It's the router.
Showing posts with label Chris - The Red Diamond. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chris - The Red Diamond. Show all posts
12/28/09
Merry Christmas to me
Once a year my former sweetie Chris visits from Seattle and always brings flowers and computer assistance.
It's the router.
It's the router.
8/21/09
Chris
My ancient computer (complete with tower) took a dive last week. I am reluctantly making the switch to my lap top which hasn't been turned on in many years.
While I lost all of my photo files of brick I did find these old photos of Chris Deckard on the lap top. Some were taken in my old store on S. Grand and others at my house.
Chris moved to Seattle a few years back. All the lights went out when he left.
Proof that Chris cleaned the dishes:
The Drive to Chicago circa 2000.
While I lost all of my photo files of brick I did find these old photos of Chris Deckard on the lap top. Some were taken in my old store on S. Grand and others at my house.
Chris moved to Seattle a few years back. All the lights went out when he left.
Proof that Chris cleaned the dishes:
The Drive to Chicago circa 2000.
8/19/07
CAT PAW PRINT
Last week was harsh.
The heat (flaunting the ability to vault over 100 degrees), another brutal biopsy and Chris leaving for the north west.
Chris missed his departure deadline last Sunday, he'd fallen behind rebuilding the BMW. Time had compressed for him and my intended time with him was threatened. I drove over to the garage.
I caught him referring to the motorcycle manual and expressed surprise: I thought you had been born with the blue prints to everything in your head!
The garage was a blistering environment with a tin roof, filtered and hesitant light and a fan that rattled and coughed the heat of hell at us. The air took on weight. Taking it in was an effort, as though it was wrapped inside layers of wet wool. The heat was like standing inside of dense fact.
I hung around for two hours. 105 degrees. I edged towards the garage door desperate for a breeze, glanced down and saw a cat print in the cement.
Look Chris, I said, pointing the print and showing off that I could see through sweat.
We stood shoulder to shoulder for a few moments staring at the paw print.
Chris is the best human being I've ever known.
The heat (flaunting the ability to vault over 100 degrees), another brutal biopsy and Chris leaving for the north west.
Chris missed his departure deadline last Sunday, he'd fallen behind rebuilding the BMW. Time had compressed for him and my intended time with him was threatened. I drove over to the garage.
I caught him referring to the motorcycle manual and expressed surprise: I thought you had been born with the blue prints to everything in your head!
The garage was a blistering environment with a tin roof, filtered and hesitant light and a fan that rattled and coughed the heat of hell at us. The air took on weight. Taking it in was an effort, as though it was wrapped inside layers of wet wool. The heat was like standing inside of dense fact.
I hung around for two hours. 105 degrees. I edged towards the garage door desperate for a breeze, glanced down and saw a cat print in the cement.
Look Chris, I said, pointing the print and showing off that I could see through sweat.
We stood shoulder to shoulder for a few moments staring at the paw print.
Chris is the best human being I've ever known.
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