Glow.

Around here (being the Pacific Northwest in these here United States of America), we have a little thing called rain. And though we all who are natives to this land have a love/hate relationship with rain, there are certain things we have come to expect about living in a place that remains so typically moist. Some things, it seems, are simply inevitable.

Head colds, for example.

Currently, my mum is a sufferer of the common cold, and when momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy (or so goes the adage...which could probably do with a few less double negatives, my opinion be known).

Because she specifically asked me, I decided to come out of retirement and once again take up the mantle of assassin...killer of colds. My uniform? A blue and green flowery apron. My weapons? A medium-sized saucepan and a bamboo spoon. My ammunition? Garlic, chicken broth, cayenne pepper, more garlic, black pepper, a pinch of salt, olive oil, and more garlic.

Yes, indeed, it's Garlic Soup time, again.

Seriously, guys. When you have a cold, drop me a line. I'll either send you the recipe or (if you live close enough) a vat of soup in the mail (messy, but worth it?).

Heck, when I'm living in a place big enough to accomodate it, I'll just run an infirmary around winter/late spring. Come on over for garlic soup, toast, and Frasier reruns.

Frankly, right now I'm just trying to decide if I should light my kerosene lamp. Pretty, of course. Illuminating, certainly. Stinky? Yes, sadly.

To end, a brief excerpt from one of my short stories. You're welcome.

And if you looked to the sidewalk between these two buildings, you would find a garden. A splash of colors and faces, wings and jewels and waves and creatures that no human eye has ever seen. You would find abysses of darkness and clouds upon high, lofty towers of light in a distant welkin no angel has ever lived in. Fields of flowers that no breeze can move, silken arms of women no man’s finger could ever caress. Palaces of azure seeming to loom into the alley, though they never leave the ground. Beaches of pearls, dogs chasing rolling crowns, and a pair of lions so real you might take a step or two backward. There, in the place between old and new, would you find dreamscapes and rolling plains from an imagination that fills in the spaces in space itself.
-Excerpt from "The Courtship of the Blue-Eyed Widow"

A cheery goodnight...

-The GLS