Tag Archives: dad

It’s Easter, Fools

“Snow

My dad called to tell me he had a surprise for me last week. A short time later, he pulled up to park for our weekly grocery foray. Told me to close my eyes and hold out my hand in which he then placed a snowball. It snowed early one morning a few days into spring, and when he heard I’d missed it, he made a snowball from his yard and kept it in the freezer until it was time to head over. The most thoughtful surprise! Especially since he detests snow. There it is long turned to ice, melting on my car seat.

Taking a quick break from all the Easter prepping for tomorrow. I’ve bought too much ham, and it’s one of the better “problems” I’ve ever had. And I’m just now realizing that I’ve wasted my opportunity to introduce my love of April Fool’s Day to my Easter guests. I still have to devil the eggs, maybe there’s an opportunity there, I’ll see.

“Sprung”

Look at some of the spring I encountered on my way into Trader Joe’s. Reminds me of the talk of weather by Trevor Noah in his opening bit last week at the Paramount. Bean got us tickets and he was so darn funny, better than I’d even hoped, with stories galore.

“Existence”

Wish I could remember what the heck I looked up that left me with this sad return on investment, but I can’t. I was really looking forward to the accompanying video only to be met with what felt like a little bit of early April Fool’s. Struck me funny, at least. ♦

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Today’s Errand Findings

“Whyyyyy”

Found at Walmart (WHY am I here again, it’s a rare, rare thing, thankfully), an irreparable travesty. They’re tryin’ anything to save on packaging costs these days.

“Llama-llama”

While standing in line (cuz it’s Walmart), I found this on my phone while looking for an image of pinecones. This comparison corroborates my previously shared experience at the Olympic Game Farm. Bad llamas. Look at that poor little alpaca made to stand upon the back of that there llama and painstakingly tongue bathe its bad llama hairs one by one.

ASIDE: I need more letters of the alphabetical variety to fix the following conundrum. I don’t like the informality of “cuz” coupled with the way I most often write, buuut I don’t like the proper way either, that of “‘cause.” When reading it, my mind doesn’t read it as I say it which is most certainly C-U-Z. Oh, well, there are worse things. “Cuz” it is for now.

“Dont

My Dad was heading out of my place today, and commented on the sorry state of one of my beloved plants. The poor dear hasn’t been responding well no matter what I’ve attempted, ever since following me home in June-ish. Despite its deceptive show of green here, it’s dropped nearly two-thirds of its leaves. “Can’t stay here, too many colors, need sleep,” says my Dad, his best attempt at explaining the plant’s troubles, its suicide, in fact, so says my dad. Struck me kinda funny, and I now see its long lanky leaves reaching for the sky as a neurotic cry for help. Hoping the current regimen will stabilize the thing- it’s fairly ginorm to be staging a death in the middle of my living room. ♦

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Growth

“Yar”

Toured a bunch of ships today at the festival along the Tacoma waterfront in celebration of my dad, as he’s a big maritime fan. Here he is in one of his signature shirts from a time when I was still lucky enough to cruise around on a Big Wheel (strangely, my current Beetle is bright yellow with a bubble gum pink “LOVE” sticker on the back, so keepin’ things consistent in the realm of color, it looks like).

My dad has my back, always. Over the years, I’ve witnessed him leave behind the crusty, guarded anger of youth to reveal a soft-hearted man with kindness as his default. He’s discovered he’s a funny guy, and looks for opportunities to interject a little wit and warmth- he’s a regular around town where many know his name and welcome him readily. He’s helped me in countless and ever consistent ways. Thanks, Dad! ♦

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About That Jaunty Poo …

Edie.

Funny, I don’t like the name Aunt nor Auntie, but being one has been life’s biggest highlight in recent years. Cutiepiemuffinhead. Hey, Beau-fo. Funny Bunny. Snugglepuff. CUDDLE PUFF. I don’t know how these silly word pairings occur, but they do. Little Bobby-Do, floofy bum-bum, bit of sugar candy love! Nonsensical fluff that must try-try-try to capture a love words could never express, love that wants to leap outta me for her. Just throwing out words till the love is apparent and covers everything in smiles and warmth and future. So much love that fear dareth try to rise up and steal it away. An open heart shared fully risks the deepest wound. Good. That’s what gives it value. I love having another person around to pour love into.

I’m reminded of Bean when we were little and slept in our parents’ bed with our mom (our dad slept on the floor downstairs in the rec room for a variety of reasons). We each had a bedroom, but preferred to be piled in with the mom. Bean’s sweet baby hair was soft and dark and smelled so sweet. Edie’s little coconut head (as my dad calls it) is perfectly reminiscent of Bean’s and I’m reliving it in a sense, a delicious déjà vu.

She’s my best little buddy, laughter and squeals upon my arrival often times, and always, always continuous smiles, her bright eyes following me until she’s sure I’m sticking around for a while. Maybe she senses the sheer love and delight I have for her and she responds to it, reciprocal mirrors. Thrills me to have someone be so happy I’m around. The soul is healed by being with children said Fyodor Dostoevsky.

“Aunty

Wonderstruck, we’d just finished dancing cheek to cheek back in September-Octoberish. Just before she became an active smiler like Auntie. Aside: those teeth are the product of braces. “How can that be?” I asked my dentist last year. Without diligent efforts to maintain their new position via a retainer, they more often than not move back to their former position. Clearly, I no longer have the retainer, but I do have the mold taken of my mouth pre-orthodontics, and they’re an eerie match now. Wish the doc had applied a permanent brace to the back of my top teeth like he did the bottom. I very much like them in person, but frozen in photos, they sometimes taunt me.

Foam. For those first few months, there were constant inquiries by Bean and my Dad about why I hadn’t been pooped on by the baby yet. They’d been pooped on (albeit through a diaper), and had a go at cleaning up the resulting mess. I kept hearing talk of foam, and how when you heard the foam, you knew there’d been a deposit, and best get up and begin a withdrawal. Foam, not a sound I’d ever encountered in many hours of babysitting and nannying in years past. Figured my sister had simply pegged the act with the wrong descriptor despite knowing that it’s one of the excrement types listed on those fascinating poop-a-day type calendars found in the likes of Spencer’s stores. I was holding Edie on the couch, when she did a subtle little shimmy-shake, and with a jaunty little nod of her tiny head, FOAM rang out as though a microphone were in the room. I’d been foamed! Verb of the day! The poo had happened! This made my dad and sister unusually joyous, as I was a marked woman, and delight they did. And wipe, did I.

“Closed

A portion of the lovely capitol up in Victoria, BC. Shan and I missed that particular tour.

Heading down to Olympia on Sunday with Shannon for a tour of the capitol as it’s been a while. That is, if the inevitable attendance of anarchists at tomorrow’s Women’s March manage to leave it intact. But not before I get in a few weekend workouts. I’ve given myself sixish months to get back in better shape.

I gained tons of weight in my earlyish twenties when I got tired of being ogled and manhandled on the daily bus commute and pushily asked for dates after repeatedly stating I was engaged. I found peace in the safety brought by an outer cushion of fat, and because a thing can begin for one reason, and continue for another, the fat stayed from bad food habits and squelched metabolism. My sister’s been so good to keep a catalog of horrendous photos she’s captured of me over the years. I’m so ashamed of them (and this is no place for shame) that it makes me laugh. Up and down, down and up in the numbers, lots of up. The problem’s always the ease and proximity of people found in eating out and about (where calories live)- not having to face the never-ending cycle of meal prep alone at home, despite loving to cook.

Life has passed along for so long now with just a good baseline, no motivation to be more, but I need to play my part if I ever want a melody on top. ♦

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Raiders March

“Webbed”

Look who took up residence in my living room telly last week. “Tip-tap, tip-tap, tip-tip-tippy-tap” (the sound spiders make when walking where they shouldn’t be) goes this little thing right across an actor’s face. I sprang up to relocate it outside and couldn’t make contact. It had found its way inside, behind the screen. A brightly lit scene with many flashes of differing light was up next, and the spider seemed to scurry this way and that a bit erratically. It then made its way over to the side and stayed put. I turned off the telly just in case it was a freaky experience for this would-be weaver of webs. It’s not there any longer, and I hope it found its way back out versus dying in the bottom of the tv. A quick Google relayed many stories of others finding spiders in their tubes of boob as well, but no solutions short of a dismantling project I wasn’t game for.

“Poster”

I’ve been waiting to see this – Raiders!: The Story of the Greatest Fan Film Ever Made. I just wish I’d been paying attention so I could’ve seen it when it was in Seattle this past June. In the summer of ’82, three pre-teens set out to make a shot-for-shot remake of Spielberg’s Raiders of The Lost Ark. The endeavor consumed their summers up to college. Years later, they reunite to shoot the final scene never completed as kids. The documentary covers their struggles and triumphs in capturing the footage, some of the paths the kids took in their early adulthood, and how they wound up back together, ready to finish what they’d started so long ago.

I was so inspired!

The storyboards created and drawn up from memory.

The telling of the reaction and appreciation a copy of their film received back in 2002 when it was shown at the Butt-Numb-A-Thon festival, making it a cult sensation in all the years to follow.

The different ways the kids wrangled props and configured sets in replicating scenes.

Their tenacity and faithfulness.

I was moved!

I cried toward the end, their dream realized.

I remember several years back, when it was touch and go with my dad from day to day, in and out of hospitals and care facilities, waiting, waiting, waiting. I knew when my phone rang, when I heard the ringtone that means that my dad is calling, that of the Indiana Jones theme, that finally, everything would be okay. I remember the moment, I was at my desk working on a design, when the music began. Tears of joy welled in my eyes, my dad was with it once again, coherent and ready to call, to resume his routines and our patterns. My boss at the time had a dad struggling with health issues back in PA, and though not close nor particular buddies with me, his eyes too, welled for me, knowing what it meant and bolstering hope for his own father’s recovery as well. ♦

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This Just In

The Committee Hoping for Extra-Terrestrial Encounters to Save the Earth (yep, that spells “CHEESE”) claims they have 1962 World’s Fair plans stating that the Space Needle was built to talk to aliens in other solar systems.

Clearly, it was to talk to aliens in this system as well, because that’s where we went for my dad’s official birthday, the revolving SkyCity rest(a)urant atop the Need(l)e, suspect s(i)st(e)r i(n)cluded.

“To

“To

The folks across from us cleared out soon after we got settled in, momentarily leaving a clean and pristine spot from which to capture the view beyond. I raised the camera, pushed the button and upon review of the shot, found that my dad had im(perfectly) timed a sip. That’s lemons for ya.

“To

“Overpriced and far from good,” to quote a write up of their fare, was spot on. The meal arrived looking like this, but ultimately, tasted like that- a pile of poorly marbled too tough tenderloin with dry and forgettable sides so bad they refused to be pictured a second time.

“To

“To

Turns out the Lunar Orbiter saved the day! Uh, night! The iconic dessert arrived billowing bountiful puffs of smoke, as if floating in on a cloud from just outside the window. An ice cream sundae, it is, an item still featured from the original 1960’s menu. The dessert and bustling atmosphere accompanied by undeniably magnificent visuals makes this one needle not to drop, despite them lacking luster in their main meals.

“To

“To

We stepped outside soon after, as the sun set in the distance. I located the Northwest (it’s the place to be). And then I spotted ginormagantuan daddy long legs atop the Seattle Center far below. See?

“To

Turns out Seattle artist and science illustrator Marlin Peterson was commissioned to paint a mural in the city somewhere. He started searching for a large roof after not finding a large available wall, and tada!- trompe l’oeiled. ♦

“To

In daylight

“To

“To

Marlin doing his thing

Painting by Victor Figol

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And Counting

A few party details from the dad’s 75th birthday celebration.

And Counting

Finally got to see (!) and own (yay!) photos from my dad’s childhood in the last decade or so. Long time coming. And perfect for copying and making a number of banners to be strewn about the place.

And Counting

Silver and gold was the theme- kept it simple as opposed to honing in on a beloved book, show or movie. He loves to find coins on the ground and picks them up regularly to add to the various sets he’s ordered and collected over the years. Thought I’d toss a heap’s worth here and there around his home (the party destination) for him to pick up at his leisure, after running the pros and cons of the idea. Among the bunch (coins- not pros and cons), many a foreign one, knowing he’d have fun investigating what was what and from where. In addition, silver coins- we both love ‘em! Me, from having sold movie tickets galore, dealing in bills and quarters mostly- got used to distinguishing the sound of a silver coin plunked down on the glass versus a mixed metal. I’d immediately pull it from the bunch and swap it out later on, happy for the find.

And Counting

Got all the decorations up and in place, though someone put the fence stars on sideways- tallwise instead of widewise. The only one to notice that was likely me.

And Counting

Frank and …

And Counting

Everything was nearly ready, when this happened! Bean spilled the beans.

And Counting

Pickles and monkeys: requirement met.

And Counting

Had all the classics our dad likes at a bbq, kept it simple.

And Counting

The memory jar was a joy for my dad to read (again and again) as hoped. Some of the kindest words shared- admiration of his wit and acknowledgement for his softness of heart- any joke ever made is never at the expense of another, and if there’s the slightest hint that he may’ve hurt another’s feelings, he apologizes with the deepest sincerity. No facade there.

And Counting

And Counting

And Counting

And Counting

And this little monkey, Carl’s sweet baby boy, Julian. Best tempered little guy ever, and Carl, perhaps the best dad I’ve had the honor of witnessing. Their bond is a thing to behold, love made palpable.

And Counting

The only hiccup was this sad excuse for a balloon garland, as one popped every twenty minutes or so till they all made like little shriveled raisins of there formerly plump selves. ♦

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