OK then, where were we? My head's been so scrambled lately with such a diverse amount of ya-ya, I'm not sure quite where it is, nor what's quite normal right now. Perhaps a bit of blogging will help straighten it all out, eh?
The holidays did a whammy on me. I'm exhausted. Even with a brief run down to the Lowcountry to admire the view and the marsh perfume, I only succeeded in stirring up emotions and associations and relationships that sometimes should just be left the hell alone.
So it's back to the safety and routine of the ATL. I'll just sit here and contemplate this striking image of what should be home until I render myself suitably situated. If only returning home was filled with such grand serenity. Sometimes home is best contemplated from afar.
And whatever I do, I'm going to sit down and read a least two of the many books given to me for Christmas. While I am pleased that people acknowledge me as an avid reader, as is another of my favorite bloggers, if only I had the leisure time to read 'em. My mother gave me another pointless biography of yet another utterly pointless example of wacko Euro royalty, Princess Alice of Battenberg, the mother of Prince Philip. Talk about a case she was! I can't wait to get to the part where she escapes from the mental hospital to go help the poor. Jeez-us.
Actually Alice, despite suffering from crippling bouts of religion and schizophrenia, managed to actually do something during WWII, unlike most of her pointless Euro-trash relations. She helped save a Jewish woman and her family from the Gestapo, by hiding them under her tiara or nun's habit, presumably -- whatever it was she felt like wearing that year. As I said, what a case. And quite a good read I must admit.
Above shot of Sullivan's Island courtesy of dear friend of a dear friend (Joey "Joe Bob" Hindman), Steve Rhea.