Dear Two-Thousand-Five,

So long, it's been swell!—well, not really, but you taught me a lot, and I'm a better person for it. You didn't have an easy job, but your instruction did not go to waste. I was able to see the splendor in a moment because of you, and to understand the intricacies of delight. You taught me love through heartache, strength through weakness...and life through death.

"All who wander are not lost," as Tolkien said. I think we all need a good year of wandering in our lives. Well, several, probably. Limits were made to be tested, and phew!—I did some testing, let me tell you!   But, 'Five? I am happy with my results. For a year with such pain spilled over so many months, I remember so much laughter. People keep wishing me a better year with your successor...but really, you were pretty darn special in your own little way. I'm thankful to have known you, and will recall you with great fondness.

"When the student is ready, the teacher will appear," as the proverb goes. I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you, Teach'. Goodnight and Godspeed.

She came to me with a serene smile playing about her lips. Her eyes were soft and gentle, her voice airy and kind. She moved delicately, her willowy body taking on the flow of late August's gentle breeze, and her elfin grace was telling. I followed her blindly, my trust immediate.

I reclined at her invitation, grew limpid at her command. The warmth cascaded over me, through me, and my eyes began to flutter. I gave into temptation's persuading reason and allowed them to close as I moaned inwardly, my pleasure all-consuming.

The fragile fingers caressed lightly first, then grew insistent...and my spine melted in response. It was over much too soon...much, much  too soon. Weakly, I sought equilibrium; mournfully, I looked back to the place of our union. The enchantment and bliss left me with a single truth: I need to get my hair shampooed more often.

Here's how it works in the mornings here:

I get up at least  ninety minutes before my aunts. In that ninety minutes, I typically have 2 mugs of coffee. I have one more as I converse with them while they ready for their day. Then, I stop drinking coffee. This week, my aunts are on vacation. It's hell.

I still get up at four. I drink through my first pot by 5:45 and brew the next. There have been a few days this week wherein I've found need to brew a third so that my aunts might have coffee for whenever it is that they  wake up for the day. I have no stop point. Coffee consumption has been way out of control. I think the whites of my eyes are coffee-stained. I can't wait until vacation is over.

They've had a helluva time with television sets here. First, there was the 30" that refused to take command with a remote control. I know what you're thinking, because I thought it too. "Buy a universal remote." The thing is, they thought it too. It wasn't a remote-side problem. So, they switched it with the 25" set that lived in their basement with their niece.

You see, once upon a time, before she lived with them, they had another sitting area and "media center" located in their basement. This was well before it became a subterranean loft. They gave away their furniture in June because their niece loved hers so dearly and they didn't want her to have to put it in storage. They can be rather kind on occasion.



The entertainment center remained, however. I've no use for it, but it isn't hurting me, isn't taunting me, and it certainly isn't making fun of my morning time hairdo...so why should I cause a stir? The above mentioned TV remained as well...and why not? What else would I store in there? Clem? That's just crazy-talk. (...and yet, alluring at the same time....hmm.)

There was initial concern, before the switching of the televisions. "But what will Laura watch?" Debbie asked altruistically...this, coming from the queen of the remote, the one who was suffering most severely in this disturbance.

"I don't use that TV," I reminded gently. "I have my own, remember?" Debbie looked on the verge of asking why it was down there still then, but I didn't feel like getting into my morning time hairdo and so distracted her with a shiny bit of tin foil.

Anyway, the long and the short of it is that the televisions got switched, and the 25" proved to be a little too aged for the multimedia excellence of our age. But hey, the remote worked...don't be so damn picky. It was with only minor trepidation that I directed my aunt's gaze toward the television displays last Saturday. I forgot to bring the tin foil with me, so I had to use words and hand motions to get her attention this time around.

When the time came to carry the TV over the threshold, I offered my services of muscle. I was denied. I find that my strength is underestimated a lot, which is a pity...because, hello! Push up FREAK! I watched with anguish as my aunts struggled together with the box. I don't know that it was the weight that proved difficult, or each other, but it was painful to observe.

As they set it on the floor, they both managed to receive a fat lip from the box corners. They exhibited a skill of dexterity unlike any I've ever witnessed in all my twenty-four years. My genes are cut from a gilded fabric, man. I seized the command of the project while they were down. I directed the unpacking of the box, and placed it single-handedly upon its low-lying stand while Brenda sat on the floor and watched me with her legs extended in a wide "v", her hands motionless upon the floor and her back slumped. Her eyes were vacant and her tongue prodded at her swollen lip. I shook my head and quit the scene. Really, people. It's not like I just work out for my health. It's also for the lifting of televisions.

You'd think that'd be obvious.

Last night was the fabled night of bathroom-shelf-putting-together. It was foretold a mere week ago. I lost my nerve.

Brenda appeared to me in a scandalous state of undress. Clad in only her underwear and a determined expression, she grabbed a power drill and looked ever the Devil personified. I knew she would sweat. I knew she would scowl. I knew she would scare little children who would undoubtedly see her through the large bay window. I tucked tail and ran.

Wrinkled satin and dingy lace might just be the motif of Hell. This is how I found my aunt hours later, 3 screws protruding from between her puckered lips. She looked wild-eyed and fierce with her gleam of sweat and her mastery with the power tool.

I was happy to have escaped.