I've been quiet. Too quiet...
I've posted but one entry in the month of September. And only 50 all year on this, the 273rd day. I wish I could say that my journal had seen more fanciful swooshes with a pen, but alas it is as sparsely populated as this blog.
Where have I been? There and back and there and back and there and back again. Flying across the United States on Delta or Continental or Midwest earning magical miles that might serve me well on some future vacation to God knows where. In Connecticut. In New York. In Seattle. With stops in San Francisco, Las Vegas, Salt Lake City, Denver, Cincinnati, Atlanta, Minneapolis, and a host of other American cities.
I've learned to become a renter again. The myriad keys jingle jangle on their respective rings. A key for the top lock. One for the bottom. A key for the mailbox. One for the front door. Another for the laundry. I've not yet received the one that will unlock my frazzled mind.
And I've learned how to rent a property. Ants that might be of the carpenter variety. The final water bill listing more than a grand in owed debt, which made me think either the house had hit an iceberg or there was some kind of mistake. It happened to be the latter, though I wonder if I'd be covered if it were the former.
I've relegated myself to dog loving status rather than dog owning. Alas, Buddy is no longer mine. After an 'incident' with a slow moving car, Buddy went primal and high-tailed it at what neighbors described as 'mach 1' to some remote part of Milford, a good two miles away from the grandparents' house. By the grace of God, a woman saw the missing dog poster and called to let us know she had contacted the local shelter. Buddy returned home shaken and a bit scratched around the edges but otherwise fine. Still, I knew I needed to find him a good home. It just so happened that my grandparents' neighbors had lost their dog of 13 years this past year, and they also just so happened to adore Buddy. Well, the decision was easy enough. They, with their fenced yard and two daughters, now have a puppy with whom they can play.
I also find myself, for the first time since I was in the seminary, without a car. Who needs a car in New York anyway with subways, planes, trains, buses, and taxis aplenty. The 2006 Subaru Forester will now carry my parents through thick and thin, especially on their hilly roads in the midst of ice and snow.
I can count a new job and new boss, though I wisely choose to say no more about work within this blog.
And I've begun to move along in those more personal aspects, which will also remain deep within the recesses of the journals I keep.
I have reconnected with family. A niece who, when last I saw her, decided to bring to me penguins and monkeys and phones and bears from her pile of toys. A mother who has returned from the swamps of Florida to battle the soon-to-be-frigid northeast. The old man, who battles with some mysterious and some not so mysterious ailments, all the while cheering that the Red Sox will not be in the playoffs this year. An uncle who has, through remarkable will power, lost so much weight that some don't even recognize him. A brother who works and coaches and sleeps and eats... and who is one of the most devoted fathers I've met. And the list goes on...
And the beat goes on...
A lot of change. And with that change, I give to you yet another look for 'A Life in Days'. I'm somewhere in the top right of that picture... I think. New York is a big town, after all. Everything close is either on your doorstep or a 20 minute walk. Otherwise, it's a $2.25 subway ride away. Unless you're going to Newark International, in which case you want to catch the NJ Transit train from Penn Station for a mere $15.
The night grows long. The bed awaits my precious slumber that I might rise early to get to Grand Central for to journey to the outer reaches of Connecticut. There awaits a game in which the real Huskies have the chance to overcome 'Mr. C' and his brother (and sister) Commodores.
Until next I write...
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