My Cardboard Balcony

Not too much rambling tonight since I'd like to get this done even though it's technically Saturday now. Yay, being sidetracked by family, friends, and volunteer work. Oh, and my training for my new job starts October 7th. Yay! This week has been a time of seeing family. I've had dinner and drinks with my cousins twice removed. I've learned more about my ancestors and my closer family. My grandmother, whose ring I wear on a chain around my neck. I never got to meet her, so it's the closest way I can bond with her. That, and learning everything I can about her vibrant spirit. I've been able to see my sister as well, who's busy with a musical in the East Bay. Spending time with my mother, who will be in England and then Italy for two weeks - lucky woman. And my father and brother, too, as we'll be going to San Francisco to hear Earl Klugh play. It's been a stressful week, but also a nice one. Then again, that's what happens when your girlfriend...

Death Took Him Away by Belinda Roddie "I hate this." Roy laughed and looked at his shaking sister. "It's Pioneer Park, Astrid. The only twist is that it's night. What's the big deal?" Astrid didn't care to answer that. She had always been fearful of going out at night, and now that her brother's car had broken down, they were walking through the park to get help. Roy was a great raconteur, and he took advantage of this due to the fact that Astrid believed in ghosts. Because of this, Roy would always tease her with scary stories about spirits and Hell. Now he hurried up the steep road to the park's cemetery, his gold ring glinting in the dim moonlight. "Hey!" Astrid hurried after Roy as he scrambled up the steps leading to the gravestones. "Where're you going? There could be weirdos here! Or maybe...something different..." Laughing again, Roy knelt down by a tombstone and placed his hand on top of it. ...

Why do they call us hopeless romantics? If anything, there’s nothing hopeless about being romantic. There’s this queer feeling of awkwardness, sure, and the occasional depression – but in the end, everything looks so much more vivid. A coffee holds a secret. A folk song looks bright red with passion. And everything – and everyone – is so beautiful.