In Christ,

Nobody <><

My dad then said something that was so true yet false at the same time..."A bit monotonous, eh?"

I realize that our days may be routine but they are never monotonous. Anyone with a 2 year old and an 8 month old will tell you that there is never a dull moment in the home. Max will be fine one moment and then freaking out the next and for no apparant reason. At least not one visible to us. He'll start hitting us and kicking us and if we are really lucky, he'll give us a good bite. All because he is tired. He might whine about something but we'll never figure it out. He doesn't really know either. He might see something on the buffet like a figurine from say, The Lion King and scream until we hand it to him and he'll pretend that that whole display was about the figurine when in reality, he only just noticed that lion cub on his way to the time-out chair.

When all is finally quiet, I prep myself for bedtime with my own similar routine. Sometimes a shower, pajamas, brusha brusha brusha (reminiscent of the commercial in the movie Grease), a fresh glass of ice water on the night stand and then the final descent into my cozy bed. It is almost painful. I had been carrying so much stress in my lower back during the day, that laying down is actually initially painful.

Upon finally laying down, I will hit the DVR recordings and check out whatever I recorded that day and if it is Tuesday...WOOHOO!!! It's my new favorite T.V. show, Wipeout!! I haven't laughed that hard since......jeez, I don't know. The thought of people's bodies ending up in the positions they end up in in mid air is truly side splitting. And, the comments from the peanut gallery just kill me.

Then, I'm out cold.... till Noah's first cries of hunger ring out......

So, yes dad, my evening may be routinous (new made up word) but never monotonous.

I'm off school again today, but my mum is one of the organisers for the M & Co. Fashoin Show we're organising at school (7pm Thursday 17th July, tickets £1.50. You may have seen the ad in the paper, whichever paper it was) so I'll be back in at about 1.45pm for a rehearsal, then staying until 5pm while the adults have a few run-throughs!! I won't be back home for like.... forever! (Sorry, can't be bothered to do the math and figure out how long it would be)

Our conversation on the phone the other night:

Me: So I saw Hellboy 2, I don't know if you know it but-

Dad: Really? Was it good!?

Me: You like Hellboy?!

Dad: Yeah I saw the first one on TV. Such a great character.

Me: Well yeah, the second was a much better movie too.

Dad: Great!

Boss: Melisa, you should have sent both of these jobs with the runner so we could have saved a fee.

Me: Well, one was due at the court yesterday so I sent that one right then. This one isn't due til tomorrow and we didn't have it ready yet, so that's why it's being sent separately. Usually you're telling me that I shouldn't work around the runner's schedule! Now you're mad because I didn't send them both at once!

Boss: It's not a big deal, we could've just saved some money. We should be thinking ahead and planning a little better.

I walked away from that little exchange and mulled it over and over in my head. I felt righteous anger because I have spent the last 3 years hearing the phrase "I won't run my law practice based on what a runner can and can't do!" coming out of my boss's mouth -- he's never mentioned a fee before! We're always doing things last minute! But the anger quickly turned to shame and guilt as I thought of the strident tone in my voice and how he has been telling me lately that I've been too defensive. Oh boy, I started thinking, now I've really messed it up! Now my boss thinks I am just wasting his money and I don't have the firm's best interests at heart! Now I've gone and done it again, opened my big fat mouth, been unpleasant and rude and hateful and embarrassed myself. I was defensive and I'm no fun to be around and I waste the firm's money! I could not stop the voices in my head until I had found my boss and apologized, telling him that I would be sure to do a better job next time and that it certainly wasn't my intention to be wasteful with his money.

Back in September, when Debbie mentioned my "guilt complex" she asked me to make a list of what I feel guilty about. Here's what I started with. I stopped where I did but I could have gone on forever. The list is fresh and new every day, but I suppose these are old friends that never go away.

1. I’m alive

2. I married a man that sexually abused my daughter.

3. I married a man that wasn’t faithful and then divorced him, so my daughter didn’t grow up with her nuclear family.

4. I divorced my son’s dad so he isn’t growing up with his nuclear family.

5. I don’t keep my house clean enough.

6. I don’t keep track of my money well enough.

7. I keep gaining weight.

8. I got Crohn’s disease because I’m such a nervous dysfunctional person.

9. I don’t spend enough time doing things with my son and daughter.

10. I let my son play video games too much.

11. He doesn’t have enough chores.

12. I complain about the dog.

13. I create tension in the house.

14. I expect too much from DH.

15. I make DH feel criticized.

16. I let the coke run out in the fridge.

17. I have food in my freezer that we haven’t eaten yet, and I keep buying new food.

18. I don’t tend to the landscaping as well as I should.

19. I am not patient with the dog.

20. My daughter had some very difficult teenage years because of me.

21. I check my email when I’m supposed to be working.

22. I don't do things to better the lives of people outside my small family

23. I don’t keep up with my friends enough.

24. I missed grandma’s birthday.

25. I keep focusing on things that happened 30 years ago instead of living life today.

26. I blame my mom for what my dad did.

27. I don’t want to see my mom.

28. I expect too much from my brother.

29. My behavior at home is erratic and unpredictable.

30. It’s hard to stay focused at work.

31. I spend too much money on lunch and should bring something from home more often.

32. I spend money on my hair and nails and therapy when DH isn’t spending money on extras.

33. I don’t always prepare healthy balanced meals.

34. I’m selfish and childish.

35. I want my chair all to myself.

36. I need too much.

37. I’ve ruined every family I’ve been a part of.

38. I’m not involved enough in my daughter's schoolwork.

39. I don’t take my son on field trips or attend school functions during the day.

40. I procrastinate.

41. I haven’t done what I’m supposed to do to move my therapy along.

42. I have a cozy house with running water, electricity, plumbing, and all the amenities I could wish for, while there are so many people in the world who are uncomfortable.

43. I have an overabundance of food and I throw food away instead of eating it.

44. I don’t recycle.

45. I generate at least one garbage bag full of garbage every day.

46. I’m too distracted when interacting with the kids.

47. I want to be alone too much.

48. I selfishly remarried even though I promised myself I would never bring a man into my home until my kids were grown and gone.

in my previous life of a traveling goddess, i had a boss that suggested i hire a cleaning crew to clean the house to help out a little. reason she suggested it was to basically save my husband's life.

many times, i would return from a trip and the house would be in a shambles. this never failed to send me into hysterical fits. so for the first time in my life, i hired a person to come in every two weeks. when i quit my job, i quit the cleaning service.

in the time that passed after i quit my job, my dad died, i painted the entire house shortly after he died, and then i rolled myself into a ball and mourned the loss of a saint. i've basically been leaching off of my husband's income.

(you must know that there was a time in my ilfe when i would have preferred to die then have another person support me. granted, i did bring money into this thing and it's still out there gaining interest. or at least, it's supposed to be doing that.)

once i came back out into the light a little, i noticed that i had a lot of things to do. running a home is a big mambo job. my husband has a slight issue with working too much, and when the chips are down he drowns himself in coding.

before you go calling me an ungrateful varmint, i'll tell you that i do sympathize with him. he a software engineer, software business changes hands quite a bit so to his defense, it's been a rocky year for all of us. not to mention the whole offspring issues we've been dealing with. that alone is enough to put you into a home.

i've always had an issue with my partner not doing their part of the work load around the house. i've never had a partner that was capable of that. despite my screaming and jumping up and down for the first year we lived together, the husband is what he is. i know in order to bring order to chaos, you must organize. my husband doesn't have that skill. i should add he doesn't have the skill within the home. his job? he can juggle multiple projects with ease.

prior to getting another cleaning crew, i threatened it for about six months to the husband. secretly, i was ashamed that i might have to rely on outside help in order to keep this boat afloat. i was ashamed of needing outside help.

i do all the bill paying, and manipulation of our budget. this takes a lot of detailed work, coupons and doing without. i made room for the added expense of a cleaning crew.

i mean, what kind of woman that does not maintain a full time job even NEED a cleaning crew for? yeah, i beat myself up on that one for a short time until i just let the shit go and bit the bullet. it is so nice to have someone else clean your house. really, it is. if you can spare it whether you work or not, get outside help. give yourself a break. no one really appreciates a martyr.

while this was going on, i was free to take care of a million of projects around the house that needed doing.

my plan was to use the service until i got "caught up" on the million of things, and i did get caught up. which meant i might be able to go out with friends, return those calls i never return, or just enjoy some solo time without a living thing clinging to my hip.

it was nice while it lasted, i had to discontinue the cleaning service. i plan to resume that service in the future.

i felt i needed to speak out about this dirty little secret of mine, and encourage others to free themselves, and so i don't look like a total tool for needing a cleaning service.

self centered much?

I've been meaning to write a birthday blog for my dad for days now, but real life (and the occasional nap) kept intruding.

My dad gave me my first real journal, sending me down a path that would eventually lead to blogging. He also introduced me to the works of J.D. Salinger, F. Scott Fitzgerald and countless mystery authors. He loves to talk about news and politics, and expected me to join in the discussions he would have with my uncles. When I was seven.

My father comes from a long line of small town doctors, which I'm pretty sure drove him into the news business. He went from college in Pittsburgh to college in New York back to college in Pittsburgh while working at a radio station in Chicago, with a lot more ease than I would have had after growing up in his small western Pennsylvania hometown. Eventually he worked in Pittsburgh again, where he met my mom. Because she was his boss. He managed to snag her anyway.  He covered most of the major news events of the late '60's and early '70's, before starting his own business - which involved a new thing called video.

My dad has always been hip. Maybe it comes from being a drummer, I don't know. There was a while in college when I knew as much about cool music as he did, but that day is long past. Now I'm lucky if I've heard of his latest musical interest. My dad took me to my first concert - Bruce Springsteen's Born in the USA tour, his last night in Jersey. I was definitely the coolest thirteen year old around after that. Actually, he took me to the last concert I went to as well - the True Colors tour last year. He wanted to go because the Dresden Dolls were playing - I wanted to see '80's stalwarts like Erasure and Deborah Harry. See what I mean?

I love you, Dad.

2.  My newly organized room, with my desk that my landlords finally gave me after I called pretty much every day for two weeks.

3.  Going to return clothes that I bought recently but are now TOO BIG for me :)

4.  Being freshly showered in clean clothes that fit me well

5. Finally reading me some Edith Wharton

6. Making a goal to do more outdoor things

7.  Really going for what I want

8. The new MDT offices

9. Refusing to pay more for something if I know I can get a better deal someplace else

10. Starting voice lessons again today!

11. Learning to be more selfless

12.  Making do and not buying things unless I REALLY, REALLY need them.  That way I have enough money left over to go see theatre.

13.  Planning vacations in August (both theatre related!) with some of my favorite people in the world

14.  Suddenly starting to have a great relationship with my uncles, whom I was always terrified of as a child

15.  Choosing to do the right thing, and not becoming my worst fear

16.  Really recognizing and facing my worst faults

17.  Keeping my resolution not to dress sloppy all the time

18.  Working on American Heritage

19.  Making homemade sweet potato french fries

20.  Listening to Julia Murney!  she rocks my world

21.  Not being nervous in my acting class

22.  Learning to reach out, even when I'm afraid

23.  Choosing to wait

24.  Working hard, and finally starting to get phonetics

25.  Being hugged

26.  Laura Linney

27.  The American Theatre Wing Podcasts--they are sweet!

28. The Real Simple magazine

29. Garbanzo beans

30.  Getting a good night's sleep

31.  Hitting the gym

32.  Finding memories

33. Starting to love Stephen Sondheim

34.  Pointing out other people's subtext

35.  Finding the humor in everyday life

36.  Boys

37.  Driving

38. Taking the initiative

39.  Really good bread from Kneaders or Great Harvest Breads.  And learning to bake my own fantastic bread.

40.  Friends who are honest with me about my faults, and love me, and don't hold a grudge when I screw up again

41. The feeling of getting into a really hot car

42. AllRecipes.com

43.  Having a car!!

44. Organizing

45.  My ipod

46. Feeling pretty

47.  Feeling that even though I don't look pretty, it doesn't affect my worth as a person.  And actually believing it.

48.  Believing Christ, The Peacegiver, The Divine Center

49. Amazing BYU religion teachers

50. The Atonement

Photos of the Day:

I wanted to be first to get my dad story up at Blog Me A Tale this month.  As I sat pondering which story about my mom to tell, I knew this was the one I was going to tell about my dad. 

My father is my hero.  There are epic tales I could weave about him.  He keeps thinking about writing his autobiography.  I told him I'll do it if he ever wants to sit down and tell me everything he wants in the book.  I probably know about 1/4 of the details of his life.  But let's just say, you'd eat this motherfucker with a knife, fork and spoon and lick the goddamn plate. 

My father is your hero.  You just don't know it yet.

2-They're auditioning for Aida at the Hale, and I would kill to be in it, but I know I just don't have the voice yet.  *Sigh*  Maybe I can be in the chorus or something... In the past, I haven't exactly been an ace   audition-er.  That is changing, I have just decided.  My sole goal for the Aida audition is not to get cast or anything, it is to be relaxed and give a good audition.  Who cares if I get called back? Not I.

3-I really hate going to ward activities where I don't know anyone.  But I have decided to do it anyway.  I will be brave.  I will not allow past experiences to define me.  I will choose to be a different, better, more socail and outgoing person.

4-They are doing an Opera in SLC that I actually want to see.  Regina.  It's an operatic version of The Little Foxes.  It's in english, thank goodness.  It's in January.  I never thought I would want to go to an opera, but I love this piece.  What does one wear to the opera?  Would I be required to wear a formal gown or anything?  Would the tickets be way more expensive then seeing a musical down their?  Would anyone be willing to go with me?

5-It's hard going to a place where there are no memories of a person that you love, and that person is dead so there is no chance of you making new memories of that person in the new places you are going.  The two places most full of memories I will never return to.  I have very little that is tangible to remind me...and I wish I had more of him in me.

6-What will it be for me?

7-So yesterday I spent some time organizing all my crap into my new itty-bitty apartment...is that breaking the sabath day?  I was sort-of like, I want to do homework, but I won't, hmm...is organizing okay?  I was talking on the phone to friends and family while I did it, so...?  I didn't feel guilty, which is the best way for me to tell if I should or shouldn't  do something, but still.  In retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have.

8-I'm kind of ready to be in a show already.

9- I thought I wouldn't be able to go visit my uncle in Canada, but now I will be able to.  Hurrah!

10- Have a great day!

Photos of the Day:

It was kind of funny cause I got myself confused on the distance and I was starting to consider dropping the speed down cause I though I had 1 1/2 laps left, but I actually had a half a lap left so I sped it up. How much of this stuff is in my head anyway? I can't accurately measure my heart rate when running at home, but I bet I got it up to what is considered 100% for my age if not more at some point there. I will have to take this running stuff slow at first cause I was feeling it in my shins with just this little bit. But don't worry about me, there is little chance I will spontaneously jump up and run 5 miles right now anyway.

It sure felt good. I felt it in my stomach muscles which I thought was weird. I think it was cause I had eaten too recently that I had trouble, but I still felt it in my muscles this morning so it wasn't only that. To which I was happy to find that I got down to 214.8. I managed to avoid the late night eating, with three close calls.

I am doing the weights again tonight, I think I will try to get my bike ride in here so I can get all my stats figured out. I am sure you saw my new image as a banner, I am going to try and update it with my current stats each time I reach better numbers and have a few minutes.

It is amazing how the workouts we do add up to great things over time. My dad, who passed away last year, did something I thought was pretty cool with his exercise bike. He would keep track of all the miles and as they added up he would put where he was on a tour of the US. I don't think he went any great distances on a given day, but he had so many of them he was on his second tour of the US.

I don't know if I have the time or inclination to keep good enough records but would it be fun to do some of these things:

1. "Walk" 500 miles (if you like the Proclaimers)
2. "Run" the Indy 500
3. "Bike" from the north pole to the south pole
4. "Swim" the Amazon river
5. "Lift" a 10 pound bag of sugar to the moon

Anyone else got an idea?

This is my dad and me back in 2004. Very unflattering photo of both of us. I think he was in the middle of asking me something.

I love photography, as did he. For the first eight years of our lives he seemed to have a camera surgically attached to him. The photo box- a wooden box with a metal handle that lives at home- is overflowing with photos of us running down for breakfast in the morning, standing in the middle of the streets of our council estate, throwing little rubbishy scraps of paper onto bonfires. He bought me my first camera. He got it terribly wrong, not understanding digital cameras. It was a tiny little toy digital camera on a keychain. He thought that because it was small it must be top of the range. It barely worked, but I faked delight with it anyway. I didn't want to upset him. He was in charge of Christmas presents every year. I still wore it on my jeans and took minute photos with it. I can't find them now but I remember snapping a blurry little image of Manchester Piccadilly station in 2002.

I'd love to be with my family right now. I have missed them recently. I wish I didn't live across the sea. It means that every jaunt home is a huge and costly operation. Trains, planes, taxis, all clocking up to the hundreds, hours spent travelling, hard boiled sweets to buy, flying phobias to face. I'd like to go to my Granda Kane's, Granda Molloy's and daddy's graves (they are very close together), visit my granny, see my mum, Liam and Orlaith and go out for a drink with Michelle and Paula. We haven't done that in ages. There's never time when we're all at home together. We all have our lives to hurry back to.

I don't have much to say for myself at the moment, hence my rather sporadic updates here. My mood hasn't particularly changed and I bore myself harping on about the same old thing. Life for me is in stasis at the moment. I have no social life, I am taking my medications, I am keeping my head down and trying to stay sane, my mood is still all over the place, I am still irritable, anxious and paranoid, but mostly alright and managing. I did have a good weekend, though. I actually got out on Sunday to see a film with Rob, and then we ran around the Trocadero where he kicked my ass on air hockey.

I'm looking forward to going away on Monday. It's only for two days, but it's two days away from London. Cromer is pretty, one of those little towns I used to watch on TV in Belfast when I was a child. England itself seemed impossibly glamourous to me, even though I was raised to hate England and the English. On Andersonstown Road, there was a huge placard above one of the shops with, "FUCK ENGLAND" written across it. It was there for years and years, opposite Connolly House, which is Sinn Fein's headquarters. I didn't know why we had to fuck England, but until my teens I didn't trust anyone with an English accent. In my teens, I developed an almost-fetish for them. I've only ever had two Irish other halves. The rest have been English. My first serious boyfriend was from South London and I thought his accent was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard. My granny tells me that English men make good husbands.

We went to Carnlough for our holidays, only an hour away by car but it seemed like a world away from Belfast. There's something artistic about coastal towns, a sense that you can draw inspiration from the world around you, whereas in cities like London, when you're depressed or ill every street seems to conspire against you. It's manmade, and nature is beautiful. I imagine that the reality of these sea side enclaves is one of claustrophobia, but I feel like that being stuck in my flat listening to the traffic wheeze past my window, not remembering the last time there was silence. I should just suck it up, grab my bike and cycle to Regent's Park, but my body and mind is conspiring against me right now, and a walk to the newsagent's feels like a task.  I am really, really knackered.

In my idyllic writerly fantasy, I'd retire to the coast and write wonderful books. But I'd probably move back to London, because at least in London you can a Snickers and fags at four in the morning.

I was kind of bummed the Lakers lost to the Celtics, but I like KG, so it wasn't that big to me. But Boston fans hate LA, I guess. Whatever. At lease we have decent weather in LA, and an ocean, unlike Boston. Get an ocean, then pop off.

Anyways, I showed the Celtic fan comment to My Dad, and he TOTALLY WENT OFF!!!!

First of all, My Dad didn't like that his son was attacked, event though I said it was whatever. Next, My Dad is still really pissed because he lost like a bunch of money on Game 6, when the Lakers lost. He took the Lakers and the points, and the Lakers lost by 39. My Dad said that everyone knew that the Lakers were gonna win Game 6 because of the CONSPIRICY. The NBA totally wanted a 7-game series for TV ratings, so it was obvious that the Lakers would win Game 6. Game 7 was like whatever because anyone could win that game. But the conspiricy was that Lakers would win Game 6. So My Dad bet a bunch of money.

Anyways, My Dad started going off on Celtic fans when I showed him the thing about "LA lightweight." My Dad was all like, "They chant Beat LA, Beat LA," which is so lame. Nobody in LA would chant "Beat Boston," because poeple in LA don't care. We don't even know where Boston is. My Dad doesn't like LA teams, except for the Lakers. He goes to Staples to the sweet that his friend Rich Hill has.

Then, My Dad was like going off on Massachewsets. He was all like, they had gay marriage BEFORE California did. Plus, they nominated John Cary for president against president Bush. John Cary was totally libral. My Dad totally supported Mitt Romney because he doesn't think we can trust John McCain to be conservative. But he will support John McCain against Obama because Obama is a libral.

And My Dad was like Celtic fans are lame and that there's no way that the Celtics will repeat because they are too old.

The aroma of marmalade and pineapple tarts wafted in the air. Leaving George and Victor, I eagerly attacked bowls lined with leftover sauce. I sat on my favourite stool, which had belonged to Father as a child as well when once upon a time Grandfather had also busied himself about the stove. Never mind the piled dishes I was going to wash after I was done, the tarts needed to be savored with relish. “Mom doesn’t even know how to cook! Thank you God for giving me a father who keeps my tummy filled!” Happy as a bird prancing to the sink, a chat was in order while Father tidied the mess. Our next-door neighbour Mr. Lee was going to be a grandfather soon; his pet Lala was about to have puppies. I wanted one of them. “The boys have their cats so why can’t I have a dog?” “If you don’t break any of those dishes, I’ll think about it.” Plates waited for their baths. A good soldier could only serve well if he was treated well and clean. One war was won with soap bubbles overwhelming stained plates but it was not yet over. The water brigade had captured the bubbles dragging them into a black hole. What is to become of the bubbles? The plates remain unfazed by the brigade as the unfortunate bubbles disappear into nothingness. Drenched in fresh water, the white armored plates prepared for ambush. A blanket of grey clouds enveloped them before darkness fell.

“Morris! How many times have I told you not to leave your things in the doorway?!!!” The second general approached on foot. “I have to hide the troops!” The plates dried and returned to the cupboard, I rushed for the door. Poor George stood helpless while Victor was grabbed by his neck. “Have you fed the chickens?” Mother was menacing. Quickly, I led George to the garden as I carried bruised Victor. The chickens would offer us shelter. At this point in time, it was best to lie low as the second general went about her rounds inspecting the army. The sun was merciless. Victor and George laboured through a wilderness of flowers and mountainous terrain to reach Captain Roy Rooster’s cabin. We had to be wary of him. Captain Roy was prone to attack anyone who approached his harem. Not that there was any immediate threat from another cock but he took pride managing his brood. I wondered how many eggs were the girls able to collect from him today. Mrs. Roy, on the other hand, clucked excitedly at the sight of us. Her new chicks flocked to George for a ride. “Here we go again!” The winds picked up. Mounting George, the chicks clung to each other. Victor The Guardian surveyed the horizon. Everyone was in the air carried away by a gigantic carpet. Suddenly, everything else was small Kings of the sky; it seemed as if God was nearer. George rocked with excitement. Egypt waited for our arrival. Bedouin people on camels waved from down below. Victor poured rain on the Earth so that for an instant, the dessert smiled patches of green oases while the dune cooled its temper. In the distance, the Sphinx winked at my noisy chicks who were witnessing the world for the first time. I lay beside George abandoning negative thoughts of Mother. There was nothing to do but surrender to the lightness of being. It did not matter where we were going. We were higher than the mountain peaks, closer to the Big Blue accompanied by my most trusted men-at-arms. Now was not a time for war but peace and discovery.

“Morris! You’ve dirtied the laundry! Mom will go after your hide!” Anne sent the chicks scrambling for the safety of their coop. Even Captain Roy was nowhere to be seen. Victor and George lay trapped under the wet white sheets. “Where are you guys? Run for cover!” It was not wise to argue with a larger sister. I was not alone. Malcolm, Percy, Eustace, and Rebecca had stopped whatever they were doing. Suddenly, they were all laughing. I grinned at Anne before rushing indoors with Victor and George. Despite weaving through the hallway and the rooms, the house was still not large enough to avoid the second general. She grabbed me by the ear. Mother never needed a maid. The children were there or at least, I was always there. I found myself stuck with a mop and a pail of water. “Urgghhhh! The house is TOO big. I’ll never get this done today. I need reinforcements!”…so I stood in my boat as it slowly found its way to the shores of Lake Geneva. Victor rowed cautiously in front of me, mindful of the silence. Princess Sophia was in danger and trapped in her own castle by the evil Lord De Ville. Night was soon to come. Her castle stood unwelcomingly tall in the distance. The ground was moist, no one else save for Victor was at hand, and fog was settling in. Poor visibility did not help our situation. Someone whistled. Immediately, I grabbed my Star Wars light saber. Sir George appeared from behind a nearby tree. Ha! My good reliable friend. These days, it was difficult to find men of his caliber. Under cover in the darkness, we stole to the castle grounds. Victor would stay behind ready to sail us away. As sure as Father was in the kitchen, Lord De Ville would be waiting for a confrontation. Inside the courtyard, the bodies of dead soldiers lay about. This was too easy. He wanted us to find him. Light shown through a window from the belfry. “Princess Sophia must be there!” …and at the top of the stairs stood Lord De Ville as menacing as the second general. “Am I going to lose my life this way? I won’t be able to help Father in the kitchen anymore. No! I must live!” Struggling their way to Victor, Lord De Ville blocked my path. I was no match for the fencing champion. I was not even David compared to this Goliath but just as he seemed to overpower me, he fell out of the window slipping on a mop left lying around by an irresponsible servant. “Thank goodness!”…and so peace reigned in the kingdom at last. While Sir George remained happy tending to the stables, Princess Sophia and Victor lived happily ever after.

“Morris! Dinner!” Father bellowed from the kitchen. The day was almost over. Soon, the army would be fed, bathed, and marched to bed. However, the day was never complete without visiting Father by the fireplace where he always was just before the lights went out. Seated on his lap, I’d read a book or browse through family photo albums. In one of them, at the very last page, is a picture of a grownup little adventurer riding proudly on his little rocking chair playing his little violin. That is how Father remembers me. That is how I remember Father.

(posted 29th January, 2008)

So, here are some things I learned today:

• NBC's Brian Williams (he of the Nightly News) will be the interim moderator of "Meet the Press" until a permanent replacement for the late Tim Russert can be found. David Gregory and Andrea Mitchell have been mentioned as possible permanent replacements for MTP, and NBC is also looking for someone to become the Washington Bureau chief, a position that Russert also held.
• Seventeen year old Jamie Lynn Spears gave birth to a baby girl this morning. Let's hope she's a better mom than her sister Britney.
• Tomatoes here in Oklahoma are apparently safe to eat in light of the salmonella scare.
• Chaz knows a lot about Limewire, but not a lot about my computer. I know a lot about my computer but not a lot about Limewire. It's like the blind leading the freakin' blind, and it leads to frustrations on both sides. But I swear, the next time he tells me "you're wrong" in that parental tone of voice, I just may have to read him the riot act. He did that at the laundromat the other day, too. Sometimes Chaz seems to forget he's my friend, not my father. I have one of those-- he's no longer with us, but Dad's still Dad.

If I drank, I'd need a stiff one by now.

That's all from where I sit.

--MorelaterZ--

For many years my mother used to demand that she be the one to receive kudos when the third Sunday in June rolled around each year, because it was she, not my father, who shouldered the bulk of raising my brother and I. I played along, cause it seemed logical enough, but there was always an odd feeling inside when I wished her a happy Father's Day while my father was very much a part of my life.

When I became a mother in 1990, I accepted the well wishes as my mother had, because I too was a single mother, and believed, like she did, that I'd earned the right to claim autonomous credit for raising my daughter (her father was around but... well, we were young, you know how that goes). I continued this tradition after the birth of my three son's as well. The way I saw it, since I put in the long hours, accepted the low pay, and was held accountable for every failing, ailing, and shortcoming my offspring fell into, I more than paid the cost to be recognized as mother and father, and dared any mother's son to call me on it. In eighteen years I have struggled through doctor's visits, dentist visits, ER visits, nightmares, boogie man fears, child insomnia, skinned knees, super glue in eyes, parent-teacher conferences, grass stained pants, chicken pox, hyper-active reactions to the sight of a needle, shoes and clothes being grown out of two minutes after I spent my last dime on them, people looking down their nose at me for being a teen mother, heartache, heart break, headaches, and the ever nerve wrecking "Momma Can I" syndrome. I was the one who sat up through late night fevers, had to have "the talk", boosted selfish esteem when "Little Johnny/Little Janie called me stupid/ugly/dumb/dark skinned/light skinned/buck toothed/four eyed/*insert other hurtful childhood labels here*, and I alone was the one who had to deal with the irritating men I chose to conceive children with. Hell, for all that, I reserved the right to take Grandparent's Day, Secretary's Day, and Christmas too! All my single mothers... ya'll feel me, right?

Can you just see the legions of single mothers with their hands on their hips, necks doing that "sistah" thing, and smacking their lips with an affirmative "Uuuuuh Huh"? Well before you ladies get too deep into wanting to slap me a high-five, let me inform you, I'm no longer a member of the "I'm the Daddy Too, Dammit" Sisterhood. No, I didn't get married (although I did twice, but both times I still maintained the single mother title... 'nother story for a 'nother day, as always), and no my children's fathers didn't step up to the plate, man up to their stations and pick up the slack (well, one kinda did, but... not really). What happened was, I woke up one morning and shed all my delusions about my limitations and realized that no matter how "kick ass" I was in the maternal department, there is absosmurfly nothing I can do to replace a father's role in a child's life. It doesn't matter if he's absent by choice, circumstance, or horrible accident, or being a part-time dad, there is nothing within or without that can transform me into a woman worthy enough to fit his shoes. Part of that reason is, I am a woman... a mother... a nurturer and a giver. I was created to be maternal and that is the role I personify daily. I am one half of what is meant to be a whole, and there is nothing that can compensate for that other half once it is not in place. I wasn't meant to do it and so I stopped operating in bitterness to try.

Don't look this Word Picture sideways, sistahs. I will admit that when it comes to holding down home and hearth, and raising little ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing more up to the task than a mother. But riddle me this, ladies. When your daughter comes crying because some little boy broke her heart, who's better equipped to explain or show that's it's cause the little boy is stupid and doesn't know any better, you... or someone who was once a stupid little boy who didn't know any better? And when your son comes to you wondering about certain "growing pains" in parts a lot of us women proverbially have yet physically lack, who better to let them know they're not going to die, because they lived through it... us, or "them"? Those are pretty obvious examples, but you should get the gist. There is a side of life biological fathers have to offer their children that we can never duplicate because we are not men and thereby can't be fathers... literally or figuratively. We are strong, but that type of strength just isn't in us.

And for those of you who's baby's poppa's are rolling stones that you saw fit to kill off in Desert Storm or Vietnam, don't discredit them for the part of life they too are showing their offspring. As I said in a previous Word Picture about my own father's distance while I was growing up, he taught me the value of my own strength, the type of person I didn't want to be, the type of man I did not want to have (although I learned that lesson a bit "late"), and the type of parent I did not want to become. I learned to love unconditionally and when to place conditions on the love I granted. I learned that a man is not to be wholly depended on, because it causes your independence to diminish, and I learned the definitive difference between what it is to be a daddy and a father (he's always been my father, he didn't become my daddy until I turned 28). And I learned all of these things because despite her insistence of being honoured on Father's Day every year, my mother allowed me the opportunity to see my father for who he was, not through the eyes of her disenchantment with him. So again, don't discount the invaluable lessons even the absentee father's are teaching their children, which also plays a role in his importance.

In addition to all that, when you deny a man's place as father, actively or passively, you deny your child his or her opportunity to see the other half of themselves in the same way they are able to see you -- not simply because you are there 25/8, but because they are offered a more unbiased view of you, and are allowed the space to formulate their own perspective and opinions of just who/what mother/mommy is. This gives them the ability to see themselves in you and to be able to pick and choose which parts of that model they will emulate when they become adults. Whether you're a SAHM like me, or a corporate mom juggling a full-school load, they have their examples of you placed in their sight every day, and like my mother told one of my biggest detractors (other than herself), it's the children who will judge how good you were at your job, and if they want to be like you when they grow up. If for no other reason than helping them grow into masters or mistresses of their own fate, allow them the same right to do so with their fathers, apart from any tension or animosity you may personally hold towards the man/men. Afterall, it is their relationship with their father's, not yours, that is affected by his example.

So in conclusion, it's way past prime time that we give the Dad's in our world their just due. Whether they are truly daddies who give as much as us mothers to the cause, or just father's who passed the time by passing seed, one way or the other they are fulfilling their destined roles as the flip side to the paternal coin. And while we don't have to respect the ways they go about it, their place should be honoured regardless. If you can look beyond the person and whatever personal "beefs" you may have for him, and on into the role, it'll be a lot easier for you, and for your children.

Be Blessed & Be Light...

Dr. Victorine

This was taken on Christmas day, and he's dressed in anticipation of the Great Blizzard of 08, in Southern California. 

Which never happened. 

Father's Day

We spent Father's Day at his house.  I took some steaks and fixed lunch for everyone, and it's just wonderful when you do something like that and it all comes out just right and the steaks were not over-done.     No one argued about politics, nor even brought it up.  I helped my sister hang new curtains in his bedroom to keep the room a little cooler in the afternoon, then Mr Pie installed tiebacks for the curtains and a handrail in the bathroom.  He has trouble rising from a chair now, and I wonder how much longer my sister will be able to take care of him without outside help.

He'll be 90 in four weeks. We are planning a large party; it was originally going to be a surprise party but we discovered that we needed his help with the guest list because we didn't know whom to invite: we were worried that he'd outlived all of his friends and most of his relatives.  So, yesterday we let him in on the secret and he was thrilled. 

Then today I got an invitation to a birthday party for his cousin's husband Max, who will also be 90, and the date is two weeks before his birthday.  I laughed a little because they are stealing Dad's thunder.

Menace to Society

He's still driving.

I tried to get his doctor to help us out and ask the DMV to have him tested behind the wheel, but no dice.  I have kept an eye on his driving skills for the past five years, but recently the skill level has dropped and I'm alarmed, so I called around today and discovered that I can send a letter to a Safety Bureau and they will request that he come in for a drivers' test. 

He just announced that his license is due to be renewed on this birthday, and bragged that he only has to take the written test.  I don't know how the state can allow something like this, but I know that they do. 

Dad told me yesterday that an acquaintance had his license taken away.  Doug is younger than Dad, and Dad was a little horrified that it had happened.  I pointed out that Doug's license should have been taken away 30 years ago for general incompetence having nothing to do with age, because Doug is an idiot.  Dad had to agree with that, but I know that he is worried that he will lose his license, and I know that he will take it very badly if he does.  He lives with my sister and her daughter, and I visit him at least once a week; there are neighbors who will give him rides if we aren't there, as well as a local shuttle bus, but all of these will feel like a poor substitute to him. 

  He's never been a sissy.  He had a massive stroke nearly 25 years ago, was paralyzed on his left side, and you'd never know it unless you knew him really well.  The only tell is his left hand  which doesn't work too well these days, only because he didn't keep up with the exercises. 

It isn't just the getting old that's hard, it's the being old.

He pushed me to be more than I was and probably at that time what I wanted to be. I now just wish that I can offer my future (far future) kids a speck of what he gave to me.

I love you dad. Thanks for everything!

I love you so much.  I'm so thankful to have you in my life.  You mean so much to me... more than you know.   I was your first child and I was born on father's day as a present to you... that's what you told me anyway! :)  I'm sad we played phone tag all day but I want to wish you a Happy Father's Day!  I can't wait to see you when you're in town next week.  We'll have lots to catch up on... I'm sure of it! :) 

"When it comes to little girls, God the father has nothing on father, the god. It’s an awesome responsibility."

That man there... god to me. Not because I've had him wrapped around my pinkie since before I was born, although I have. not because all I have to do is bat my eyelashes and call "Daaaaaaaaaaddy" in that sweet little girl way, and whatever I ask he tries his best to accommodate, even though he does. It's not even because of the exceptions he makes for me where others wouldn't get him to budge an inch on certain positions. He's very much a straight shooter and doesn't hold his tongue when he's got something on his mind (friggin Cancer *giggle*), but that's not the reason either. Honestly, it's not anything that man has done or anything I know he will do to make sure I'm happy and well provided for that endears me to him. It is everything he failed to do.

I didn't realize it at the time, of course. When my parent's split my relationship with my father took on a slightly different turn than I was accustomed. My time with him became my time with him and whichever female he was "dating" at the time -- and her kids if that was how the situation happened to roll. I was content with that for the most part. I was happy as long as my daddy was happy, which is the way of most children. He was around, which was more than could be about the fathers of most of my peers. Having to share him wasn't that bad, really. At least it wasn't until I hit puberty and he started pulling away from me when I needed him most. I'm sure it wasn't an intentional thing, it's just difficult for some men to handle seeing a woman stand where their little girl once did. They reflect on all the possibilities that transition brings about in the realms of boys, dating and sex. They reflect on how they were with females in their youth and it shakes them to know their little girls will have to face the same tricks and treatment. For as much as my father wanted a daughter, I don't think he ever realistically considered I'd cease being a little girl at some point, And he'd have to truly be accountable for a women in a way he'd never been before. So gradually, he began to pull away and make himself less available emotionally. It hurt like hell. Hurt to the point that by the age of fourteen I had such a hatred for my father I would purposely refer to him as "Christian" name whenever he came up in conversation. I stopped calling him, I refused to spend weekends at his house and I'd go out of my way to be as disrespectful to him as i could get away with (which was very much cause I weren't totally crazy... at 5' 11" Clarence did possess a temper and a belt and i wasn't really trying to feel either of them). He never reacted, at least not in any way that was evident to me, so I figured he wasn't affected. What man would stand by and watch the daughter he named years before she was conceived hurt so deeply it affected every decision she made for the negative, and not come to her aid? I recall a conversation with My Cousin The Actress where I stated i'd much rather not have a father in my life than have one who ignored me the way mine did... and I meant it.

Fast forward to age twenty-eight. I was a "single" mother with four children by four different men who are all considered disposable and kept at a manageable distance. I was in my second marriage to a man with three daughters who were stair steps in age, and who all were standing on the threshold of puberty. Time reversed for me as I watched my husband withdrawing from his daughters in the very same way my father did with me when I was their ages (12, 11 and 10). I felt obligated to step in, but no matter how much i tried to convince my husband that he's setting up three situations he would regret in the very near future, I was met with statements of masculine avowal that thinly veil a feeling of helplessness. We'd had discussions concerning the girls and how close their stories were shaping into mine, but up to that particular point I'd never been able to look past my hurt and into the understanding of what it was my father was going through. Just so happens that not too long after that epiphany, my father, who was forty-nine at the time, stopped by my house for an impromptu visit. And for the first time in twenty-three years, we were able to truly talk.

He had no idea how to father a little girl on his own, he said, which is why there was always some woman in the picture -- usually one who had children. That was his way of making sure I had whatever it was little girls needed. From his stand point, he assumed merely being visible was good enough. Thanks to the super women on my mother's side of the family, who dictated er'damn thing in their husband/significant other's roles as a father, he assumed he wasn't needed for more than financial support (which he didn't give because he didn't trust my mother to use it on my brother and me) and to administer discipline. That was his father's example, so that's what he thought was expected of him. Being a dad to my two brothers was easy because he knew exactly what they needed, but for a little girl... he had not a clue. He told me he realized a bit too late that all I ever wanted was my time with my daddy back; he picked that up from the choices I made as mates, who so closely resembled him they could have been younger versions of him. He expressed regret, gave me a hug, and promised our relationship would be different. and from that day on it has been.

You can't possibly imagine the weight that lifted off my heart that day; how much clearer I saw my father and how much differently I was able to see myself. For all those years I seriously thought I was the one who had done something wrong, when in reality it was my father's fear of being "wrong" that was the culprit. My mother had often told me my father was "scared" of me, but I never believed her or understood what she meant. He was a grown ass man. What about a frightened lil coloured girl could possibly be intimidating to a grown ass man? A lot apparently.

My father will be one of the first people to tell you I'm one of the feistiest, toughest little women he knows. I can remember him one day referring to me as a "bitch", and while many might gasp in horror at such a statement from a father to his daughter, I just smile. He knows first hand how tenacious I can be, because he had to deal with me in those absent years when any ground he gained with me came after an intense power struggle the likes of World War II. In a way only those who really know my father could understand, the "bitch" was like a badge of honour; a way for him to express how proud he is of the woman I've become -- one who makes her life as she wills it and backs down from no one, even him. I'd like to say I developed my strength independently but I know in many ways, it was because of my father's self imposed estrangement from me that I became as formidable as I am. Had he remained resolute in my life, I am sure I'd be the very image of a hoodified Paris Hilton right now (uh... as far as attitude not money... daddy's po' and works at Chrysler ya'll), because remember... i'm very much a daddy's girl and there's very little that man will deny me. So in a very real way, his deficiency helped me to learn self sufficiency, and I can't really be mad at that, Now can I?

Today, as I said, my father is god to me. Oh, he's not perfect. Faaaaaaaaaaar from it. he drinks a lot, smokes like a chimney, curses like a sailor, will only set foot in a church for a funeral (if that) and when it comes to matrimonial fidelity... let's just say he and i were two peas in a pod. *lol* He is the most human person I know, and what I love most about him is he makes absolutely no excuses for being so. Of my parents he's the one I've always been closest to because he's always been as real as possible with me, and any one who knows me know sincerity is something I crave. because I know him to be such a sensitive man I'm fiercely protective of him, and yes a tad bit territorial but hey... he's my daddy and it's taken me awhile to be able to see the importance of that position. He is, in my eyes, the perfect man. One who tries, slips, falls, learns from the descent, then picks himself up and tries again on surer footing. He's not afraid to be who he is, even if for a time he looks like a fool doing it. And after thirty-three years of watching from a somewhat sideline position, he knows me like the back of his hand. How could he not, since as his Michelle (which means she who is like god -- and he's the only person I willing allow to call me that), I was formed in his image and fashioned in his likeness. A much cuter version though, thankfully. *giggle*

Blessed Be...

Idadi

I want to wish all fathers a very Happy Fathers Day on Sunday 6/15/08... Above is a picture of my mom and Dad and I believe it was taken about 12 years ago which would have made my dad in his early 80s at the time...

Well fathers day has always meant a lot to me as it was a day that I could pay tribute to my dad without him making a fuse... This year I'm no longer able to show him how much he meant to me so I'm left with writing it down here...

Dad, I just wanted to tell you how special you were to myself and my 10 siblings... As a man you were one of a kind, as a father you were beyond what words can describe... I don't know why GOD decided that I deserved such a fantastic dad but I give thanks that he did... I'm looking forward to walking and talking with you again someday as I think those times we shared were the best moments of my life...

I can remember all of the huge family get togethers we had where even at the age of 90 you would be out in the yard running playing tag with your grandkids and great grandkids... Seeing you out there rolling on the ground with them pilling on you and listening to you laugh with them is something that I will always remember as it showed what a loving FATHER, GRANDFATHER, and great grandFATHER you were...

So Dad, I'm sending you all of my love and a warm and gentle hug in wishing you a very Happy Fathers Day.... Thanks for the great memories Dad...

Duane

Dear Alaina!

This is a letter for you from your father who loves you from here to heaven and back, which simply is a distance that no person can even begin to imagine, until that person has been as fortunate as I have been in being a part of your creation and your life.

Let's always be honest and truthful with each other so we can always be close and not be separated.

Your only,

Dad

Ten years later he died of cancer.

My five brothers and sisters and I, our mother - we were shattered. Our family torn to the core. We're still picking up the pieces. He was our rock. He was humble, modest, reserved but filled with joy and love for the world and for life. As a doctor he healed people for a living, but he also healed their souls with his eyes, his understanding and his compassion.

When I first started this blog, a brilliant commenter Tim Chard suggested I write a letter to my father. I had written about my fears of commitment, my fears of loss. Tim asked me if my father would want me to carry guilt and fear. So, here it is... it's long, I can't read it again because my eyes are flooded. So bear with the long form, this is just what came out.

Dad,

You wouldn't believe it ... you wouldn't believe how beautiful Benjamin is! How smart he is ... and he has your smile! He does ... his eyes cinch up like yours did when he smiles really hard. I wish you were here to throw him up in the air, tickle him like crazy and teach him about the world.

Remember the thunderstorm in the lake? When you woke me up in the middle of the night so we could go swimming in Lake Michigan, with the lightening off in the distance and the rain pouring over our heads? I wonder about that all of the time. Why didn't you just go alone? Why bother waking up your 12-year-old daughter, who probably needed her sleep. You woke me up because, as with everything else, you wanted me to experience that thunderstorm. You wanted me to face my fears. And you wanted to enjoy it with me. I'll never forget it...ever.

I can still feel the water, I can still see you jumping through the waves, diving and then popping back up shouting - that shout - you know the one. The one where you sounded like you were completely exhaling all of your frustrations, all of your stress. And then we were jumping around - swimming in the dark. I knew nothing would happen to me, because you were there to protect me

You're gone now. I know you are. But I can feel you. I see you in Benjamin's eyes. He sees you in mine, and we love you so, so much. It would be easier if you were here, maybe ... but in a way, all of this - this single mom thing - this life thing - seems easier because I watched you suffer with that cancer. That evil, evil cancer. Everything else pales in comparison on the emotional pain threshold compared to the way you had to suffer. And the pain I felt after you were ripped out of our lives.

I still love you from here to heaven and back ... and I try to be strong. I do. But I'm just your little girl inside. All I want sometimes is for you to just tell me that everything will be okay. For you to give me a big bear hug, or for you to even yell at me and tell me when I'm wrong. Sometimes I forget that you're gone. It happens once every few years. Something happens, something silly and my brain thinks for a split second, a nano second that I should call you. And then I remember that you're gone. But that second is so blissful.

I want you to know that I tell Benjamin about you all of the time. I tell him that he has you ... and that because he has you, he has a special angel looking out for him. You are an angel. You were an angel. But you were also the most amazing father anyone ever could have dreamed of having.

You weren't scared of anything. You just lived. The most important lesson you ever taught me was to love and appreciate life, and you taught me that long before you died. You knew it all along. I'm just so sorry you had to suffer like that. And don't feel bad for being so pissed at the end. I would have been too. I just want you to know that you still inspire me, every day.

And I can still see your smile, I can still hear your voice and I can still feel your hugs. You're still with me. Don't ever go.

Happy Father's Day Daddy!

P.S. I love how you put an exclamation point after my name!

Paul Peterson's "My Dad"
(Performed by someone else.)

I'm having some disturbing recurring dreams about my dad. In my dreams, he's not dead, but he's not alive either. He is a kind of ghost, but the ghost looks as he did when he was dying, and is trapped in the yellow skin he died in. Other times, he is a tiny, papier maché doll person, shrinking to nothing in a bed. A hospital bed, sometimes, and sometimes, he's in a bed in a caravan site. There are loads of caravans, and, far back, out in the emptier place, he's lying there. And I put my arms around him, and he's so small that they envelope him. The site looks like the one near my house, crossed with the park in Cairnlough that we used to stay on when we were kids.

I wake up small voiced and not knowing what's real, with the feeling that my dad is dying somewhere and I can't help him. I hate that I have the entirety of my imagination to play with in my dreams, and yet he's the image of himself on the day he died. He could be anything, could be my dad back when he had brown hair and a moustache, could even be him hugging me on the day of my confirmation, but he's not. Although I am glad I was with him on his last night (I was so very nearly too late. And, in the end, I wasn't even there when he died), I would do anything to erase the memory of him lying there. And I wish I could know if he heard us talking to him that night.

The sadness from waking up has been with me all day. I went out earlier in the rain to get some things for the cats, listening to music. In the street I felt totally overcome with grief, and took myself into a café to try and compose myself. Then, with cruel timing, "When I Live My Dream" by David Bowie came on. It's the song we played at our dad's funeral. So I ended up sitting there crying with my hand over my face, trying to make it look as though I was intently studying their menu.

It's my sister's birthday today, and Father's Day in three days, and then my dad's would-be fiftieth birthday on the 25th. And fifty is like an old age. Well, it's not old, but it's an age where I imagine you have grown up children, maybe a grandchild or two. I can't stop thinking of who my dad might be now, if he'd have kicked the drink if the hospitalisation was just a scare. What he'd look like, how he would have said happy birthday to Michelle and Paula, what I would have got him for his birthday, if we'd all have gone home for it and done something special.

People sometimes have a kind of image of alcoholics- either amusing Oliver Reed types or George Best (who had the same liver problems as my dad, but, because he's famous, he got a transplant, despite his drinking, and my dad didn't, and my dad died) or wastrels, abusive wife batterers. My dad wasn't like that, but I still have horrible memories of his drinking, his shouting and his wild, aggressive depressions. And some good memories, but they're clouded over and tainted by his alcoholism.

He wasn't the best dad all the time, but he was a wonderful person who had too much sadness, who destroyed himself and who could be unbearable because of his drinking, but he could not help it, and neither could we. There are different feelings with this because I have the awful guilt that sometimes I wished he was dead because I couldn't stand to watch him and my family suffer anymore. We had all been through so much and it felt like too much sometimes. I hate myself for that.

I just miss him. I could really have used him to talk to in these past two years.  I have dreamed of dedicating a funny, sad book to my funny, sad dad for years.

It's a sad day for other reasons and other people today, too. Three years ago today, a friend of mine, Andy, was knocked down in East London. He hung on for a few days, but he died. I haven't really said anything- I only met him a few times and we mostly spoke online, and I was not as close to him as some of my other friends were- but I've been reading others' feelings on it, and I know his daughter, who's just a little younger than I am, and she lost her dad. And I remember his funeral, the poetry, the songs and comics, which I experienced through a haze of mania, and the rain that day, and the fearsome lightning. I have one of his comics on my bedroom wall, with my photos. And he is in my thoughts, and so is everybody who loved him, and was loved by him.

Sigh.

so, yeah she's home. it's been really really awesome to have her back here. i know, it's just been a few days and we'll all be ready to kill each other soon enough.

she and i drove down to columbia yesterday, home of more candor and hello kitty. we went to retrieve some pieces of concrete that hello kitty didn't want, that came with the recent home purchase. by concrete i mean gargoyle bird bath, and a bench. angel sis called dibs on the bench and i'm sure you could've guessed my preference. (THE GARGOYLE BIRD BATH.)

originally, i'd asked daughter if she wished to invite her friend since he's strong and all but she declined that offer due to her WANTING SOME ALONE TIME WITH ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you know that is what mothers want their children to say, knowing full well that you cannot try and force that type of thing, rather let it happen naturally. i most like it when things happen naturally, without the intervention of the plans, designs, and simple manipulation from humans.

it was an awesome visit down to columbia, more candor had a book waiting for me that he knew i'd like. i so love that about him, he's thoughtful and wicked smart.

that's like the perfect thing a person can do pick out stuff they know you'd like. he ended up buying me a second book, one from my food sensitivity list. (they happened to have it at the book store he works for.) i love the book store he works for, it's not a big commercial place and it's just got that really awesome homey book lover feel to it.

as we drove back to our town, we stopped and picked up pizza and her favorite (mine too), the family eppy roll. this one place in our town KNOWS how to make a good pizza and an eppy roll. after that, we swung back to the crib so she could grab her suit and headed to the pool where the boys were. i sat and watched all of them swim for about an hour and it was a really peaceful experience for me.

i haven't had many of those over the past few years, or else i've been unable to "catch" them just so.

**WARNING SAPPY STUFF COMING UP**
after the pool closed, we all headed home and ate at the dinner table. like we used to do before she left. i was able to take it all in, us four sitting there each of us a little older, and a little wiser and the feeling of love came over me.

i noticed luke looking up at his sister, barely taking his eyes off of her like she was a rock star. i told her that she was his rock star, explaining further that magical was my rock star.

the daughter looked at me, and said "you are my rock star".

in the words of my dad, "don't that fine".

welcome home daughter.

more photos here.