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C is for Childhood, anointing purity thereof Granddaughter holding grandfather, Hayward, CA.

Not so, this time.


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B is for Buddha Buddha in Bhumisparsa Mudra, Old Sukhothai, Thailand

Buddha, providing me positive role modeling since the late 1990s.

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A is for About time Girl at dusk, Berkeley, CA.



NaBloPo– uh oh

By LD on December 1, 2011 in Mostly a picture, NaBloPoMo Fun little story about this button.

So I have a bunch of these buttons, and order them periodically to keep in my pocket, and bring them to places like events or conferences or wherever I feel I might want to spread the good gospel. Give ’em to friends.

Even strolled up to Jane Lynch her own bad self, the fateful night of the annual NCLR party a few years back when she and her lady love (now lawfully wedded wife, Lara Embry) had met and the sparks first flew. I waited for Jane (I know! we’re on a first-name basis. okay, I am) to finish playing tonsil hockey with her (geez; I think it was her!) on the dance floor (yes I said that, and yes I did wait discreetly), and then I tapped her on the shoulder and gave her one of these.  She looked at it, looked at me, said, “Uh, thanks,” and went back to paying attention to her future spousal unit-to-be.

I saw Jane again back last August in San Diego at an event and gave her another one. Reminded her of the first time, she totally blanked on the moment (shocked! I’m shocked!), and said, “Great, now I have two!”  Oh, by the way, when I told her my blog name, she said, “Hey, that’s what I am now!”  And how’m I gonna disagree with that.




By LD on November 29, 2011 in Mostly a picture, NaBloPoMo, Pops Thanksgiving table post-repast, Berkeley, CA.

We all went around my brother-in-law’s Thanksgiving table–my own brood, my dad, my mother in law, her old friend, her partner, my partner’s dad, my partner’s brother’s family and his wife’s mother–and said what we were thankful for. Many of us said we were thankful for the Occupy Movement (as ironic as that might have been, from around a well-stocked table in a comfortable, warm home).  All of us who were not retired and of working age were hugely thankful for our full, rewarding, gainful employment. Most of the kids under 12 demurred, though I know their gratitude is big, if fairly tightly woven into need and dependence and hope and expectation.

My dad was grateful simply to be alive and here for another Thanksgiving, and I immediately seconded that thankfulness. I went on to say specifically: each morning when I walk from the bus stop to work, I call Pops, and we talk for the 12 or 13 minutes it takes me to get to my building’s elevator, where the signal begins to fail us. It’s always too short, but he’s a lot more alert during this morning call than he used to be when we talked after I got the kids to bed. The calls during when I’m interruptable by the kids are usually just too hard to sustain.



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