And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest

I sit here staring at this screen, wondering how to find the words to express how very sad I am, knowing that no matter which words I choose, none will even come close to describing the true measure of loss I and many others feel at this moment.

A very wonderful man died yesterday. As a child, I called him Uncle George and have continued to do so occaisonally as an adult. Uncle George was co-owner of a local funeral home, started by his father and uncle, continued by George, his brother and his children. In a small Southern town, this means he touched the lives of nearly every person to live here in the last 65 years. I don't know many people in this area who, upon hearing his name, didn't recognize it and usually have a story to tell. George was a truly amazing person. Always ready with a smile and hug for someone who needed it, he provided support and caring at one of the most difficult times in our lives. George and his family handled Shadow's final arrangements and gave me the love and encouragement I desperately needed.
I don't think George, or anyone in his family, ever saw what they do as just a job. For them, it seems to be more of a calling, an outpouring of compassion and an example of what is truly meant by "a generous heart."
I know his family is grieving, hurt more deeply than I am. My heart breaks for all of them, the son who was my childhood playmate, the daughter whose friendship I cherish as an adult. His wife and other children, who I admire and respect. All of them, my tears are more for them than for myself. George's passing leaves a hole in this town, one that can never be filled. I know that it is much deeper for them.
I've copied something over to include here which made me cry and smile (the bolding is mine):

George asked for this special message to be shared in his obituary: “To all my friends, family, and loved ones: I was able to love because you let me love!! Spread it daily. Never let a day go by that you don’t tell someone who needs it that you love them. I am alright with my God. He knows my heart. I bet my life on Him. I ain’t worried. May that peace be all of yours. And never forget that service to humanity is the best work of life. And that today is the first day of the rest of your life.”

Those words are so very much how George lived, a small view of a large heart. So I sit, wiping tears, mourning the loss of such an incredible person. Sad to think that those who never met Uncle George will be denied the privilege and pleasure of his company. And I, who has not truly prayed in years, offer up a sincere prayer that God welcomes Uncle George with open arms and grants grace to his family. Rest in peace Uncle George, you will be missed by all of us.

Now it's just getting ridiculous

My TBR pile, that is. It decreased by 4 over the weekend despite taking off Saturday afternoon going to BR with Pitbull for tattoo, toy and shoe shopping. And Sunday picking up 3 bookshelves the BL gave me (big ones!). Today, the pile increased by 8. Which means a total of 83. Yeah, that's a bit much.
Most of it is fiction and I'm really bad about picking up non-fiction, reading a bit and then putting it aside while I go on a mental vacation. So The Great Influenza (Barry) , Stiff (Roach), Lies My Teacher Told Me (Loewen), The Roots of English (Claiborne) and Maiden Mother Crone (Conway) stay in the pile longer than they should. There's a copy of Truman Capote's In Cold Blood waiting too.

As for the fiction, well I'm completely incapable of passing up anything that looks interesting. So I've a huge pile of stuff. Tim Powers, James Blaylock, William Gibson, Jocelynn Drake, Melina Morel, Devon Monk, Shirley Damsgaard, Andre Norton, Robert Asprin, George R.R. Martin, Jeffery Deaver, Phillip Margolin, Eileen Wilks, Jefferson Bass, Louis L'Amour, Patricia Briggs, Charlaine Harris, Beverly Connor, Alexis Morgan, Victoria Dahl, Jana DeLeon, Sally Smith O'Rourke, Jim Butcher, Charles Grant, Simon R. Green, K.E. Mills, Agatha Christie, Robert Heinlein, Dennis McKiernan, Oscar Wilde, Roger Zelazny, Katie MacAlister, Maureen Child, Lydia Joyce, Mary Janice Davidson, Mercedes Lackey, Elizabeth Kostova, Dorothy Gilman, Julie Garwood, Lewis Carroll, Shiloh Walker, J.R. Ward, Phillip Pullman, Charles DeLint, Diana Palmer, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Iris Johansen. And 6 anthologies.
Oh yeah, 2 in my bag. Annette Blair and Budge Wilson.

I think I need more shelves. A lot more shelves. I've never been more grateful for a generous employee discount and trade credit.

I realize

I haven't posted any poetry or stories in a while, not mine or Shadow's. I just haven't been in the mood lately. I haven't written anything new in a while and wasn't up to reading Shadow's stuff. I'm proud of myself, I've managed to sort through some of his books and decide what to keep and what to let go. I'm trying to nerve up to do the same with all the computer stuff. Hey it's only taken me 4 years to let go of guilt and grief and start to find some peace. Every once in a while the pain is still a sharp slice but these days it's mostly a dull ache I've come to accept as part of my daily routine. And even that has started to ease. Mostly I can remember the good times, smile and keep going. Progress indeed.

I've also felt a little weird about blogging lately. Knowing that a few people I actually know IRL (Hey Lynn!) read this didn't really bother me much. Finding out that a specific someone has been reading this on the sly kinda did. I don't know why, since I tell all this stuff when asked. It just did, so I left a bunch of stuff unwritten. Yesterday I decided I was being incredibly silly, even for me. So, I'm back to just blurting out whatever thought passes through my head, never mind the consequences.

Or maybe it's all due to a lack of umm..."inspiration"

Another bright move

Once upon a time, back when I worked for Dr Lisa, our regular UPS guy was an older man who liked to pick on me and he ended up giving me my most used nickname. I wore a particular brand of scrubs. The company that makes this brand sews a small tag on the right pocket of all of their shirts. Jimmy (the UPS guy) decides since that name appears on all my shirts it must be my nickname. And then he dared me to sign for packages using that name. And every time I call UPS the customer service rep gets the giggles.
Now 4 years later it's become a habit to use my nickname when signing for deliveries especially since my real last names are hard to spell. And it wouldn't be a problem except for the fact that I am a little distracted most days.
Not too long ago, one of the city employees came by the store to do a fire and safety inspection. Everything went fine until the end. Mr. Fireman hands me the form and tells me to sign the bottom. So I did, nice and pretty. Once again, did not even realize what I'd done until the guy looks at me, grins and says "Is this your legal name?" Yep, I signed my nickname. I kinda laughed and told him no, it was a nickname and signed my real name under my nickname.
Somewhere in the bowels of City Hall, there is an official gummint document signed "Peaches".

Heaven

is a po'boy made with fresh deer sausage. Spicy enough to bite back. Yum.

And a neat little test, I found it the other day while digging for studies on facial recognition. I scored a 92% which isn't bad.
Thought I'd throw this one in too, a test on recognition of famous faces. 93%, and I did better with male faces. Go figure.

One last place, Test My Brain. So far, so fun.

My giggles for the day

I can't tell you how many times I've heard this on the radio without paying a bit of attention. Usually I listen to CDs while driving but this evening coming home I finally got over the 3 day fixation with Flogging Molly. I ended up switching over to the radio just as this song came on. Damn near died laughing. It's the ultimate stalker song! Immediately reminded me of the story How The Wench Got Her Very Own Stalker Boy (no, I haven't told it, probably won't, it's a fairly typical story of my beloved BFF gaining a stalker . It was funny for us, because we laugh at inappropriate stuff, but not exactly something you can't fill in the blanks on). I kinda like the song, but seriously:

"You gotta spend some time love, you gotta spend some time with me/And I know that you'll find love, I will possess your heart"

"there are days when outside your window"

"You reject my advances and desperate pleas/I won't let you let me down so easily"

Y'know what? I'm gonna make plans to hang out at The Wench's house, drink real coffee and talk trash about everyone we know. And let her know I've found a song that's gonna make her cringe and laugh. And just enjoy her and appreciate the fact that she's a part of my life.
And any guy who ever says he wants to possess my heart is gonna get smashed in the face with a hammer. Sorry, formaldehyde is so not my scent and really, I like my organs just where they are, thankyouverymuch. Not in a mason jar in granny's basement.

And just a few hours after I posted this, guess who I almost ran over? Stalker Boy. That "almost ran over" was literal btw, cuz the skeezy lil fucker was standing in the middle of the road. I didn't run over him, I'd have hated to mess my car up.

Well, it amuses me anyway

I would like to know where, in the Big Book o' Universal Laws, it says "M-A should spend an inordinate amount of time on her knees while at work." Cuz I'm gonna take a razor and slice that page out. I work at a book store, ferfuckssake. You'd think that would be a nice, quiet little job. And it probably would be except it's me, the person who can manage to do something silly or embarassing in the least likely circumstances.
The other day a customer came in looking for some old, out of print books. I'm blaming him for the entire thing, because really, what kind of grown man wants Lone Ranger books? (Joking there, I've been asked for stranger from stranger) So I tell him where to find them, he can't find them, I go back there to find them. If we had any, they'd have been on the bottom shelf on the sci-fi aisle (don't ask me why, that's just where we put them). Which is where me on my knees comes in. So there I is, on my knees, ankles crossed, checking the shelves. Didn't see any, but we've got stuff stacked on the floor a little further down the aisle. Instead of getting up and moving like anybody with common sense would do, I sat back on my heels, twisted my upper body around and leeeaaannneeedd over to look. Not at all a professional pose, unless you're a human pretzel. I turned my head to tell the guy I didn't see any and he is looking at me like I am outside my mind. And apparently I am, because I only then realized exactly what I looked like to the guy standing over me.

At least I managed to untwist and stand up gracefully. In heels, at that.