I first heard about her in a tweet from William Gibson (@GreatDismal) on Saturday:

“Young woman protester on her back, bleeding out. Orbit of one eye a perfect unspilled pool of blood. Image burns in, indelible. History now.”

Her name was Neda.  She was caught on video just after being shot in the heart while protesting the Iran election.  Who shot her is unclear, and perhaps irrelevant.  She’s now the new face of revolution.

Yesterday, a link to an article featuring the video of Neda’s death showed up in my RSS feeds.

I am not brave enough to watch it.

Air Guitar Dude

Every community has its unique individuals.  One of ours is a rock star.

He wanders the streets of Federal Heights, playing air guitar to a capacity crowd that only he can see, making music that only he can hear.  He serenades Federal Boulevard in ragged Levis, concert T-shirt, and jean jacket vest, tapping out a rhythm with his foot, his long brown hair stirring in the wind created by the passing cars.  His wallet chain glints in the sunlight as he points to the crowd, his fretting hand still blazing, hammering out his never-ending solo.

Rock on, Air Guitar Dude.

Walking the Walk

I’m not a landscaper.  The last time I did any significant landscaping was when I worked on the grounds crew at my high school for a summer, nearly thirty years ago.

Nonetheless, my family and I have been working on transforming the small front yard of our home.  It’s going slowly, but I can say this much: we have a small pavestone sidewalk in place.  It still needs a little leveling before I lift the stones temporarily to put anti-weed fabric down, but it’s usable now.

I get a silly joy out of walking the length of that little sidewalk.


Months — years — of creditor phone calls are finally over, as of tonight.  Armed with a case number, I no longer have to fear picking up the phone when I don’t recognize the number.  The looming bugbear of garnishment has been defeated (in theory), and with responsible money management, maybe we can begin to make progress, instead of just making up lost ground.  I see a light in the distance that just might be hope.  Everyone tells me I’m doing the right thing, that things will turn around quickly.

So when do I start feeling relieved, rather than guilty?