In Memory of David L. Leimbach

Dear David,

It's your cousin here in St. Louis. I wish I knew where to start this letter, but when it comes down to a time such as this, I suppose that it really doesn't matter. I know we haven't seen each other in ten or so years, since you made a career of the military and all, but I want you to know how much you mean to all of us, and how much we'll miss you.

My last visual memory of you is from Grandma's funeral back in 1997. I was nearly catatonic with grief most of that day, but I vividly remember you in your Marine dress blues. I remember how you stood at the rear of the chapel before the service began, your uniform arranged in perfect presentation, crisp crimson lines on deep blue, regalia placed upon your chest without a millimeter's imprecision. You balanced your white cap with perfect symmetry on your forearm as you held the solid presence and reserve we all needed that day.

As the service began, our whole family gathered in a small room to shield us from the finality of closing Grandma's casket. Do you remember that? As the doors to the room closed, I witnessed something I will never forget - your white-gloved hands holding the shoulders of your parents, the sound of your sobbing, your tears falling down your heroic face and landing on the tops of your impeccably shined shoes as we all mourned as a family. To anyone who says that the military turns people into savage murderers, I offer this image.

This week, David, we are mourning our loss of you.

My memories of childhood summers are dotted with you in the pictures. I recall the nighttime jug-fishing excursions with your dad and my brother (I was always left behind), flying leaps from a dock at the lake house in backwoods Missouri, playing endless rounds of cards with Grandma, hitting all the landmarks in St. Louis when you came to town. I can still hear you, at about the age of fourteen or so, near tears as you pleaded with your dad not to make you hurt that monstrous fish. I remember it all.

After your years in the Marine Corps, you went into the Army National Guard. This latest tour was your second in Afghanistan. Your unit from South Carolina came home earlier this month; you chose to stay behind. I know you chose to stay and help that unit from New York not because of any beliefs you held about this war, or about your service being the patriotic thing to do, or for any reason that the propaganda might offer. You stayed because you wanted to help some guys out - guys just like you, the kid I remember.

I found out today that your unit came under attack with small arms fire and rocket-propelled grenades. I don't even want to think about it. I want to believe that you were not the last one standing. I want to believe that you went quickly. Most of all, I want to know that God, in His divine power, let you feel all of the love from your lifetime all at once, carrying you on to the next place.

The one peace I have right now is that Grandma has her David back in her arms. Someday, God-willing, we'll all be together again just like we were at the lake. Until then, please know how much I love you and how immensely honored I am to have been able to call you family.

Hittin' the Streets

For those of you who've followed this blog for a while, I think you understand my love of both poetry and hip-hop. You also know I've been pounding the pavement and adding millions of miles to my car while street teaming for Jason and the Beast. Now you'll understand why. Check it.

You can leave anonymous comments on the site. Please show Jason some love. What he is doing truly crosses cultural, educational, socio-economic and a list of other boundaries.

Peace and love.

DOWN WITH COFFEE

I've got a monkey on my back and his name is Juan Valdez! (Thank you Jack McFarland)

I am currently suffering from not only a case of the marital fuck-its but also a scorching case of OCD (Obsessive Coffee Disorder). I refuse to even tally up the amount of money I've spent in the last week on coffee and miscellaneous coffeehouse crap. Between Starbucks, Murdoch Perk, Borders, Barnes & Noble, Wired Coffee, and Kaldi's, I could have supported several families in Myanmar. This makes me a complete asshat. So I have been attempting to do more of the grind here at home.

The Fates are not happy.

The other night when I totaled my flash drive, what was I doing? Returning from the kitchen with a fresh cup from the Cuisinart (thank you, Fana). Disaster. Last night, while heading back with a cup of coffee from the kitchen, guess what? ANOTHER BIGGER MORE TREACHEROUS DISASTER!

Kids, this totally sucks ass because it happened on a total FUCK-IT Day. I heard running water as I came down the upstairs hallway with my coffee. I peaked into the upstairs bathroom to see if maybe LD had been playing with the faucet or something. NO SUCH LUCK! Instead, I heard water hitting the bathroom floor as a large puddle began to spread across the tile.

The fucking toilet tank (CLEAN WATER PEOPLE!) cracked. I immediately went into home-improvement superheroine mode and attempted to shut the water off at the wall. The damn valve got stuck. So I shoved a bucket under the crack and ran to grab the phone to call my dad (thank God he only lives a few miles away) because, after all, Hubs was at work at 1 AM. And then I heard the second crack in the tank. All I could think was "HOLY SHIT, KIDS! GRAB YOUR LIFE VESTS!"

It was hell. HELL, I SAY! The water ran down between the walls and into the basement, so I had that clean-up to deal with in addition to the water all over the bathroom floor. Bonus - even my dad struggled to get the water shut off, so I don't feel too badly about my lack of LONE WOMAN AT HOME IN CRISIS MODE POWER.

So much for that tax return.

Fuck the home brew. Got to go see Jared and Rob at Starbucks. MUST HAVE COFFEE...

I'm out.

Burning the Midnight Oil. Also: GAH!

OK. The original title I had picked earlier for this post was "Inner Peace." Let the irony of this not be lost on you. And then hell, handbag... you get the picture.

I was going to ask all of you Internets if you were of the opinion that I should add yoga (peace = balancing chakras) or kickboxing (peace = I'M GONNA KICK YOUR ASS) to my fitness program. However, my sister has informed me that kickboxing is a better approach for my current level of stress. Who knew?

SOOOOO - burning the midnight oil. Yeah. The number one rule of writing when using a PC is to have your working copy, a back-up copy, and a hard copy AT ALL TIMES. Guess who got lazy and didn't triple check to make sure that her GHOSTWRITING PROJECT was saved in two different locations? And she didn't print a hard copy because she was so close to the end that it would have been wasting paper? And then proceeded to leave her office to get another cup of coffee to finish up? And then came back into the office and

BROKE HER FUCKING FLASH DRIVE WITH HER FOOT AS SHE SAT DOWN!!! GAH!

Yeah. Sweet deal, eh?

You totally wish you were me right now. I just know it.

And for Tessie: This is why all of my personal stuff is in notebooks. I kick it old school.

The 100th Post

Really? No shit?! Yes, this is the 100th post. Can I get a HELL YEAH??? Although, I've been a deadbeat blogger as of late, so perhaps I owe you bitches an explanation.

I'm taking on an array of projects these days and am allowing them to occupy the white space that should be filled with how to deal with some Major Bullshit. I won't fill you in on the details of said bullshit here; let's leave that for the Pink Apartment I'm working on renting. WHICH, I may add, I would already be living in EXCEPT that [other blog site] won't let me FUCKING LOG IN ALREADY! Ahem. So, I present for your viewing pleasure, the list of projects (i.e. Tools of Bullshit Avoidance) which keep me running full speed from my worries:

1) my own writing
2) collaborating with artist Sharlene Kindt
3) street teaming for Jason and the Beast
4) editing and potentially ghostwriting for, well, a "ghost"
5) starting up a web zine (I registered the domain, but nothing's built yet)
6) potentially writing lyrics with my brother
7) attending every poetry reading possible in the metro area

Aside from these things, I am still Chief Executive Nose-Wiper and running a household of 3 (plus one large irreverent dog).

So, yeah, I'm fucking busy. But it's how this game is best played for me. I need to get back on here every day, firstly because you wenches ROCK and secondly because I hate missing the damn party. I'm still short on snark and sarcasm. FUCKING GAH!

If anyone can find where I left that box of FUCKING HILARITY, please drop it by. And leaving it on the stoop with a bottle of Grey Goose would be extra groovy. Oh, the hell with it. Just make it Mad Dog. These are tough times.