Peggy very kindly shipped it all the way from her home in USA, to my home in Australia. Arent I lucky! It took some time to arrive, but it was a bright spot in the midst of all our ghastly events here.
Thank You so much Peggy, & William, who actually drew my name!
I had planned on taking lovely picnicky pics, but with this dismal wet weather, there is no chance!
I have been out & about very early this morning, to have a chest Xray, which I am sure will be ok. Just a checkup really. I have a Harmatoma in one lung, & as it has been in evidence since 1989, I am assured if it wasnt benign I would be well dead! But nevertheless, it is growing, albeit slowly, so a check on it's progress is advised every 2 years or so.
As we had friends over yesterday & GOM had a very merry afternoon, I left him snoozing in the bed, & dashed off to have my Xray. I rushed into the office a little late for the appointment, at 8.15, but still had a small wait. Whilst sitting patiently- lol- I noticed to my horror I seemed to be wearing a dog hair top! Even though our dogs are both Poodle Maltese cross, & not given to shed, Leo seems to have inherited some shedding from somewhere & his white fine Maltese-y hairs cling to navy & black like magic. I have tried the clothes dryer to remove the hairs, & those sticky rollers, & clothes brushes, & vaccuum cleaning, but still they cling.
I felt like laughing, but of course one must not laugh when people are sitting waiting to learn the fate of their body's strangenesses. But, on the other hand, a little inappropriate laughter could just lift everyone's mood?? No?
I must be getting old & eccentric, as I catch myself wanting to dance, when I hear joyous music in malls. Or whilst out shopping for fabric. But then of course, fabric fondling -or shopping is a joyous event! And should be danced to, before it is too late, & arthritis cripples!
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I see it is Father's Day in other parts of the world, & there are tributes to fathers being posted.
I never really knew my father very well, but I loved him fiercely, & when he died I was utterly devastated. Part of that devastation, was the finality of his death, & the knowledge that I could never get to know him any better than I had. It seemed too sad, & too cruel.
He had died alone, in his bed, & that seemed to be terribly sad too. I travelled, alone, back to New Zealand for his funeral, which was held in the small church where he had married my mother many years before.
He had remarried, & it seemed unutterably sad, that neither of his wives attended his funeral. I know my mother would have liked to, as she remained very fond of him, though their marriage had not worked out.
He was buried, on what would have been his 73rd birthday, in the military section of the Cemetary in the small town, where he had married my mother.
The funeral was the first time my full brother & I got to meet our father's second family- our half brothers & sisters. Which seemed even sadder.
I clung to my father's sister, who is my best beloved Aunt. And I cried when no one else seemed to be crying.
Because I hadnt seen my father for some years, I went to see him before the funeral. They had pomped his hair into a grotesque shape, & he would have hated it. We all remarked on it later. I think one of the saddest things was seeing the little drawings & letters his grandchildren had placed in the coffin. I wished that my children had had the chance to know him.
It was a terrible bleak cold damp day, the day he was buried. I dislike burials at the best of times. I was totally stricken.
Later, at the RSA Club, we got to meet with our siblings, & found we really like them, & wish that the paths or our lives had been different. I would love to get to know them all. One sister was not present, & to this day, I have never met her. I understand she lives over here in Australia too.
I am so glad my brother & I went back to see our fahter's grave, on a sunny morning, on our trip last November. The pain was a little easier, & somehow the military headstone seemed something 'decent & proper' for the memory of our father. Whose life was ruined by his war experiences.
Bob Seger, Roll Me Away.
Pearl Jam, Given to Fly
