A Book of Rogues and Imposters

Hail Rome.* **

A few things have changed this year. I've got a new job. I've got a new house--hell, three households and multiple individuals I know moved this year. (And hey, the rest of you? Why not go for it? You can scramble address books and misplace half your kitchen in one go! It's great! Really!) (Yes, I've had both caffeine and wine tonight. Is anyone surprised?)

Bad Things have happened this year. Survivable Things have happened this year. Weirdness*** has happened.

Variations on these things tend to transpire every year. It's a peculiarity of the passage of time. '07 was perhaps exceptionally rife with personally affecting Things.


I'm no priestess--I don't offer blessings (and if I did one could safely assume laughter from the blessed), for new years, calendar changes or whatever else you'd like to call the deepest stages of darkness of the planet's axial tilt for the northern hemisphere.

But if I did, I'd bless people with light when they need it, solitude when they wish it, and if not the Right Tool At The Right Time, a tool that serves the purpose when it's reached for.




*: Cheese and Cake are available in the back. :)
**: Ever wondered about the December 31/January 1 calendar year change? One more thing to blame on the Romans. :D
***: Floods! Fires! Distressing Smells That Do Not Have An Obvious Organic Origin!

To those who end the year with the harvest, welcome to the new. Bread to you, sheaves of grain and fire, the swift return of the sun.

To those of you who dress up and laugh at the dark, happy hallowe'en. Candy corn and jack o lanterns to you, rum and laughter.

To those of you who stand at the edges--candles. Salt. The sulphur of matches, the smell of woodsmoke, spirals of apple peels and cloved cider. Another year, another day, respect to the dead and a sweet song to the living. Another story, another memory, another vision seen through a veil.

My grandfather served in WWII--as a clerk, I think. He is gone, and I never had the chance to ask what he wanted remembered about it.

So all I offer to the gone is nameless memory, and respect.