My beloved was moved to the cardiac ward last night. Just before/during the early phases of the latest heart yaddahs, he was talking about the latest phone call from his father. My husband is ???conflicted??? over the idea of being his father's newest defective. He has already pressed the services of his professional family, etc. The last thing either of us want is another U-haul full of gaseous silver platter opportunities landing on our doorstep. It is not a good week for another impromptu yard sale... Our homestead is already over-stuffed.

Daddy Gasbucks and his executive entourages are once more occupying WA-A-A-AY more of my mind than I can afford to give them. My current prayer is that venting them here will clear space for more constructive thoughts.

The good news is that I have the house to myself this morning. My guitar therapy has been flowing in blessed relief of pent up anxieties in recent weeks. With my no-name guitar on a strap, I wander whatever space is available to me, stretching, deep-breathing and soaking up sonic vibrations of the guitar through the back of its sound board against my knotted belly. I have found myself calling it, "Guit-chi."

Think I'll go sing some angry songs...

"Tain't nobody here but this geezer
"Tain't nobody to complain or squall
"Think I'll scream and sing
"Let the living tones ring
"Cause there tain't nobody here but this geezer."

Thanks again for letting me ramble. Thoughts are still chaotic, but... Small bytes and long chews...