Today I painted the backside of a fifty foot fence. The front I'd done a few weeks ago. It's a pretty fence, but I was glad my dad has a stone wall on the other side of the driveway, because more fence woulda made my arms fall off just looking at it. I was working solo today.

When I stood back to make sure I hadn't missed a single slat or underside, I swear I could hear my dad say "Good job." It came out really nice.

I had small white specks of paint on my face when I went to wash my hands in the bathroom. I don't recall any backsplash from the brush, but I was zoned out for hours out there, just painting and thinking about life, death, and fences. From now on, if I drive by a stranger's house and they are painting a front fence, I'm going to ask to help, because I'm not done thinking. I don't have a fence to paint. Our fence isn't the painting kind.

It's the last time I'll paint that fence... somebody else in a few years will go out there to wipe it down, hose it off, let it dry and paint it anew. Decades from now, somebody not even born yet will be out there painting that fence.

Fences and stone walls used to be put up to keep horses, cattle and other livestock from straying too far away. This house was built in the mid-1800's. The fence isn't as old as the house, but the stone wall is, and the fence is built upon a few old rock pillars that were used to tie up your horse upon, the kind with a metal hitch, except these are a bit shorter than other ones that were in the yard.

There were some big black ants hanging out with me as I painted the fence. I kept blowing them off so they wouldn't get stuck in wet paint. They kept following me around as I painted, and finally figured out I wouldn't blow them off if they stayed up on the top portion I'd already done weeks before. Ants are pretty smart. I remember when we first moved to the house, those same big black ants tried to camp out with me in my room, and I had told my dad "There's gigantic ants in my room and even on my bed!" "No problem, I'll take care of it," he'd said. He used some house debugger spray and the ants never came back.

Now they hang out at the fence. I'd always wondered where they went.

I cried when I got home.

Only the words in italics made me cry - what a voice on Christina.

Seems like it was yesterday when I saw your face
You told me how proud you were,

but I walked away

If only I knew what I know today
Ooh, ooh
I would hold you in my arms
I would take the pain away
Thank you for all you've done
Forgive all your mistakes
There's nothing I wouldn't do
To hear your voice again
Sometimes I wanna call you
But I know you won't be there

Ohh I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you

Some days I feel broken inside but I won't admit
Sometimes I just wanna hide 'cause it's you I miss
And it's so hard to say goodbye
When it comes to this, oooh

Would you tell me I was wrong?
Would you help me understand?
Are you looking down upon me?
Are you proud of who I am?

There's nothing I wouldn't do
To have just one more chance
To look into your eyes
And see you looking back

Ohh I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself, ohh

If I had just one more day
I would tell you how much that I've missed you
Since you've been away
Ooh, it's dangerous
It's so out of line
To try and turn back time

I'm sorry for blaming you
For everything I just couldn't do
And I've hurt myself by hurting you

First dad's day without dad around here on Earth... first thing I did this morning, to brighten the day, was stick up this new shower curtain. Kinda hard to put up a happy monkey shower curtain and be depressed. I was going to put it up last night, but decided today would be the perfect day to start off by gazing at a bunch of silly smiling monkeys. It worked, too, because I immediately felt less sad as I was putting it up.

Now I'm going to embark upon a list of small, happy projects... I'm cleaning Kenny's car for dad's day, as well as my car. Then I'm gonna do some stuff in the backyard with KC, and then we'll go get Kenny's new grill and help put it together. I've got some paperwork/files to do, but I think it'll be a better idea if I wait to do those later this week, because it's a really, really pretty day outside. I think I'll just cook up some goodies for Kenny and the boys.

Just in case there's internet on the other side of life: Happy father's day, Dad! I miss you!

Somebody posted this picture on a forum I frequent, and I made it my computer monitor's background. Prior to the picture of the puffer-fish my background was a picture of the galaxy from the NASA website, also posted on a forum I frequent.

The person who posted the picture of the puffer-fish wondered why people would eat them... they are a cute fish, but being cute has never stopped a human from wanting to kill you and eat you. I was always under the impression that puffer-fish were poisonous, but after reading wikipedia (mostly accurate, mostly harmless...), I found out there are ways to eat puffer-fish without killing yourself (not that I plan to try puffer-fish in my lifetime.) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pufferfish

I love the picture of the puffer-fish... makes me smile. Freaked out my boys, when they saw it on my monitor, got us into a discussion about their puff-defense look compared to their really cute "Don't eat me!" look. Something else I didn't know about puffer-fish: if they are swallowed by a bigger fish, the puffer-fish can chew it's way out. Now THAT is a strong survival instinct and an incredible survival tool to have.

I remember many times in my life when I felt just like I was chewing myself outta the tummy of a predator. A few years ago, when a bunch of poop was going on, I felt like that. A big portion of my childhood felt like that. Now, aside from sad bumps in life, I feel like the happy, smiling puffer-fish... just swimming around the ocean. Swimming around, listening to this song:



:)

here's a sunshiney picture of me and my brothers... yellow shirts, brown pants, ahhhh... the 70s.

Nikki found this framed picture down in the cellar, in a box Tim had put together while sorting out radio equipment. Nikki immediately said "did you draw this, mom?"... I didn't remember drawing it, but it sure looked like something I would draw. I don't know how or why it ended up in a frame down in my dad's radio room, but my name is on it (although it doesn't look like my signature, I usually write 'Capri' in semi-cursive, but it is my type of drawing and it was my nickname.)




Some things I noticed that were so sad about the drawing... the face, the hands are balled up and seem to be in fists.









The drawing depresses me. I know I've felt that way in my lifetime, but I look at my life now and it's so positive and clear-headed; looking at that picture I drew reminds me that it has not always been a positive life.

I don't remember giving this picture to my father - he may have found it in my room after I left home at age 15 to get my own apartment. My name almost was cut off of it, probably to fit the frame.

I'm done with the photoalbums now. Next up is the reorganizing of the file cabinets and files... that's a project that will take a few years to actually finish. So many things to read. For now my aim is to just get them organized in order of importance- for the most part, my dad had everything very organized, I'm just doing the final organizing. Some things have to be continued and completed, like a great family tree and text-based/photo-based history of the family he had going, both offline and online. Thankfully, he left all passwords for me to access websites he was working on, so I won't have to start from scratch. That's been one of the buffers in all of this sadness... my dad left a lot of fun projects to do. The family tree is incredibly interesting. My goal is to spend this coming winter season of November 2007 - March 2008 reading everything my dad had filed, because this summer and autumn are going to be spent playing at the ponds and beaches, going geocaching, and basically trying to get back into the spirit of life, love and laughter.

Yesterday was a great start to that... we took the boys minigolfing and puttered around Cape Cod. :) Today is rainy, but a day indoors just relaxing will be nice.

With only a few more projects here at homebase to accomplish, and only a few projects left at dad's house to complete, by the time the boys get out of school on June 15th, I'll be ready to put on my sneakers and shorts and a tshirt and feel some sunshine on my face.

I've got my towel. :)
...and only 75 pages left of SLATFATF. Doug Adams is the best writer to have ever lived.

My dad had a great garden in the year 1980. I don't remember much of the early 80s, but one thing I do recall is this garden... it was a place of calm and solace. I'd sit and eat cucumbers and snowpeas, and for most of that summer and autumn, I think I could have been considered an honorary vegetarian. I was often stuffed full of fresh picked veggies and barely touched my dinner. My dad is most likely talking to whomever took this photo and telling them about either the string he put up for the snowpea and cucumber climbing vines, or he's talking about the tree right next to his garden. I can hear his voice when I look at this picture; I like that I haven't forgotten how his voice sounds. I can hear him, loud and clear.

Maybe I am nuts.

I'm pretty sure I am nuts, because as much as it breaks my heart, I keep something on my computer desk my aunt found in one of my dad's various photograph boxes. My dad kept over a thousand photos in different boxes - a shoebox, a 4-set of glass tumblers box, a weird box for an electronic part, and other boxes of all shapes and sizes, but all cardboard boxes. My aunt helped out by arranging all of the photos for me by year, so I could transfer them to photo albums. While sorting through all of the pictures, she found a little card.

The day she brought it out to show me, I read it and held it and just cried. The most painful cry I had this year. But I was glad my Aunt found it, and I was glad my dad kept it.

Apparently, in October of 1975, I gave my dad what looks like an Easter card, as it has a bunny on it. I was seven years old at the time, I must have slipped it in with the mail, as I drew a little fake stamp on the envelope, along with a return-addy. My dad wrote the date he got it on the back of the envelope and kept it all of these years.







Every time I look at it, I go through a barrage of emotions, but every day I look at it also reminds me of how lucky I was in the first place to have a dad I could write a card like that to, and how much he must have loved that card to have kept it for 30+ years. There definitely were times my father must have questioned if I loved him, if I respected him, if I understood him - I wonder if that card was his solace, or if that card broke his heart... because a few times in my dad's life I made it very clear to him that my love for my parents was very conditional, my respect negotiable and reliant on the truth, and my understanding only possible with brutal honesty. One thing is for sure - my dad, at the end of his life, completely loved, respected and understood me, and knew I did love, respect and understand him. He also let me know, not with a card, but with words, that he agreed with me on some things we'd debated about for years and years. Except for one thing - he didn't agree with me that death is another side of life. He really tought that it was just 'lights out' whereas I think our energy goes on and on for an eternity.

I know he's out there in the universe right now happy that his theory was wrong.

And not shocked at all that his daughter was right. (or at least I like to think of it in this way, hahaha!)

Man, I miss him.

"The world isn't the same place anymore for you. Your whole world changed," she said to me on the phone. That sums this year up for me. She's a cribbage player I used to see every week... but I haven't been to play in a cribbage tournament at the club in six months.

In January, I stopped going because I was usually at the hospital visiting with my dad. In February, when he died, I was home trying to be here for the kids as I'd pretty much not been around much for six weeks. In March, between moving Nikki and preparing for April's memorial for my dad, and other stuff going on, I still couldn't find time on Wednesdays for the cribbage club. In April, when a lot of dad stuff was taking place, I again had no time. But in May... in May I crashed. I had no more reasons, no more excuses, but I still didn't and haven't gone back to play cribbage on Wednesdays.

I can't seem to get back into some parts of my usual routine in life. I'm unusually afraid of people dying... and all of my hobbies include people who are up there in years... cribbage, Scrabble, volunteering. Didn't go to the Scrabble tournament this year for the first time ever, but dad's ash scattering took place that weekend, but I wonder if I'd have gone if it hadn't been? I'm hoping this fear, this overwhelming fear of anybody else dying, subsides soon. But every time I try to get back into my prior pattern with life, my heart hurts. My stomach aches to the point I feel like it's on fire. My mind seems to shut down, too. All I want to do is be alone (and that's not like me.)

Parts of my routine stopped abruptly with my dad's passing... Monday night dinners at his house, which we went to once a week for eight years, since moving an hour's drive away to Cape Cod. Yearly family Scrabble tournaments between my dad, Kenny and I stopped abruptly. I'm not sure, but I think part of the reason I'm having a hard time getting back into other patterns and grooves that still exist is because my mind is stuck like a skipping record on the bump of my dad's death. My mind can't seem to get over that scratch in life's surface. Eventually it will have to, but I'm going to have to give it time... I already learned that trying to force myself to just move on to some things before I'm ready will lead me to feeling wiped out and extremely and brutally sad and angry.

It's June. The year is half-way over.