1992

Psst...

It's late and I'm tired and this particular post tends to bounce all over the place. Good luck. =)

The year was 1992.

My hair was short. My glasses big. My dreams way out there.

I was freshly arrived at my new duty station and ready to show the parents my new world. My grandma even made the trip to see me and my new digs. Thinking back on it now, there was no way in h-e-double-hockey-stick that I even remotely had a clue what I was doing, but hey... in my mind I was on top of the world.

Or, in the case of this picture, on top of a mountain.

I am not entirely sure what month this picture was taken. It had to have been late summer or early fall. What is for certain is that in less than a year after this Kodak moment was captured, my last name would be changed and my dad would no longer be the only man in my life. For the time being, however, he was the man and probably the one I most wanted to impress. In some ways, that has not changed one bit.

Father's Day was yesterday and in my usual way of doing most things, I thought about life and family and what it all means. My dad has been diagnosed with a dirty word in a dirty stage that I refuse to talk about too much at this point in time. I don't like it one bit. I especially don't like how time has suddenly become an issue. It frustrates me and my comforting habit of always watching a clock.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

As if tock is even a word.

At any rate, I was thinking about my dad yesterday and scrolling through pictures of us together. There's not a lot, but enough to make me smile. Strangely enough, I don't have many pictures of my mom and me. Why is that moms are usually not in the picture? And selfies don't count, by the way. Posting a zillion pics of you with your kid using a minimum of two filters to get the right look of "you" does not fool any of us into thinking that picture is all about your kid--

But I digress (as usual).

My dad has always cheered me on. In a scrap album tucked away in a cedar chest is a card that he sent to me following the trip in which this picture was taken. Among other things, it simply says, "I'm proud of you." He still says that often and I gotta admit, I never grow tired of hearing it. If anything, our recent turn of events has just made me appreciate it all the more.

I always knew I had a good dad.
I always knew I was fortunate.

May the ticking of the clock always remind us to cherish yesterday and anticipate tomorrow. May we never grow weary of spending time with the ones we love. And may mountain-top memories always remind us that if even for a brief moment in time, we really were on top of the world.

Or something like that.

Happy Belated Father's Day to the men who make dreams seem possible. Even if we never reach them, they're the ones who always believed we could.

Yappers Not Allowed

My last post a few weeks ago was about change.

This one is all about reality.

My current view includes a steady rain falling outside. Even though I am on a third floor, I am eye-level with a roof and the raindrop landing in puddles on tar paper (what it reminds me of, anyway) is a bleak and boring sight. My brother sits in front of me diligently working a sudoko puzzle book- he taps his forehead with his pen every now and then thinking through the numbers. My mom left a bit ago with the daughter in tow. My dad naps quietly in a bed only to be rudely awakened every now and then by the LOUD lady across the hall.

If you're gonna skype, woman, at least shut the door and turn your mouth down a notch.

Seriously, a hospital is no place to rest. The employees are louder than the patients (with the exception of skype-lady across the way). They joke in the hallways about their weekend antics and trade recipes while the rest of us try to accept the new reality that has just slammed into our otherwise quiet lives. Okay... maybe they aren't that annoying. I may be mixing up those voices in my head with the other loudmouths in the cafeteria earlier.

And right on cue, there stands two yappers outside the doorway opening and shutting empty cabinets like a reformed hoarder wondering where all their stuff went.

Sheesh. How did we end up here? A month ago we were preparing to graduate the youngest son and anticipating an upcoming visit from the parents. Now our days are filled with depressing doctor reports and googled statistics and a man who just doesn't feel good.

I suppose I'm just too occupied to be bothered by constant talking that goes absolutely nowhere. Even now, there are stories I could tell from my whirlwind drive home. Stories that include creepy, steel bridges and tornadic thunderstorms, but, really... all of that just seems so fruitless.

Kinda like the lady across the hall worrying about her neighbor's fence.

Yapping gets us nowhere, people.