Been a while

I forgot I had this. I haven't posted anything since July 2011. Not that anybody reads it, but I should still keep it up.

I'm stuck on thinking that I will probably not see my daughters turn 60. I will be 96 when my oldest hits that milestone. I'll be 105 when the youngest gets there. I guess I have a chance, but it's a slim chance.

I'm glad Obama was re-elected. I hosted a few Obama volunteers and loaned my truck, my 19-year-old damn near pristine truck to the campaign. She has a few dimples and the rear fender is hanging a little low, but it's worth it because Obama got back in office. I can't imagine Romney visiting a storm site, or a mass shooting site, or deciding how to support Syrian rebels, or Malian rebels. It makes me shudder.

My father

It's been a very long time since I last wrote.

My father died on March 19. I was with him. So were my mom, brothers, sisters, brother-in-law, sisters-in-law, and my youngest daughter. It still seems surreal. It's not a fading memory, but vivid with details. The softness of his skin, his movements, his labored breaths, his whisper-thin voice. I think about those last minutes all the time. I think about him when I run, when I shower, when I ride the bus to work. He was very old, as in, maybe only a million people in the country were older than him, so he went out in Rockwellian fashion: surrounded by family with his wife of 61 years at his side. I guess that's how I want to go out. But I also think that a long walk in the woods wouldn't be bad.

I miss you, Daddy.

Tired

I was talking with some other liberals and we're just really tired of having to argue of silly bullshit. The spaghetti lies are what get me the most. Some conservatives just make up shit and see what sticks. That's wrong. It's shows a lack of respect for the process. Most liberals are too damn sensitive to really swing back, and when they do, the conservatives are there. Al Franken, who's been a pretty straight up senator in my view, has called out a few people, but he hasn't made up crazy stuff, like, say, Jim DeMint. Although DeMint has a much cooler last name because it has two uppercase letters in it. But DeMint just makes up stuff and is plain mean. But, at the end of the day, he does have a cool last name.

Still In My Head

I wish it weren't so hard to forget her.

I Cloud Nine When I Want To

My oldest kid is done with 3rd grade. Wow! I remember those summer days when I was up about 8am, poured some cereal and was gone from 8:30am until it got dark, which seemed to be around 10pm even in late August. Swatting mosquitoes, hanging on the corner of Packard and Cadillac with my best friend in the whole world (with whom I've only spoken once in about the last fifteen years.), and riding my red Schwinn with the glittery red banana seat all over Akron. Every day lasted a year. I wonder how my daughter's gonna view these days when she's in her teens and 20s and 30s and 40s (Those summer days...)

I remember the girls who came to visit their grandparents or cousins for a week in June (Hi, hi, hi, hi there.)

I always made sure I wore my very coolest pants and shirt on the last day of school, and my afro was the biggest it could be. (Out of school, yeah.)

There was always one of those traveling amusement park near-death-traps in the parking lot of Clarkins (County fair in the country sun.)

And every thing was cool. Ooh yeah!

So I'm watching her grow really tall. She still acts a little young, but her best friend is going to middle school next year, so maybe she'll pull my daughter a little closer to being a tweenager or they'll stop seeing each other everyday, like what happened when my older friend went to junior high. (Bye, bye, bye, bye there.)

Hot fun in the summer time!

Ayn Says....

I've been reading "Atlas Shrugged." My thoughts 200 pages into is that Ayn Rand put her characters in a vacuum. She seemed to not understand that everything is subjective and that nothing is objective. Not even the color blue.

So, according to her theory, as I understand it, anyone who wants to obtain as much as he wants should use whatever method he wants, without worry of consequence. Well, then what about the person who doesn't want much? Doesn't that person have the right, nay, the responsibility, to work just hard enough to stay employed and support an austere lifestyle? The person who wants five children by four men should have them. And if it's to her benefit that the population at large pay for the rearing of those children, including their food and shelter, then more power to her. Isn't that Ayn Rand's theory at its essence? Just like Digital Underground said, "Do Whatcha Like".

Ubu: September 1989-March 5, 2010

My wife had her cat put to sleep Thursday. The creature was peeing everywhere. We had it holed up in a small room in the basement with food, water and the litter box (it wasn't dorm room small, so she didn't shit where she ate.) After six months of watching her limp from arthritic hips, a month of solitary confinement and a week of anti-biotics for a let's-see-if-it's-a urinary tract infection, my wife decided it was time.

I was ready to get rid of Ubu about 10 years ago when I first met her. She didn't cover her poop and she tipped over glasses, especially full wine glasses. She constantly picked fights with my cat. She constantly tried to sleep on my infant daughter's chest. She was a total pain in the ass. About one month ago she ran away and I hoped she met a quick food-chain death at the hands of a neighborhood fox. I looked in a few shelters for my wife's sake, and was surprised by my happy reaction when I saw a cat that at first glance looked like Ubu. I got a call after four days from a neighbor who found her cold and hungry. I was bummed when I walked down the street to retrieve her.

Just as I was stunned by my joy at thinking I found her in a shelter, I was stunned by how sad I was when I cleaned out her litter box and mopped up the hairball stains on Friday. I'm still sad. And I think I'll be sad for a while. I say this because I still miss my cat, Tosh. I put her down January 5, 2008. The fifth of the month must be a good day for a cat to die in my household.

I'm reminded of "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance" where Pirsig explores the change in life's pattern after the death of his son. I assume it will take some time to get used to this new pattern.

Good bye, Ubu. My daughter and wife really loved you. And I miss you.