I have six drafts queued up in this blog, half-finished. However, last night I mucked around with WordPress (and I mean really “mucking”, like a wet sandbox — the more you want to use a free plan in WordPress, the harder they make it, and before you know it you’ve changed a whole lot of things, but you’ve not moved forward at all) to make the blog for which Place of Articulation has been the fumbling, groping predecessor.

Because the light is coming in. Tucker and I feel the need for a blog of our own, to address a growing number of independent projects and experiences. (And yeah, I’ll have to pay at least one upgrade from free, or else they just make it a punishment to even try.)

Some of our key topics have run their course. Autism is a constant; autistic abuse is going to be touched on more than it has been, and yes, some people should feel uncomfortable to hear that. We have no current reasons to write about dementia; to think, when we had started that blog, I had no idea when my dad would die. We wrote through so many experiences. But if these blogs are to help us process our own experiences through writing (and they are), new topics have taken their place. Schizophrenia is one. My Chiari malformation is proving to be a pretty interesting, and woozy-making, subject — but one that I’m a little pressed for time to do much about when it comes to my own brain. (My brain is feeling a little pressed too! Ha!)

Some key aspects of our identity as creative partners are evolving. What processional arts has come to mean to me has spread like a… hmmm. Let’s not say “plague”. (Let’s also not say “A very loose hummus”. That almost sounds worse.) It’s just that it’s EVERYWHERE, and after years of joking about when Krampus would finally jump the shark, I find I don’t care anymore and am just tired of Krampus and having to be bothered to do anything extra at Christmastime. I’m at the tail end of having children who believe in Santa (if they even still do; they’re probably lying just to save my feelings) and I want to be with my kids at Christmastime, and that is enough. There are a million things to do at that time of year, and we’ve been missing them for long enough. We do have seeds of ideas for processional events with individuals and with local organizations, and foil and tape are out and lying in bits about the house, but — now? in 2018? Guys. My brain is falling backward onto my spinal cord. It hurts.  I need a rest.

Having said that “I need a rest,” I want to MOOOOOOVE. We talking about “going” all the time — all of us — and where we want to Go. None of it is super-soon, but it is indeed coming. Wanting to do outreach in other communities that don’t have access to the things we’ve come by so easily — it’s ticking louder in the biological creative clock. Philadelphia has some amazing organizations with amazing staff, and conversations are starting to happen. We can bide our time with those, and the sound of Tuck ripping tape and foil last night and the night before reminded me that We are still here… with the birthright to be entirely new, and entirely mobile, ready to be envoked. Philly is not forever for us; that much, we know.

On a deep, core-of-the-earth level, we are changing as a family. And so, my WordPress fiddling has allowed that whenever this blog is up for renewal this year, it will not renew; I have exported its contents for my own posterity, and can watch it disintegrate into space.

The URL for a new blog (and probably a post or two) will appear here shortly. Still plenty of autism stuff, and maybe I won’t be such a stickler about not putting too many autism or PTSD links on the page, because people seem to appreciate it when I do. Those links, perhaps, belong more on a page for such a blog as this next one will be, more than on my personal page, or on Tuck’s, even if it’s us putting them there. (Maybe that’s a good place to put some processional arts and puppetry and costume stuff too, although our “folkfuturism” dumping ground on Facebook is serving is well for that. Still, sometimes it’s worth it to double up.)

There are new things to talk about, people. New Things Are Coming. They’re not coming very quickly — we still look very much like we are in hibernation mode. It’s not all a ruse; I’m definitely tired, and in pain, a lot. But I also don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed time at home with my kids so much in my life. You can watch real movies with them now. I hear about people weeping when their babies start to disappear and turn into these Real People, but honestly, I’m VERY into the Real People, and they are very into me. More than they used to be, even.

But keep watching this space, for signs of the New Space. Or, hell, don’t. Ignore us for two or three years and see if you can even recognize us after that. Do whatever makes it fun for you.

And dance this mess around. Look at them. Look at them SMILE at each other. They are perfection. They are a rhythm section, and that says it all. I didn’t just have a son and daughter — I had a rhythm section. Look at them. Listen to them. Smiling at each other and playing — a moment I’ve never had with a sibling, and I don’t regret it for a second, because I love what I have, and I have no need to look back, when there is so much more ahead than I believed there was a year ago.  And I can only feel extra joy for those who have earned a place in making this new leg of the journey with us. Thank  you for staying.