Traveling Time

I just got back from spending a longish weekend with my sister, brother-in-law and niece. Since they live about 400 miles away from me, and are pretty rural, flying is not a good option. That meant a lot of traveling time.

It’s about an eight hour drive each way, but I don’t usually mind too much once I get going. Don’t get me wrong – BEFORE I go, I’m a total wreck. But once I’m out on the highway I settle down until I hit traffic or construction.

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When Mom Read My Book

Today is my mother’s 83rd birthday. It occurred to me recently that I don’t talk about my mother much here on the blog. If I’m talking about a parent, it tends to be my father. That might be because I’m in the throes of things with my mother, but I have the benefit of distance with my father.

But I don’t want you to think that I don’t love her, because I do. And I don’t want you to think that she’s not an important part of my life, because she is.

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Time Well Spent

I’ve been thinking a lot about my father lately.  That’s partly because he would have turned 80 on May 4th.  And it’s partly because of Memorial Day.  And it’s also because I’m still learning things about him I didn’t know before.

I didn’t always have the best relationship with Daddy – the fault for that lay on both sides, especially when the teenage girl hormones kicked in.  Watch out!  Things got a little intense there for a couple of years.  But in spite of the drama that cropped up now and again, he tried to teach me things, the way any good father does.

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Goals, Dreams, and Remembering My Father

I was thinking about my father as I drove into work today, and it made me feel kind of melancholy. We’re coming up on the third anniversary of his death, so he’s been in my thoughts more than normal, I guess.

The reason I was feeling melancholy was not because he died. He’d suffered for a long time and saw death as a release. But I was thinking about the dreams my father had, his goals for his later years.

They were simple dreams, really.  He wanted to buy a little truck and go around working as a handyman. He wanted to care for his house and lawn. He wanted to take long walks.  He wanted to travel.

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A Place Of One’s Own


 
I’ve been thinking about Place a lot – place in the physical sense. But place in the physical sense translates to place in the spiritual sense, I think.

I moved away from the town where I grew up about twenty-five years ago. My mother, on the other hand, has never lived anywhere else. She’s always lived within 5 miles of where she lives now. My mother’s parents and grandparents and great-grandparents are all buried in the town cemetery. My father is buried there.

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For My Father On Father’s Day

I’ve been writing fiction for years, with various degrees of serious intent.  Sometimes I thought I wanted to become a published author.  Sometimes I thought it was just too bloody much work.

I was having something of a crisis of faith about 2 1/2 years ago.  I was working on a romance manuscript that never seemed to be finished.  I’d written a number of science fiction short stories that never seemed to go anywhere (mostly because I really wanted to write romance).  My life was too busy, too stressful, and I was too tired.  I had been diagnosed with diabetes.  I had a lot of debt. I was going nowhere.

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