just one look and i fell so hard, oh ohhh

Today, I've had my own little film festival. Three movies at the local multiplexes: one foreign, one musical, and one drama.
Let's just say this day has run the gamut of my emotional range and I am wiped out.

It started early this afternoon. Oh, but first, let me give a little introduction before I launch into my "today".

Early in September, I had found that Bollywood films were coming to Savannah! Well, close enough here for me! I'd gone to see "Raja Natwarlal" at the Royal in Pooler, having missed it on its short run here in town. What great fun! Imagine "The Sting" as a musical, then add lots of jingly-jangly costumes and a healthy dollop of humor - I loved it!!! It was the kind of movie that I would have gladly seen twice, given the opportunity.
Ever since, I've kept my eye (the left one, my "good" eye) on the cinema schedules of the Royal there and the Wynnsong here in town.
Finally my vigilance was rewarded! "Bang Bang!" would have its final screening in town today, before its weeklong run in Pooler.

So, that was my first order of business today. Go get some fresh Bollywood and maybe have leftovers next week! And, oh, am I glad I did! There I was, at 1:00 PM sharp, sitting in the cinema, watching "Bang Bang!" And getting totally hot and bothered. Totally. Lots of action, a plot involving spies and a case of mistaken identity during an internet-arranged blind date, lots of singing, lots of dancing! Lots of Hrithnik Roshan. Oh, my! I found myself on the edge of my seat, trying to get as close to him as I could.
Raawwwrrrr!
Three hours later, I found myself heading straight home to relieve some sexual tension. Straight home. No radio, taking the parkway as much as possible, concentrating only on the mission at hand. Seriously.
What a relief it was, too! It's been a while since I was that ...that ...you know what I mean! A woman has needs, especially after watching that man move and listening to that man talk and sing... oh, my, Y E S!!! And you know what the attraction was? He was built like a real man. Solid shoulders, solid haunches, great hair, incredible eyes... the combination was irresistible to me.
I will, most assuredly, go see this again next week.
Oh, yes, I will.
This definitely rates a trip out to Pooler.

So.. where was I? Oh, yes, talking about the emotional rollercoaster of my film festival today.
Well, that was the giddy high point.
Afterward, I took a little break before heading back southside. I had tried to get my friend Lauri to come with me, as I know she has a soft spot for World War II films, but she had other plans. Actually, I think she backed off when I said it was a musical.
Perhaps she was expecting it would be too lightweight if the players were breaking out in song? Not quite. Tim Rice's "From Here To Eternity: The Musical" was certainly full of pathos and realism. Anyone who thinks all musicals, Broadway or off, are simply farsical fun need to take another look, especially at opera. This work has a lot of serious pieces, more so than songs of mirth, as can be seen in this trailer. Robert Lonsdale and Ryan Sampson were especially good in this theatrical piece. If you ever get the chance, please do watch it.
I was glad I did, but saddened a little by it. My Great-Uncle Sam Grantham was over in Pearl Harbor on that auspicious day in 1941, a day that came to life again in this play-turned-film. I cannot even imagine what impact that had upon him as a young man. He died of colon cancer when I was a teen; I don't recall him ever talking about those days as a sailor in Hawaii. However, this musical brought home to me how great a shock it must have been to go from watching hula girls one day to trying to save your life the next morning.
Well, that was very sobering.

One last movie to finish out the day, I thought. Let's make it a new one, fresh from the West Coast! And in the very same southside cinema as the musical, too. More Regal points for me!
"The Judge" promised Robert Downey, Jr., in a serious role, as opposed to playing Marvel's Iron Man. (Please note: I love the Marvel films, I do! But I wanted to see Downey stretch a little, too.)
No one warned me that this was a father-son film in which the father was dying of cancer. That last little part was left out of the previews.
It certainly did allow for some stretching of acting skills for both him and Robert Duvall. Both were well-equipped for the challenge and did a stellar job. That made sure I would be in tears at the end.
As if I wouldn't have been reminded of my own father's death from cancer, just five years ago.

All in all, one heck of a day.
I'll have to do this again sometime.
It's good for me to stretch, too!

His eye is on the sparrow

My fsil's mother sent this to me today. it isn't the first time she's done so, but the timing is the key on this occasion. I don't know if it's true or not, but it is a lovely tale. I did track down the copyrighted story, as written by the songwriter John Thomas Oaks.

* * * * * * * * *
The SPARROW at STARBUCKS - The song that silenced the cappuccino machine.

It was chilly in Manhattan but warm inside the Starbucks shop on 51st Street and Broadway, just a skip up from Times Square. Early November weather in New York City holds only the slightest hint of the bitter chill of late December and January, but it's enough to send the masses crowding indoors to vie for available space and warmth. For a musician, it's the most lucrative Starbucks location in the world, I'm told, and consequently, the tips can be substantial if you play your tunes right.

Apparently, we were striking all the right chords that night, because our basket was almost overflowing. It was a fun, low-pressure gig - I was playing keyboard and singing backup for my friend who also added rhythm with an arsenal of percussion instruments. We mostly did pop songs from the '40s to the '90s with a few original tunes thrown in. During our emotional rendition of the classic, "If You Don't Know Me by Now," I noticed a lady sitting in one of the lounge chairs across from me. She was swaying to the beat and singing along.

After the tune was over, she approached me. "I apologize for singing along on that song. Did it bother you?" she asked.

"No," I replied. "We love it when the audience joins in. Would you like to sing up front on the next selection?" To my delight, she accepted my invitation. "You choose," I said. "What are you in the mood to sing?"

"Well. ... do you know any hymns?"
Hymns? This woman didn't know who she was dealing with. I cut my teeth on hymns. Before I was even born, I was going to church. I gave our guest singer a knowing look. "Name one."

"Oh, I don't know. There are so many good ones. You pick one."

"Okay," I replied. "How about 'His Eye is on the Sparrow'?"

My new friend was silent, her eyes averted. Then she fixed her eyes on mine again and said, "Yeah. Let's do that one." She slowly nodded her head, put down her purse, straightened her jacket and faced the center of the shop. With my two-bar setup, she began to sing, "Why should I be discouraged? Why should the shadows come?"

The audience of coffee drinkers was transfixed. Even the gurgling noises of the cappuccino machine ceased as the employees stopped what they were doing to listen. The song rose to its conclusion.

"I sing because I'm happy; I sing because I'm free. For His eye is on the sparrow and I know He watches me."

When the last note was sung, the applause crescendoed to a deafening roar that would have rivaled a sold-out crowd at Carnegie Hall. Embarrassed, the woman tried to shout over the din, "Oh, y'all go back to your coffee! I didn't come in here to do a concert! I just came in here to get something to drink, just like you!"

But the ovation continued.. I embraced my new friend. "You, my dear, have made my whole year! That was beautiful!"

"Well, it's funny that you picked that particular hymn," she said.
"Why is that?" I asked.

"Well," she hesitated again, "that was my daughter's favorite song."
"Really!" I exclaimed.

"Yes," she said, and then grabbed my hands. By this time, the applause had subsided and it was business as usual at the cofee shop. "She was 16. She died of a brain tumor last week."

I said the first thing that found its way through my stunned silence. "Are you going to be okay?"

She smiled through tear-filled eyes and squeezed my hands. "I'm gonna be okay. I've just got to keep trusting the Lord and singing his songs, and everything's gonna be just fine."
She picked up her bag, gave me her card, and then she was gone.

Was it just a coincidence that we happened to be singing in that particular coffee shop on that particular November night? Coincidence that this wonderful lady just happened to walk into that particular shop? Coincidence that of all the hymns to choose from, I just happened to pick the very hymn that was the favorite of her daughter, who had died just the week before? I refuse to believe it.

God has been arranging encounters in human history since the beginning of time, and it's no stretch for me to imagine that he could reach into a coffee shop in midtown Manhattan and turn an ordinary gig into a revival. It was a great reminder that if we keep trusting him and singing his songs, everything's gonna be okay.
* * * * * * * * *

Good message. Hopeful, too.

That message was reflected at the funeral today, too, as was... this song.
Coincidence or reinforcement of content?
I had started this post prior to the funeral and had no idea which songs, if any, might be part of the ceremony. This last paragraph was added as a postscript after Guerry's service was done.
Thank you to my angels.
i thank You, God.

but I swear it was in self defense

On March 29th, I went to hear The Wailers as part of the Savannah Music Festival. I danced for more than an hour! They had everyone get up for their fourth song and most of us STAYED up, too. Fabulous concert! Especially the second hour, when they concentrated on their hits, rather than the songs on their latest album. One of those hits was "I Shot the Sheriff".
Every time I hear "I Shot the Sheriff", I recall my father. He and I were riding in the car together, maybe going to Augusta, I don't recall our destination. I was in the early years of my stint in the Navy, I think. Those details are bit fuzzy.
But I definitely recall that it was a warm, blue-sky day and the windows of the car were wide open. Daddy's dark, wavy hair was caught in the breeze of our passage, his left arm atop the bottom lip of the open window. And he was enthusiastically singing along with Eric Clapton on the radio. What a fabulous moment, crystallized in the deep folds of my brain, blue sky, blowing hair, and a deep sense of contentment.
I miss that with him.
I miss him.
He would have been 77 today.
Happy birthday, Daddy.

happy birthday flag

I had known something was wrong with me from the moment i woke up today, but i couldn't put my finger on it.
I hadn't looked at a calendar.
The social network had reminded me late last night of Sam J's upcoming birthday, and I had posted celebratory greetings on his wall. I had even commented on how he was missed.
Then i went to sleep and woke up this morning down, down, down.
I started my day texting a new friend, with an apology for not asking him about a line of thought interrupted by the film last night. Before coffee, i was texting, seeking to lend solace. Before coffee.
As we sent our words through the morning air, i brought up blogging as therapy and mentioned how i had been on my beach a lot these past days. He suggested a meeting tonight to cage my demons and i agreed.
Then i had coffee and pasta for breakfast. And i thought i would go through my blogs, maybe pull up a few that help give my new friend a crash course in me. Not that i really think he needs it much, as he's been to my AD house and even seen part of my AD photo album. Still, i thought he might be interested in some of my blogs.
So, there i was, still in my nightgown, perusing my beach for scattered treasures. Posts like rain and "touch" and "irony". And let's not forget about "music festival" and "impact" and "invisible trees". All good ones for anyone trying to get a true feel for who i am or at least the machinations of my mind.
Then i found myself reading all the posts about Daddy and his impending death. And i sat here and sobbed. Father's Day is this weekend and the commercials just keep comin', just as they did for Mother's Day, reminding me that i have no parents now. Friends talk to me of the health and mental issues mounting for their parents and i cannot even begin to know what anguish they are bearing. For both of my parents, it was a matter of months between knowing of their ill health and mourning their death. At least i was better prepared for Daddy's death, having already watched Mama and Mother Pat waste away into the darkness. I was even able to help Daddy continue to BE himself for those last months, as i concentrated on treating him as my Daddy and not talking of his disease.
Then I came across "18 years" and my heart broke. I read it all again, through my streaming eyes, though i do believe i could have recited it by heart. I read the comments again, missing the man and missing our friendship and missing his strength during my first AD years.
Thanks to Sam, i have friends here, and elsewhere, now, who know me and know my story but don't know the ex. Believe me, that is a wonderful situation - they never ask about the ex and i don't bring him up, allowing a bit of breathing space in my new life.
I knew i was off today, but i didn't quite understand how far i had strayed.
I knew it was the 14th of June, but i had muted my actions of the night before, allowing me to temporarily derail my sorrow.
I knew i was missing a piece of my heart.
I didn't realize it was more than one.

2 years ago today

Two years ago today, Daddy drew his last breaths of Southern air. Here's a memory of a much happier day for me, for him, and for my stepmama, Bonnie.

post-catfish eating

In October of 2003, I snapped this one. Daddy is sitting on the front porch of one of his favorite restaurants, after enjoying all-you-can-eat fried catfish with family. Cigar-smoking was one of his vices from the time I was a kid, but his tastes had improved and his cigars were more pleasingly aromatic by this time.

catfish eaters

Here's Daddy, flanked by two Michiganders in one of his favorite restaurants, for one of his favorite meals. This was taken in January of 2005. Daddy was in heaven, eating all the fried catfish he wanted (I believe it was 11 that day!) and showing others how to partake of that manna.
Daddy would have been 75 today.

Daddy, 2009

I took this picture in March of 2009, about six weeks before my father's death. He had terminal duodenal cancer, caught far too late for treatment to have helped. He opted to NOT take chemotherapy or radiation treatments, preferring to have his wits and his energy and his love of life. We were celebrating the birthday of his youngest grandson, up in Beaufort.
I miss him.

May day

Dear Daddy,
What a glorious day this has been! True, I did sleep through much of the morning hours, but that left me refreshed for the day's activities. Yes, I did have hotdogs for breakfast, but they were 98% fat-free, giving me lots of protein. A much better breakfast than I would have had out and about, I'm sure, where butter and cheese lurk around the edges of 'most everything.
My backyard neighbor was cutting my grass as I was having my coffee. I felt a bit guilty about that. I had fully intended to get up early and try to work on my lawnmower, maybe see if that blade I was given was even the right size. Yeah, I know: I should have already done that by now, but I can ALWAYS find a reason not to.
Anyway, I went out to thank him, yet again, for making my backyard beautiful, yet again. He told me he liked doing the work and actually tried to do it when he knew I was gone because he didn't want me to feel like I was obligated to try to do something nice in return. Well, I asked if it were okay if I treated him and his family to dinner and he grudgingly said okay. I gave him one of the Bonefish Grill gift cards and a little money, but I had tucked the money in the card holder so neither of us had to actually look at the amount. I do hope he and his wife and daughter will have a lovely evening out. They have been so very gracious to me, especially since your death. He lost his dad last year, too, so please let his dad know he has a good kid on this planet.
So, I have breakfast and get busy with my eBay work on this lovely first day of May. I just cannot tell you how very glad I am that a new month has begun! Then again, you already know how hard April was and how very glad I am to be shed of it. Between your birthday the first week and your death the last week, there was so much heartache in between. I sure miss you.
Anywho, I finally got caught up with my computer works and decided that a movie was just what I needed. So, I go looking for movies and realize that I'm looking for times for "Oceans", the new Earth Day release. Not in a single cinema in Savannah. Not one. All these multiplexes and NOT ONE had the film!!! But the little cinema in Bluffton did! So, I called your wife to see if she might like to meet me there, as we have done from time to time, and lo and behold! She said YES! Out the doors we both flew! The cinema is about an hour away and the start time of the film was scheduled for an hour's time, giving us barely enough wiggle room. And, amazingly, we both made it in good time, even getting popcorn and cokes and finding seats before the lights went down. The film was WONDERFUL and she told me she could always count on me to pick a movie that she would like...and I do try to do so, because I truly enjoy her company and we have such a good time on our outings.
I know that technically she's my stepmom, but she would be the first to say we are friends more so than relatives. I fully agree. Friends are the family YOU pick, not the ones thrust upon you by genetics, and we two ARE friends. We've helped each other get through this past year, this first year without you physically in our lives. It's been tough at times, but knowing we were in it together always helped.
You know, she insisted on treating me to dinner, calling it my birthday dinner. talk about being the first to wish me birthday greetings!!! Still, she's right, we won't see each other then. My singing bird is doing up my birthday this year, taking me to Myrtle Beach for Dixie Stampede and the aquarium and waking up to ocean sounds. He's Plum good to his Peach, ain't he?
So my stepmom, my friend, takes me to dinner and we have a very nice Italian meal, with lots of excellent bread and flavor. Oh, and this mayonnaise with chipotle peppers that was - mmmuummff!! - que bella! We both ended up with a meal for later.. maybe later tonight! - and full tummies, and maybe just a wee spot left for a sweet something or other. And wasn't that a cookie shop around the corner?? Sure enough! We split a Millionaire cookie, full of chocolate and caramel and I don't remember what all made up its yumminess. Very nice!
After, we went our separate ways,
she back to her new home, me to a games night with friends.
I enjoyed the drive home, the color of the blue sky and the new green of the trees
and the warmth of the sun through the slight cool of the breeze.
And I thought to myself how very fortunate I am
to have her in my life
to have my singing bird in my life
to have new friends in my life.
I am so blessed that my mayday was heard
and I was given this May Day.
Word!
Yeah, I know, I just can't help myself sometimes. I didn't mean to go into a rhyme scheme, but, there ya go.
With my love always,
your one-and-only, ever-lovin' daughter

Big Bad Wolf?

Tonight, I joined my stepmother for dinner. Yes, yes, I can just hear it now: "On a Tuesday? Doesn't she live in Beaufort? Why not wait?" Why not wait. Well, let me suggest: Why wait? Time is short on this planet, and the older we get, the shorter the time we have left to be with each other and enjoy each other's laughter.
So, after talking this past weekend on the phone, I decided we really needed to see each other. Many reasons I had, too, for pushing the time up from that first weekend in October. I had already obtained her birthday present and wanted her to open her gift early. I thought she could stand a little cheering up. I wanted to let her KNOW I think she's special. And, since Daddy is no longer on this planet, I wanted her to have something to cuddle up with at night, too, 'cause big ol' beds weren't intended for solo sleeping, ya know?
We met up at the Wendy's near the traffic circle on the way to Bluffton. Only about 30 minutes for both of us, so not bad. This Wendy's is HUGE: spacious, bright, great service. I deliberately left the present in the car, to wait until after dinner. Sure enough, after we ate, she wanted to take a little walk, so we went to my car so I could put my dinner container in the trunk... and I gave her the Big Bad Wolf. Mind you, that's just what I've been calling him, and I've thought that from the moment I saw him. I even have that song from Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs, done in the 1960's, still in my head, talking about Little Red Riding Hood and howling. And you know what? Without me even mentioning it, SHE thought of that song, too, and told me the story of the field trip to the beach that her high school class took in 1966, with the teacher cranking up the radio and them all singing along to that song. I told her I remembered Daddy singing and hamming it up to that song and that I thought of him, endearingly mind you, as the Big Bad Wolf. We talked about that a bit more as we walked, gradually changing to other topics, as the color of the sky deepened and night fell.
When we returned to Wendy's, I walked with her to her car and she took the wolf out to look at him and talk some more. I told her he was definitely a good wolf, as part of his cost went to help endangered animals. She was holding him and looking at his face when she proclaimed him to not be a wolf, but a sheep in wolf's clothing! Imagine that!!! And you know what? She was absolutely right. Those were NOT the ever-hungry eyes of a wolf, but the soft, deep brown of ovine eyes. That creamy muzzle protruding from that beautiful gray fur was far too sweet to be that of a carnivore. Judge for yourself.
Now, the question is: what to name him? There's a book, published in 2007, with several all-puns-intended suggestions, but I don't know that they'll be quite right. RAMbunctious? RAMshackle? Heyewe? Not my choice about the name, though: he doesn't belong to me. I'll let you know the name when I do... maybe!

tamales

I finally got around to turning on the tv about 10:30 tonight (hey! I was busy out and about with real people!) and watched the tail end of "Psych," one of my favorite shows for many reasons. But that would be another entry, another time. After the show ended, I thought I would see if a movie might be next up. Then, on my way to finding a movie of interest, I noticed "Good Eats" was just starting and tuned in. And there Mr. Brown was, talking about tamales. Tamales, of all things. So, I started this post, then returned to watch the show. My Daddy would have wanted it that way, you see. Tamales were his "thing." And watching a show that seamlessly combines science with everyday life is most definitely MY "thing."
So, I learned all about making tamales, in an episode titled, in his typical tongue-in-cheek style, "Tamale Never Dies." I kid you not. (My Daddy would have loved it, wishing he had been the one that came up with the name.)
The first thing I learned was the origin of the dish and of the word itself, in a South American jungle setting. I kid you not. (I truly LOVE this show. It's the ONLY one I watch on the Food Network.) "Tamale" is based on an Aztec word for "wrapped food", constructed to be portable meals for hunters and warriors on the go, made by their loving mates. The wrapper, the filling, the masa, the fabrication, and the cooking. very interesting, surprisingly easy, but one of those operations to do when you have some time on your hands, much like the making a Polish dish which uses cabbage leaves to make a Dutch oven FULL of rolled meat and rice packages. In other words, plan to spend a few hours on this dish.
So, it certainly isn't something I would normally even consider making. After all, I have a reputation as the queen of the 30-minutes-or-less meal and I am justifiably proud of that title. Not only that, but I tend to cook all in one pot, lessening the quantity of dishes to be cleaned after said meal has been enjoyed. And yet, I do find myself doing that very thing - considering the making of tamales. Still fairly theoretical, but gaining form. Why? Well, partly because tamales were such a cherished food for my father. He's been on my mind a lot these past few weeks and I see this food as a potential link between us, something to make me feel he isn't so far away. If he were still on this planet, I would have called to get his ideas on the subject and invited him to share in the repast once the project was complete.
Instead, I think I shall invite my singing bird to be my dinner guest. You see, Alton Brown also talked about the Tamale Trail in the Mississippi Delta. According to Mr. Brown, migrant Mexican workers brought their hot tamales with them to the area, where the slaves in that hot, swampy land really took to them. The Mississippi Delta, the same exact homeland of my singing bird. I think perhaps Daddy would have been right pleased about that. He and Harry could have had many a discourse on the merits of tamales, with future searches for eateries of worth which offered that culinary delicacy. Delicacy indeed! Tamales are a real man's food, made with meat and lard - yes, I said lard and I meant lard, just go ask Mr. Brown why - eaten with the hands, not forks or spoons, not even necessarily on a plate.
Yeah, I think a foray into the tamale world is on my agenda.

roller coaster

I have always said I love roller coasters, mostly for the scream value. Truly! You get whipped around, up dizzying heights, dramatically down into narrow pits, around sharp bends into nothingness. And while all of that is going on, you can scream as loudly as you want. Quite a nice primal bit of escapism.

But lately I've been on a ride of a different sort, an emotionally exhausting roller coaster called Watching My Father Die. The highs are fabulous, life-affirming, but short-lived, like radioisotopes emitting high energy gamma rays for only nanoseconds. The lows are draining, frustrating, debilitating, with longer and longer lifespans. For this ride, screaming wouldn't even give the needed release to abate the desperation-tinged terror of watching a loved one lose their grip on both their own identity and that fragile thing called life.

Daddy called me this morning as I was leaving Columbia, wanting to know when I would be in Beaufort. "Throw on your clothes and come on! We're just waiting on you!" "Well, then, you're in luck 'cause I'm already dressed and on the highway!" "Okay then, we'll look for you about one o'clock." Upbeat, he and I and Bonnie looking forward to our upcoming lunch together. That was around 11am and I was on 26E, driving to 95 and down. He and Bonnie had been awake since 8:30 and he was feeling his oats!

By the time I arrived at 12:40pm, 20 minutes ahead of time (he always chides me for being late; "If you're on time, you're late!" he'll say with a grin), the oomph was already dissipating. He looked really good, new haircut, clean clothes, but his energy level was flagging. Still, he insisted that we go out and get some lunch, so that's what we did. First, he had to be transferred from the recliner to the rolling kitchen chair, then pushed out of the bedroom to the kitchen, where we then helped him transfer to the wheelchair. Out we went to the front porch, to the top of the stairs, where three of us helped him get down the stairs and into the Expedition, door already open at the foot of the stairs. And justthatfast, he was so exhausted that he had the shakes. Justthatfast. But still wanting to spend time with me and Bonnie.

We drove down to the waterfront park, but it was crowded, so we drove around a bit more, letting Daddy catch his breath while we all chatted about where to have lunch. Finally, we picked a destination, all got out and got inside... and Daddy had to go to the restroom. By the time he and Bonnie returned to the table, he was too wiped out to even eat. Still, we stayed there for about an hour, again letting him collect himself while she and I ate, talking about things around town. We get back to the vehicle, without incident, get back home, wait for Michael to return, then get Daddy back up the stairs to the waiting wheelchair.

He and I sit on the porch, enjoying the afternoon warmth and sunlight while he finishes a cigar. Fairly normal, right? Done many times in the past. Except he keeps dropping the cigar, his fingers just not able to maintain their grasp on the half-smoked cylinder. After about the twentieth drop, he's done. Done with smoking the cigar, done with sitting on the porch, done with being upright for the day. Michael and I move him back inside, pulling him in the wheelchair in the front door, to the kitchen, where we help him transfer to the smaller chair so he can be pulled into the bedroom, right next to the hospital bed brought by hospice, where we help him transfer into the bed... and pull up the rail so he won't fall out.

I stay a while longer, reading some favorite comics aloud, even doing different voices for the characters in Beetle Bailey, Wizard of Id, Foxtrot. I thought maybe he had fallen asleep, but when I stopped talking, he opened his eyes, so I would resume. I finally finished the readings and told him I was going to go on home. I finished up with a kiss and "See you next weekend." "I hope so." "Me, too."

Me, too.

And I drove home with the radio off, driving and crying, painting my shirtsleeves the color of tears. Eventually I pushed the button for some music: "Silent Lucidity" was just beginning. "Hush now, don't you cry/ Wipe away the teardrop from your eye/...it was all a bad dream/ spinning in your head/ your mind tricked you to feel the pain/ of someone close to you leaving the game of life." My angels, coming to my emotional rescue and using music for therapy. Taking a cue, I turned the radio off after the song, came home, put on Queensryche's "Empire" CD at high volume... and I'm back, tired, but with my head again clear and looking to the new day.

once upon a time

Once upon a time, I was his princess and he was the man I adored. Then I got older and he made mistakes and my parents divorced. I found out he wasn't the man I had thought he was and I grew up... and I kept in touch, because he was my one-and-only Daddy, warts and all, and I was his one-and-only ever-lovin' daughter.

I eventually got old enough to understand that the divorce had nothing to do with us kids. The marriage was between him and Mama. The truly bad patterns of behavior were between him and Mama. The divorce, also, was between him and Mama. No one can know what goes on in a marriage except the two people wed by law to each other.

We four kids stayed with Mama. Daddy remarried, not once but twice. The third marriage was the charm, as they say, and they are still married and have two sons who know nothing of the man Daddy used to be. He truly did change: no more wild drinking, no more reckless gambling, no more heavy-handed actions. His third wife laid down the law to him and he agreed to abide by her rules. Incredible how people can change when they choose to do so.

Now, Daddy is dying, having caught hold of the awful Cancer virus. Fortunately, he has little pain and has a doctor who graciously supplied him with pills to make sure he can enjoy the time he has left with his now-grown children and his new grandsons.

Daddy is taking advantage of the short time he has left on this planet. He has mended the rift between our side of the family (me and my brothers) and his one-and-only sister. I look forward to someday soon seeing my three cousins, two I haven't seen in almost 40 years and one I've never met. Strange how such rifts develop between grown-ups and the children are the ones who have to deal with the consequences.

My middle brother has made his peace with Daddy, too, finally, after all these years. I had made sure he knew of Daddy's health, knew time was short, and he decided on his own that he needed to make the move. I believe it will make a difference in his life, a positive shift. I hope it will.

We are all trying to share more quality time with each other. No talk of dying and death, just good times and laughter and hugs. As long as Daddy still has his sense of humor, he's still enjoying the good life and I'll be right there with him as often as I can. Meals shared, old memories too, and new memories made, making the most of this second chance to rewrite the ending of our history together.

rain

"I can't stand the rain/ Against my window." So sang Ann Peebles back in the day, so sang Tim Love last night with the Sapphire Bullets of Pure Love. On the other hand, I love the sound of rain, I love the sound of driving on a highway in a steady rain. Not a gully-washer, nor a light drizzle that makes the windshield wipers scrape, but a steady, drenching wash of water.
Today was a rainy day in Georgia and it was a rainy day in South Carolina as well. I had intended to go over to Beaufort to visit my ailing father in the morning. Time ticked away and I was still at home after noon. Then the postman delivered a big envelope from my youngest brother and the letter had a message for our father. Finally, motivation to get me out of the house! Northward I drove, with the rain beginning as soon as I hit the highway. Big lovely drops of rain, falling out of the sky, falling on the rivers and creeks and marshes, sweetening the air, knocking out the dust. Ahhhh...
I had a really good visit with Daddy and his family, even discussing the rain at one point and how much he and I both enjoyed driving in it. Not in town, mind you, where folks with licenses from Cracker Jacks feel free to get out and muck up the roads every time precipitation occurs. No. We like driving on the highway, accompanied by the wooshing sound of rubber on wet pavement, the "tlok tlok" of windshield wipers keeping time with the tunes on the radio, the gentle drumming on the roof of the car.
On the drive back to Savannah, the rain commenced again as soon as I was back on the highway. Nice! With dusk settling down around me, I saw the many slender fingers of the fog reaching out of the rivers and creeks and marshes, reaching for the sky, reaching for the soft dark underbellies of the clouds. What an incredible view: water, water, above and below and all around.