88 Keys on a piano...

...and 88 years my father would be today!
Toffee Peanuts all around!!








Happy Birthday, Daddy!
b. April 11, 1919

I"m gonna get me one of these.
...or knit one

It's done...

So, the memorial was today. It was nice. It was pleasant. Except that the pastor wouldn't shut up and was very inappropriate. Toward the end, I ended up walking out, it was so bad (he was supposed to be closing the memorial to go to the cemetery). After he said this completely appropriate ending, he went on a rant of how there are really only 2 types of people. Those who accept and acknowledge God, and those who don't, and proceeded to tell a story about how Africans don't know how to inter their dead. I went directly to my car and slapped my FSM emblem on my bumper. I felt better. So, I'm totally emotionally drained, and am preparing to go to bed ass early.

Sad Saturday...

So tomorrow, I get to see one of my good friends go through the agony of remembering his mother.
Excuse my language but...fuck.

I will be driving to Sac'to early tomorrow for an 11 am service, to be followed by escorted funeral procession to the cemetery and then to the reception. I'm really trying not to dwell on it, but unfortunately, it has parked itself smack in the middle of my thoughts if I'm not otherwise occupied with work, or sleep. I'm one of those people who looks all hard and stoic on the outside. My mother taught me that. But I'm an artist and tend to emote. I'm really a sap, but when really hard stuff like this happens, I fall back on my mother's way of dealing with pain, and just try to get through it without too much emotion and deal with it later. My resolve was put to the test by Nathania on Wednesday who gave me a long and loving hug. I was thankful for the gesture and being in her arms, I started to crack. I think I really needed that hug, though...There's going to be a rather large Bay Area contingent there for him.

((heavy sigh))

Fun Weekend...kinda....

I got to hang out with a good...one of my bestest friends. I believe he and I will be old and gray and hanging out in Florida somewhere. He's a doll and I love him. I dunno what it is about me and gay guys, but they flock to me like flies to shit, and we just love the hell out of each other. What're you gonna do, you know? Anyway, he was in town for a reunion of sorts with CASC. It was an organization for young people who want to do what they can to change the world. An interesting organization and a very good one, too. In any case, we got to hang together and goof around and see the Giants play in one of their last pre-season games. I got a sunburned scalp and lip. Yay.

That was great. Until I got a call from a friend who called to tell me his mother had a stroke, and was whizzing up to Sac'to on a Saturday night. Apparently, it's one of those final blow strokes, and she will not be recovering. But she is "alive". My father also died of a stroke. It was sudden, and though not all together unexpected (he had had several TIA's prior to his last one), was no less sad and painful. However, one thing that I think got us through it better was that we got to talk to him. He was alive for about a week before he let himself go. We all got to talk to him, we gathered around him and talked amongst ourselves while he was there. And I'll be damned if he didn't hear. I know he did. I dare not go on for fear of tearing up again. Anyway, I just hope he's holding up as best he can. I wish he and his family all the best.