It seems appropriate that today is A. A. Milnes‘ birthday. My little girl is back. Not that she is little anymore, 32 if my math skills are holding up.

I used to read her Milne’s stories. As a child she was Tigger, always up and bouncing about, full of curiosity and life. I was a budding Eeyore back then and time has only folded me deeper into the role.

Courtney Mackenzie Pawlazcyk-Knapp. A bit of a mouthful but she always had the energy to carry it. She almost ended up with the first name Anticipation but that’s another story for another time. She’s married now, swapping the mouthful of a last name for Cline.

I’d like to think that the post I made a couple of months back, in which I mentioned I was looking for her, led to our reunion but neither it nor any of my other attempts to find her panned out. She found me, not the other way around. I’m not exactly sure how. She read some article that mentioned I was a member of Backspace. She then went over to Backspace, found the Contact Us form and asked about me. Chris, one of the administrators over at BS contacted me and now she is back in my life.

So, despite the miles that separate us, my family is complete again. My son, Ryan John, who I don’t talk to nearly enough, a situation I fully plan to change, and now Cory. And my kids have kids of their own now, 2 apiece: Michael and Jennifer on Ryan’s side, Cameron and Austin on Cory’s side. Certainly dates me, doesn’t it?

Now if I can just pull it together, find the finances in these tough financial times to make a trip home, see them all, hug them all.

Well, it’s a new year. Sadly, Donald Westlake didn’t cross the time line with us. He’s gone to blue and will be missed. Beyond that all I can say is 09 has got to be better than 08 cause 08 sucked big time for me and most anyone else who wasn’t the CEO of some Wall Street firm.

I long ago stopped making New Year’s resolutions. It seemed such a silly thing to do, especially considering the influence of a massive hangover under which most New Year’s resolutions are made. And, let’s face it, how many of those resolutions were eating dust by the end of January anyway? Most if not all of them.

I do have some goals, though. One, to be precise: To get the hell out of New Mexico and back to NoCal where I belong. I just cannot take this place any longer.

Don’t get me wrong. New Mexico is a beautiful state if you like stark with history, which I happen to like just fine. But this has been three long years of culture shock and I haven’t assimilate one bit. And the weather, oh my! Summers so hot you all but melt and if I wanted single digit temps in the winter, I’d of stayed in Detroit. Spring and Fall, for the brief moment they’re around, are quite nice. And I love visiting the ruins and getting out into the desert or up into the mountains. Of course, not having a car these last 9 months has put a real dent in that.

As for my writing, well, I have no goals for that. It will be what it will be. I have some ideas, some vague sense of what direction I want to take and we will see if anything comes of that.

But most of all, I just want to go back to San Francisco.

A happy and prosperous New Year to all. Well, not the spammers who make all to frequent visits to this site. I hope they all choke to death

He showed up at the kitchen door at the house in Guerneville in 1996. He could be cantankerous and at times a bit of a bully but I remember a time, a dark time, that his crackling meow, much like the sound glass might make in cracking, kept me in the here and now instead of the hereafter. 12 years he’s been with me. I have no idea how many years he’d been with himself before that. I’ve gone through many a trial and tribulation in those years; job stress, a near fatal car crash, the loss of my job, the near loss of my house and a long trip to Albuquerque that he hated every moment of, financial disintegration, a near loss of hope and through it all he’s been there.

He grew old, cast aside his bully ways, became something of a grandpa to the three sisters, the little kittens my kitten quite accidentally had. He had a stroke several months back and I thought we’d lose him then but he fought his way back. A little jerky in his walk, his meow even hoarser than before, a bit of a space cadet at times but he learned to get around, to climb up on the bed and settle down in his favorite spot.

But age will take you down, no one gets out of here alive. And I swore I wouldn’t let him suffer.

Booth went to Blue at 4:30 today. I am thankful to Dr. Walker of Cat Clinic for her kind and gentle ways and to Scott for the ride.

Gone to Blue. There is no more pain. No chance of suffering. He’s gone to be with Asher who he never knew, with Mooch and Feral who he tangled with from time to time, the Doubtful Guest and Smokey and Dinger who were all a little on the weird side and scared him a bit, with Puss and Pug, the Albuquerque cats who he never got along with well but respected their territorial rights, all cats who have crossed his and my path these last 12 years and Gone to Blue themselves. And I know Neb and Pink and Treacle will be there as well, though he may not find the company of dogs as enjoyable as those of the cats.

When it’s time for me to go, I want to go where they’ve gone.