Posts Tagged ‘family’
Twenty-Four Years Ago Today…
It’s Christmas Eve in the United States. And about twenty-four years ago, it was around this time that my late husband Michael and I had the most amazing thirty-six-hour conversation in my entire life. Long distance, much via AOL Instant Messenger (still a thing in 2001), complete with raw honesty, what I’d call true bravery on both of our parts as we weren’t afraid to be vulnerable (and neither of us was drunk, or had taken any mind-altering substances as far as I know).
See, at the time, I was waiting for my second ex-husband (yes, I’ve been married three times, if I haven’t said that before or in a while) to come back to his home state and sign the divorce papers.
Mind you, I don’t want to discuss my ex here because there are reasons he’s my ex. What I want to discuss instead is the most amazing person I have ever known, my late husband Michael.
I had contemplated annulling my second marriage, but it cost too much time and too much money. That’s why I was going for a straight divorce instead, in the hopes that I’d be able to get out of the marriage faster. But it still took well over a year before my ex decided to sign the papers, mostly because by that time his then-girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife was heavily pregnant.
I truly hope he’s been a better husband to her than he ever was to me. But I digress.
Michael understood two things from the moment he met me (via a mutual friend). One, he knew right off that he was going to marry me. Two, he also knew that if he tried too hard, I’d run like Hell the other way. I’d had bad luck with men, to say the least, and I was divorcing for the second time at the age of thirty-five. I felt like a complete failure, really…I wasn’t one, but I still felt that way.
So, how did we end up having this thirty-six-hour conversation considering he knew I was gun-shy (for good reasons)? Mostly, the first couple of hours were stuff we usually talked about. Books, movies, current events, ethics, morality, you name it. We could talk for hours. He was possibly the one man I’ve ever known who types as fast as I do (as I type around 100 words per minute when I’m all warmed up). He also read as fast as I do, and so we could have these long conversations, intercut with a point from three minutes ago, intercut with another point from a half-hour ago, etc. And it didn’t bore him!
Nope. Instead, I think it enthralled him.
He was lonely, I was lonely, and there’s no doubt that was part of why we started talking that night. But what took us from a developing close friendship to a romance was how vulnerable and open we were that evening. Neither of us wanted to let the other one go. When I went to the bathroom, I’d tell him, and wait for him when he had to go. Neither of us had webcams, which might’ve been just as well (I’m sure he probably had one somewhere, but he wasn’t about to use it), as I was terrified.
Why? I mean, he already knew what I looked like. He knew I was a big, beautiful woman, what they now call a “curvy” woman. He was attracted to me. Partly for my body, I guess, but mostly for the mind and heart and spirit inside that body.
I liked his looks, too, but he could’ve looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame and I’d have still wanted to be with him. (He didn’t. He was quite handsome, actually, but didn’t think so at all.) He had the most beautiful spirit, was kind-hearted, wanted to help people, would do whatever he could to make someone’s life a little better, and yet he also was witty, made me laugh on a continual basis, and him being willing to talk openly about what he wanted in a woman, and what he hadn’t found yet (as he was also divorced; he and his ex stayed friends, and I am still in contact with her, but they weren’t right for each other romantically).
Then, somewhere in those thirty-six hours, he said he thought he’d found it in me. And could we please consider ourselves courting now?
He used that old-fashioned term because it tickled him (he loved British and BBC period dramas), and partly because that’s exactly what he was doing.
Me on the verge of a second divorce did not scare him. It did not make him run away. And he was savvy enough, intelligent enough, and empathetic enough to know how to support me as I got to know him better.
There’s a reason I called him the most wonderful person ever. There actually are many.
So, twenty-four years ago today, my life changed for the better. I took a chance; he took a chance. It was the right thing to do. We were right for one another. Our marriage was a huge success by every metric he and I used: did we care about each other? Could we support one another? Did we have things we loved to do on our own as well as each other? Would we ever run out of stuff to talk about with each other? (Um, no. We never did.) Did we match in every possible way, mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually?
Yes, we did.
We had no money, of course. Neither of us was in good health, and he was in worse health than he knew considering his four sudden heart attacks in one day, culminating in death, in September of 2004. But we wrote together, and it was glorious. (I have to get the two Elfy books out again. I’m sorry it’s taking extra time. Too much going on here, I guess. And my novel Changing Faces was partly the reason he felt he could talk to me in the first place, as he figured anyone who could write that was worthy of the best things in life. He didn’t think he was that, but he wasn’t going to pass on me, either. And he thought my exes were the most foolish, ignorant men on the face of this Earth, too. If I didn’t put that in, he’d not be pleased if he could come back and read this now.) The Elfy duology would not exist without Michael. My other stories, including some set in his own far-future SF Atlantean Union universe, would not exist without Michael. Changing Faces in any form would not exist without Michael either.
Bluntly, I am the person I am today in large part because Michael loved me and he wanted what was best for me. He loved that I played music, he could read music (in all clefs, too, which is hard; yes, I can do it, but I had years of practice and he picked it up seemingly overnight), he loved it that I composed music, he insisted on doing as many household chores as he could to spare me the back and knee pain, he cooked more often than I did even though we were both good cooks, and he made my life so much easier despite all of the obstacles that were in our way.
Once upon a time, I knew that the Deity must love me, or I never would’ve found Michael at all.
If I ever find someone kind enough, good enough, willing to try enough, to be in my life again, it’s because of Michael. His love made it possible for me to see that men can be good, kind, decent, honorable, steady as a rock, encouraging, creative in his own right, quick-witted, and worthy of love in all particulars, in all spheres (mental, emotional, spiritual, and physical), and his love ultimately helped me go on as best I could, even though it did take me at least eleven years to process and even now, still, it often feels like I’m walking on broken glass, trying to pretend my feet aren’t bleeding from the pain of his loss.
So, I don’t know the answers. As I have often said here, I don’t even know the questions sometimes. But I do know that love matters. Creativity matters. Honesty and ethics and fair dealing all matter, too. Honoring the love I had with my husband, that I will have until the day I die and assuredly after as well when we are finally reunited in joy on the other side (hopefully with all the dogs and cats we loved in this life at our sides along with my father and grandmother and all the people Michael had wished I could’ve known better, including his father, who died before I ever knew Michael’s name, much less how wonderful he was).
That’s what matters to me. That’s what’s always going to matter.
May your Christmas and New Years be filled with love, happiness, peace, joy, and whatever else you need to help you have a glorious 2026 despite everything else in your life that gets in the way.
Not having money, not having health, not having a constant place to live, have all gotten in the way of my life for sure. But so long as I have one breath left in my body, I have hope. So long as I remember that a truly good, kind, loving, funny, intelligent, creative person with so many multitudinous talents as Michael loved me, I know I am worthy of that love. And that helps me, at least in part, to get in touch with the Deity in some way, even though I still do not understand why I am here and he is not.
At any rate, it was twenty-four years ago today that my life changed for the better. I think that’s worthy of celebration, even though it’s really hard to celebrate considering Michael’s been dead for twenty-one years, three months, and three days.
Moved Out of Dad’s House…But No Apartment Yet
The last week was very hectic, and not in a good way. I said goodbye to my father’s home, the place I was raised along with my sibs; that was not fun, not pleasant, and was quite frustrating, besides.
I did have some help to get out of Dad’s house, mind. My good friend Lika and her husband and son helped me greatly. (Note that all four of us have significant physical limitations, but we did our best to work around them.) My sister and niece helped the day before the move-out, doing their best to consolidate and remove clutter (along with getting all of my clothes into one place; that’s a handy thing, and I appreciated it). Lika was able to find several things in my bedroom that had eluded me for months, for which I thanked her profusely.
But leaving was still tough.
See, the first thing I had to do the day of the move (which was last Sunday, BTW) was to rent a U-haul truck. I had no trouble renting it, but a great deal of trouble actually getting up into the truck (as it was not a low-rise type of truck, anyone who attempts to get in there has to have better knees than I do). At first, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Then my friend Lika came to the rescue, and she drove the truck (which was fine with the U-haul people) while I drove her car back to Dad’s house.
So, one obstacle down. A whole bunch to go…
At any rate, we loaded the U-haul with as much stuff as we could find. Some stuff still got left, including many of my books and some of my sheet music (probably most of it, but as it had mildewed in the basement over the years, it would’ve had to be thrown out anyway). But as far as I know, I got out all of the music I’ve written over the past twenty-plus years, all of my clothes, and at least some household things like chairs and my bed.
We took it to the storage place I’d picked out, and unloaded it. (Actually, I mostly watched Lika and her family do this. They knew I was struggling mightily by that time.) Then we went out to eat at George Webb’s (as they’re open 24 hours), and they went home as it had been a very, very long day.
I couldn’t get everything, though. Food was left behind (mostly canned food and yogurt). There was just no room for it in my car. In addition, all the pots and pans were left, as were silverware, plates, cups…I did manage to get out the microwave, the mini-fridge, the slow-cooker, and the blender.
Because I was quite tired, too, it took me seven hours to find nooks and crannies in my car in order to take as much stuff as I could. (Lika had already taken my musical instruments with my permission, as I felt they were safer with her than with me under the circumstances.) I had a few panic attacks, and at least one of them was so bad, I thought at first I was having a true, honest-to-Goddess heart attack.
Eventually, I left Dad’s house, after saying my final goodbyes, and wishing it well during the renovation phase. It was a good house for my family, and I will miss it.
Then I had to deal with the next obstacle, which was driving a fully-loaded car on a very sunny day. I’m not normally driving at that hour, much less with so much stuff in the car. It was a struggle to keep going, as I was so tired, I had to repeat like a mantra, “Stay in your lane. Hold your lane. Hold your speed,” over and over.
I’ve never done that before and hope to never have to do it again. But concentrating on that worked, and I drove safely without issues. (Score one for the good guys. Or the good girl. Or whatever.)
But as the title says, I have yet to find a new place to live. I am on quite a few waiting lists, and I have hopes one of them will have room soon.
For now, though, I’m staying with family. This is not a long-term solution, but it gives me time to rest and recuperate. I need that time, as moving took a great deal out of me.
This reminds me of something Michael, my late husband, said. After we’d moved into our new apartment in Iowa, which was hard on both of us as both of us walked with canes (we had no help), he said that he could not face another move. He just did not feel like he was up to it. He was right, though in this case, I think he’d have rather been wrong as him “not moving again” happened because his body gave out.
This might’ve been why I had the bad panic attacks. It also might’ve been why I wondered, again, how I’ve made it almost twenty-one years without the love of my life, and thought such self-defeating things as, “Your music won’t matter. Goodness alone knows, your books certainly haven’t sold much. Maybe you’re fated to live in obscurity the rest of your life.”
All of that may be true, though I hope it isn’t. Still, I have to do what I believe is right. I’m doing that.
And if my works never matter to the world as a whole, I just have to remind myself that out of all the creative sorts who’ve ever lived, we only know a fraction of their names, much less what they did. That does not make what they did bad, wrong, or insignificant.
Anyway, the move was stressful, difficult, painful (you don’t want to know how much I hurt after all that), and frustrating. But I’d like to think something good can come from it, somehow…even if I don’t yet know what that “something good” will be.
Housing Search Continues
Folks, I know I’ve been a bad correspondent lately. But there’s a reason for that.
As I said a few months ago, I knew that my father’s house would be sold soon. As I’d stayed at this house for several years before he passed and continued after, it’s a big change to be looking for a new apartment. Mostly, it’s a welcome thing, because if I’ve proven one thing in the last two years since Dad died, I am not capable of taking care of lawn maintenance or snow shoveling or weeding or any of that.
Mind you, if I didn’t need a cane to walk with, and if I were more flexible, I possibly could’ve done some weeding or something with flowerbeds or whatnot. But shoveling snow, using a snow blower…just out. And using a lawn mower, or shears to cut back hedges…that’s a non-starter, too.
I have had great neighbors, here at Dad’s house. They have consistently bailed me out by shoveling the walks and the driveway, mowing the grass, cutting back the weeds…really, these are kind people, and I will miss them when I’m out of Dad’s house (as I will be in a few weeks).
Now, as I hadn’t blogged about it yet, you may be wondering why I said “housing search continues.” That’s because I’ve been discussing it at Facebook on my personal page, trying to give updates every day or two as to what I’m doing to find a new place.
Mostly, I’ve had some help in finding apartment waitlists that I hadn’t known about, and I found out today from the housing counselor (that’s what I’m calling him as he’s been enormously helpful) that because Michael was a Navy veteran with an honorable discharge, there may be a few more places available to me as his widow.
Still, there are two songs that keep rolling through my head. The first is Three Days Grace’s “Mayday,” which has lyrics like “the more you know you know you know nothing” (yes, they repeat “you know” three times in a row) and “it’s hard to keep fighting, when you’re barely surviving.” (The reason it’s called Mayday is because the group is talking about people who are in extremis that feel like everything they’re doing makes no sense. Yet they keep doing it, even if they “walk like dead people who haven’t died yet,” and even if they’re “going down, but not today. We’ll never say Mayday!”) The second is from the Architects and is called “Everything Ends.” (I think that is enough explanation for one day.)
The thing is, while everything does end, we often have to end something in order to begin something else. Many times, we have to get through a whole lot of stuff that makes us want to yell “Mayday!” and get help before we can get to anything good. And sometimes, it’s hard to remember there are good things out there still waiting, or good people also, because so much has happened that you can barely take it in.
I miss my Dad a lot, more than I’d expected (and I had expected to miss him greatly, so that says something). But to honor Dad’s memory, I have to try to get through this move — one of the seven great stressors even for a healthy, fully ambulatory person (sans cane) — and hope I do find the right place for me to settle in for a while.
Then, I can get back to writing more, editing more, and hopefully enjoying life a little more, too.
Anyway, I will try to write a blog next week or whenever I have some good news to share on the housing front. Either way, I will keep watching the Brewers (go Brewers!), doing what I can to help my Mom so long as my body will allow it, and continue to pack stuff up as best I can.
Wish me luck with this, hey?
Father’s Day Has Come and Gone (and I Have Thoughts)
Folks, yesterday was the second Father’s Day I’ve observed since my Dad died. It wasn’t an easy day in a lot of senses, mostly because the weather has been crappy in addition to observing this day…the air quality here has been downright awful, not just for asthmatics like me, but for everyone due to the Canadian wildfire smoke.
Anyway, Dad and I had a complicated history and relationship. He helped me many times, which I appreciated, but did not want any appreciation for this. (“You’re my daughter,” he’d say firmly. “What am I supposed to do?”) We talked about a lot of sports, we also talked about current events, and while we didn’t always agree on everything, Dad was a good conversationalist and enjoyed verbal sparring to a degree.
I miss him.
He was cantankerous. He delighted in being that way. He felt men should be strong, capable, and caring…but he also really didn’t like a lot of what he was seeing in contemporary society.
For example, to him, Giannis Antetokounmpo should’ve married his wife a lot sooner. They had several children before they married. I think the reason for them not getting married before having the kids is because life as an international superstar is not easy. Scheduling something as big as a wedding must be a difficult endeavor for someone like Giannis.
I do think Dad would be happy that Giannis married at long last (as this happened after Dad’s passing). Giannis always was true to his wife, and he’s been true to his kids, and I think Giannis’s own father would’ve been proud of him whether Giannis ever legally married his wife or not.
The difference, though, is in how Dad, being of an older generation, viewed marriage. He truly believed you should not have kids before marriage. (He knew people had sex before marriage and had for thousands of years, regardless of what that partnership ritual was called.) He thought it a difficult and problematic thing for the children because of things he saw in childhood, no doubt.
See, my father lost his mother when he was just eleven years old. His father was at the time a long-distance trucker, I think…and while other relatives would’ve taken in Dad and his three siblings, they wouldn’t take all four of them. So, my grandfather Edward made the difficult decision to put all four of them in the local orphanage as that was the only way they’d see each other every day. (Dad said it wasn’t easy, either. His two sisters were in the girls’ wing, while he and his brother Richard were in the boys’ wing.)
I don’t know all the people Dad met in the orphanage, much less the lessons he learned there. I do know he was there, as were his sibs, and it marked him for the rest of his life.
Mind you, he was not bitter over it. He understood his father’s reasoning and was glad to be able to see his sibs every day (even if it wasn’t easy to see his sisters).
But his life was upended very early, which is one reason he was a huge supporter of places like the Boys Home and such. He’d been there. He knew that everyone should have as many opportunities as possible.
Dad did his best to make things as stable as they could be despite my parents’ marriage always being difficult. (Loving, but difficult, is the best I’ve got to describe it.) Even after my parents divorced, it was clear that we’d always have a home with him (and also with Mom). This was a good thing, because several times in my life, I needed to stay with Dad in order to sort out things as best I could.
While I’m glad I was with him the last several years until his body just gave out, I wish I could’ve had the big music career everyone had expected of me rather than the series of difficulties and distresses I endured otherwise.
Mind, I will never regret studying music. I continue to compose music when it comes to me, and it remains a big part of my life even though I haven’t been able to play my saxophone, clarinet, or oboe in almost two years.
I still believe that if my health ever improves, because of the talents I possess musically, I might do well overseas in France or Spain. They love classical saxophonists there, and the culture there has a richness that I would love to experience for myself.
Anyway, Dad served in the Navy, and he was stationed in Japan for a year or two (he was a radio technician). Because of this, he was sympathetic to my wish to go overseas and learn whatever there was, while experiencing whatever there was…even as he knew my health has never been robust, and that my dreams may stay just that.
Wisps in the ether.
Dad pivoted several times in his life when he needed to do so, even though he never liked it. (I don’t blame him.) He was an excellent postal carrier. (That’s how he always described it. “Mailman” didn’t seem like nearly enough.) He worked as a cashier and grocery stocker at one point (which I found out after I’d gotten a job as a cashier and stocker myself). He played the drums and spent over ten years in the Racine Municipal Band (starting before they changed the name to the current Racine Concert Band), mostly playing the bass drum. He delivered flowers and newspapers, too.
Dad also didn’t like most modern conveniences whatsoever. He disdained microwaves (though he didn’t mind me using it myself, as I have one), did his dishes by hand, and until the last few years of his life, used a push mower rather than a gas-powered one. He delighted in his orange tiger lilies, enjoyed watching nature — the squirrels, birds, bunny rabbits, etc., were endlessly fascinating to him.
Most of all, he enjoyed being in his own home, where he could make any food he wanted any time he wanted. The simple pleasures, he often said, were the best.
While many things in this world are deeply upsetting, we have to hold on to the positive things. The positive memories, too. We have to know what we stand for, and what ethical purpose we’re here to serve.
That’s what I learned from my father, among other things.
So, when I see bunny rabbits rooting in the yard and they look like they’re about to run away, I talk to them in a gentle voice. (Most of the time, they don’t run away if you’re kind and obviously mean them no harm.) When I see birds nesting in nearby trees, I wish them well raising their chicks. When I see the squirrels on the nearby fence, I laugh at some of their comical actions.
Life is very difficult. It can be frustrating, upsetting, and a hundred other things. But it also can be wonderful with the right people around you, and with a willingness to believe that kindness still matters.
That, too, I learned from my father, though he probably would be astonished to know that if he were still here.
At any rate, I wish everyone well and hope for a safe, peaceful, and enjoyable week ahead. (Drop me a note in the comments, if you’d like. I always enjoy hearing from my readers.)
P.S. For those who’ve asked — the health issues continue. It’s not just the bad air quality we’ve had off and on. I still have that rash and will be seeing the dermatologist again later this week. (Let’s hope that something can be done. At this point, I’m wondering if there’s an underlying infection.)
Weather, Driving, and Other Updates
Folks, while I’m glad it got a little warmer today, I didn’t need it to be as humid. It was our first truly warm day of the year, and might’ve hit 80 F, but it felt worse due to the humidity.
The weather forecasters say that tomorrow, we should have heavy rain. I think that’s sensible. We’ve had a bunch of colder weather that’s reminded me more of March than May (and now, early June), and in a way, maybe it’s a good thing.
OK, in some ways, it’s not. My arthritis is worse in cold and humid weather than it is in warm and humid weather, though any humidity will set it off. I also have to say I don’t enjoy frost warnings in the middle of May, nor did I like seeing my father’s prized orange tiger lilies start to bloom, only to wither due to the frost warning a few weeks ago. (Explanation: It is a perennial, yes, but most likely I will not be in my father’s house that much longer. Assuredly, I won’t be here next year to see them without some sort of financial miracle.)
But the reason I said it might be a good thing is that many times, in mid-May, I start thinking about when Michael started seriously preparing to get to me, so we could get married in mid-June. He actually got there around June 7, back in 2002…so of course, this week, especially with the heat and humidity, I’ve been thinking a lot about that.
Later this month, I’ll be celebrating twenty-three years since the day Michael and I married. That’s always a bittersweet day on the calendar. I start thinking about how wonderful it was to be with him, even though we didn’t get that much time together…and then I start thinking about other men who aren’t as good still being alive, and wondering why.
For example, when men cuss out the grocery cashier around me, I wonder why they’re alive. Obviously, they have no interest in common courtesy, and they’re modeling bad behavior for their own children (the last two guys who did this had kids in tow, presumably their own).
I also wonder when I see bad drivers do stupid things on the road. I recently was driving home from my Mom’s, and someone ran a red (I had the green) and burned rubber speeding down the road. If I hadn’t stopped, or at least not started to accelerate, I would’ve been T-boned. And as I said, the guy clearly had a red light.
The good thing in this particular case is that the police were right there. They got that guy.
I also saw something a few weeks ago that I may have not blogged about before. I was driving close to a local cemetery that’s known for having geese and ducks in its pond. It was dusk. I had someone tailgating behind me even though I’d just left a stoplight, and they were less than a foot behind me. Ducks were crossing, and at first, because it was dusk, I didn’t see them. I swerved, and I still don’t know how I avoided them. (Picture five or six ducks. Two adults, probably Mama and Papa, on each side of a bunch of ducklings.) The driver tailgating also swerved, so no ducks nor ducklings were hurt.
I have to say, though, I put my head in my hand at the next stoplight. I knew how close to an accident that had been. I would’ve had to choose to hit the ducks rather than getting hit squarely by someone going at least fifteen miles over the posted speed limit of thirty-five MPH, and I hate hitting wildlife.
Anyway, June is a tough month for me. It’s in many ways the best month I ever had, if you go back to 2002. It’s also been a very quiet, difficult, and frustrating month since Michael died.
I think Michael would be happy that I’m still trying my best to write, to edit, and deal with my health. (That rash on my back is still here, BTW, and is no better. It’s quite frustrating.) Editing has been slow. Writing has been almost nonexistent. But I am trying, and I haven’t given up.
Michael used to say that I shouldn’t let anyone put me down, including myself. (He said this because I’m known to be extremely hard on myself.) He was big on emphasizing the positives if at all possible; otherwise, he used the Buddhist trick I’ve told you about before, where he let himself feel whatever stress was going on — money, work, car issues, health, you name it — for five minutes or so, then he’d say, “OK, self, I’ve felt that. Now let’s get on.” (He’d not put it quite that way. That’s my way of putting it. But the sentiment is true.)
So, I’m trying to use that Buddhist trick as best I can, even though I’m not a Buddhist. It helps some, at least some of the time.
Today’s good news is that my favorite baseball team, the Milwaukee Brewers, have as of tonight won eight games in a row. In addition, outfielder and designated hitter Christian Yelich was the Player of the Week last week due to his excellent play.
Other than that, I’m alive, trying my best.
Hope you all are doing as well as possible. (Let me know in the comments, if you feel up to it.)
Father’s Day Blues
Folks, this will be the first Father’s Day without my father. I am not looking forward to this whatsoever.
Granted, I’m fortunate that my father lived as long as he did. There were things he didn’t get to see, that he wanted to see again, such as watching the Milwaukee Brewers make it back to the World Series (they’ve only been there once), and eventually winning a WS. I know he wanted to see at least one of my books succeed and thrive, too…
The thing is, he did get to see a lot of excellent things. He got to see both of the Milwaukee Bucks championships on TV. (He liked watching better on TV. When he went to the arena, he didn’t enjoy it as much.) He got to see Brett Favre and the Packers win a Super Bowl, then a few years later Aaron Rodgers and the Packers win another Super Bowl. He got to see a lot of good college basketball, a lot of good WNBA basketball (Dad loved the WNBA; he thought they played better as a team than most NBA clubs), and he enjoyed watching Brewers games on Sundays (when Telemundo has a free broadcast providing it’s a home game) while listening every other day on the Brewers Radio Network.
He also got to see me at my best, worst, and everything in between. (I would dare to say that my sibs probably feel the same way.) Just as I saw him (and so did my sibs) in the same ways.
I also know that as long as I live, some of him remains in this world. (Same for my sibs.)
It’s not the same, though. And as it’s the first Father’s Day observance without him, I definitely am feeling the worse for wear.
Those of you whose fathers are alive, please hug them and make much of them. Life is so damned short. You don’t know how much time you two may have left to be together, so don’t waste whatever is left.
Also, play a game of cribbage, smear, or, I suppose, Scrabble in my father’s honor. (Those were his three favorite games.) If your father likes ’em, too, give yourself double bonus points.
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