happy father's day

happy father's day

She made it tough to find him. She went as far as to give me her high school class ring - from a school she didn't attend. She buried the trail deep. False facts scattered brilliantly. A multi-dimensional set of little islands of lies she might need in a future fabrication. Deep.

I found him anyway. Serendipitous bit. Another story. A story that confirms that bit about all it takes for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing. One of those good people had enough one day, and gave me his phone number the next.

I met my father when I was 30. And my adored little sister when she was 10. The weight of a non-existent past is surprisingly heavy.

We learned about each other in bits and pieces. He never tried to step into a false role. He referred to himself as my' Pops', but I preferred 'Dad.' We always discussed things as equals. He told me the stories about how he had tried and tried. How he always thought about us; me and my brother. How he always knew we'd find each other somehow. Some way. Some day.

We made our way over the last years. I often disagreed with his positions on issues, but he always made me giggle with the almost maniacal fever of his assertions. He was all about some very odd theories of the end of the world. I didn't realize the end of ours would come about so soon.

I was in CVS picking out cards. Cards for Bear's father and step-father. Cards for Rio's grandfathers. Cards for Bear from Rio. She opened a musical card that played 'Freebird.' It was a jokey card about a dad not being too old to rock and roll. And I'm surprised I was surprised by the tears. They pricked my eyes and I had to struggle to keep them contained. The thick, gray sadness that has gradually gotten easier to bear, came back almost unbearably hard. I miss my father still. Always. Deep.

If I could send him a card today, I'd pick that one that played 'Freebird' and I would sign it with love. I'd tell him he was not too old to rock and roll. I would promise to keep his stories, and the memory of him alive for Rio. I would promise to watch over Valencia, although she needs it less and less. I would include pictures of my happy little family, including the dog, because he loved animals AND cautioned me to always kiss my husband before kissing the dog. I might include a picture of me kissing the dog. I would tell him I love him and I miss him. I would tell him he's a great dad. Maybe the greatest. Certainly the most missed.

new and interesting ways to make my head explode

new and interesting ways to make my head explode

She's reading. A lot. Big and involved words. Thinking all.the.time. She's constantly asking me what words mean. It's been great for me to try to get concepts like satisfied across. My brain is creaky but enjoying this new level of interaction.

However.

She recently made up a word. I believe it's spelled O-Z-U-L-E-E-N-E-R-S. She would NO DOUBT correct me. The only challenge is that it's now on the list of "What does that mean?" and how in the hell am I supposed to answer that?

I made up a definition after being asked 4,117 times since breakfast "What does 'ozuleeners' mean?".

me: It means to scrub.

rio: Actually,that's not even close.

me: Well then, what does it mean?

rio: How should I know? That's why I asked you!

sedate ... or boring?

sedate ... or boring?

I'm sure you missed it but, this blog was hott pink for a minute. Oh, with little funny scrawly drawings.

So. Yeah. Tomorrow is the Tea Party at Rio's school. I'd better get to bed so I'm not the scary looking mom.

g'night!

huh. too much pink, methinks

huh. too much pink, methinks

Playing around with a lot of things.

Template.

Writing.

Returning to blogging.

Life.

Before I had a kid, I had no way to mark time. She firmly believes she's the center of the known Universe and that everything that happens involves her *somehow*. Every thing that I tell her about triggers the question, "How old was I?" and it is at once endearing, and maddening.

But I look at her now. She has a huge vocabulary. She has her own style of dress and I happen to believe she's channeling the lost spirit of Liberace most of the time. She's better in heels than I. She's better at math than I. She's says 'Go-ed' for 'went' and it's the only time of the day I get to feel smug.

She's 4 years, 10 months, and 9 days old. That's when my life really began.

can you hear me now?

can you hear me now?

When last I spoke to my "mother" I quite clearly told her that I would only speak to her in a therapeutic environment. Dueling shrinks. Witnesses. Security. I was crystal clear.

That was May 9th.

Since that time my baby sister graduated college. My father was murdered. My darling girl turned 4 a week after my darling husband turned 41. My life is moving too fast most days, and other days I just plain sleep through. But for my loved ones I push and push and push and hope to gain forward ground. I'm trying.

She called 2 days ago. No apology. Nothing reasonable even, although the unreasonable is always expected. She left a message saying she wished to see Rio and Bear. Call her back. This is her number.

Not a call from a therapeutic environment so, I did not return the call, as commanded.

Yesterday's message. "I'll be heading down your way on Friday and I would like to be allowed to see Rio. Call me."

She doesn't know my father was killed or she'd call and say something completely fucked up. I can't see her in a weakened state. I don't want to anyway. But does anyone want to guess who can't sleep?

Bear offered to call her. Tell her no. Tell her she's not welcomed. Tell her she's breaking the rules. Tell her she can not make me leave my house. My house.

She knits cashmere sweaters for her dog. She writes letter after letter; to the editor, the governor, old boyfriends. She has never given Rio a single gift. She has never sent one card. Not one 'Happy Birthday' card. Not one 'Happy Holidays' card. Not one. Ever.

She didn't keep us safe in her house and now she's planning to bring it here? I don't think so. I am on edge and waiting til Friday, Saturday, Sunday pass safely.

Watch the papers. This could go terribly wrong. Or maybe just right.

blogHer boston

blogHer boston

Now, I'm trying to decide whether to push forward, make real progress, write .. so I signed up for BlogHer Boston. But I just realized it's in Burlington. So I can't take the really cool train that goes right past my little town. And that, my friends, is throwing me for a loop that is completely out of proportion.

What else is new?

So, if I go you handful of faithfuls will be rewarded with a site that no longer sucks and rambles. If I don't, you can look forward to more of the same.

fashion rescue

fashion rescue

Is it just me, or does this look like you can choose your boob size by pulling the strings and inflating hidden bladders?!

what you don't know

what you don't know

I met my father when I was 30. Turned out, I had a sister, too. And five loving aunts. A darling uncle. And about a thousand cousins. It's been an awesome journey.

***

My mother made it as difficult as possible to 'find' him. She lied about our heritage, our father's knowledge of us, her state of residence, where she attended high school ... difficult.

***

I meant to get in here and tell you all about the week of May 17-24. My little sister graduated. We had a ball. My father and his first granddaughter, Little Miss Rio, really bonded. We have many pictures of the two of them - Rio dragging him by his fingers, Dad beaming. Rio trying to work the silly string can he just gave her, Dad beaming. Dad beaming. He started making plans to be on the east coast by her birthday. July. For good. He's moving! Big news but he's long been known for his devotion to all the children of his side of the family. Rio grabbed his heart and headed east with it. He planned to follow.

***

There are 'shirt off your back' people and that applies to my father in such a complete way. He'd give anything. If he had a lot, you had a lot. If he had little, you had half. Just that way. Pretty famous for it.

***

On May 31st he gave his life protecting a friend in need.

***

The story is long, complicated, stupid, and mostly tragic. But he's gone. I find myself in pain in a way I didn't know existed. Getting through the days seems impossible and yet, I have no choice. Really, it's all I can do to get out of bed and try to make sure my daughter, husband, brother, and sister are okay. I know this will change, but for now, I'm just done. This will be my last post and I don't know for how long. I don't know anything anymore it seems.

***

I asked him for strength so I could stand and deliver a eulogy. I wanted to make him proud. Although the details are fuzzy, I've been told I pulled it off.

***

Dad

My father was a man of passion and action. Occasionally ill-advised, and always with great gusto. He was the sort of man you would hope to have on your side both in joy, and in sorrow. Although I found him later in life, I have had the opportunity to create many beautiful memories of him that I shall cherish always. He was a friend to all who knew him, evidenced by the beautiful and pure emotions we witnessed yesterday.

I'd like to share a story that encompasses both his immediate call to action in any crisis, as well as the joyous lunacy that seemed to be such a part of his life.

My sister, V*, left for college and left her cat in my dad's care. Just as he happily walked my Auntie R*'s dog every day, he happily undertook this responsibility of the cat. One day he arrived home to find the cat on the step, hungry for a meal. He prepared a dish for the cat, no doubt inquiring about the cat's day and whatnot, and placed the meal down and the cat ate heartily. After the meal was finished, my father tried to pick up the cat and continue their conversation with some nice petting and snuggling. The cat went crazy – hissing and scratching my father. Me, being a dog person, would have returned the cat to the outdoors and wished it well in its ventures. But my father jumped to action. He thought, "Oh no! What if the cat has rabies or distemper?! What it he ate something and he's sick?! If there's something wrong with this cat it will break V's heart. I have to get it to the vet immediately!"

So. He found a box, cornered the cat in the house, and at great personal risk and eventual harm, he wrestled that cat into that box. He put the hissing, howling box into his car and drove out of the driveway. Two houses down the road -- he saw his actual cat. He told me the cat was sunning himself on a deck, and he craned his head and smiled as my father drove by; no doubt wondering at my dad's errand and wondering at the identity of the howling and hissing cat in the box.

That was him. Immediate action.

The first time I met him, it was at the Chicago airport. My sister was with him and she stood a bit behind him. Protected by him, and peaking out at me. He embraced me and launched into an unprepared but very content rich soliloquy. How he never stopped loving us. How he thought of us every day. How he tried and tried to find us and he was so happy to have us again. He told me we have a great big family that loves us and never forgot us. I looked at his hands on the steering wheel and thought, "My brother has those hands." It has been one of the best gifts in my life, and in my brother's life, to wander into this fantastic family.

I feel blessed to have his blood running through my veins. From my father I have received uncommon courage, an inquiring mind – even if I don't use those powers to try to apply the math for the stress patterns of titanium to the stock market, or to use things like the Mayan calendar to predict the exact date of earth's last day -, the ability to speak at superhuman speeds, and, obviously, his devastating good looks. He's given me an amazing family. A wonderful brother. An adored sister. His granddaughter, Rio, cherished him from the moment she met him. I know how she feels.

We will share his stories and I know he will continue to live in the hearts of his friends and his family. Thank you all for being a part of that.