Dear Diary – Mars Risin' – SeaDate 260809

August 10, 2026

The be never stops, no matter the color of the honey.

SUNDAY 5AM

Today... is a day. Not a great day. A challenging and unexpected day.

It started with early frustration.

Waking at five and simply existing, slipping in and out of lucidity. Intense dreams kept bleeding into reality. Moon was still up, brilliant as a day star, bright enough to illuminate the Well.

The dreams wouldn't let me go.

Hands. Fingers. Toes. Whispers and shouts. Nothing unpleasant. Just intense, insistent, almost physical.

I woke carrying a hunger that had nowhere to go.

Someone was there in the dream, close enough to touch, willing and warm, while the rest of the world seemed impossibly far away. Another presence lingered at the edge of it all, unconcerned, as though none of this had anything to do with her.

For a while, the dream kept asking.

I kept refusing.

Apparently moon was going to have to learn to live with disappointment.

Byt 6:45 she started to stir. And quickly sprung to life. This is new. When she left before school, I rarely saw her before 9, more usually 11. Today though. Life found her early. Apparently getting up for an 8 hour class every day for a week shifted some patterns.

But she was grouchy. Don't like that.

A burning orange ray of sunshine shot through the gap in the curtain and filled my retina with a lovely warmth but blinding light. Sitting up, I started to describe the dappling patterns, the bees at the roses. This will only last moments, glorious works of art like this cannot sustain.

The best things in life are temporary. Thankfully, they are also cycles.

I wonder if the greedy could commodify the glory of a sunrise, they would? Box it and brand it, selling on the shelf of a big box store. The rich could buy deluxe versions and vintage versions of sunrises over famous events.

This is a rich man's sunrise enjoyed by a pauper who feels glorious and rich as the light crawls down by slumped body on the edge of the bed. I want to run out into the wet grass and soak it all up.

But Oscar, she's not having it. She wants to 'talk'.

I, a master communicator, negotiate a kinder space. We read a chapter about Abraham and Sarah. Half brother and sister who married and set out on adventure. The story describes Sarah as a real stunner. The prettiest in all the land. I comment on the illustration; it show Sarah dutifully by her man. Not a worry in the world. So much love and respect in her heart. She clearly very deeply esteemed that man.

I dont' deserve this level of admiration. But I desire it.

Deeply.

Is it possible that it is what I desire most?

I thought I had earned it. I definitely lost it if I did. But, just between you me? I don't think everyone is capable of giving that kind of loyalty and dedication. OR, if they are, it takes the perfect fit.

The conversation turns back to the challenges of personality. This person fails this way. I have disappointed that. It's not ugly. But I start to defend and reason when I realize I am attempting to defend my own sanity.

and when we first set forth to convince others we are sane, we have lost.

So, I go into 'yes dear'. That trusty subroutine of letting it out. Someimtes you just need a wall to throw things at. Maybe a gym adn a punching bag would be a better solution.

Back to the Top

Blue Honey

By 845, it's clear that this morning will require complete attention. Being gone so long, she's built up a need to tell me everything on her mind. She spent the week with her youngest sister. They were never teh best of friends. Loving each other? yes. But youngest is a bit of a control freak and doesn't have the patience my better half needs to thrive.

“Let's go to breakfast.” I suggest, and it is readily agreed. In short order we're driving around this little burg on a Sunday morning and realize quickly that options are limited. But the morning is beautiful and the drive enjoyable.

Some subjects we wade into a heavy. There is conversation about me and who I have become. Things I have done which she doesn't like and for which I cannot defend. And to try to just sounds like excuses. And when they don't they are painted that way regardless.

It's not fun. But I think it is necessary.

A week with her sister and a day with her Mom refreshes the old personality in which she was raised.

I reminder her that blue honey comes from somewhere.

“Blue honey?” she asks.

In North Carolina, there is a rare and strange phenomenon of beekeepers finding blue and purple honey in their hives. Not yellow blue or gold-blue. Bright rich colors of blue or purple.

They don't know for certain why it happens. A master beekeeper who directs the Native Bee Conservancy of Washington State, says that a lot of circumstantial evidence points to the inky-violet flower of the kudzu. But there's doubt because bees can't pierce the skin.

In at least one instance in France, a beekeeper found flourescent blue honey. Unnaturally blue. Investigation discovered that the bees ha found an open container of the blue dye used in M&M's at a candy factory. They were just drinking the blue syrup and creating gorgeous honey.

Probably NOT labeled 'organic', just 'cool'.

She stares at me blankly. “Aaaaand?”

“I'm just pointing out that the color of our person comes from somewhere. We are an amalgamation of our parents, our life, and those with whom we spend time.

Then the conversation turns to if I am depressed.

The point is missed and I am powerless to do little but feed her a burrito and coffee.

Coffee makes everything better. Even though it isn't blue.

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Lest Ye Be Judged

We go to a meeting and discuss the future of the human race, God's hope that everyone listen to his commands. The speaker is squirrelly and has clearly failed to prepare adequately.

In the fist 10m of the 30 minute discourse, he asks the question “Why?”, more that 40 times. As a former public speaker, I know this loop: You have clever premise, you get stuck in it because you didn't prepare well enough and lose what comes next, so you keep repeating the 'clever' thing thinking it sounds like you're doing a bit, but really you're lost.

He was lost. Poor guy.

Then 22 minutes into his 30 minute outline, he just stops talking and walks off the stage. The audience was stunned. No clapping. Just crickets. We had no idea what was going on.

The following discussion was all about judging other people. The point was: everyone gets to make their own decisions, unless what they do is violating God's laws leave them to it. Try to make decisions that won't be too hard for others to accept.

My dear dear wife. She come from a very judgmental family. They have opinions about what EVERYONE should be or not be. It comes from Queen Bee Mom.

So we spend half an hour discussing what Jesus said in Matthew 19:13—'I want mercy, not sacrifice.'

Jesus came for the sinners, the broken, the disenfranchised. Not the shiny perfect righteous folks. So, every single one of us called to know God are some form of broken. Oh, we pretend to be better than that, but we're not. Try it long enough and you'll find out. You cannot be something you are not. You're going to give in to that which you desire most unless you trust God completely.

So those who 'do bad things' aren't wicked. Hell, they aren't even weak. They just get lost in the weeds of being a human being. They do very very human things. How terrible that we see those who fall short of God's standards and say they are somehow 'less' or 'bad' or, God forbid, 'wicked'.

Low sinks of debaucher are not where lovers of God get. They simply fail. make real mistakes that they may carry with them their whole lives. There's not need for us to remind them of the scars they carry.

Ask me how I know.

In fact, making some pretty hard pushes against God's boundaries has had some interesting personalty developments. I absolutely have WAY more compassion for those who can't meet those standards consistently.

Regardless, we just don't need to constantly point out how bad people are. They're not. They are just doing the BEST they can. It's possibly less best as us, maybe more.

But love lets us accept them.

Big ships turn slowly, but we'll get turned eventually to see one another with love and not judge them by their least appealing qualities.

Hell, some of my least appealing qualities are my ability to love other people. I don't want that to go away. I like it. And others like it in me.

YMMV.

Back to the Top

Whiling

She is very tired. So we turn off the house and our lives and just lay in bed for the afternoon. She sleeps. I slip in and out, fighting against going in too deep. I don't want to flip my schedule back to up all nights.

So I have strange dreams talking to old friends an lost llamas. They are nonsensical and I don't think they mean anything.

After an hour, I decide it's time for some work. Get a head start.

But I fall down teh well of file-keeping and learning javascript. I don't need to. But I have a compelling desire to know how this stuff all works.

I break the site. Then I fix it.

Then I write.

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Stolen Picasso Returned!

I read in the news this morning that an original Pablo Picasso etching which had been stolen from Milwaukee almost a decade ago had been returned. The owner reported that someone had simply walked in picked it off the wall and walked out of the gallery.

Worth about $50k it was gone for 8 years.

Then someone walked in with it to the police station adn gave it back.

Picasso in 1949.

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Mars Ascends

A glorious night here in Texas Mars is shining bright overhead. The crickets are relaxed and the breeze is making it cool outside. It’s a spectacular night to sit out. I think we’ll make nachos and watch a movie. What movie though?

Cinderella Story – Hillary Duff

Everything's all wrong, yeah Everything's all wrong, yeah Where the hell did I think I was?