Small Celebrations

Hello Friends,

Today—for many of us in the US at least—is a day of celebration.

For me—a Leftist—the celebration is mixed. I celebrate the ousting of a tyrant, even as I am loathe to celebrate the person replacing him. But you know what? I’m celebrating all the same. Today, I bought my family cupcakes from a local bakery. Mine was vegan, gluten free, and rich chocolate. It was delicious.

I also sent money to two local Black activists today, to thank them for all of their organizing work.

Both the cupcake and the small cash donations felt of a piece to me: I’m grateful for all the effort that people put in day in and day out to build a better, kinder, more just and beautiful world.

That includes, yes, all of the activists and organizers, and also all of the authors whose books I’ve been devouring lately, and the musicians, song writers, painters, and folks telling stories in film. I’ve needed all of that in my life, and more. I’m grateful for it.

How about you? Are you celebrating today? What are you celebrating, and how?

Here’s a picture of my cupcake:

And below is a gift I’d like to share with you: a short story funded by my Patreon supporters. It’s about what happens when strange meets strange, or in other words, what happens when a vampire shows up at your bar. It’s called “Punch.”

Here’s how it begins:

My head pounded as I navigated the dimly lit storeroom, past the bulging canvas sack of clean bar rags, the metal shelves of bathroom and cleaning supplies, the cases of wine and the specialty beers for folks who didn’t want what we had on tap.

The smell was lovely. If you liked the particular perfume of spilled beer, industrial strength cleaner, and the dead-skunk scent of old marijuana smoke.

Stomping through the storeroom in my slate gray, size 6 Frye boots, I ignored the headache and the slight twinge in my lower back. After ten years of running a bar, you’d think I would’ve learned better than to twist while lifting a full bucket of ice.

Yeah. You’d also think I would’ve gotten better at keeping bar backs on the job so I didn’t have to lift ice in the first place. Damn fairies said they wanted to work in a bar, but once they discovered how much actual work was involved, they flew off on their gossamer wings.

Yes. I know all fairies don’t have wings. Just like some hereditary vampire hunters run bars instead of, you know, hunting vampires.

I hadn’t gotten enough sleep. Again. My south Berkeley neighbors thought it was great fun to have a human gardening crew with leaf blowers and lawn edgers, instead of using gnomes, like any normal person. I had forgotten to double up with the white noise machine and earplugs when I’d staggered into bed at four thirty am.

My cold, lonely bed. Another reason I was in a bad mood? I hadn’t had sex with anyone but my Hitachi Magic Wand since that blood sucker, Michelle, swanned off with a hot butch woman who ran her own venture capital firm.

That was six months ago, but still felt like yesterday…

Read the rest.

blessings - Thorn

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