Dear Dad,

You would have loved the soup I made tonight.  It was flavored with thyme, rosemary, and parsnips. 

I think of you when I pour myself a drink.  I think, “a little  drinkypoo,” or, “some tipple” and sometimes, “don’t give it anything to live on.”  I think it’s maybe notsogood that I think of you at these times, that maybe you were more a cautionary tale or whatnot, but nonetheless.

Ethan and me have freckles.  Just us three: you, me, and he.  Did you know that? 

I love ginger and dill.  Silly thing, right?  But the other night Robbie was over for dinner and he was eating my coleslaw, and he said, “I love the dill in this.  I had to take a break from dill for a while because dad was always using dill and I got tired of it.  Dill and ginger  — in everything.  Dad couldn’t get enough dill and ginger.”  And I had another one of those tiny, horrible funerals that I have to have as time goes by.  It’s just another way we’re so much alike, and we never knew, we just love dill and ginger.  Just some sort of genetic similarity, no big deal, but then you’re gone and it’s just one more thing we didn’t share, all our dill and ginger recipes.

Osaka has housemade ginger ice cream.  It’s fabulous, with chunks of crystalized ginger.  You would have loved it. 

Hey, Dad, another thing?  I got a problem with dead guys.  And now you’re one of them, which sucks for both of us.  It seems I have this thing with unfinished business: I hate it.  And now you’re gone so we’re working our problems out in a really one-sided way. 

Remember when you told me you were so proud of me that you were busting your buttons?  I really wish I could have that minute back again.  I also wish you’d been sober, and that we’d been alone.  But you know what?  I really just want that minute back again.  That was one of the best nights of my life, no joke, my first book-signing, and you there – you’d read it – the whole damn thing, and LIKED it, and there you were in the crowd, red-faced and proud.  You weren’t perfect, Dad.  You stank like booze and you were loud and a little obnoxious.  You got drunk at my after party and did one-armed push ups in my kitchen.  But you were there, and you were proud, and that mattered to me so much. 

Norma gave me your books. 

Oh, and about Norma?  She is awesome.  I know you appreciated her more as you got older and sicker, but I sure as shit hope you told her that you loved her.  Because she’s a great lady, and I’m glad I’m getting to know that.

I miss you, Pop, but I’m glad we’re getting to know one another. 

Love,

TMac

 

Right this minute, I want

1. to go to Paris
2. a hot fudge sundae with a ridiculously yummy ice cream
3. to lose weight (duh)
4. a frog to sit in my hand
5. to quit my job and write books full-time again
6. my son to stop growing up – just push pause, just for a month!
7. a nap or a cup of coffee
8. all my chores to just be done, and me not have to do them
9. to cuddle on the couch with the German
10. my son to stop having migraines
11. cookies (I must still be hungry)
12. to go get flowers

My dog got sick with cancer while I was working on finishing Stealing Midnight.  I completed it with her by my side, knowing her time was short.  I fed her.  A lot.  No more worries about her weight; she ate and ate and ate, and I promised her she’d die fat.   I did right by her.  She’d had a long life, and death became a turning of the final page, a sad, dignified end, a life greatly missed but also well lived.  She died when it was time, at home, doped up on tranquilizers and sleeping when they put the needle in.  It took two people to carry her out.

I haven’t stopped missing her.

My dad died 4 months ago, 11.7.10, at exactly 7pm. 

I didn’t get to feed him, to sit by him in quiet company.  I did not get to ask him what I wanted to know, to tell him what I needed him to hear.  He didn’t get to know how much I loved him.  I didn’t get to do right by him, to teach him how to be a better dad, to show him I could be a better daughter.  It all happened so quickly; I always thought I’d have more time.  And then one day, there was no more time.  Game over.  My loss.

It makes perfect sense and yet it makes no sense at all.  Why we can love a pet without reservation, and make this human problem so very complicated. 

I feel selfish saying I miss my dad.  Before he became ill, I spent very little time with him.  I have no right to miss him.

But I miss his presence, only a short walk away, no matter that I rarely dropped by, regardless he came to my home only once.  I miss his snide comments, his brilliance, his laugh, his cooking.  I miss his stories, his knowledge, the pride I took in being like him.  He loved it that I wrote books.  He wanted to write, too.  We were the same, I thought.  Almost exactly the same.  I was so very much like him, I told myself.  More like him than my brothers.  More like him than anyone else.  If only he would see. 

I want to get mad at him again.  I want to be angry with him for not caring, not calling, not wanting me around.  But I can’t get angry anymore, because he’s dead.  There is nothing so impotent as anger at someone who is gone.  I can’t even ignore him anymore.  He’s not around to feel the sting of my indifference.

No one I know reads this…so I can say it here, to no one, I can shout it to the void of the internet: I miss my dad, selfishness be damned.  He was my dad and I wanted him all my life, just a piece, just a tiny smidge of a relationship.  I longed for him.  I so desperately wanted him to like me.  

Why didn’t he like me?  What did I do wrong?  I look at my son and I see how beautiful he is, how brilliant, so kind and loving and strong.  How could my dad look at me and not think the same?  Why didn’t he love me?  

I said goodbye to him at the hospital, awkwardly, afraid it was the last time, certain it was the last time.  He was so uncomfortable, feeling so poorly, and yet he bore his sickness with dignity; no complaining, graciously thanking the doctors who tried to help him.  I so loved him for that, was so proud of him.

We said goodbye, my brothers and I.  I told him I loved him.  He didn’t say it back.

I miss writing books.

I miss my dog. 

I miss my dad.

Need a Boost Of Fabulous?

Ten easy ways to feel more fun and fabulous:

1. Paint your toes and fingernails a super cute color. 
2. Get dressed up in whatever makes you feel pretty.  Wear your jewelry.  Ask someone to take your picture; you will never have this day again.
3. Drink a big glass of water with fresh lemon.
4. Take a book and head to your local coffee shop.
5. Plan out what flowers you will buy this spring.  Make a color theme.  Purple and white?  Pink, red, and green?
6. Look through old pictures and make a photo album of the ones that make you smile.
7. Call your grandparents to say hello.
8. Make a list of 3 things you did last week that made you feel good/happy/proud.  Then list 3 things you want to accomplish the following week.
9. Stretch, breathe, do yoga.  Then sit with a cup of hot tea and just BE for 10 minutes, breathing deeply.  Feel your life force beneath your skin.  Let your mind rest. 
10. Find something for which to sincerely compliment every person you speak to for an entire day.  It needn’t be a grand compliment.  Simple and sincere is perfect.

You’re welcome.

Swiped from NerdBoyfriend.

Abundance, Gratitude, and Reflection

The new year is, for me, especially a time of renewal and beginnings.  Not only is it a New Year, but my birthday is on January 6th.  What better reason to reflect on the year gone by, and to set new goals for the year ahead?

Borrowed from Marilesa’s Abundance Blog:

What were your three greatest accomplishments in 2009?

What did you learn from each of these accomplishments?

What were your biggest failures or disappointments in 2009?

What did you learn from your failures and disappointments?

How did you limit yourself in 2009?

I love this list.  It’s full of gritty questions that don’t allow for evasion.  It’s a list meant for private reflection.  Do yourselves all a favor, and take time to ask yourselves the tough questions.  I know I did.

I wince when I realize how much time I wasted this past year.  I think of how much more I could have accomplished if I’d been more disciplined.  I did not write a book this year. .. . a fact that makes me sadder than I can express.  I didn’t drop those ten pounds.  I didn’t drink less.  I painted only one picture.  I didn’t write a book, a failure that weighs so heavily it bears repeating.

These things are true.  But negativity isn’t much my thing.

I, did, however, make some great strides.  My home is more organized than it was last year.  My son won the Silver Presidential Academic Achievement Award and made Distinguished Honors on an all honors course load, which I list on my accomplishment list because of the many hours of effort I put into helping him with his schoolwork.  I am not heavier than I was last year – if not losing is a failure, not gaining must be a win!  I started a full-time job, which has been an enormous adjustment, and I’m doing well.  Our debt is smaller.  Our savings account is larger.  We took a family vacation.  My anniversary weekend was spectacular.

Savor the last year of your life by thinking of the things that made it awesome:  kids on the beach, watching my family boogie board.  Laughing, candlelight by the pond, the pond(!), fish, and waterfalls.  My boys building stone walls.  Okay, fine – the damned dog.  Snow.  My thoughtful German.  My beautiful boy.  Whiskey, sex, and books (not in that order – but most definitely the trifecta of awesome).  A new tiara!  Great friends, family, and most especially when the two become one.  Bubble baths.  Facials.  Musikfest, Oktoberfest, the Celtic Spring Fling.  Coffee.  Health.  Asian burgers.  STEALING MIDNIGHT’s release, incredible reviews, and awards.  The Philadelphia Writers’ conference – meeting old friends, making new ones, hanging with the poets.  Joy.  Teaching (I never knew I could; I never expected to love it).  Writing (while I didn’t write a novel, I did begin one, and that is the hardest part).  Sitting my easel by the pond, painting in the sunshine.  Love – sharing it, receiving it, giving it freely.

My goal for the next year is to invite as much joy and abundance into my life as possible, and to give as much as I receive.  I have one last year to enjoy my thirties, and I’m going to rock out the last year in style.

Feel free to drop your own suggestions, goals, and gratitude list in the comment box.  Let’s inspire each other.

Wii Fit Plus

We just got the Wii Fit Plus – it’s super fun!  Highly recommended.

Romantic Times Readers’ Choice Nominees for 2009

I got nominated again!  STEALING MIDNIGHT was nominated for Best Historical Mystery/Gothic of ’09!

Huzzah!

I’m doing my happy dance, which looks a bit like this:

Alone

I love to be alone.  It seems an odd thing, really, when all the world around me seems to be “getting out” or “meeting up.”  Everyone wants a connection, it seems. 

All I want is to be cut off, disconnected, and left completely alone. 

I dream of long days with no noise, no distractions, no voices.  I crave the distinctive pleasure of solitude and the lack of responsibility and accountability it brings.  I want to paint, to draw, crochet, read, and write.  Alone.  I want to think and be.  To run on the treadmill.  To stare at the pond while drinking tea.

It’s the gift I never ask for.   The demand I rarely make.

Yet, yesterday, it was the reason I lost my temper.  Because I can’t get five minutes of peace and solitude.

My little, private stone cottage is waiting for me….

  This cottage needs improving.  I’d put on a stout door, and the windows would be stained glass.  Inside, of course, there’d be hanging lanterns and wall sconces.  It’d be a cathedral built for one, the worship pure and in the form of one quiet voice and the tapping of keys.   It would also have a moat.  Definitely a moat.

Don’t come looking for me.  I don’t want to be disturbed.

Just lost my temper.  I hate that.