Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

Introducing… Kona!

You can rest assured that we’d never ask opinions on naming our human children, but canine children are another story. Should we happen to pick up a puppy this afternoon, she’d need a name. We’re looking at girl chocolate Labs. Here’s what I’ve come up with so far:

Kona
Godiva
Mocha
Margarita (to match our big yellow Cuervo guy)
Tootsie
Puddin
Bonnie
Kahlua
Kiss
Snickers
Añeja

I’m leaning towards Godiva, though I also like hub’s favorites of Kona and Mocha. Anyone have any suggestions?

We’re going to look at puppies tomorrow, the siblings of this guy.

Sorry, gotta go, it’s time for my medication.

Things having to do with “rainbow” that make me cry:

Somewhere Over the Rainbow as sung by Judy Garland. My grandmother’s favorite song. I miss her when I hear it.

The Rainbow Connection. No idea why. Nostalgia? Mourning Jim Henson? The lyrics?

The Rainbow Bridge poem. Shit, I can’t even look at the title without choking up.

Sunday night, the best show on all of television starts a new season – Six Feet Under returns for season three. I’ve been spoiler diving and there’s apparently a very interesting twist in the first 15 minutes, as well as some cool stuff happening in the next few episodes.

All your [iSONEWS] are belong to the Feds.

I don’t feel like I can write particulars, since this isn’t my own tragedy, but a friend of mine just lost someone very close to her today and I’m afraid of slipping into platitudes. Grieving people don’t want to hear about how it was God’s plan or that it’s better this way. They want to rail at the unfairness of it all, to feel like Funeral Blues by W.H. Auden. Oddly enough, having been on both sides – comforted and comfortee – it’s easy to remember what it’s like to experience deep grief, and easier still to say those senseless things that never bring anyone comfort. Even though there is no happiness without sadness, how in the hell is telling that to a grieving person going to help?

Strangely I think that one of the best grief scenes I’ve seen came from Stephen King’s Pet Sematary, where the father loses his son and is so numb that at the funeral all he can do is count how many times people tell him “He’s with the angels now” or other such nonsense.

I’m really taking the Mr. Rogers thing hard. I’ve been teary-eyed all day long. Am I the only one?