Tuesday, Jan. 30, 2007
Dear Diary:

The first two weeks were the worst, of course, because I live in a very small place.

My mom-in-law was a joiner. Joined pretty much everything that could be joined, and so her life intersected many lives. I could not go anywhere and not meet someone who wanted to talk about her.

At first that was excruciatingly painful until I learned the steps of the condolence waltz. Accept someone's condolence. Reply that my mom-in-law had enjoyed remarkably good health up until her 80's and that we were lucky to have her that long. Listen while the condoler shared a memory of my mom-in-law. Thank them and move on.

Keep moving. Moving is good. Because if you stop and think about things too much then there's just too much pain of loss, too much guilt over should have dones. Too much everything.

It's over a month now and we're shifting to new realities. Lots of complications, but not mine to discuss.

Moving on, then.

Last weekend the spousal unit was reading some article about the "Princessfication" of young girls, quoting interesting bits to me while I hauled some laundry out of the washer in the next room.

"Did you know that until relatively recently pink was considered a masculine colour, being a lighter shade of red?" he asked. "Blue was considered feminine and light blue was always used to decorate girls' rooms."

"Funny you should say that," I said as I contemplated his work socks, which I had unthinkingly washed with a new, burgundy bath mat.

I cleared my throat. "Depending on your point of view, I have either transformed your work socks into a traditionally masculine colour, or your feet have been princessfied."

I handed him the basket of socks to hang up over the woodstove to dry. He contemplated them solemnly. "I feel like The Pink Guy on 'Felicity'", he said.

I replied with something that severely impugned the manliness of a fifty-something carpenter who would admit that he had once been an avid fan of the teevee show 'Felicity'. He laughed, mentioning that I was forbidden to ever mention on the internets his past devotion to 'Felicity'.

Well, clearly, that didn't work.

I am that man's cross to bear.

--Marn

P.S.--Going Nowhere has taken on a life of its own and entered year five without me. I am delighted and plan to join the posse next month. If the usual suspects care to come along, well, you know the password and how to add your fine selves.

If one of you is html gifted, we need to swap out the old guestbook and swap in one from Haloscan. I've opened the Haloscan account with the name fivehundred and the usual password, but I don't know how to insert it into the fivehundred diary. Help!

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Want to delve into my sordid past?
She's mellllllllllllllting - Wednesday, Feb. 15, 2012 - Back off, Buble - Monday, Dec. 19, 2011 - Dispersed - Monday, Nov. 28, 2011 - Nothing comes for free - Monday, Nov. 21, 2011 - None of her business - Friday, Nov. 04, 2011 -


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This template is a riff on a design by the truly talented Quinn. Because I'm a html 'tard, I got alot of pity coding to modify it from Ms. Kittay, a woman who can make html roll over, beg, and bring her her slippers. The logo goodness comes from the God of Graphics, the Fuhrer of Fonts, the one, the only El Presidente. I smooch you all. The background image is part of a painting called Higher Calling by Carter Goodrich which graced the cover of the Aug. 3, 1998 issue of The New Yorker Magazine.

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2000, 2001, 2002 Marn. This is me, dagnabbit. You be you.