User Profile

Once again, my profile needs a good updating:

I am officially an ex-pat. I now have some kind of residency status (it's called "permanent" but the certificate is only good for one year), a job, a bank account, and a life, of sorts.

I live with my boyfriend of 7 years and two black cats, who resemble nothing so much as a pair of fur-covered vacuum cleaners when it comes to their food. For the most part, we all eat pretty healthfully; I'm a vegetarian but the Boy is not, and occasionally I will cook some kind of dead animal for him.

This poem, I think, describes pretty well the space I tend to occupy in just about every aspect of my life--"out there", but, I like to think, in a good way.

Where the Sidewalk Ends
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white,
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.

~Shel Silverstein

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