ScaryClown was here for dinner; he was fed buffalo sloppy joes, and he had seconds, lord love him. Also, I received from the mysterious and everedgy Mike (everybody’s favourite chinky chinaman) a call which said, “Guess where I am?” to which the answer could only be “Wreck Beach, you wretch”.
I send glories and posies, firelight and starlight and the light of the borealis, the light of the sea in the night as your oar goes through it, to Chipper, and she knows why.
I light a candle for Juliana and her efforts, and her album.
I light a candle for Carrie and her peregrinations.
For Tanya, and she knows why.
For Patricia, and she knows why.
For Peggy, in her trials with Tom and her usual daily challenges; I quail at the notion of carrying such a load myself, and can only love.
For my mother, and her traversing the dual canyons of the annual checkup and the dead and dying relatives; for my father in his travails without question or comment.
For my grandmother, may she pass into machine intelligence and live forever in the annals of my family, for gold, for good, forever.
For Mr Music and the sleeping giant he imagines into life.
For my cousins; Alex, Alyssa, Darcy, Shauna, Katherine, & John, and Gerald, of course, and his kin.
For my coworkers, Salmon Man, Cristian, Prashant, Jeff, Jenn, Hardeep, Joe, Gianna, Dale, Andy, Heather, Mike B, Mike M, Sandy, Robof9, Peter T, Al Karim, Francis, LTGW, Lindsay, Mel, Graham, Inne, Jeff, Bill. Chris and Ky and Zari of course.
For the downstairs tenants, may they increase in health and strength.
For my Unca Dave, may he live forever in song, story, fable and myth.
For Lucile.
For Lois, Ruth and their close kin.
For Lady Miss B and her loved ones. For Dr. Filk, Swampy and Maggie.
For Suzanne.
For the ladies (and for the occasional lad) who lunch. All hail Dunnett.
For Spider Robinson and Academie Duello.
For Tammy.
For Rev Katie, and Pope Mary.
For David J. D. and the hard road he set me on,
For Alan.
For the hidden, the unreal, the unseen, for the lies which spin themselves into truth, the stories which harden into tradition, the festivals which anchor human life from one season to the next, a candle, and a warning.
For Keith, for Kate and their dad, Paul, candles, and blessings.
For the people I love and don’t speak of; for the people I hate and don’t speak of.
For my brother Jeff.
