Saturday Touch Past...

That's what today was as I decided to clear out my back bedroom where everything gets tossed. I should say 'start' to clear it out. I didn't get as far as I wanted because I touched the past--alot. I found letters from a guy I went to high school with. Turns out we exchanged handwritten letters during one of his years in college. I didn't/don't even remember! Cards signed by my sweet Daddy. I can't believe on 10/18 will be the tenth anniversary of his passing. Found pictures of Dad before diabetes really made its move. Healthy, robust and King Edward cigar in his mouth. There was also a letter I 'wrote' to my Dad wishing him Happy Father's Day. I looked at the envelope. It was dated a year after I was born. Ha! I'm sure Mom helped! I've mentioned I was such an Osmond Brothers fan back in the day---well, I found negatives, probably all my negatives, of that mystical, magical time. Such a surprise! The big question, do places still reprint off 110 negatives? The actual prints, I have lost some thru the years--so for an Osmond fan, this is quite the jackpot! More photos, newspaper clippings, notes I'd received from management at the company I worked at before my current one. I'd given the CEO a copy of my then newly self published book. He sent me a nice note back which include his wish for my writing career to thrive! Completely forgot that! Cards to celebrate my birthday, good wishes when I left a company. sympathy for my dad's passing and get wells after my pesky open heart surgery. All these things span my whole life. Then I found a sympathy card from the girl who was my BFF thru our girlhood growing up years. I remember I was surprised I heard nothing from her when Dad passed. She had family in our hometown and Dad's passing was mentioned about every hour on our local small town radio station mixed in with the soy bean report. The BFF lived in another state, yet I thought her family would tell her. My house was her home away from home, when we grew up. We were that close. One inhaled, while the other exhaled. When I got back to Dallas, after Dad's funeral, and still not a word from her, I wrote BFF to tell her of my Dad's passing. Her handwritten letter told me her family didn't tell her. And we hadn't been the closest thing in those recent times. She apologized several times in the letter saying there was no other place she would have been if she'd known. Also the former BFF said it had been awhile since we'd spoken and left me her phone number. Maybe we should try to talk again. I didn't remember that part of her 2001 letter. I sat, in the midst of my clutter in 2011 and wondered if I ever called her. I thought we were so estranged by 2001, why bother? Or I did call her and the conversation wasn't one for the scrapbooks?

When you touch the past like that. does it have room in your today?

Hmm.

October 23, 2001 was Tuesday

...and I remember it well. It was my dad's funeral and I wanted to smack the preacher. He was chosen by my step-mother, because well, frankly I didn't know any. Until my uncle mentioned another man who precided over my mom's funeral years before and actually grew up with my dad. This other man did speak at the end of my dad's funeral and was great.

OK, back to the first preacher. He kept pronouncing our last name wrong. And when I was up at the podium to deliver my dad's eulogy, I began to tear up. Well, he started preaching and saying our name wrong. I looked back at him, and told him so. People that knew me were about to laugh, and my step mother said my name, because they knew I was about ready to do Smack Down in the chapel--OK--and this was before I started my Spiritual Walk...

Later on that evening, a friend of my dad's stopped by the house. He said he'd arrived late to the funeral, but got there in enough time for me to wanna beat up the preacher.....yea, OK..well, maybe...

On this day, in 2010, I still basked in the Texas Rangers win to go into the World Series, then off to a bible study, and then my writers' group, while on my way home the rain poured, thunder rumbled and lightening cracked the sky. I was invited to a Halloween Party tonight--yet just feelin' all into it.

I also watched the Iowa Hawkeyes

lose to the Wisconsin Badgers I didn't like the losing part, yet I liked watching the Hawks play. Because on this 9th anniversary of my dad's death, I knew he watched it with me.

Just like always.

On This Day...

A life time ago. Thirty-seven years ago today to be exact, we buried Mom. She just 43. We buried her in her favorite blue dress and held a red rose. Just like she informed me, while she drove me to school one morning. Maybe Mom always knew she wouldn’t see me grown. I thought we’d have a long life together too. Sure, she could spank in a heartbeat, yet she loved on me just as quick.

Their fifth try at a baby. The other four were stillborn. I was there last chance. My dad said they seem to know I would have some kind of malformation. Which wound up being born with microtia—without an ear. My left one. Everything I’ve read, microtia seems to me on the right side. Ha! Even then I dared to be different.

Also as I read, I believe my mom took thalidomide during her pregnancy. It was wide spread in the 50’s and the 60’s to ease discomforts of early pregnancy. With Mom's health concerns, I don’t doubt she took it. However things changed when birth abnormalities were documented worldwide. Babies had malformed arms, legs which were short, misshapen or absent. Effects also included eyes, face, heart and ears. I have no proof, just my gut feeling.

Today, on this day of her funeral, I heard my Aunt Mae, my mom’s oldest sister, tell Dad I should wear another dress. Why? Because the one I had on was too ‘loud’. It was blue with a floral pattern. I wore a white shawl with it. Dad took my aunt’s advice and hinted maybe I should wear something else. My response? “No. Mom made it.” That ended that. Dad always said I did what I wanted to do.

37 years years ago I saw my mom for the last time. As if she slept.
A lifetime ago.

It's FRIDAY....no, wait---it's really THURSDAY....

....Yet it might as well be Friday....tomorrow is the 4th of July...a holiday....a day off...my kitty's seventh birthday (the orange tabby who graces my blog)....so today IS Friday!

Got plans?

In the days gone by, aunts, uncle, cousins, me and my parents would head to a family picnic. There would be a little fishin thrown in. Fishin' was my dad's way of escape from the crackle of the women. Also it was a time my dad and I would just bond.

I miss those days. He'll be gone seven years October 18. In fact, the orange tabby who celebrates his birthday tomorrow was my last 'gift' from my dad. Yep. A couple days after my dad's funeral, I stood at the back door of our house. Threw some corn to the squirrels, and saw this orange fluff run to it. A kitten.

It took the week before I had to leave my hometown, basically a game of cat and mouse before he wound up in my arms for good. We would sit, each morning on the patio. I fed him food--from the two cats that made the trip from Dallas with me, and talked to him. I told him he reminded me of a kitten I had when I was about 1o. That was Tiger Paw, an outdoor kitty--and one night I saw him, then the next day I didn't. I promised this kitty he wouldn't ever live in the wilds again. I believed my dad sent me the kitten to help me through the sorrow of missing him.

It worked.

Now, my kitten is seven years old. I still miss my dad, yet life is so good. I can't wait for the fireworks tomorrow...after all it will be a holiday, plus FRIDAY!