If you'd like, you can read about my quirks here... I'm not oblivious to car stuff, but it does not rule my world or determine my worth. My car quirks though?? What makes me like or not like a car? Well, they can be frustrating to someone who is a car person, or who is actually looking at the facts about what might make a car worth having...
This past Saturday, Grizzled pleaded with me to look at a couple of cars with him. I acquiesced. I put on my best "go with the flow" face and went along. One car he wanted to see in person was the Chevy Volt. I was fine with that. I was fine with everything he had read about it and everything that the overly-attentive car salesman discussed. I was fine until we got into the car and I looked at one of the instrument panels. It was white.
It bothered me.
I stayed quiet... knowing this was one of those "quirks". A white instrument panel was not going to have an affect on the workings of the car. I tried to ignore it, but still... it bothered me... it reminded me of something that didn't belong in a car... but a lot of things don't belong in a car and yet don't bring me down. This was bringing me down...
And then it hit me... it looked like the control panel on a washer or dryer! Who in the heck wants to spend 35K on a car and think of all of the laundry you "forgot" to do because you hate doing laundry?? I realize that cars and washer/dryers are about function, but I don't want my car reminding me of laundry. I would, however, do laundry in a machine that looked like a car...
On the way home, I confessed... Grizzled just shook his head and then thanked me for not saying this outloud to the salesman.
After we got home, I checked, it comes in a more subdued and "car-looking" black/taupe/gray/whatever.
About a month or so ago, I was talking to EL about her father, back when I first met him. I honestly don't remember the entire conversation, but was mentioning the fact that he had a large mustache... except I said, "When I met your father, he had a huge porn-stache."
My daughters are used to me being frank and slightly irreverant at times... so when I saw the horror on her face, I was trying to figure out which line I had crossed. It had to be the use of the word porn, so I apologized. She said no, it was not that, but that I should listen to what what I had said, and not think of the spelling.
This time the look of horror was on my face. No, I said.... no, no, no... your father did NOT have a huge porn stash...
EL told me about a site she saw... "Snacks You'll Never Eat Again", except I thought she said Snags... after telling her this, she said, "Mom, people don't eat Snags, they're sentient beings... although I think if one would, they would taste of bourbon and bacon."
The next one?? A lesson she said she learned back in middle school. "No matter how clean cut, rational,
or correct my argument may be doesn’t mean I automatically win. All arguments
can be promptly ended and lost by someone uttering the words, Jesus Christ or God." I was tempted to add, or the Second Amendment.
I got back into town late Saturday afternoon. I was relieved to be back amongst my own family unit and was happy to feel like a grown-up again instead of the youngest. It doesn't matter how old you are, when in certain settings, you fall into line with your birth order. I'm surprised I didn't break out with acne while gone.
Anyhow, I got back and was pretty much a waste product. I was looking forward to doing nothing but the the crossword puzzle on Sunday when I remembered that Grizzled had signed us up for a glass class. Working with glass was always something that called to him, and a number of months back, he convinced me to go to a class with him. It was not something I ever felt the need to do, but hey... he was asking, and I wanted him to do it. I'm so glad we went.
It was just Grizzled, me and a very wonderful, knowlegable instructor. Since we were working with ovens that were cranking out 2400 degree heat and were going to be carrying around rods with molten glass, we had to focus. We had to really focus. There was no time for imaginary scenarios going around in your head... no time for judgment, no time for anything other than making sure you kept that rod spinning in your hand and doing what you needed to do to that molten blob of glass... at some point after my "second gather", while fusing my colored glass in what was called the "glory hole" (our instructor made the jokes, filthbot did not need to), I realized my mind was completely silent. I had experienced brain-drain, and I felt peace. Even though my mind acknowledged this, it couldn't stay on it for too long as I had to move to the next station, had to keep moving and doing, intensly focusing on the task at hand...
We pick up our paperweights sometime at the end of the week... they spend a fair amount of time in the annealing oven and then have to have their bases polished. They were so hot when we last saw them, I'm not even sure how they'll look. I don't even care. The process would have been worth it had we gotten nothing to take home. The brain-drain was definitely worth it.
When we left, the instructor asked if we'd be interested in doing more. He said it was addictive. Oh, I'm sure it is. I could already tell it was one of those things where once you got the feel, you had to go back to see if you could do it again, and then try this and try that. I'm not sure I need to do glass though. I kind of hope Grizzled does, but I know I need to do something that's hard... well, maybe not hard, but truly challenging... not something you know you'll be good at if you just give it a whirl, but something completely new... something that takes all of your focus and is also a little bit scary. I think the part that was most addictive for me was the brain-drain.
This morning was the first morning I woke up without a living father on the planet. It was the obvious next chapter and yet seems incomprehensible... how could this be??
I know I have not been blogging in a while, and was not even sure if I was going to come back here, somehow this felt done... I was being called in new directions, but I felt the need to close his chapter on this as I have written about it here before... a few times.
I have made my peace with my father's inevitable passing... a number of times. I have said goodbye to him... a number of times, but this is where the real rubber hits the road. This one is real. This is not just knowing what will come, or even hoping for what will come... this is having it head on. Your father is gone. You will never see him again. I know it happens. I know no one gets out alive, and yet I still feel somewhat surprised...
He went into hospice care a little over two weeks ago. I was able to see him on the 22nd, and spent a couple of hours with him. He was aware of part of the visit, thank God... maybe more, but I was able to elicit two more weak laughs out of him, and even a word. He held my hand and I held his... and I held his stare for as long as he wished. I told him I knew his eyes were talking up a storm, but I was not quite sure what they were saying... maybe just saying he was still there... for a bit. For a little bit, my father was still there...
And now he's not.
Fathers are interesting creatures... larger than life... and yet so very, very human. I bless the good, the bad, and the ugly that comes with being human.