another. We've spent years playing along with the scenario. More to the point, we've missed as many times as we've hit with our selections. It's not as if I mind the mild disappointment in her voice; none of us our perfect in our assertions of another human being. What I've found is that by waiting a few weeks or even jumping the gun a few weeks it all but eliminates the disappointment of a bad gift. As long as she doesn't mind it isn't spontaneous, I don't mind it either. And it's all worth it when the present arrives and each of us knows it's something the other truly clamored for without hesitation. It's worth it knowing that there's absolutely no chance the other will be disappointed upon its arrival on their doorstep.

I'll trade that moment of pre-arranged joy for the romance of an impulse buy any day.

----

I remember once upon a time when I had delusions that the hope of something better was my prevailing train of thought. It was December of 2002, a few months after Breanne and Greg had gotten married, and about six months into what would turn out to be eight months of not speaking to her. I don't know--even though it wasn't that long ago considering, it feels like it was ages ago. We were both stubbornly refusing to make the first move at reconciliation, each believing we were in the right. At the moment, now that the anger has passed, she probably had more right to dislike me than I did her. Ditching your best friend's wedding isn't something I'd be eager to forgive and forget so easily either.

I remember thinking how it was the first time in a long time that I wouldn't have to get Breanne a present and what a good feeling that was. I mean--I'm not much a gift giver in the first place. Most years I only buy gifts for my parents, my brother, and her. Some years that list expands to include friends like Brandy, Casey, and, of course, Toby), but those four people have been the heart of my Christmas list for decades now. Taking her off the list was empowering. It afforded me the sensation that I had the control in the situation. I had the courage in the situation. If she didn't want to be my friend any more then there was no need to waste any more time in trying to make her happy any longer. I don't know--I reveled in my newfound independence from the one person who I had to account for it seems like every moment of every day.

Never once did it occur to me to use the opportunity as an excuse for re-establishing communications. Never once did it occur to me that the holidays provided the perfect alibi to re-building our friendship back up from the ground up.

I was very spiteful at that moment in time. I admit that. She was very spiteful too, though, if I do say so myself.

This behavior went on for the weeks leading up to Christmas. I was resolute in my vow to not give Mrs. Holins-Meier one thought during the holidays. It was still a few days from New Year's Eve, but that truly became my resolution. I wanted to start the new year with the notion that Breanne would not be a part of it or the years following. I wanted to be okay with my decision as quickly as possible. I needed to be okay with it as quickly as possible because I knew, given the option, I could dwell upon it for weeks and months if I allowed myself to wallow just so.

I told myself she was an anchor. With her gone I could finally find somebody better upon which to spend my energy. Without her sucking away my time, there was at least the possibility of finding somebody much more suited to me who wouldn't put me in that position of feeling abandoned for half of a year.

It was the aforementioned conundrum of knowing what you're getting for Christmas before it arrives or being surprised completely. I knew what I was getting with Lucy because I knew what she had brought to me in the years prior. There was no mystery in what she brought to the table nor mystery in what I had to give up in return. But in 2002 I had hope that I could forge some other type of relationship with somebody new. I had hope that there was a new relationship out there that would not cost me so much in return and one that could reap even more benefits to my well-being.

However, it was around Christmas or at least the days leading up to Christmas where I just started to miss her. As she likes to say, I started to miss her something fierce. The novelty of not having her in my life began to wear off. All that was left in its wake was the sense of isolation and abandonment that had been bobbing there the whole time, hidden by my false sense of bravado. In fact, the novelty of the situation became its own worst enemy. Frankly, it stings to know what it's like to have somebody of Breanne's import in my life and to go without it for a year. It's like losing out on Christmas altogether for a year, as if the entire holiday just vanished from the face of the planet. I never told her at the time because we had other more vital things to discuss when we finally started talking again, but that Christmas was probably one of the saddest I've ever been through.

At least on two different occasions I almost called her.

One time it was just before midnight on Christmas Day. I know it's not exactly tradition to wish somebody Merry Christmas going into December 26th, but I was determined not to talk to her on the actual day if I had to talk to her at all. I didn't even know if she'd be up, but my rationale would be at least she wouldn't be with her family at that point. I wouldn't have to go through the embarrassment of talking to her daddy or mother. Sure, I might have had to deal with Greg answering the phone, but I still only felt the bitterness and anger of a jealous man towards him so it didn't matter so much to me if I woke him up. I chickened out, though, because my misery didn't exactly seem the right tone to launch into asking her for her forgiveness.

The other time was just after New Year's--around the fourth and fifth--where I had convinced myself that I was in a happier mood. I told myself I was in a better place, where I didn't sound desperate to get her back and where I could effectively give the impression that I was actually contrite. But this too fell through because I lacked the conviction of a man who thinks he is doing something for the right reason. I knew the only reason I was even considering calling her was for my own selfish interests. For all I knew she was better off without me fucking her life up and to ask her to take me back in would probably set her back a few steps (even while it would have set me upright once again).

By that point I came to the realization that holding out for something better was foolish. If something better comes along it's going to find you regardless of what your current situation is. I didn't need to sever ties with something that, up until recently, had been the most positive influence in my life to establish a position for something even more positive to find me. I knew what I had with Breanne. I knew the risks. I also knew the rewards. There was no sense in forgoing that on the belief that my "true" love would come along to replace all of that. It's not as if I was in a horrible pit of despair being friends with Breanne. How I felt even on the worst days going toe-to-toe with Little Miss Chipper doesn't even compare to the worst days with the likes of Tara and DeAnn.

I believe that's what clinched it for me and why I ended up patching things up with Breanne a few months later. I knew what I wanted by then. Rather than feeling embarrassed for offering up my need for her so nakedly to her, I felt the conviction I've always felt when asking her for something that was sure to bring me no end of joy. When you know what you want and when you know the one person who can give it to you without hesitation, it's not wrong to be forthright in expressing your desires. People like Breanne like to know they're appreciated and that they can make you feel better about yourself.

Yes, it's good to be surprised by people entering in your life that you had no idea they would be coming. I mean--everyone's a stranger to you at some point. But my feeling at the moment is that it's even better to recognize the people in your life that you always want in it, and to let them know at every possible that all you want for Christmas, your birthday, &c... is anything and everything they are willing to offer you.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers

They Said, I Bet, They'll Never Make It, But Just Look At Us Holding On, We're Still Together, Still Going Strong

--"You're Still The One", Shania Twain

I'm not one to usually make resolutions. I don't believe in them and I probably never have. I don't much see the point of making a promise to yourself that is nigh impossible to fulfill, only to beat yourself up later about it. As I learned from Jim Carrey's Yes Man, "When you break a promise to yourself, things can get a little dicey." I never want to be put into that position. I want to, more or less, be able to say that I only make promises I believe I can make good on.

Granted, my track record for finishing endeavors I've begun in good faith isn't exactly exemplary. My novel is still three-fourths of the way from being completed. I never did take up those curling lessons I've always meant to do. And I still have yet to go on my cross country road trip. However, the one project I've always prided myself on keeping on schedule is this blog. I've always maintained that, if nothing else, I would continue to put effort into keeping this project going on a fairly consistent schedule. Whether it's getting off my butt and putting up a new post, or motivating the girls to keep up their end of the bargain, I've always kept resolute about maintaining california is a recipe for a black hole for as long as possible.

A good measure of my adhering to this vow was the pace at which new posts would be posted here. In the first few years we had an absolutely amazing pace. I believe that new posts were being written at a rate of four to five new posts a week. Indeed, in the first two years of existence we crossed the two hundred posts a year barrier quite easily. I don't know what it was--perhaps we had a plethora of stories to tell that y'all hadn't heard before. Or maybe it was just the initial excitement of a undertaking just getting off the ground. Whatever it was, I believe I speak for us all when I say it was just easier to hop onto my computer to jot a few paragraphs down. And occasionally, should the need arise, it was even easy to plop down a fifteen to twenty page story.

Eventually, though, that pace became slower and slower. Even with the addition of Marion to the rotation, around the third and fourth years we were only writing around four posts a week. While we still approached two hundred posts a year, I don't think we broke the barrier in either of those years. At least for Breanne and I, it became obvious that all our best stories had already been written up here. Personally, I'm a person who relies on letting people getting to know me with the same few dozen of anecdotes I'd stored up. With those already disseminated, I quite frankly did not have enough new anecdotes to relay here.

Besides, I never liked this becoming a blog that acted more like a diary than a journal. I'm a much bigger fan of writing my life in hindsight rather than as a current event.

Which brings me to the current era this site finds itself in. As you can probably tell, the posting here has become more and more sparse. Currently we are posting maybe three posts a week, if that. Again, I speak for all of us when I say that notion just makes me feel terrible. It's as if we all spent time raising this kid and then just neglected it in its formative years, just as it was beginning to come into its own. That's no way to nurture anything or anyone you supposedly love. Remaining true to anything or anyone requires more dedication than that, if history has taught me anything.

That being said, I had originally meant to write this announcement up yesterday, but found myself unavoidably occupied (yet again). What I wanted to say yesterday was that I was making my first resolution in years. More precisely, I was making a resolution for myself, Lucy, and Marion. I want to make 2011 the year we get back to writing five posts a week or, at the very least, four. I want this a place readers come to almost every day to find something new waiting for them.

Therefore, in best resolution format, I am making a resolution to see two hundred fifty new posts in the calendar year of 2011.

I don't care who does it. I don't even care the length or depth of them. I've never said any of our posts have to be a certain length or involve certain topics. I just want it back to the old days where we all wrote something every time we thought, "hey, that would make a good idea for a post." Instead of leaving it for later, I want the three of us to go back to that semblance of focus where we wrote our ideas and memories down as we were reflecting on them in real time.

As Barbara Kingsolver once wrote, "There is no perfect time to write. There's just now." Well, 2011 might not be the perfect year to write, but it is now. As of today, there have been 1,086 posts written here. By December 31st, 2011, it will read 1,336 if I have to fly down to Macon and South Bend myself to get those gals motivated... or, heaven forbid, they have to fly down to Long Beach to get me off my sorry ass. This site is too important to let it linger in apathy.

That's my resolution and I happen to think it's a good one.

Yours Swimmingly,
mojo shivers