Apparently Eric took me off of his blogroll due to the fact that I haven’t been posted anything in … what, 3 months?  I guess he gets picky about that sort of thing.  So, I will now begin blogging once again.

Some of you might say, “Isn’t that exactly what Wakeling wants?   You do know that’s exactly what he was hoping you would do, don’t you?  Why would you be willing to negotiate with terrorists?”  

My response to those questions would have to be, “meh.”

So I will once again give the whole blog thing a try.  Sorry if they aren’t as elegant as before.  I’m working under duress now.

In the meantime, I’d like to point out that Randy and Victor never took me off their blogs, so be sure to visit them and show them some love.

I went to an art exhibition today, and saw an object that struck me as odd.  (Not exactly a flowery word choice, but adequate none the less.)   It wasn’t at the gallery; the object was a jar located on a shelf in an antique store next door to the exhibition.  

The white label simple stated,         

#47              $18       Click here for image            

JAR OF CHERUBS                      

Why it registered in any way with me I don’t know, but I kept returning to the dusty wooden bookshelf to look into the jar.  Staring back at me were tiny synthetic cherubs hovering against the thin glass; specimens collected and preserved.

I passed by the shelf three times before finally giving into the urge of picking up the small glass jar.  As I unscrewed the black lid and inspected one of the small figures, the scent from inside the container reached my nose.  Even the aroma inside the container had a dreamlike sense to it; stale breath escaped past the yellowed lips of cherubs.   Carefully I returned the small putti to his initial position, floating atop the shoulders of his double, tightened the lid and rested the jar in its original place on the shelf.   

The figures were waiting to be released, but not by me.   For now they’re content to remain in their state of suspended animation, amongst mason jars filled with buttons, hooks and strings.

Years from now the shopkeeper will stumble across the empty jar, layered with dust, and wonder just how long it’s been since they decided to leave.  

I’m currently living in the subconcious intervals that occour between emotions.  The instant in time between the whispering of a secret and the response of your confidant.  Its the moment after you feel the first drop of rain lightly kiss your cheek, as you look towards the sky expecting another.  The suspention of belief as you leap into the air before you inevitably accept that you will come back down.    

It’s not depression, apathy or anhedonia.  It’s not a peace or a calm.   Its just waiting. 

 We just got back from London, and have spent about 2 days in New York.   London was amazing – we say a ton of museums, a few shows (Les’ Mis and Lord of the Rings, (yes, there is a LOTR the musical … it was awesome) and all of your basic London sights. 

Now we’re sightseeing in NY, doing the normal tourist things (yesterday was the Met, today we did the Empire State Building and Time Square.)  Still have lots to see, and not much time left.  We fly out on Thursday morning.  Wait … no one reads my blogs yet anyway, so I guess I’ll just wait till I get back to tell everyone about the trip.

It’s so little!  I can’t wait to nurture it and watch it grow.  Either that or ignore it until it dies and I find it in the corner two months from now.