One last post regarding the TPM Chip-in event we organized two weeks ago.  To call it a phenomenal success would be the understatement of the year!

The costs that were incurred by seashell and thepeoplechoose have been reimbursed, although there is no amount of money in the world that can repay their generosity of character and spirit.  Seashell, take an extended bow.

The long journey The Old Grouch selflessly agreed to undertake in order to tie up loose ends (and the related expenses), turned out to be unnecessary.  Truth be told, I think both he and DickDay were disappointed by that fact.  Another time, boys.

The remaining funds contributed with so much love and joy have been forwarded to DickDay.  Don't tell him I said this, but I see a new pair of burn-hole-free PJ's, a six pack of beer and a carton of cigarettes in his future.  Shhh!  There he is ... pretend we're talking about something else.

Finally - a personal moment, if I may.  Were it not for Face (I don't know how to do an upside-down question mark) none of this would have taken place.  He stood up and declared his desire to help, with a clear and succinct idea.  Such a simple thing.  Yet, in this world of ours, so rare.  Because of him, the Cafe banded together and made it happen.  Thoughts flew, fingers typed, a community flowered and a life was changed.  To have been a part of that miracle is a memory I will treasure forever. 

As I will forever treasure you.  Thank you.   

Look at the time.  Sleep eludes me, so I'll write.  Usually I do it in silence, within the boundaries of my mind.  Tonight I feel like writing out loud.  Forgive me for taking up space with my ramblings - but if not me, who?  It's the beauty of the tick-tocks between night and morning which reveal the sliver of ambiguity.  My time.  I hesitate and I waste, I languish and I lose.  Yet I revel in the very need to hurry as I take my time.

Peace and quiet.  As I listen to the silence roar in my head I contemplate the nothingness.  You are all asleep and dreaming of angels and warriors, watching yourselves fly and fearing your nakedness.  I am watching you. Smiling at the very idea that I could be one of you, if I only were.  Shhh ... don't allow me to disturb you as I wander through your subconscious.  My steps are bare, my observance benign.  I am only hoping to catch a glimpse of the promise that you will bring to the daylight. 

My time.  It is almost gone.  So precious, so rare is this chasm in the universe that knows my name for only an instant.  Perhaps I will be lost, as the dream of yours disappears.  When you awaken as I sleep you will vaguely wonder about the barefooted shadow.  You will quickly forget.  You always do.

I will remember.  After all, it's my time.