I’m listening to my Amy Winehouse station on Pandora, and Georgia on my Mind has come on. The Ray Charles version, if there was any question. Georgia was home to me for many, many years. Now, with Grandma and Boom gone, it’s a fond memory, but it’s growing faint. Actually, today is an anniversary of sorts.
On this day in 1981, we drove into Dallas, Texas for the first time. I was miserable at missing getting to trick-or-treat, and sure that my life was over. It would take me about ten years to refind some equilibrium, and another five to say I was honestly happy. No one should have to be a teenager.
We moved into our house on November 3 and our dog disappeared immediately. After hours of whistling and calling, and crying on my part, we found her under the bed in the master bedroom, huddled back against the wall. Eloquent.
In current news, somehow I managed to lose Thor’s Halloween costume. No lie. It has disappeared. I’m sure I’ll find it around Christmas, when I go to hide gifts. Until then, he has graciously consented to wearing last year’s Iron Man costume, which played backup to the Bumblebee costume. It’s that or a hobo, and I’m pretty sure that’s not politically correct.
I am waiting on news and I don’t wait well. I am impatient and antsy. And very, very cranky that yet another famewhore is getting divorced after a five-minute-long marriage, but gay friends who have been in loving, monogamous relationships for decades still don’t have the right to walk down the aisle.