Changes

I believe the David Bowie song begins with the stutter: "Chah chah chah changes . . . " and goes on to sing of the changes that occur in one's life. And that's where it's at for Thas and me right now--chah changes. I am not just chah changing addresses, I'm chah changing countries; I'm chah changing from baseball to hockey; chah changing from living amongst litter and schizophrenic commuters to living with people who wear tee shirts without jackets in the winter; chah changing from the Rangers to the Senators, the Yankees to the . . . well, the Yankees. We are beginning to box up our lives and it isn't even Boxing Day--a day that I only recently learned had nothing to do with pugilistic arts. 

I hope my working papers go through quickly so I can again work at not making money in real estate. Maybe it'll be different in Ottawa--maybe people are real and not just playing head games with brokers and when they say they want to rent an apartment, they mean it, and they aren't working with twenty other brokers, wasting the time of nineteen, and sometimes all twenty. Maybe I'll be happy in Canada--I really believe I will be. I will have Thasneem and Shabana and Frankie and Frankie's quirky family who I adore. I will have a more secure sense that the buildings around me will not be toppled by crazy bastards in jet planes who think they act on behalf of a god who thinks that it's okay to kill his or her children. (I still believe there's a good case to make that god is a woman, and if Mohammed and Moses and Jesus were chicks, god would be a chick too--but I digress). 

I love the idea of owning our own place--and owning it with the woman I love, admire and would die for--if she could bottle her smile, there would be world peace and there would be five cent refunds on smiles.