For all intents and purposes, I’m without cable or Internets this week. A wiring snafu has left me without access to my beloved DVR, and as a result, I’m sans Modern Family, and my beloved Cold Case Files from 2007, and Caprica, which I’ve only recently discovered and watch with one hand at the ready to cover my eyes (it’s the robot, you see. The kind of machine that rips its own arm off during a board meeting while people simply gawk and seem to worry little about the safety of their own limbs and testicles. That kind of thing). I’m going through very little withdrawal, surprisingly, and have done more spring cleaning than ever due to the silence. I’ve also stocked the cabinets with an array of movies to keep me entertained. Thus far I’ve watched Seabiscuit and In Bruges, not to mention The Hurt Locker, which was completely unexpected and mostly brilliant. 500 Days of Summer is on deck. I’m trying to pretend it isn’t going to be another twentysomething hipster flick. That and Inglorious Basterds, which I’m trying to pretend doesn’t feature Brad Pitt. More soon – tales of a winery visit and baby chicks warming my hands and travel plans sketched out in great detail – when posts don’t rely on the resilience of my thumbs.
On losing a loved one
I love the questions I get on Formspring, mostly because they make me think, also because they give me post ideas. The following question was submitted by an old Interwebs friend (I’ll let that person self-identify if so inclined). It’s odd; when you lost a parent or someone close to you, you become part of a club. I picture if we were to meet, we’d all exchange knowing glances and tips on what worked for us, what foods dropped on our doorsteps in the days following were most welcomed (an array of cheeses), what well-intentioned but ridiculous things people said to us in the weeks following (“he’s in a better place.”) I allowed myself five minutes to respond to this question, mostly because any more would take me to a place I wasn’t prepared to go that night. There’s much more to write, of course. I trust I’ll be capturing my father, and my feelings about both living with and without him, for decades to come.
Here’s a tough one, how has losing a parent changed you? (I’ve lost two siblings and I morphed into a different person, oddly more confident and more about “the moment”. I feel like I relate to you well because your tragic loss, as odd as that seems.)
Losing my father has made me more appreciative of my mother, more mindful of my interactions with her. I appreciate her more, try to treat her with more respect rather than reverting to my 12-year-old antics when she and I hit a bump in our relationship road.
Losing my father has left me with holes inside, noticeable in the oddest of moments, those times when I wonder if I need my oil changed, when I have a question about shellfish. I ache that he will never see me married or publishing a book or reforming myself, just as I have over the two years since he’s been gone.
Losing my father has made me more committed to doing something with this life, just as he did, to traveling and leaving an imprint. To being kinder and knowing when to sacrifice your own needs for another. To being more human in my everyday. I’m guessing parents could ask for very little more.
I’m lucky in that I have no regrets. My father and I lived lives with one another in almost complete honesty, no grudges held and an odd appreciation for who the other was, embracing it as completely as we both could. I worshiped most every part of him and am happy to say that I bear a number of his traits. I’m also happy to say I think he’d be proud of where I am today.
But I’m not the same person. And perhaps most ironically, I’ve yet to quit smoking. It’s on the long list.
HCR with a side of LMNOP
Twitter brings me great happiness, mostly because of the sweet glimpses it affords me into your joy, your seemingly neverending drama, your generally unfounded rants. Last night’s vote on health care reform was no different. I followed my twitter stream in silence, and both teared up at points and giggled myself silly. Silly. I’ve saved a snapshot of these for you, just a few, mostly because I couldn’t figure out how to screen shot more without draining my brain of all its reserve power. Click on the image below to enlarge it, and do read from the bottom up. That helps with chronology and what not.
(Interwebs savvy FAIL.)
I took great pleasure in reading the following, as well, led to the link by my trusty Twitter, to the official flickr page of someone apparently Obama approved. It’s a striking image of the President as the outcome of the vote is apparent, at that moment when the team begins to celebrate months if not years of effort. It’s a lovely, inspiring shot, a moment that captures more than just that, and reminds me why I’m proud to be American not just some nights, but always.
The comments deserve their own note. Some are supportive and respectful, as you’d expect they’d be, whether the writers support health care reform or not. This is a momentous event, the kind our children’s children will read about in textbooks (if those even exist then), and we were there to witness it. Amazing, no matter your view.
And then there are folks like Cockney Bull Dog with Lipstick, who respectfully adds [and do cover your children's (and bull dogs' eyes for this one)]:
Fuck you liberal cunts. May you all be last in line on your next visit to the ER behind border hoppers Ramirez & Lopez & fucking Montoya.
Uuuuuuugh. Stay classy, America.