This is a copy of my November 4, 2006 360 blog

From November 4, 2006 - When your life reads like a bad dime store paperback

I wasn't going to blog about this because it would make it just too real. Then, after being in a sort of twilight sleep last night, where I tried and tried to find a way someone had made a horrid mistake, I decided that maybe I *need* to make it more real.

What do you do about a grief so deep it's nearly inarticulable?

OK that's a question isn't it? Yesterday evening my father's sister (Aunt Mary) called to tell me her daughter, my cousin and best friend, had inexplicably collasped, was taken to the hospital, and had subsequently died. I'm certain there are more facts that might or might not come my direction but does it really matter? Having never had siblings, Debbie was always my surrogate - the sister I always wished I had. We could go 6 hours, 6 days, 6 months or longer without talking and just pick right up where we left off. In all the world she knew me best. She was the character who was the subject of THIS BLOG LOL. She was only 45. More than likely she was befell by a nasty little cogential heart problem that runs in that side of my family. Normally it takes the males and normally they're closer to 60 at the time.

I, rather obviously, asked Aunt Mary if she wished for me to call my father and Johanna (stepmom) or if she would rather. She asked if I would. This is typical for our relationship btw - Dad rarely gave any of his time to family so possessiveness happens I guess LOL.

Here's where it goes from a simply "that's so sad" untimely death and takes a walk on the 'This is Stephanie's life' side.

I go out to the car to plug my phone into the charger (long story short I have always had to hide Dad's phone number from Mom because they had an UBER passive/agressive relationship all my life) so I can get Dad and Jo's phone number. I call, get an answering machine, figure they're screening calls so I start talking. Johanna gets on the phone.

How she told me I"ll never remember. All I remember is her saying he had died in April and she couldn't find my phone number to tell me.

EXCUSE ME????????

April???? Like 6 months ago and she told NONE of his family? I believe I asked if she smothered him. I know I asked if she conveniently forgot I was related to HALF OF NEWKIRK and she could've called the Post Office, the Water Department, the Police Department, The Bank for cryin out loud (cousin on Mom's side is a loan officer at the bank btw) and told them and it would've gotten back to his family. Then I told her I was going to get really ugly so I'd better hang up and I did.

I didn't even call names. Why don't I feel like more of an adult? Oh yeah because I was a snotty brat who wanted so bad to throw the phone to the ground and scream "not my daddy not my daddy". Somehow I doubt it would've helped that much .... To add insult to injury Jon found Dad's Obit (which I'd post the link to but you have to be a member to read it) and if stepmommiedearest had Mary's last name why couldn't she call directory information? Those type of questions just hurt so I dropped it ..... She doesn't understand the only thing I wanted was closure - nothing else. Oh well - her loss.

So - how does one grieve for someone with a grief so deep it IS inarticulable? The one person who could've said the right thing, who would've been able to make me laugh at the absurdity of my step mother, the one person who would've known to keep me talking and not let me crawl into the depression I so crave now is gone. Couple that with the grief of all the could have beens and should have beens and oh how I wish one more times that will never happen with Dad. I feel like someone hollowed me out and refilled me with rusty metal and broken glass.

Now THERE'S a visual.

Meanwhile in the last little bit of surrealism before I go find more coffee (thankfully NOT blogging during the news this time) somewhere I made a smartaleck remark that this year for Father's Day I was giving Dad the gift that keeps on giving: I wasn't calling to remind him he had a daughter and that I was sure he'd be pleased. Figures - he wasn't even alive to appreciate the sentiment.

Yes I know this isn't an easy blog to read. It wasn't an easy blog to write as well and dammit it does read like a poorly written dime store novel. If only it weren't true ....

*******
2007 update: I never could get Johanna to answer my calls so that bit of closure won't happen. I can still remember the sound of Deb's voice as if it were just yesterday I last spoke with her.

I still miss her - even more now.

Welcome to Baltimore - Hon

Saturday afternoon Jon and I snuck off to Baltimore and took a tour of Clipper City Brewing Company. I often use the snarky term 'be still my acquisitional heart' but in reality I *am* a business and econ geek so it was great fun to see how the different beers come into creation. Plus (plug here) if you take the tour its free but if you pay $5.00 for a commemorative glass you get 6 beer sample coupons. Fun times.

I hadn't realized how much I missed Baltimore. It's not quite your typical east coast city. From the martime history of Fells Point to the local yearly Pirate Invasion to the Hon Fest - it's still very much a blue collar working town but one that celebrates it's diversity and it's rich heritage (even of the less than savory characters). Maybe that's why it feels like home. Washington often seems very otherworldly - you see suits and limos and BMWs but when you go to Baltimore you see people who get dirty gettin the job done. Baltimore is still the type place where you can get good food (and a beer - without a grimace) and a 'everything ok hon?' from your waitress as well.

******

The picture above is of a replica clipper ship taken in 2006. That particular clipper is no longer in service.

Art Sunday

Mercatale Still Life (1981) by William Bailey which can be seen at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

*****

In looking around my home and wondering what art prints we'd like next (we currently have a small Monet and a larger Van Gogh as well as some other smaller prints), I started thinking about the Contemporary Realism artists. This is a wonderful example of something that I would own. I love the clean lines and the simplicity of the composition. It just speaks to me. It's also nice that his is an artist from my era. Sometimes we overlook the greatness from our era in favor of the masters of times gone.

I thought I'd include a little music from 1980 - this is Rise by Herb Alpert. 1980 was a fun year. I was a sophmore in high school, the music was all over the charts from rock to jazz to remnants of disco to country. Art was definitely the last thing on my mind though. I am fairly certain had I seen this piece I would have wanted it however.

Art Sunday seems odd without 360 - I know it's on multiply and I might go back there later. For now I remain the blogging agorophobic preferring to stay within my partially closed walls and embracing the known vs the unknown.

Have a beautiful Sunday !

Of kitties and jewelry and friends and things ......

After being awaken by a friendly kitty pounce on the bed,

Sitting this morning listening to the furry rumble of another kitty.

After a lovely night last night chatting with a friend over wine

--followed by some jewelry, get some giggles, some hugs and kisses.

After all this I'm reminded

--I'm reminded that life is good

-----really good.

Why 4 a.m.

Why would one ever choose to wake before dawn?

Why would one choose to get up while it's still dark, quiet, and even a bit chilly?

ahhhhhhhhhh that would be why.

These times in the morning are near sacred to me. The peace and quiet of a silent household - the only sounds being our furry felines. The one time that I can quietly approach the day. I don't mind company providing it's quiet - or at least purrring. This is when I recharge my batteries. The day brings hustle and bustle, the night brings nightmares from which I beg to awake. Only the predawn hours bring peace and solitude.

This is the one time just for me.

Selfish? You BETCHA !

Time is such a fleeting thing

How can something so intangible rule our lives so completely?

On this date in History The Cistine Chapel was completed by Michaelangelo.

I'll never see it. True true - not a pity party but a fact of existance. There simply are not enough hours in the day, days in the week, weeks in the year, years in the lifetime to do 1/10 of what I long to do.

I'd love to:

• Go to Europe


• Learn to sail


• Go to the Bahamas


• See Salzburg


• Visit Lisbon


• Take Jon to Deception Pass


• Learn Latin (ok maybe Learn Spanish first)


• Visit Egypt
• See the Grand Canyon and the Painted Desert
• See The Vatican


• Take Jon to Ireland, Scotland, and Northern England


• See Hong Kong


• Vacation in Polynesia


• See the Louvre


• Go to the Big Island of Hawaii


• Go to Montreal


• Visit Rejavik


• Swim with the dolphins


• 1000 other things I've not remembered

Read every book I ever wanted. That in itself is a lifetime achievement - a more than a lifetime achievement.

There is just simply too much to see and too much to experience for one solitary lifetime. Some things I will do. Others simply won't happen.

Time simply moves too fast .........

To blog or not to blog

or more appropriately which platform among the many to use?

I was a loyal 360 blogger for near to 2 years (from October of 05). One of my more successful endeavours (The Friday Five on 360) was either hacked or lost through Yahoo bugs. Either way it was there one day and gone the next after weeks of inability to access.

The 360 crowd were there and then there and then there and now some are back there awaiting a new Universal Profile (ala Mash?) due to come sometime next spring.

Others of the 360 crowd headed over to Multiply.

Soon the new 360 was Multiply and as such the bugs started, the problems started, the drama started.

So I posted on my Multiply blog (yes I have one) that I am getting off the merry go round. The social networking sites are fine but once you get started it can become near an obligation. The drama starts. The friending/defriending/threats to leave etc starts.

The headaches start.

Then it's oh so easy to forget *why* you blog. Some do blog for the sole purpose of others reading. Some blog to pass information to others. Some blog to make a statement and others still chronicle their lives through words and pictures.

I blog simply because Harold likes to talk sometimes. Simple. For any people who might not know, Harold is my muse. Sometimes he's creative. Often he's funny. Even more often he's wickedly sarcastic and a bit intolerant (wait - that last one is me). Mostly he's the little voice that begs to write knowing full well that I'm better with numbers than words.

Why do I blog?

Because I can't not blog.