Sweet Spam

I received the following email today:
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Hi ,
I am Stephani, Remember me?
New Super Web Sites Opened.You Know?
Every Thing Here And Every Thing Super.
This is Not Dream!!! This is Real!!

This is Not Spam Mail.This is Reminder! Thanks.
---

Here was my reply:

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Dearest Stephani,

Of course I remember you. How could I forget? How long has it been? Five, six years? It seems like forever. But you know what I like about you, Stephani? (besides the bad English and the awkward spelling of your name) -- you're always thinking about other people. Just this morning I was thinking to myself: how can I get my hands on more "New Super Web Sites"? And then I get your wonderful email. You're a dream come true, Stephani. A prayer answered. You make Mother Theresa look like a bloated, rum-loving skank.

But there's one thing that hurts me, Stephanie. That you would think for one second that I would consider your sweet, poetic email to be spam. Of course I know you'd never send me spam. Of course I know that this is merely a "Reminder!" After all these years, you still worry what I think of you? Don’t you remember our quiet cottage in Salem? Don't you remember our three beautiful children?

Is this about Molly? Listen, I know all about how you abandoned her in the woods that one day you went crazy. Honestly Stephani, you can’t beat yourself up about that. I don't know anyone who doesn't consider two out of three non-abandoned children a glaring success. Arthur and Danny are both healthy and happy, functional adults -- living within the nurturing walls of the Nevada State Prison.

You’re wrong about one thing, you know -- that "This is Not Dream!!!” Of course this is a dream. Life with you has always been a dream. And I never want to wake up. Forget about the website, as wonderful as it sounds. I want "Every Thing Here And Every Thing Super" for the rest of my life. Come back to me, darling.

Ever devoted,
Jeremy

Bears

Bears hibernate for the winter, why can't I? It's only natural. For one thing, I have a lot in common with bears. We're both mammals, right? We're both cuddly. We both enjoy delicious salmon. And who am I to turn down a good mauling now and then?

So I think to myself: why not hibernate? And so I have, both metaphorically and literally. It's not that I don't want to leave at times--but there's something to be said about remaining comfortably lethargic. Indoors is warm. Outdoors is cold. Easy decision.

I'm missing out, of course. For one thing, no one ever told me how fun snow shoeing is. Sure, it certainly doesn't SOUND fun--trotting around in icy mush with tennis rackets attached to your feet. But it's deceptive like that. Even the uphill, stuck-in-deep-snow, wheezing for breath, even that is exhilarating. When the day is just right, and the cold is just the right amount of cold, and there's just enough sun shining, and just enough white landscape--it's all just enough to make you regret the warmth and the comfort. It makes you want to emerge more often--stretch--take a look around. What's the sense of loving the outdoors all but 4 months of the year?

I thought this on Saturday after arriving home exhausted, chunks of snow still stuck to the bottom of my boots. By Monday, I'd forgotten about it. I had the day off and was determined to waste it, to claim the right of deserved relaxation. A few hours I spent attempting a Nocturne. The rest, shopping for an easy chair. I visited 6 different stores. It's amazing the great efforts I will go to in order to more comfortably do nothing.

This is the pace of winter. I have projects to poke at. I have started pottery again. I go out on the weekends, and some nights. But I never feel like myself until things finally start to melt. Until I can go to work with the sun up, and come home with it still in the sky. As if I have no more control than those patient tree buds. Or those cuddly, smelly bears.

Happy New Year

If you weren't aware, they added an extra second to the clock this New Years -- to satisfy scientists' anal demands that the sun/earth revolution thing be completely accurate. So the question is: what did you do with your extra second of time?

I made the most of mine. Traveled the southern hemisphere. Got lost in the Amazon for at least half of that second. Left my job and became a farmer. Wrote a screenplay, weepy and poignant. Eloped and had two kids -- who were subsequently killed in a car accident. Mourned, and came to terms with things. Watched my fingernails grow...

Hope all your extra seconds were just as enlightening. If not, don't worry too much about it. You've got 31,556,926 more seconds to play with in 2006. Best get started.