I have been remiss.

It occurred to me today that I haven't been blogging regularly here for one specific reason: I was waiting for ideas of deep and resonant literary merit to come along for me to write about.

I realize now that that's just silly: I hardly have time to read anymore. Where on earth would I find such ideas? So a new (old) idea: Rather than wait for ideas and content to come to me, I'll simply record what I'm up to. Because some of it's just downright weird.

For instance! I'm growing a mustache.

You heard me.

A mustache.
Like this:

November is now Movember - men all over the ... US? I think... are growing lush mustaches to support one another in their triumph against prostate and testicular cancer. (I said testicular!! OMG.) And they've allowed us women to join with them.

My husband is/was a pro cyclist and cyclocross rider. And from what I understand (I have no statistics) cyclists are cautioned to have their prostates checked earlier than usual.

Anyway, by Movember 30th, I'll be mustachioed and I hope the men in my life will be able to see past the silliness to how deeply I care for them and wish them health and longevity.

(Plug: If you want to support my mustache, go here. It only costs $10, but if I make $20, I can buy two!! The money goes to research. I get the mustache. And my husband. Win-win-win!)

The need for change bulldozed a road down the center of my mind.

There once was a girl. She cut her own hair and wore what she pleased (and declined to wear what she didn't please). She wasn't very good with numbers or distance, or money or time. But she could weave worlds with her words. This girl worked very hard to have a few nice things: a well-lighted home, a stocked pantry, and of course, books. But what she dearly wished was to pay her bills with words, to feast on them every night, and to wake up to a fresh torrent of words every day. One day, the girl decided that was it! She'd had enough. She said, "That's it! I've had enough. I will live by my words. It may not be easy, and sometimes it may not be fun, but it is what I am and what I do, so I will be it and do it with every particle of myself." That day, the girl stepped one foot off the path - the path that was so heavily trod by so many many feet before her that it was smooth and broad and far too easy to follow - and she felt the grass between her toes. The sunshine seemed warmer and thicker, the air beside the path was less dusty, and her nose was no longer filled with the scents of sweat and tears and pain. That day the girl always remembered as the "Grass Between My Toes" day. That day was the end of something old and routine and tired and the beginning of something fresh and frightening and right.