Dad

My dad passed away yesterday. As you may know from previous posts, he hadn't been well for the last three months. I'll talk about him in some future post. We're having a viewing here in Florida in a few days, then a funeral in Connecticut on Friday. We're asking that instead of flowers, people donate something to the veterans' charity of their choice. That's all for now. I'm taking a fiction-writing break until I get back from Connecticut.

Ugh!

I'm sorry I've been neglecting you again, faithful blog. The last two weeks have been tough. I have been getting some writing done though. Some quick points:

Dad's home at my brother's house. We're all going to be taking turns helping him through the day.

I finished a first draft of a story today. The working title is "Thank You, Mr. Goldman."

I haven't even begun to read stories for the next Fiction Crawler and it really should have been completed by now. Gads!

Got two hours of sleep last night, thanks to Monday morning and my crappy dog. Grrr.

I saw the documentary "Dreams with Sharp Teeth" the other night. Wonderful. I love Harlan Ellison. More details on that (the movie, not my love) another time.

That's it. Hope to talk to you all tomorrow!

More Dad Stuff

Thanks to everyone for their well-wishes and good thoughts. From what I heard the other day, Dad's days were numbered, but I saw him today and he looked great. He may be released from the hospital tomorrow because they say there's nothing more they can do for him. I think this got him excited. He ate today and walked and had a bit of physical therapy. He was wide-eyed and swearing up a storm this evening. As I've said, this certainly isn't the first time he was supposed to die but decided not to. My brother said that seventeen years ago a doctor told us that Dad had six months to live.

In fact he did live six months. And sixteen and a half dozen more. And we're still counting.

The Dot and the Line

I think Dad's ready for the end, but to his disappointment he's too healthy and will pull through as he always does. He seems to be getting stronger. Today he was eating a lot more, talking a lot more and joking. I suspect he'll be back to work in a couple of weeks, mining uranium. His pick glows in anticipation.

I just listened to Will You be an Astronaut by Greg van Eekhout on Escape pod:
http://escapepod.org/2009/06/05/episode-202-will-you-be-an-astronaut/

And if you listen to the story, you may learn why it reminded me of The Dot and the Line: A Romance in Lower Mathematics.

Cable television in the seventies was a wondrous, magical thing. There were still only a handful of channels, but for those of who grew up with only four, twenty or so channels brought a cornucopia of entertainment into our lives. I remember Channel 27 fondly. You could watch Batman on 27! Five days a week! And Batman, yes, Adam West's Batman, was the greatest thing on television.

On Saturdays, Channel 56 ran "The Creature Double Feature," two monster movies back to back, everything and anything from The Phantom of the Opera to Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla. Later, at 4:30 Channel 27 ran a Charlie Chan film, then at 6:00 an Abbott and Costello film (those guys made a hell of a lot of films), then at 7:30 they'd run a half hour of classic Looney Tunes shorts. These guys OWNED my tubby little couch potato ass.

Sundays were a mixed bag. 56 ran movies at 12, 2 and 4. Stuff like Houseboat; Pillow Talk; The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming; that sort of thing. I got some outdoor time on Sundays. Occasionally, a movie would fall short of the two hour mark, even with commercials (remember Ronco Records?), and they'd have to stick a cartoon in to fill the gap. One of those gap-fillers was The Dot and the Line. See? I had a point.

Ivory's at the house today for her Internet fix, so I paused Escape Pod to tell her to look for The Dot and the Line. We found it. Now so have you:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OmSbdvzbOzY

I Am Not Originally From Kansas

I just saw Dad. He looks much better than he did a few days ago. The Hospital People have been giving him sleeping pills at night and a nurse and my sister have been forcing food down his throat. Food and sleep go a long way toward curing what ails you.

Now, to clear the air, I want everyone to know that I am NOT originally from Kansas. I am not even unoriginally from Kansas. I have not been to Kansas to have gone somewhere else so that I might say, "I just came from Kansas." Not now, not ever.

I have never passed through Kansas on my way to somewhere else. It might take me a moment to find Kansas on a map, EVEN if the word Kansas were printed on it, EVEN if it was a map of only Kansas and nowhere else. In my decades of working with the public, I do not recall ever having met someone who told me they were from Kansas. Nor do I recall ever having watched a sporting event featuring Kansan participation. The only people I've ever seen from Kansas were played by actors who were not from Kansas. No one that I have ever met, heard from, encountered or read about, has ever accused me of originally being from Kansas.

NO
NO KANSAS NO
NO

Any questions?

Loneliness On The Sofa

Just talked to Dad. He still sounds rough but says he's feeling better. The sisters (mine, not his) are heading into town today and tomorrow from Austin and Connecticut. The former wife and I are going to see him tomorrow after work.

Hey! I'm headlining on the Sofa this week on Aural Delights no. 89. Blast off!

http://www.starshipsofa.com/20090617/aural-delights-no-89-matthew-sanborn-smith/

Aural Delights No 89 Matthew Sanborn Smith

Editorial: Forums by Tony C Smith

Flash Fiction: The Git by Jay Lake

Fact: Search Is Too Important To Leave To One Company – Even Google by Cory Doctorow

Fact: Mervyn Peake Part 1 by English Assassin

Main Fiction: The Loneliness of the Long Distance Diplomat by Matthew Sanborn Smith

Fact: Gunfight Intro by Jeff Carlson

New Titles: Edge Of The World, In Ashes Lie, Orphans Triumph

Narrators: JJ Campanella, Paul Caggige, Ray Sizemore

Advertisment: This podcast is brought to you by Audible.com. Download a free audiobook of your choice today at audiblepodcast.com/sofa

Main Fiction first appeared www.bbtmagazine.com

www.starshipsofa.com

Bumpy Roads, Take Me Home

We thought dad might be coming home from the hospital today, but his heartbeat was irregular. He seems to have a cold. That may be because he's weak. He hasn't slept or eaten much for days. Years ago he told me of days of prolonged terror and adrenaline during the war (he was an infantryman in the Pacific in World War II) and I asked him how he was ever able to sleep under those conditions. He said eventually you collapse from exhaustion. So, I'm hoping that he'll get a good sleep tonight because his body isn't capable of staying awake anymore. I think some sleep will do wonders for him.

Thanks to all of you out there who are sending your good thoughts and vibes in our direction. He's a tough old bird who's been at death's door dozens of times and has always pulled out of it. He has an amazing will to live.

My life's been feeling extra lumpy these past few days. Part of that, I think is from working through the weekend. Friday and Saturday are usually extra busy errand days for me and when I pile the job on top of that, I get a bit worn. Mondays and Tuesdays are often rough because I have to get up early and I usually get less than eight hours sleep over that forty-eight hour period. Put it all together and I'm not at my best by Tuesday night.

But Wednesdays and Thursdays?

I'm like a god among men.

Still Kicking

We thought we might lose the old man today. He had a heart attack last night and the docs cut him open (am I sounding Runyonesque?) thinking an artery had re-closed and they'd have to do another bypass, with only a fifty percent chance of survival. What it was was fluid around his heart which they already thought might be there but unrelated to the heart attack. No need to cut further. At any rate, Cliff spits in death's eye once again.

Yay!

Young Fellow My Lad

Today is Memorial Day in the states, when we honor our fallen warriors. My dad used to recite bits of this poem to me. My dad's still around, he just doesn't recite bits of this poem to me anymore. It always brings tears to my eyes. Even when I was a kid. Even when I read it just now.

Young Fellow My Lad

"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You aren't obliged to go."
"I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
And ever so strong, you know."

"So you're off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you're looking so fit and bright."
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,
But I feel that I'm doing right."
"God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad,
You're all of my life, you know."
"Don't worry. I'll soon be back, dear Dad,
And I'm awfully proud to go."

"Why don't you write, Young Fellow My Lad?
I watch for the post each day;
And I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away.
And I've had the fire in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here I sit
Into the quiet night.

"What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
No letter again to-day.
Why did the postman look so sad,
And sigh as he turned away?
I hear them tell that we've gained new ground,
But a terrible price we've paid:
God grant, my boy, that you're safe and sound;
But oh I'm afraid, afraid."

"They've told me the truth, Young Fellow My Lad:
You'll never come back again:
(Oh God! the dreams and the dreams I've had,
and the hopes I've nursed in vain!)
For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to our lads like you."

-Robert W. Service

Mom

Yesterday I wrote two twitfics called A Couple of Three Packs (106) and One Wheel (107). Today I wrote two pieces of flash fiction, Disease Control (108) and The Wind in His Helmet (109).

Today was Mother's Day here in the states. I bought the former wife some flowers and a card and breakfast. I usually wish her mom a happy one as well, but she's somewhere in Trinidad this month and not as available as she usually is.

My own mom died some seventeen years ago from colon cancer. She was fifty-nine years old. She was a good person. Mom had food for anyone who dropped by the house. She didn't like it when one person won everything on Wheel of Fortune. She wanted everyone to win something. She stretched a dollar till it wept to feed a family of seven fattish people. She was the ninth child of Portuguese immigrants. Her father died three months before she was born. When she was a girl she ran with the Girl Scouts for a while and loved it, but she had to drop out when it was time to buy uniforms because the family couldn't afford one.

She was the first person in her family to graduate high school and she worked as as a secretary to a coroner, hovering near the dead as she took shorthand during examinations. She met my Dad at the hospital where she worked. He was a veteran of World War II who had knocked around a bit and was a baker's assistant at the hospital. My uncle introduced them. She saw five kids into adulthood and put up with more crap from all of us (Dad included) than anyone should be asked to. She was very happy about the move to Florida after fifty-four years in New England. She had a pool, she had sunshine.

She brought her sister down to live with them, when her sister could no longer take care of herself. My Aunt Elsie had kidney problems, was on dialysis for years and apparently the medicine she was taking was shrinking her brain. That's what I was told anyway. The result was something very much like Alzheimer's. And mom helped Elsie, took her out, fed her, bathed her when it became necessary, until very close to the end of Elsie's life. It took a lot out of my mom.

Mom had medical issues that I wasn't told about. She beat cancer once, sick from chemotherapy. About a year and a half later it found her again. Her stomach became enormous, she looked pregnant. She wanted to die at home. A hospital bed was set up in my parents' bedroom and my dad took care of her, saw to her every need as she had seen to Elsie's. Mom fell in love with dad for a second time. Just days after my sisters went back home after saying their goodbyes, Mom let go of the struggle. The last time I saw her she was breathing very short and shallow breaths. She was aided by an oxygen tank. I asked her how she was and she said, "Not very good." We talked for a few minutes and I kissed her and told her I loved her which is something I didn't say very often. She died early the next morning after staying up all night talking to my father. My eyes have gotten all wet writing this.

She was born Laura Katherine Nobriga and died at a much too young fifty-nine years old. She loved romance novels and horror movies and loved to sing out loud even though I told her what a bad singer she was all the time. Needless to say I was not a model son, but I loved her and now that I'm a dad I understand that she would have loved me no matter how big a wiener I was. Mom's are great for that.

Just Skip To The Good Part

If you want to avoid all the crappy boring stuff, just skip to the video at the bottom. You've been warned.

The weekend. The wife was up at 4 am and I at 5 am to make breakfast for two-hundred people for the PTO's breakfast with Santa. Save for the part about getting three hours sleep, it was kind of fun. I had a brief Lileks moment. Understand that because of the way these meals had to be served, we had to package them individually, as if they would be purchased for take-out. The little packages of syrup we included were not labeled "maple syrup" but instead labeled "table syrup" and I pictured the stuff inside being refined from the sap of freshly squeezed tables.

Then a quick trip to the wife's house, walk the dogs, and off to the five hour parenting class, which made watching paint dry seem like downhill racing. Suddenly it was dark again and my daughter needed to get to my computer for a couple hours for a science project. Dropped her off, came back, started working on something for the Sofa. The wife called, this was like midnight now, and we had to talk out some stuff so I went over there, talked it out, got a couple hours sleep, went home, slept for another forty-five minutes before being called into work early.

You can imagine what a pleasant mood I was in by that time. I don't totally remember what happened last night (I know there was driving involved), but I had to go to the Dreaded Monday Morning Meeting today, and after errands and my quarterly visit with Dad (Who, as a veteran who fought at Pearl Harbor, was bumming because he received very little mention in yesterday's paper on the sixty-seventh anniversary of the attack), I went home and slept and slept. My son came home from school and after our post-school meet and greet I went back to sleep. Then supper, library with daughter, and now, at 10:20 pm, I'm thinking I'm going to sleep again. This is normally very early for me. It's partly about catching up on three night's of lost sleep, partly trying to wash the memory of the weekend away.

I'm posting this, because it's one of my favorites for Christmas. Hall and Oates got intentionally goofy here and the video is as much fun as the song: