To Grandmother's House We Go

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So, this one is for my wife.


All that swimming in the deep waters of home, and family. Of motherly love and guilt, and the ghosts of the dead.


There is no stranger journey to make, nor one more familiar.



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Home is the sailor, home from the sea,
and the hunter home from the hill.


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Hey, Ezra, man, I made her that calamari.


She is so my slave.


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My inner nervous little poodle is fast asleep. I am deeply happy and contented now. It is raining and raining and I don't go back to work until Tuesday. I aim to spend the next few days cooking lavish meals for my lady friend and laying on the sofa and rubbing her feet while we watch Battlestar Gallactica and drank whine and eat cookies.


Eat yr hearts out.



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I am grateful to you all for the love and affection you bring to this small gathering.



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Namaste.


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