So What Are You Really Saying?
So enough with the sad stories... for now.
Emma is talking to Pa Gene, "Me nub titties."
"What?" Pa Gene questions.
"She loves kitties." Abbie injects.
"Oh," Pa Gene relates, "Me no nub titties."
"uh" Grammy Sally adds, "I think you do like them."
A moment drifts like what Paul Harvey calls a pregnant pause.
Pa Gene retorts, "Yeah, me nub titties too."
2.26.2004
Twist of Fate
Don't you just love it when a film twists and turns and ends up giving you something you weren't planning?
The last time I went to the theaters and saw a film was this past summer while my family was in California on vacation. I was working and putting in extra time. A friend invited me to join his family in watching The Pirates of the Caribbean. It wasn't too trying on my mental state, so I enjoyed the numbness.
Last Monday my mother-in-law was watching my girls and brought up the idea for Abbie and me to go see a show. The way the schedule fanned out, Fifty First Dates was the easy winner. Although I am pulling through this thing called life, I was not anxious to spend money to remind me of my loss. A humorous getaway sounded refreshing.
The flick was textbook. Through different scenes I could hear his laughter echoing with mine and the people around us. I knew it would be to his pleasing. It is funny how the simplest of things trigger responses we never consciously were aware existed. I once heard a Vietnam veteran explain to me the sound of bullets ripping through flesh. He was amazed because he had finally witnessed a film that had captured the sense. Because of that noise, he said memories flooded his brain more than it had for over twenty years. This was the tingling sensation I felt Monday.
So Drew Barrymore's character has no short-term memory. Induced by a horrific car accident, she is destined to wake-up every day as if it were the day of her accident. Adam Sandler, who was one of my brother's most treasured actors is the gigolo that falls madly in love with the absent minded beauty. Of course, many laughs are had as a love story progresses. It was a fair and more importantly, different way to spend an evening.
It wasn't until the very last scene when the Hawaiian musician, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's rendition of "Somewhere over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" fades in as Barrymore's character awakes to meet her "new" daughter, husband and life again for the very first time that I completely lost it.
I have had a few days to decipher all of what was going on in my brain as I quickly swung my jacket on and paced out to the frozen vehicle, wiping pain from my cheeks:
• It was a cocktail of a paradox of the character trying to remember, while I am trying to forget.
• It was the introduction of her child, the greatest highlight of life I have yet to discover, and she doesn't even know her.
• It was the intention of humor with familiar artists I knew he loved to watch.
• It was the foolish attempt on my part to believe that a two hour movie could chocolate dip my emotions enough for me to wander home and go to bed unscathed.
• It was the false illusion I have led myself to believe that I have gotten over that disgusting hump.
• It was the fact that he loved that song, that I put it into the DVD commemorating his life.
• It was that the original "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong, which both he and I were first introduced to on the Platoon soundtrack was both one of our favorites.
• It was me wanting to blame someone for this piece of shit situation.
• It was happiness to hold my babies, but fear of losing them.
• It was an anger that I was completely blind-sided and now breathing deeply to hold back uncontrollable gasps of wet air.
• It was all of these things and more brought on by the simple human humming and fingers strumming a ukulele.
I know Abbie felt the tension too. We got to the car and each sighed. I might of sighed several times.
"I wasn't expecting that!" I broke the silence.
We laughed.
Don't you just love it when a film twists and turns and ends up giving you something you weren't planning?
The last time I went to the theaters and saw a film was this past summer while my family was in California on vacation. I was working and putting in extra time. A friend invited me to join his family in watching The Pirates of the Caribbean. It wasn't too trying on my mental state, so I enjoyed the numbness.
Last Monday my mother-in-law was watching my girls and brought up the idea for Abbie and me to go see a show. The way the schedule fanned out, Fifty First Dates was the easy winner. Although I am pulling through this thing called life, I was not anxious to spend money to remind me of my loss. A humorous getaway sounded refreshing.
The flick was textbook. Through different scenes I could hear his laughter echoing with mine and the people around us. I knew it would be to his pleasing. It is funny how the simplest of things trigger responses we never consciously were aware existed. I once heard a Vietnam veteran explain to me the sound of bullets ripping through flesh. He was amazed because he had finally witnessed a film that had captured the sense. Because of that noise, he said memories flooded his brain more than it had for over twenty years. This was the tingling sensation I felt Monday.
So Drew Barrymore's character has no short-term memory. Induced by a horrific car accident, she is destined to wake-up every day as if it were the day of her accident. Adam Sandler, who was one of my brother's most treasured actors is the gigolo that falls madly in love with the absent minded beauty. Of course, many laughs are had as a love story progresses. It was a fair and more importantly, different way to spend an evening.
It wasn't until the very last scene when the Hawaiian musician, Israel Kamakawiwo'ole's rendition of "Somewhere over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World" fades in as Barrymore's character awakes to meet her "new" daughter, husband and life again for the very first time that I completely lost it.
I have had a few days to decipher all of what was going on in my brain as I quickly swung my jacket on and paced out to the frozen vehicle, wiping pain from my cheeks:
• It was a cocktail of a paradox of the character trying to remember, while I am trying to forget.
• It was the introduction of her child, the greatest highlight of life I have yet to discover, and she doesn't even know her.
• It was the intention of humor with familiar artists I knew he loved to watch.
• It was the foolish attempt on my part to believe that a two hour movie could chocolate dip my emotions enough for me to wander home and go to bed unscathed.
• It was the false illusion I have led myself to believe that I have gotten over that disgusting hump.
• It was the fact that he loved that song, that I put it into the DVD commemorating his life.
• It was that the original "What a Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong, which both he and I were first introduced to on the Platoon soundtrack was both one of our favorites.
• It was me wanting to blame someone for this piece of shit situation.
• It was happiness to hold my babies, but fear of losing them.
• It was an anger that I was completely blind-sided and now breathing deeply to hold back uncontrollable gasps of wet air.
• It was all of these things and more brought on by the simple human humming and fingers strumming a ukulele.
I know Abbie felt the tension too. We got to the car and each sighed. I might of sighed several times.
"I wasn't expecting that!" I broke the silence.
We laughed.
2.05.2004
Salami, Ham, and Cheese
It had snowed, a lot. We were nestled in our home, wading out the daylight hours. I decided on some sandwiches for lunch and offered to make some for everyone. All declined. I turned on the TV and put in "Mr. Deeds" that I had gotten on DVD for Christmas. I diligently created the master pieces and returned to the living room to snuggle into a humorous and filling lunchtime treat. And there she was!
Emma had planted herself right in the seat where I was planning on sitting, right in front of the boob tube. It was the perfect spot for someone with a plate full of food that required inhaling while watching a funny flick, and she was gleefully bouncing in it.
She had to of known that I had been fantasizing about this rewarding meal for at least twenty minutes. She had to of known that the same exact place where her tiny little bottom was rested was the best seat in the house at this precise time. She knew alright and she wasn't going to budge.
"Hey baby, can I sit there and watch my movie?" I asked with a calm persuading tone.
"But my mommy is reading to me." she batted her doe deer-like eyelashes at me.
She was sitting right next to Abbie, but I failed to notice because I only had eyes for this single position. So I let the dripping disappointment roll off of my back and chose the footstool directly perpendicular to the throne-spot and began my movie and delicious delicatessen delight.
I was about half-way done when the three-year-old rose and wandered off from MY seat. I promptly stood and scooted to the warm cushion without at sound. The movie seemed much funnier from this direct angle. I was content.
Then....
"Daddy you dook my dot!" The lower lip puckered as she whined these words.
"Eh . . . er, but you got up honey, I thought you were done sitting here." I mumbled.
"Dut I was just detting my baby doll!" her pitch increased, as she tightened the grip of the plastic toy in her curled arm.
"Just let Daddy finish his sandwich then I will let you have it back" I pleaded.
Silence.
I had to look away from the saddening sight, so I glanced up at Adam Sandler.
She began a routine that words cannot explain. It was precision. It was a speedy tongue-lashing given as delicately as only a young child can give without insulting. It was sincere, and it was heavy with truth.
"It's not dery nice to not div me my dot. Do I ever dake your dot when you det up? NO, I don't dake your dot. Dats NOT nice!"
I heard a crushing hush of one, my wife, sitting next to me. Emma's sweet eyes had turned grey with disapproval and I realized the terrible, terrible crime I had just committed. I grabbed my paper plate peppered with crumbs, apologized sincerely to my first born and scampered into the kitchen.
It had snowed, a lot. We were nestled in our home, wading out the daylight hours. I decided on some sandwiches for lunch and offered to make some for everyone. All declined. I turned on the TV and put in "Mr. Deeds" that I had gotten on DVD for Christmas. I diligently created the master pieces and returned to the living room to snuggle into a humorous and filling lunchtime treat. And there she was!
Emma had planted herself right in the seat where I was planning on sitting, right in front of the boob tube. It was the perfect spot for someone with a plate full of food that required inhaling while watching a funny flick, and she was gleefully bouncing in it.
She had to of known that I had been fantasizing about this rewarding meal for at least twenty minutes. She had to of known that the same exact place where her tiny little bottom was rested was the best seat in the house at this precise time. She knew alright and she wasn't going to budge.
"Hey baby, can I sit there and watch my movie?" I asked with a calm persuading tone.
"But my mommy is reading to me." she batted her doe deer-like eyelashes at me.
She was sitting right next to Abbie, but I failed to notice because I only had eyes for this single position. So I let the dripping disappointment roll off of my back and chose the footstool directly perpendicular to the throne-spot and began my movie and delicious delicatessen delight.
I was about half-way done when the three-year-old rose and wandered off from MY seat. I promptly stood and scooted to the warm cushion without at sound. The movie seemed much funnier from this direct angle. I was content.
Then....
"Daddy you dook my dot!" The lower lip puckered as she whined these words.
"Eh . . . er, but you got up honey, I thought you were done sitting here." I mumbled.
"Dut I was just detting my baby doll!" her pitch increased, as she tightened the grip of the plastic toy in her curled arm.
"Just let Daddy finish his sandwich then I will let you have it back" I pleaded.
Silence.
I had to look away from the saddening sight, so I glanced up at Adam Sandler.
She began a routine that words cannot explain. It was precision. It was a speedy tongue-lashing given as delicately as only a young child can give without insulting. It was sincere, and it was heavy with truth.
"It's not dery nice to not div me my dot. Do I ever dake your dot when you det up? NO, I don't dake your dot. Dats NOT nice!"
I heard a crushing hush of one, my wife, sitting next to me. Emma's sweet eyes had turned grey with disapproval and I realized the terrible, terrible crime I had just committed. I grabbed my paper plate peppered with crumbs, apologized sincerely to my first born and scampered into the kitchen.
2.03.2004
New Year's Eve Poem
I wrote this New Year's Eve with the intention of putting it here. Got a little distracted after the new year. I found it while cleaning up some files today. Not real sure I feel the same way anymore. I miss him more than I thought.
Just got off the phone
Just told him goodbye
Just had to tell him one more time
That I love him
Just repeated his words
Just strained to understand
Just had to hear him tell me again
That he loves me
Just gave him my blessing
Just gave him my promise
Just gave him reassurance
"It's alright"
I had told him my goodbyes to his face
With tears running down mine
I've told him every time I left him
Alone in his bed
I am weak,
As tired as he looks
Wasted each time
He is buried in my imagination
Sleep little one
Let the thoughts settle
The love warm
Your eyes rest
I wrote this New Year's Eve with the intention of putting it here. Got a little distracted after the new year. I found it while cleaning up some files today. Not real sure I feel the same way anymore. I miss him more than I thought.
Just got off the phone
Just told him goodbye
Just had to tell him one more time
That I love him
Just repeated his words
Just strained to understand
Just had to hear him tell me again
That he loves me
Just gave him my blessing
Just gave him my promise
Just gave him reassurance
"It's alright"
I had told him my goodbyes to his face
With tears running down mine
I've told him every time I left him
Alone in his bed
I am weak,
As tired as he looks
Wasted each time
He is buried in my imagination
Sleep little one
Let the thoughts settle
The love warm
Your eyes rest
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