the third anniversary of the tragedies which brought my little ship of fools together is passing. despite the psycho snot knots which i untangle here, i am risking the sin of pride over how well we have stabilized and the new normal we have created as a family. the two older children are happy with their school and in danger of having a real-time social network all their own. i still miss my beloved rivers mightily, but the farm restoration project seems to be transitioning into a viable agriculture llc. the dust still itches my nose while i shake my head sadly over what locals call, "a river," but i'm finding new things to appreciate in the great plains ecosystem.

dare i risk contentment? sure as i do, some group of masked (either metaphorical or literal) bandits will come storming up the driveway to take it all away from me. to quote woody guthrie, some will rob you with a six gun and some with a fountain pen.

again i leave the mood icon on the rapid cycling median. plying mindfulness tools. . . i'm a few fries short of a happy meal, but i've worked with less. i think. . . in my own case, the crazy person really is the last person to know. i seem to be the only one who is fooled by my metaphorical masks.

reality checks requested. am i making sense?