Newsflash.

This just in: meat causes cancer.

In other news, wedding gifts have started to arrive. I suppose I should work on writing the ceremony. That's the problem with having a non-church wedding--you have to make up something to substitute for the word of the Lord. Pray (to the Lord if you happen to have one) I don't fail miserably.

There was a fire in our building last night that merited three fire trucks and an emergency response SUV. Way to be on the ball, town of Dracut. That's what I like about living in a small town--minor fires get major attention. If I ever had a problem (say, getting hit by a car like my Angelika--which seems to happen to people in my life, considering that my husband was seriously injured as a child when an old lady in a Jaguar ran him over and was more worried about her Jag than the kid unconscious and bleeding profusely on the ground), the policia would be there in spades fo sho. Apparently it was small and easily contained, and luckily wasn't anywhere near us. After the building-wide alarm had been going off for 15 minutes, I was preparing to throw my cats (and my lock box, jewelry, and wedding dress) in the car and go to Mommy's just to get away from the noise. My ears were ringing for hours afterward, I can only imagine how Jacob, Jasper and Lola felt.

Corny greeting card blurb for today: May your wedding gifts be large and your kitchen fires small this holiday season.

For the first time this winter...

IT IS SNOWING!!!

I get to sit here on the couch in our new apartment and gaze out at our lovely balcony overlooking a wooded area. The snow is accumulating fast!

We're driving to Michigan tomorrow.

"Homeward bound, I wish I was..."

It's just there, lurking, waiting for the right time to get all up in your face.

Here's the thing about writing: Sometimes, you're just over it for a while. Eventually, though, it comes back, like a pesky younger sibling or a stubborn infection. You can rebuff it for a while by ignoring it or pretending it's cured, but you can never really get rid of it. It's just there, lurking, waiting for the right time to get all up in your face.

My return to the written word (if I ever really even left), manifested herewith, was prompted by another return: my return home. There's something in the water in Okemos, I suspect, or perhaps the fault (inspiration?) lies with my family members. There's nothing that puts words and ideas in your head quite like your relations.

Wherefore the absence? Chalk it up to the previously reported leaving of Virginia for Massachusetts and the directionless malaise that settles in after leaving a very intense and emotionally consuming job. Happily, I think I have rebounded nicely this week (but only after experiencing some malcontent last week after having to leave the aforementioned relations).

Now I am sitting at my desk in my sunny office/spare bedroom, sipping a cup of tea (a very writerly thing to do) with soy milk (a very vegan thing to do) and honey from my dad and stepmom's bees (a very unvegan thing to do), and waiting for a conference call. No, I didn't leave my job entirely. Loathe to burn the bridge with my first important employer, I opted to go freelance. It is divine (and so is Stash ginger peach green tea).

All this said, let us not delude ourselves that the written word is all there is to a happy future. I will let my husband's words remind us all that the future is very complex:

Him: This device I'm working on is the future of technology.
Me: It's the future of all technology?
Him: Yes.