Our laptop has decided to have issues again. The trackpad has decided to stop working, which is inconvenient since our spare mouse is at Rudi’s office.

Photos of the quilt will have to wait one extra day until he brings the mouse home with him.

In the meantime, tomorrow we’re going to see North Country after work. I’m looking forward to it (and, because of that, I cajoled Rudi into writing the paper due on Tuesday tonight instead of goofing off and having fun).

Don’t you think the heavens would have moved on technologically with the rest of us by now?

I mean, maybe it’s a bit of a push to expect that they had reached the podcast or blog state. But, on the other hand, we might reasonably expect that they had acquired email. I mean, Gramma has sent emails before. And Aunt Maude sends them quite regularly.

Okay, okay. You’re right. The heavens are substantially than either of them. But how about a phone call? Or, even, a telegram? I could even put up with the singing kind, although I’d prefer that they keep their clothes on.

I’d even settle for a letter.

That’s it. The heavens could send a nice letter.

Dear soe,

You have acquired too much clutter in your life.

Please reduce it. It’s really better for your mental state over the long run.

Thanks for your quick attention to this matter.

Sincerely,

The heavens

I mean, if you received that kind of letter, don’t you think you’d pay attention to it?

I would — particularly if it came first class. A nice letter. Even a postcard would do.

But, no. The heavens don’t seem to believe in correspondence. Too New Testament for them…

Instead they seem to believe we need an Old Testament kind of message.

And since it’s a bit out of season for pestilence, and we’re too far from the ocean for a whale, they seem to be intent upon sending me a flood.

I’d like to protest: I got the message on Wednesday, heavens. Really. A little bit of water and mildew and I understood what you wanted me to do.

I think this morning was overkill. It really wasn’t necessary to flood my parents’ basement. They had already asked us to get rid of some of our stuff that remains there. We were going to do it at Thanksgiving. And, in the meantime, we were going to work on things here.

But, honestly, thanks for the message. I’ve got it now — loud and clear. Just, please, next time consider a comment here on the blog…

My brother, Josh, has decided to do the 10K Los Angeles AIDS Walk this coming Sunday. To my knowledge, he’s never done this sort of thing before, and I’d like to help him reach his fundraising goal. If you’d like to join me in making a donation, please click here to visit his fundraising site.

Funds raised benefit the AIDS Project Los Angeles and 16 other southern California HIV/AIDS organizations.

HIV is no longer a “sexy” disease here in the U.S., where our AIDS death tolls have faded from the highs in the ’80s and pale in comparison to the ravages of the disease in places like South Africa and India.

But the problem does remain in the U.S., too — nearly a million Americans have contracted HIV since it was first diagnosed in 1981. The problem is a growing one for straight African-American women, in particular, and remains a problem for young urban men. AIDS is the leading cause of death for African Americans between the ages of 25 and 44.

The good news, however, is that prevention, treatment, and survival rates are on the increase. Preventative vaccines are in the clinical trial stage. Among infants who are born to HIV+ mothers, those who are delivered by C section and who are given drugs from birth are likely to not develop the disease themselves. People who do contract the disease who receive drug cocktails (and who follow their treatment plan) can expect to live at least 10 years after their diagnoses. Drugs are in development that work better and with fewer side effects than ever before.

In other words, your money does actually help and does have results.

So even if you can’t (or don’t want to) support Josh this week, please consider supporting those raising funds in your local community throughout the year. I’m sure they and their coffers would appreciate it.

And if you can support Josh this week, I’d be grateful, as would he.

We returned home last night to an apartment that had suffered groundwater seepage and mildew that had grown. Lucky us…

I’ll post more later, but right now I have to go work on cleaning out my living room.

Today also is my Great-Aunt Maude’s birthday. She said that when my dad was born she thought he was a birthday present for her. I think that’s such a nice way to look at things. So many others would have resented sharing their own special day with someone else. But that’s why Aunt Maude is so special — because she does genuinely feel that way.

Aunt Maude and I haven’t actually met, but she periodically sends me emails and keeps me in the loop on what’s going on in her life. I, sadly, am less faithful in my correspondence, but whenever I do write she seems so delighted to hear from me that I mean to write more (even if I fail with frustrating regularity to follow through).

So, please send a thought down the Carolina way to my Aunt Maude and wish her a truly happy birthday.

Today is my dad’s birthday.

Dad is a great guy — and I miss seeing him now that I’m in D.C. and he’s up in Connecticut. It’s funny, but we actually saw more of each other when we lived here and my folks lived there. And we still saw lots of each other when we were both down there. But now it’s just a few times a year and I miss our lunchtime chats and our Sunday rides to get the newspaper.

He brings such a reassuring way of looking at the world to the table — optimistic and open-minded and upbeat all at once, but not in an annoying way. He’s also a little bit of the old fashioned dad — wise and a bit protective, but willing to let you make your own mistakes, á la Judge Hardy.

Dad’s birthday has gotten pushed to the side a bit this year as I frantically run around trying to finish a wedding present and as Rudi writes a best man speech.

I didn’t get a chance to make him Gramma cookies the way I like to. I know he understands (and that he’s probably just fine with an IOU), but I don’t want him to think that he’s less important to me than my friends. He’s not — and it’s because of things like him being cool about the cookies.

So, happy birthday, Dad. I love you.