Another Party - for Katie

We're having another party next weekend. My friend Katie requested another pajama party a few months ago. Now, while winter pajamas are cute and fluffy and cuddly, summer pajamas tend to be only cute. Sometimes they are even nonexistant. So, no summer pajama party. However, we're rarely opposed to having a party (it gives us an excuse to clean the house, after all) so next weekend Katie's party will become a reality. We've begun cleaning already and have purchased a new Karaoke Revolution disc in anticipation. We also bought some more Caramel Temptation. if we can't have real pajamas, we can at least drink caramel pajamas!

Burgled!

So I might have next caught up and written a few words about my Father's (adoptive, not genetic) visit, or our weekend fun in Chicago. But instead, I'm compelled to share annoying crappy news.

We've been burgaled. Two nights in a row. Maybe three.

Nothing of tremendous value was taken. Petty Burglary. A weedwacker. A gaspowered lawnmower (which wasn't working anyway). An old bike (which may actually have been quite valuable in an antique/collectible sort of way - the jury is still out on that one). But ti's more the principle that's pissing me off.

It happens once, and oh well, things happen. But it is becoming a pattern. And I'm not sure how immeadiately anything can be done.

I went out to my car Monday morning to find the garage door open. And I was sure I had closed it. The I noted an oddly 'empty' spot in the garage. My mom's handed down 1978 Motebecane Touring bike was gone. This morning the door was open again (and you can be damn sure I closed had it that time) and we were minus one lawnmower. And a weedwacker, which might have been gone before unnoticed.

Our garage door auto opener and lock have been broke for some time. We tried to fix it a few times, but the "oh its easy, all you have to do is this" advice proved insufficient. I will confess to having a couple times in the past absent-mindedly left it open overnight. Obviously I'll be far less likely to do so in the future.

The truely aggravating thing is that there is no immeadiate fix to keep it from happening again. I somehow doubt we can get Lowe's out to install a new opener after I get home at 5:30. Or a locksmith. And I think our previous experiences have shown this is beyond and evening of 'do-it-ourselves". Maybe motion lights are easy to install. I can hope.

The other annoying thing (well, one of) is the dangerous desire to wait in the garage overnight and catch the bastard. Yeah. That's safe.

It's also tempting to play 'if you can't beat 'em, join 'em'. Stupid, but tempting. We have a lot of stuff that is broken/valuelss (old broken TVs, etc.) that we'd have to pay for the city to pick up with out garbage. Maybe I could just leave those in the front of the garage and get 'em toted for free. And encourage repeat visits from our freindly neighborhood thieves guild.

The Wife Has Returned

I made it back from California well educated and glad to be home. Monterey was nice and it was great to see Valerie, but it was very hard to be stuck in the same dark room for several hours at a time. I had scary flashback to E-100 the large, usually very dark lecture hall that sucked up many hours of my life between the ages of 20 and 22.

Tony did get a few things done while I was gone. The recycling got taken out, the kitchen is cleaner than I left it and our remaining baby dove is becoming more social. Unfortunately, Bob did some things, too. Urinating on the Welcome mat in the cafe room being the most significant. I'll see what nature's Miracle can do, but it might just be time for a new mat.

Last night was fun! Westayed in Chicago and went clubbing. This involved Tony playing sugar daddy and buying me appropriate clothes before we left the hotel. We tried 3 clubs, but only got into 1 because there was a special event going on at the second and we didn't really want to pay $40 cover for music we didn't care for at the third. Now Tony's napping (we rarely see 3am anymore) and I'm thinking that's a great idea.

When the wife is away...

...the husband falls into a temporary depressed state and accomplishes nothing.

Amy is at a vet conference in California this week. Leaving me with loads of time to get things done in a distractionless environment.

Or not.

Mostly not, so far.

Goodbye: finding words

I still feel like I should say something of my grandfather's passing. But while I feel compelled to say *something*, there is nothing in particular I am compelled to say.

I have yet to experience that moment of purging grief. Where you get out all the raw emotion so you can move past the event. I've had moments of sad quiet and eyes pooled with tears, but not that defining moment where I get it out of my system.

It makes me feel a bit guilty. That I don't have more mourning to exhibit. And I know that I'm being unfair to myself, everyone expresses grief and experiences loss differently, blah, blah, blah. But still I feel like my lack of emotional upheaval somehow devalues his life.

And maybe its just because he didn't die all in one day. He's been on the brink for over a year now. There were several times I had to reallign my mindset to accept the possibility of his passing. I had many moments to come to terms with his passing. None really definite. None conclusive. But enough to adjust to the notion.

In my eyes, in my heart, he didn't die last Friday. He died at some indeterminable point between his 50th wedding anniversary and Friday. Sometime shortly after Father's day, I think. During some gradual but not exactly slow decline, stopped speaking. Stopped eating. Forgot how to swallow. Lost control of his bowels. Technically, he was still alive - but the man I knew had passed on, and it was growing clear he wouldn't be coming back - or at least, not for any extended stay.

And there was a period of time, several months into his battle with cancer, that I expected him to make a recovery. He grew stronger. More able. Walked for short distances on his own. Engaged in conversation. Real conversation. More so at times than he did before the cancer started. Even as his strength slipped, there was still hope.

But after the celebrating (as much as he was able to do so) his 50th wedding anniversary, his health deteriorated rapidly. He had looked bad then, and I was told it was a 'good day' for him. I chose to say goodbye then - hoping it might not actually be the final goodbye, but accepting that it probably was. I wanted to say goodbye when he was able to say it back - and I wasn't sure he'd be able to do that again.

And it was a good goodbye. I asked for a big hug, and he squeezed me tighter than i thought he should have been able, in his frail state. And that show of strength gave me one last fleeting hope that maybe we one have another goodbye.

I wish I could say that had been our final moment. Sadly it wasn't. I called the house on Father's day - hoping maybe my father had called there and left a phone number recently (long, irrelevent story). I figured, as long as I was on the phone, I should take the opportunity to wish my grandfather happy father's day. Great idea, yet really not a very good idea. Even when fully cognisant, Grandpa didn't hear very well. My last moments with him involved me trying, wiht no success, to explain that I was wishing him "Happy Fathers Day", not "something bothers me" and certainly not "you are bothering me". My last moments were spent asking him to give the phone back to grandma, leaving him wondering why I had called to say that he bothered me.

I can take some small comfort in being sure he didn't retain that memory for very long. I kind of hope I don't either.