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I think I may have, inadvertently and actually quite nonchalantly, invented a new word whilst writing a comment to go with a photo I was posting on my Facebook site: blah-ful.

I used it to describe today, weather-wise, and I think it fits. I suppose it would be more accurate if a person also happened to be congested and/or coughing and/or asymptomatic (is that the word I’m wanting) of any other cold- and flu-related illness; then he or she would feel absolutely blah-ful. (Do I need the hyphen? Let’s decide: blah-ful or blahful? I have to say, I believe the grammatically correct part of me wants to go with the latter version!)

(That part of me also realizes I should definitely cut down on my use of -ly adverbs, but … I can’t do it. Nor do I want to, really.)

I’m rooting for Rafa in the Australian Open, though I won’t be upset if Federer wins the title to tie Pete Sampras’ Grand Slam record (14).

After our trip to New York last summer, Diane and I could complete a Grand Slam of our own if we headed Down Under to see the Aussie Open, but I don’t see that happening. Who wants to spend 16 hours on plane? We spent eight hours, one way,  in 1999 (London) and 2001 (Amsterdam) — including me with a severely sprained ankle and nowhere to prop it up in 1999, and that could’ve been the most uncomfortable time I have ever spent traveling.

Still, I can see where being in Australia in the dead of winter could be fun — and, more importantly, warm. Perhaps when I’m rich and famous, I shall “winter” there!

Here are a couple more shots of the blue jay feather I found today:

Rose Shed

Pamela Sue Brannan
(April 28, 1962-April 18, 2007)

Jenn’s mom died on my birthday. I didn’t hear about it until the next evening when Leslie sent me a message on MySpace. (Lest you think I’ve forgiven MySpace, keep in mind that it was back to its fucked-up ways over the weekend — so: NO, I haven’t.) Jenn and Brandee made their way to the news office on Friday, and for the first few minutes of seeing them, all I could do was hold Jenn.

She and Brandee were expecting some words o’ wisdom from me, and all I could come up with was: “Sucks.” Honest to God, that’s the best I could do … although, today, after the funeral, standing in the parking lot at the cemetery, just before I left, I came up with a bit of an improvement — or at the very least, an expansion: “Sucks, man.”

(I am nothing if not eloquent. And/or succinct.)

I did not know Pam. In fact, I’m pretty sure I never actually met her in person — I had only spoken to her a few times on the phone when I would call out to talk to Jenn.

It would have made more sense, age-wise, for Pam and me to be friends, as she was 44 going on 45 and I just turned 42. Jenn was the one who worked with me, though, and by getting to know each other in the wee hours of the morning every weekday (and late-night Fridays), plus all the other connections we seemed to have, we formed a friendship that I will always treasure.

Jenn is 25 now — coincidentally, the same age I was when my dad died. Suddenly. Just like Pam, and I suspect that now, just a few days after her mom died, Jenn is probably in the same kind of shock that I was for a few days/weeks/months … except, no, this is her mom, so it’s different, and as much as I might think I understand, I really don’t.

But I’m sure it sucks, man.

February 2020
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