In Big Praise of Little Things

Aug 8, 2014 by

I’ve noticed something endearing that my mom does whenever she accomplishes something difficult—she praises herself. Affirmations of “I did it” or “you did it Billie” act as the punctuation of a sentence that, if written, would read: Billie, those three mountainous stairs you just clawed, crawled, and climbed using the two knees that badly need replacing could have stood in the way of you and the exhilarating feeling of finally, finally crossing the threshold of the front door you’ve longed to cross, but they didn’t, they couldn’t, because you, doggedly, creatively, painstakingly navigated them the best you could and your best, Billie Girl, was good enough this time. You did it! While I watched...

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Cut Flowers and Kisses, Kisses, Kisses...

Aug 4, 2014 by

Tell the truth … tell the truth … tell the truth … tell the truth … I want to begin by letting you know that my father is not dying. I mean, not anymore than you or I am dying. My massage therapist once told me something that stuck … — we are all cut flowers Every day that passes brings us closer to our last on planet earth. So, no, my father hasn’t been diagnosed with a terminal disease and then given an accompanying date of expiration.  That said, there have been times within the last six months of his present struggle that the conversations we’ve shared have sounded a lot like good-byes. “I’ve loved your mom the best I could.” “I hope I was a good father to you, baby gal.” And,...

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Janet Jackson was a Lying Bitch…Sort of...

Aug 1, 2014 by

In 1986 when Janet Jackson released her sophomore album Control she made everyone, well … me, actually believe something like “control” was possible. Over the signature wet, reverby, can’t-help-but-dance-beats by Jimmy Jam and Terry Lewis, Janet’s nubile voice flitted and flirted through words that were more anthem than lyric: Got my own mind I wanna make my own decisions When it has to do with my life, my life I wanna be the one in control – Janet Jackson I don’t know, but there was something in that pronouncement that I, as a 16-year-old new mom and soon to be new wife needed to hear, to believe. With my own life seemingly spinning out of control, it was nice … no … essential to hold out hope that...

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Welcome Home, Sorry to See You Go...

Jul 28, 2014 by

Last Friday evening, my parents finally arrived from LA. My father, discharged from the hospital earlier that morning, gritted his teeth, mastered his pain, and boarded his plane to make it here.  Finally. Unfortunately, the time my father spent in his new home was short lived. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Ten. These were the approximate minutes to get my father from: His wheelchair to the car … The car to his wheelchair … His wheelchair to the commode … The commode to the bed … “We were promised sufferings. They were part of the program. We were even told, ”Blessed are they that mourn.” C. S. Lewis This house that we’ve so labored over so that it meets my parents’ needs went largely unseen by my father his...

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