Back and Out and Back Again.

Tea: Pu Erh Dante

Music: UK, "Night After Night"

Time: Night.

Back after an early winter bug hiatus. I envy those who can will themselves well.

First Friday tonight, which began as a work obligation and ended with good conversation.

It is easy, I think, to see artists as only artists, writers as only writers, editors as only editors -- and forget that there are other facets as well. Tonight was a good reminder that at heart ... some of us just like to talk about food and play Scrabble.

(Well, we didn't actually play tonight. But we talked about it.)

Several cool things seen, but it's late and I need to sleep. More later, I'm sure.

Attention Deficit ... what?

Tea: Earl Grey Smokey

Music: Counting Crows, "Round Here"

Time: Evening.

Much typity-typity today, writing to artists I met last night and laying groundwork for an arts site I'm launching in January (which means I have to get the thing designed by late December -- good thing I don't have to do all the design work myself.)

Anyway ... um ... so ...

I looked outside for a while, and it was snowing. That's pretty much my extent of leaving the house today.

(I should also note that I smoked the son's brisket at Scrabble, after we collaborated on making some pretty darned good cornpones for breakfast. A hundred-point margin, baby. Okay, so I got a little lucky and was able to play "T-W-I-S-(Blank)-E-R" for 73 points, counting the 50 I got for using all my tiles at once. But we shall not speak of luck, only of my glorious triumph and all that sort of thing. Strike up the musicians.)

The ADD is kicking in again. Time to make some more tea. Caffeine helps with -- oh, yeah, and I made fried potatoes with supper. They were ... um ... yikes, I forgot to hang up my clothes ... and so the bartender says, "What is this? Some kind of a joke?"

Back on the Board

Tea: Chocolate Cherry

Music: David Bowie, "Heroes"

Time: Night

Today, I played Scrabble against my 15-year-old son. Two games, won both. (The king is still the king.) That's only part of the point.

I used to play against my father, whenever I could -- and our games were epic. Scores of 302-301 weren't unheard-of. We scraped and scrapped and challenged for every point, so fiercely that nobody else would play with us.

He always hoarded the "Q" tile. Consequently, I held every "U" I could get my hands on. When he died, a little over a decade ago, I buried the "Q" with him.

And until today, I had played once since he died. But it was time. We've had a new Scrabble set for several years now (my son, if you'll recall, pulled it out of storage earlier this year) and I'd slowly been working up to the idea of playing again. When my son challenged me this morning, I accepted.

He has some of his grandfather's mannerisms. He fidgets. He takes forever to make a play. Even when he's about to score big, he never pounces. He gives the board one last look-see, to make sure he's not missing one or two extra points by playing something else.

And he doesn't want any help, from anyone. If he's going to win, he wants to earn it.

It was odd in ways, comforting in others, to be hunched over the board and the letters again. I have a feeling it won't be long before we're at it again.

Someday he'll beat me ... if I'm lucky. After all, great rivalries need winners on both sides.

Tonight's scary story: Lettice Galbraith, "The Trainer's Ghost"

A Quick Quaff of Quietude

Tea: Mandarin Orange with honey

Music: King Crimson, "The Sheltering Sky"

Time: Night

Twin headaches tonight: sinus, which makes the left eye feel as though it's about to pop out, and caffeine withdrawal, which manifests as repeated blows to the back left of my head.

Two cures, one cup -- my Scrabble Q mug, which is covered with such high-scoring words as "quassia," "quinolin" and "quokka."

Good thing my father didn't have a mug like this when he was alive. During our epic Scrabble battles, I did all I could to hoard the four "U" tiles so that if he did draw the "Q," it would be useless to him.

All those chances he missed to play "qaid," "qanat," "qat," "qindar," "qintar," "qiviut" and "qoph."

If he were here now, I might let him borrow the mug for one game.

(pause)

Naaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh ...

Back to the Scrabble Board (Just Not Yet)

Tea: Vanilla Chai

Music: Dresden Dolls, "Half Jack"

Time: Night.

I have played Scrabble once in the nine and a half years since my father died.

(We used to have epic battles, lasting hours. He'd always hoard the "Q," and I'd stash the "U" tiles. When he died, I buried the "Q" with him -- but, of course, I didn't send a "U" along with it.

The one time I played, since he died, was on a coffeehouse board. We got down to the end of the game: No "Q." I swear I could hear him laughing.

Today, my 15-year-old son pulled a game pack out of storage. Guess what's in there?

Yep -- a Scrabble set. A full one, no tiles missing.

I think it might be about time to play again ... about time to focus on what's possible with the living instead of what was lost to death.