Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Friday, February 18, 2005

February 18, 1997

I did a quick Google search to see what was going on at the time. Surprisingly little. Aside from life in general.

I remember I was undergoing training in how to use some project tracking software of some sort. Big plans for this--we were all going to be trained and everything we did after would have to be put on a tracking schedule. They even loaded the software on my computer. Of course, that was at least three loads ago, and I believe they took it off the last time. Never used the software, of course. I think no one really wanted to see how inefficient bureacracy is.

ANYway, I was doing training for that, and was carrying around a beeper, because they say the more kids you have, the quicker the successive ones arrive. Didn't want to be late for one, you know. And it was well past time.

The details are a blur now--I'm sure Reba remembers them all, and I suppose if I could look back at the video it would come back to me in full, squalling, dripping, red-faced vigor. That being the birth of the Tiny Terror herself, Miss Catherine.

Yes, she's finally arrived at ripe old age of eight, despite her best attempts at not making it. Such as the time she thought she would try to walk down the stairs in her sister's roller skates.

Quite the little force of nature, she is.

I think of all the things she's said and done, and places we've gone, what history has been made--and I marvel at how many things I can't recall.

Life goes fast.

Happy birthday to you, Miss Kitty-Catherine.

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