It's winter. I'm hibernating.
No urge to blog lately. Raging at the episcopal doorstops who fiddle as Roman Catholicism burns seems to be a great waste of time. They're there till they die, are on the receiving end of a criminal investigation, or have an attack of integrity. Yes, number three is sheerest fantasy, but what can I say--I'm a sci-fi/fantasy nerd.
All I can do is help my beloved edit some of the defective catechetical materials used at the parish and run a faithful bible study.
Fear not--I'll detonate at some point in the future. But for now, the powder's simply not dry enough.
Home life has been bittersweet. We investigated a Catholic school for Maddie, and while the school passed my inquisitorial sniff test, we crunched the numbers and came to the conclusion that a new house has to take precedence. Casa Price, despite our continuing efforts to relegate massive quantities to storage, is simply too small for us anymore. So, we're going to use the tax return to tart 'er up and sell as fast as we can.
Which, in our neighborhood, looks to be about a year. Yet another nightmare, but naught else to be done.
The children continue to grow, with Madeleine now calling me "Dad." Not "Dah-ee" or "Daddy," but "Dad." It's still jarring. I imagine "Daaaaaaaaaaad....." comes later.
Mercifully, D3 and Rachel still call me "Daddy" and "Dah-ee," respectively. That helps. Some.
Not so much as an inch of snow on the ground here in Metro Detroit, which doesn't help my mood. If I wanted an extended, rain-soaked autumn, I'd move to Washington, thanks. On the bright side, perhaps it's a byproduct of the Pistons playing red-hot basketball (be very, very afraid, Victor).
Oh, and those of you monitoring Super Bowl hype buildup should know that Motown is entirely in the bag for the Steelers. The local bars started rolling out the "Welcome, Stiller Fans!" red carpets during the middle of last week. No similar "Welcome, Latte-Swilling Communists!" for Seahawk fans. Not even from the Starbucks outlets.
Sorry, grungies, we just can't relate.
More later, as inclination permits.