Good afternoon, everyone. It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, or should I say, it was. It sure is heating up now. I got dressed and went out to do a little shopping for myself. Got a couple of house dresses for days like today when the cable guy is coming and it's too hot to stay fully dressed, some new slippers, and a couple new skirts. It sure is nice to have money to spend when I feel like it. When I smoked, I found myself living check to check. By the way, July 4th will be my one year anniversary.
"What does not destroy me, makes me stronger."--Wilhelm Nietzsche
You know, ever since the other day when I posted about my mom, I have been racking my brain trying to remember things about my dad... and all I was able to come up with is the boy's toys I would find under the every Christmas and the following little tale.
A country girl, I used to love catching tadpoles with my friends. Sadly, most of them did not fare well in captivity, but I had one who was doing so great; he was actually beginning to sprout legs. He was my pride and joy. One night, I had gone to bed...leaving him on the back porch as I always did...and when I got up in the morning, I was devastated to find the jar smashed in pieces on the ground, and my little fella was dead. My dead, the alcoholic, had come home drunk the night before and knocked the jar off the porch. Oh, how I cried for my special little pet.
What I have come to realize is that the reason I have so few memories of my dad is because I never really knew him. He was there, but he wasn't there...pretty much a stranger to me for as long as I can remember. He worked all day, and at night, either went to the neighborhood bar or drank his beers in his room. No family stuff...he and his little fox terrier. They were inseparable, those two, and sadly, he gave that little dog far more attention than he ever gave his daughter. If only he had shared...perhaps I would have something more than a tadpole to remember him by.
"Love is what we are born with. Fear is what we learned here. The spiritual journey is the relinquishment--or unlearning--of fear and the acceptance of love back into our hearts."--Marianne Williamson
When my father died almost 5 years ago, after the funeral we all went back to my sister's house. Our family tradition after the death of someone is to sit around, drink, eat and tell warm funny stories about them. In essence, celebrate their life.
ReplyDeleteWhen my father died the conversation lasted all of 5 minutes and then.....we were all quiet. There were no funny stories to tell. The only stories he left behind were filled with rage, hate and frustration. So, we all just started talking about my mother (who had passed in 99) and all of her funny and wonderful things.
Yes, isn't it great not to be financially supporting Big Tobacco anymore! I shake my head when I think of all the money I wasted lining their pockets. And the government's too, because much of the price is taxes (at least here in Canada). Your one-year anniversary is a special thing -- do something extra special for yourself on that day!
ReplyDeleteCongratulations on your anniversary of kicking the tobacco habit.
ReplyDeleteSobeit
glad to hear you treated yourself.. that is always a good thing to do occasionally. Hope you get a relief from your heat... it has been hot here also.. they speak of rain in the next three days... I hope for once the weathermen are right.
ReplyDeleteOne last note mary... I will say your speaking of your family memories and such has stirred in me my own... some are not that plesant. Your saying by Nietzsche
was one that for a time I hated to hear.. yet have learned it is so true, no matter how hard it is at times... Thank you for your gentle way of peeling back some of the layers of my iron coat to release a few of the ugly old rags beneath. You are such a dear... blessings