Gerald Ford was the first president I have personal memory of.

I remember seeing him on our black and white television, issuing the pardon for Richard Nixon. I was not old enough to understand the significance of the moment or why it caused such a controversy. When I asked my Mom what happened, she simply said “Our president pardoned a man who did something wrong.” I didn’t know what the word “pardoned” meant, so she came up with the next best thing, “forgave.” I then asked why everyone was so upset. She said, well, the person he forgave had been our president and he did some very bad things while he was in that office. She said some people thought Richard Nixon should have been punished – gone to jail – for what it had done. I then asked why Mr. President (that’s what Mom said I called President Ford at the time) had not punished the bad man. She replied, “Sometimes it takes a bigger man to forgive rather than punish.”

I didn’t really understand her answer then. I just knew I had reached the magical limit on questions my Mom would accept before telling me to outside and play in traffic.

I didn’t know at the time my Mom was in the minority in her opinion of President Ford’s decision. Later she would tell me she harbored no love for Nixon, but she had simply been tired of the ongoing scandal of Watergate. She had been ready for it just to end. Given the rank political atmosphere we live in today, I can honestly say I understand her stance.

Gerald Ford seemed a decent man who had a deep respect for the office he occupied and the nation he served. For that alone, he should be mourned.

*bimbles off*

Today, I found the one good thing about not having any vacation time accrued in time for the holidays – no rush hour traffic. I was about half-way to work, nursing my coffee and wishing to god I’d gone to bed earlier last night, when I realized I was sailing along at 70 mph and making damn good time. I was relaxed. I only had one hand on the wheel.

I blinked and looked around.

It was like driving to downtown on a Sunday morning. Apparently, the drivers in the five other cars on the highway with me had the same thought because we were looking at each other with the same slightly-stunned looks. No traffic. At 8 a.m. It was nice but damned creepy. Like “28 Days Later”, all the people have disappeared, creepy. Same thing, in reverse, going home.

I’m hoping all these people who disappeared today had the good manners to take off the rest of the week as well.

*bimbles off*

Hug your favorite pagan today.

*bimbles off*

Yeah, I think you can pretty much call it a bad day when the past 14 hours have included all of the following:

• a 15-minute CT scan of your sinuses stretching into a two-hour visit to the diagnostics center, due to “more walk-ins than expected”;
• the failure of your car to start in a parking garage
• following your car, in the rain and rush hour traffic, as it gets towed to the garage; and
• finding cat yak completely and utterly embedded in your wireless keyboard.

The car ordeal could have been worse, I admit. My towing was covered by insurance and I had a vehicle – thanks to my boss, who keeps a second vehicle in the garage as a “company vehicle.” When he heard what was going on, he told me to take it, so I wouldn’t have to pay for a rental car. Lovely gesture, I admit. However, it is a Chevy Tahoe. I drive a Mustang. I felt like I was steering the USS Constitution on its maiden voyage into sea. My nerves were shot before I spent an hour staring at the front of my car being towed through Dallas, rush-hour traffic. Second week at work and I’ve blown two hours for what was supposed to be a “quick diagnostic scan” and then half the afternoon on the phone with insurance and PepBoys.

However, I do realize all of that could have been way, way worse.

The cat yak could NOT have been worse. Period.

*bimbles off*

Billy Idol has a Christmas album out.

Billy-Fucking-White-Wedding-Idol. Christmas songs.

Feeling old does not EVEN begin to cover it.

*bimbles off*

You ever have a favorite vase, or plate or cute little decorative something you loved from the moment someone gave it to you and you treasured and took primo care of? And, one day, you accidentally hit the shelf it was on and the something fell to the ground and broke? Not shattered, but just broke into two big pieces? And, not matter how painstakingly you try to repair it with glue or whatnot, you know it will never look the same or even be the same little something you cherished so much?

Yeah. Me too.

*bimbles off*

*attempts to take dustcovers off furniture and sneezes violently…. eyes water profusely, causing the immediate bashing of shin into covered sofa…. falls and hits head on floor, thereby causing the sneezing and eyewatering to take backseat to a concussion….*

Over the top, but I wanted to cheer up my little piece of the world with something funny. God knows, funny has been missing for a while. So has most of my coherent thought and ability to write, apparently.

The hole I disappeared into called “Unemployment” has finally come to an end. I went to work this past Monday and, after five days back on the job, I feel as though someone had hit me hard, in the face, with a pillow for 24 hours straight. I suppose babies go through this feeling as pieces of their brain start to function in concert with the others. Like the day they find their toes. You don’t see them finding their knees the next day, because they have a little ache in their brains.

I feel like I spent three months in this weird, grey, dense place that only allowed me to eat, sleep, work my email and play video games. Anything beyond that, my brain simply could not compute. Sometimes, I watched TV but, even in my mental state, Dr. Phil was just too stupid to take.

People keep asking me if I’m excited about my new job. Given the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde nature of my past two jobs, I’m reserving excitement for being employed for at least six months and still having an overall liking for the place that provides me with a paycheck.

The only item I really regret not blogging on was the death of Ann Richards. My god, what a blow. I actually called my Mom that day and we talked. Of all the things we disagree on, my Mom and I have a solid agreement on womens’ rights and those who fight for them. May our dear Annie rest in peace.

Perhaps tomorrow I’ll take the next herculian step and catch up on my dear blogging buddies. I’ve missed all of you greatly.

Baby steps… ittle, bitty baby steps.

*bimbles off*