Ian and I have shared many magical
moments. One with the most potential
for a "CSI" episode was when we were
coming back from a show together, and
ran into a little old foreign (Polish?
Yugoslavian???) woman just coming off
a bus. There was noone else around for
miles, and she had like 10 plastic bags
filled with groceries and belongings and
possibly her husband's corpse with her.
There was no way she could manage all
of them, and so Ian, being the lanky and
handsome gentleman he is, offered to
help carry them. We each took 3 or 4
bags (I swear to Whomever there was
body parts or sacred artifacts in them)
and schlepped them how-ever-many
blocks to this woman's apartment. She
knew no English at all, and I could tell
that Ian was as scared as I was that she
was going to invite us up to her place.
We ended up dropping the bags off at
her stoop; she was eternally grateful, but
still never told us what was in the plastic
bags. Ian and I have our theories.....
Although Ian is highly addictive, fate
has kept me in check by only allowing
me to have him my presence for five
minutes a day. That's the time of a
long commercial break, a cigarette, or
the attention span of anyone born
after 1984.
you can sense the goodness in some
people more than others because it oozes
out shamelessly with every judgment,
action, and word. ian is one of those
people. he is sincere, modest, wise,
full of creative fire, and even a bit
psychic. plus his ancestors colonized
mine. i have a feeling mine walked away
enchanted.
old man's eyes and little boyish grins. sunlit
tables with coffee cups and sketchpads.
peculiar small neat handwriting and a guitar.
ian can't decide if he likes computers or not,
which is probably a good trait. other than
that, he is admirable in his constant
ENGAGEMENT with life's pulses and twitches.
he is the cat's pajamas.
moments. One with the most potential
for a "CSI" episode was when we were
coming back from a show together, and
ran into a little old foreign (Polish?
Yugoslavian???) woman just coming off
a bus. There was noone else around for
miles, and she had like 10 plastic bags
filled with groceries and belongings and
possibly her husband's corpse with her.
There was no way she could manage all
of them, and so Ian, being the lanky and
handsome gentleman he is, offered to
help carry them. We each took 3 or 4
bags (I swear to Whomever there was
body parts or sacred artifacts in them)
and schlepped them how-ever-many
blocks to this woman's apartment. She
knew no English at all, and I could tell
that Ian was as scared as I was that she
was going to invite us up to her place.
We ended up dropping the bags off at
her stoop; she was eternally grateful, but
still never told us what was in the plastic
bags. Ian and I have our theories.....
has kept me in check by only allowing
me to have him my presence for five
minutes a day. That's the time of a
long commercial break, a cigarette, or
the attention span of anyone born
after 1984.
people more than others because it oozes
out shamelessly with every judgment,
action, and word. ian is one of those
people. he is sincere, modest, wise,
full of creative fire, and even a bit
psychic. plus his ancestors colonized
mine. i have a feeling mine walked away
enchanted.
tables with coffee cups and sketchpads.
peculiar small neat handwriting and a guitar.
ian can't decide if he likes computers or not,
which is probably a good trait. other than
that, he is admirable in his constant
ENGAGEMENT with life's pulses and twitches.
he is the cat's pajamas.