Cookies from beyond the GRAVE!!!

Yesterday as I was clearing boxes out of the pantry to look for some documents, I found a plastic container of homemade spice crinkle cookies (with raisins) that had slipped down behind one of the boxes sometime around Christmas. How do I know this? Because on top of the container was written: "Laurie's Xmas cookies, December (date illegible) '06".

My mother had made them for me and George, not knowing that it would be her last Christmas ever.

I showed the container to George while making a joke about "cookies from beyond the GRAVE!"... which was fine until I went to bed last night. There, in the darkness, it hit me -- hard. I cried my eyes out for the first time since my mother actually died. And while I was fine most of today, I had another crying fit just now.

Grieving sucks. It hurts both emotionally and physically. My head and my chest both feel like someone's stabbed me with an icepick.

I miss you, Mom...

A poem for Micawber

In the aftermath of Misty Gardens, a healing poem and prayer for my dearest Micawber, who was cremated at Misty Gardens back in 2004... and to some extent for all the animals who have been mishandled and mistreated...

Our beloved Micawber,
Our "big boy",
Our sweet one,
We sent you on a journey to a land free from pain,
Not because we did not love you,
But because we loved you too much to force you to stay.

And we know that no matter where
Your little body ended up,
No matter what became of it after our last tearful hug,
No matter where your ashes fell,
That your bright spirit remained with us
And that you knew (and know still)
How very much you were loved.

Let justice fall like a hammer upon those
Who treated you without respect or dignity.
We will see to that.
But for now I think of you,
Of your shining eyes, of your happiness under my hand,
And I smile at the memory.
Nothing will dim that delight;
For it has been said that evil shall have no dominion
Where love endures.

So rest in peace, dear friend, until we meet again.

Bastards with fireplaces

We live on the third floor of an apartment building in a residential neighborhood.

About an hour ago, somebody down below with a fireplace lit a fire.

The smell of smoke is piercing, and has brought the headache that I'd managed to tone down to a simmer all the way up to a full boil. I've taken an antihistamine, but doubt it will help much since the headache has already gotten a foothold (so to speak).

Bastards! (Strong language, I know, but dammit, it IS immensely annoying at the end of a very stressful day.)

(On a happier note, Andrea and her fiance came by for their first handfasting planning session today. We got a lot done and will meet again soon to talk over the version of the ceremony I'll be putting together tomorrow based on choices they made from a number of different sources.)