Gourd Season

It's decorative gourd season!

Oh My Gosh!

Out of the corner of my eye, a dash of fur in the back yard.  

A FOX.

Oh my gosh!!! 

Neat.

 

Expected

Herself speaks.

I knew it would happen eventually, and it finally did:

I had a moment when my first reaction to something was, I really want to tell my Dad about this. And I had to pause, and contemplate the fact that he is No More, and that I can't tell him about this. Or anything else. Ever again.

-----

This past Monday, I received word through the grapevine that one of my mentors from my very first job out of professional school had passed away.  We'll call him Edward ("Ed"). Ed was, in many respects, a man cut from the same cloth as my Dad:  extremely smart, thoughtful, and dedicated to his profession. He was an excellent mentor, a gentleman, kind and full of lessons large and small that he imparted in his quiet way. 

When I heard that Ed had died, my very first reaction was to want to tell my Dad. Dad would understand that this was a great loss of a brilliant expert in the professional community; more than that, though, Dad would understand that this was a loss of a meaningful guide in my fledgling career, someone who gave me my first chance to be a True Professional Adult. He'd know what Ed had meant to me.

I wouldn't have to explain.

-----

The Dad-shaped hole in the world that my siblings and I keep falling into, persists. If anything, it seems bigger over time. Or perhaps not bigger, so much as it has fingers that stretch into every corner of every day.  When it was new, we could see it right in front ourselves, and it was easier to navigate.  Now that we have lived with it for a little while, every now and then we momentarily forget, and then we trip over its edges and fall right in again. 

I miss Daddy asking, "How are you?"

No one really asks any more, now that Daddy is gone.  

Maybe I'll just write Daddy a little note sometimes. 

Daddy. I heard Ed had passed away. He's with you now, wherever you are.  Keep an eye out for him -- I can't remember whether you two ever met, but I know you would like each other. You can talk about science-y things together, you would both enjoy that. Tell him I say hello. 

Monologue

I was scrolling through the interwebs today, and I caught America Ferrera's monologue from the Barbie movie.  It's brilliant.  

And now I'm not sure I can watch the movie. Not right now.  Because right now, I am So. Very. Tired. It might just be Too Much. 

Still. This snippet is worth watching. Because this is how we feel. 

This is why we are so Tired. 

Mlem

Tongue

Flashback to Mr. Tio.

He was so homely. And such a very good boy. 

Bonfire

A little get together for Beloved Husband's high school class. 

Safe Places

Book

Herself speaks.

My mother asked me to clean out my lovely Daddy's files. And so I did. It was not a difficult task, but it was challenging.  I had limited time, and a lot of mental processing to do.  

There were some items I was not sure about keeping -- do I need the paperwork for the sale of the condominium a few years ago?  Let's keep that a little longer, just in case. And there were other items I knew needed to stay a while longer -- keep all tax records for a minimum of seven years, Daddy always said!  The travel documents can definitely be shredded, as he's made his last journey. Funeral bill has been paid, that can be disposed of. All done. I wish I had time to go visit his grave. 

There were other things that I wasn't at all sure about.  Credit card statements: well, I only keep mine for a year myself, and I've shut down many of the cards, so I can probably shred those.  The file of business cards and names and addresses of colleagues and such: I'll put that in my backpack and take it home, in case I ever need to reach any of those people.  Plus, it had little scraps, such as the Post-it note where he first wrote Offspring the First's cell phone number, and the tiny tug at the heart was enough to want to keep that, for now. A folder for me and for each of my siblings, with various bits and pieces of useful information -- I'll put that in my backpack too, to sort later. One more trip through the airport with my deceased father's papers in my backpack, like the nuclear football. 

One item I found, that I struggled with most: a book, in the back of a file drawer: The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich - A History of Nazi Germany. It clearly was a gift (not a book he would buy for himself), something he felt compelled to save, but could not bring himself to have out in the open with the rest of his books. A thick tome with small print. I put it in my backpack when my mother was out of the room, because it seemed like a complicated find in his files, and I did not want to discuss it. It was hidden for a reason. 

I know that it is extremely important that humanity remember how the events leading to and surrounding World War Two, Nazi Germany, and the Holocaust came to be. We need always be cognizant of the ability and willingness of people to do horrific things to other people. We need to remember, to make sure these things do not happen again. 

At the same time, the idea of even holding such a book was repellent to me. The amount of horror, destruction, fear and loss associated with the words in the book was nearly audible. What should I do with the book? What could I do? To destroy a book is a crime. Yet to keep a book like that felt like having a Holocaust-era book bound in human skin. Could I give it to someone? Leave it somewhere for someone to pick up and take home? Donate it? That would involve being in contact with it until I could find a suitable place for it. It would feel like a visible stain on my hands, to even carry it around. 

Decision made: when I got back to my hotel, I threw it away. 

I feel that I have sinned in destroying a book, but I could not bear to have it exist near me any more. 

I hope I made the right choice, Daddy. I am doing the best I can for you, and your papers, and your things.

I miss you, and your wisdom. 

Poisonous. 

Hotel Relaxation

Bun enjoys a little light reading. 

City Lights

Wolf

 Today's earworm: Wolf (First Aid Kit). 

I do enjoy a solid harmony.

I hope you enjoy, too. 

I Hear The Song

Setting Sun

 Today's earworm: Setting Sun (Lord Huron).

Sometimes, even if the lyrics to a song aren't particularly grounded in my life, I find myself with the song on repeat -- in the car, at home, wherever I am, because the tune has worked its way into my brain and is scratching an itch that I didn't know was there.

Take a listen. In particular, the underlying drum just past the one minute mark. And again just past the two minute/twenty second mark. 

One more time. 

Portal

Portal, please.

Whoops

 Where is time going?

Help, buried in Work Work.

I'll get back to posting more regularly soon. I hope.