Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dad. Show all posts

Sunday, February 17, 2008

uncle john and the amazing john installation

conversations with my uncle john are always hilarious. he's a very animated man. he gets ahead of himself when he's excited about a story, or thinks something's funny. similar to my dad, his brother, who couldn't get through telling a joke without laughing hysterically in the middle of it. it took forever for him to get to the punchline. because the only thing he was thinking of the whole time was how funny the punchline is.

my uncle was describing how his son, adam, was renovating his house. here's part of the conversation i had with him.

"his ex GIRLFRIEND is a MONster!" i thought maybe she was a raving bitch or something. he continued, "she bought a TOILET a WHOLE TOILET and came over and HOOKED EVERYTHING UP! pipes and EVERYTHING!! and it WORKS!!"

you know that high voice some women get when they're telling one of their girlfriends about an injustice, a good shoe sale, something their boyfriend, husband, boss, sister did that they couldn't believe?

my uncle john has a high voice. and so far i've only ever heard it when he describes a woman installing an entire toilet.

Sunday, February 3, 2008

dreams are funny stuff

i was at a restaurant. ben, mom, ginger, nancy, chela, wanda, millie, melva, leroy, shirley, anetta, greg, gena were being seated. i sat down with them. more chairs had to be added. but there weren't enough place settings for all of us. so i kept scooting over, moving my chair, and then my chair was taken away, and i was standing up next to the table. and then the table got smaller. i watched them flip and fold the table up and tuck chairs under the table so there would be no room for me.

and then i was the odd person out, standing by the table that was obviously big enough for all of us, but somehow shrank.

i wasn't hurt or even mad. i thought to myself "how fucking rude. there's obviously enough room for everyone. they have no manners." i put my hand on my hip and stared at them not looking at me. "fucking rude."

i was embarassed for them and their rudeness. grown adults, unable to be polite to someone they used to know. unable to be civil. unable to be decent human beings. rude. like ill-behaved toddlers hoarding all the crayons.

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the other night i woke up from a dream. my nose tickled. i was dreaming my dad was kissing my nose while i slept.

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phill says i have salvador dali dreams. the kinds of dreams with arms and legs showing up where there shouldn't be, and clocks dripping off cliffs or castles floating in skies.

i have dreams about clouds. i used to be afraid of clouds, i blame "the nothing" in the never ending story for that. i was scared of the big fluffy clouds. like, i would run inside if i saw one coming for me.

i've had dreams of flying, but the underlying feeling in those dreams was fear of falling. i like my parachuting dreams the most.

in my first parachuting dream i was parachuting through clouds. thick clouds that slowed down my parachuting team (i don't know who was with me, i just remember being with several people). one particular layer of clouds was so thick, we stopped and wobbled there like standing on a waterbed. we had to claw our way through the clouds, to rip through them. the cloud layer was like that layer of carpet padding. but in a beautiful way. we ripped through, and parachuted safely to the ground.

my last parachuting dream.... i was parachuting through hundreds of other parachuters. their parachutes were red and white. from my perch above them, they looked like red and white m&ms. they were all around me. above me, next to me, under me, it was a sea of parachuters. and they were all phill. and then the one phill caught up to me and we laughed at how there were all these parachuters (parachutists?) around us. the sun was setting. the ponds and lakes below were reflecting the sunset. we were falling from the sky, into the sky. i was surrounded by love, having this great time, floating through love.

how sweetly disgusting is that?

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anyone who's known me for at least five minutes lately, you know i'm reading eat love pray. i'm in bali with liz now. she's spending time with the medicine man, sharing her adventures with him, learning of his healing powers and meditation techniques.

seriously, i cannot tell you how much i love this book. the medicine man is simple and complex. he told her to "Worry about your craziness only--make you in peace."

this is what i told my sister, paula slovakia, when she was going through her divorce. "you can't understand crazy. to understand crazy, you have to go into a crazy place. you are not crazy, you are sane. you will never understand this level of crazy." i learned that so completely in the spring and summer of 2005. a lot was going on during that time. i was trying to wrap my head around such craziness; actions from people who were not supposed to ever say or do the things they said and did. i had to let it go. as much as it hurt to try and let her go (i still have a few issues to work out), holding onto it, examining it, taking pictures of it (metaphorically speaking) and showing it to people was doing more harm than good.

so i like what this medicine man said. and it took reading it in someone else's book, in someone else's words, under someone else's copywrite (eek) to remind myself that i have enough crazy (quirky?) of my own. and i'm letting voldemort go. for now. i'm letting all of that go. all of that bad energy, all of those words back and forth. i'm letting it go.

easier said than done. but it's on my list of things to do before i turn (gasp!) 31. oh. my. 31.

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another thing i'm holding onto from this book is the four brothers meditation. i have trouble sleeping. getting to sleep, and staying to sleep. i wake up 20 minutes after i fall asleep. i swear it's been hours and my alarm clock should go off any minute. nope. only 20 minutes. i miss phill, and i do not like being alone. yep. there, i said it. i don't like being alone. i'll leave the tv on, i'll stay up late, so i'll fall immediately to sleep with no tossing or turning. but basically, i miss my boyfriend and i don't like being alone.

so back to this thing i'm holding onto. without giving much of it away (you have to read this book), you pray to these four brothers everyone was born with. they're there to protect you. before you go to sleep (please please let me know if you're going to sue me for infringement or plagiarism or whatever), you call on them before you go to sleep, saying "I am sleeping now, so you must stay awake and protect me." the brothers will shield you through the night, stop demons and nightmares.

my heart did a funny thing when i read this. it held its tired sad head in its hands and felt relief. then i read it again. and i underlined it. and i marked the page. and i wrote it on the inside front cover. and i read it again.

so this talisman, i'm taking to bed with me. i am taking inner peace and my protectors.

goodnight to you all, and peace.

Sunday, December 2, 2007

i have my mom's hands


(my grandmother, my mom, holding me in my fancy christmas duds, and my cousin)


  1. she was a bad driver
  2. she never used her blinkers
  3. she loved us. oh how she loved us
  4. she sang to us
  5. crazy silly songs about catalina matalina oopsy daisy donna wanna okopokoloko was her name.
  6. she sewed
  7. quilts
  8. sunday dresses
  9. for me and my sister
  10. every sunday
  11. she fixed everything with an ice cube or a popsicle
  12. she loved us
  13. she was a lady
  14. she taught us manners
  15. every part of me that is a lady is from her
  16. she protected us
  17. you didn't mess with her
  18. she never knew how much i admired her
  19. but she does
  20. every part of me that is strong is from her
  21. she typed fast
  22. she taught me how to make tortillas
  23. she taught me what family was
  24. she was so funny
  25. she was so patient
  26. she had a favorite
  27. and that is fine
  28. because she's my favorite, too
  29. she had this way about her...this way of speaking. she had this way of putting so much emotion into one word. she could say my name and i would know instantly that i should stop pulling my sister's hair, or that she was proud of me, or that she wasn't kidding when she counted to 3.
  30. her hands soothed so much. her touch on my forehead, the way she brushed my hair, how she tucked me in at night. i have that touch with those i love. i feel the way they love that touch, how much they feel my love from my touch, and i learned it from her.
  31. she loved the opera
  32. and ballet
  33. and classical music
  34. i used to hate it
  35. i miss her sewing room, so full of light and so many fabrics, always with the classical music
  36. she wore opium
  37. i see the bottle, but i can't smell it
  38. if i were to smell it right now, the memories would bring me to my knees
  39. she loved my dad
  40. so much
  41. i never heard her call him by his name
  42. he was always dad or honey, never ever gilbert
  43. she made his lunch every morning
  44. i remember so many mornings waking up next to her
  45. the sheets so warm
  46. we would just lay there, feet tangled, morning breaking
  47. she was so safe
  48. so safe
  49. she made popsicles
  50. she gave me so many things to pass down
  51. one day, after a hard day of school, i cried into her shoulder. she told me then, "friends will come and go, but your sister will always be there."
  52. i didn't believe her then.
  53. but that is the strongest, truest thing she has ever taught me
  54. she didn't teach me to speak spanish
  55. she called my history teacher a "fuck hole" after they had an argument about an assignment of mine when i was 16
  56. i was never so proud to have her in my corner
  57. she loved her sister and her family
  58. she left us with that, our blanket
  59. she married young
  60. she protected her family
  61. everything ballsy i have ever done or ever will do, is from her strength
  62. she gave me my fair lady, brigadoon, the quiet man
  63. oh, and she gave me my love of books
  64. she read and read and read to us
  65. she would ground us by taking away our books. while our friends were getting their phone taken away, their nights out with their friends, she would crush us by taking away our books
  66. she was funny
  67. she had her own living room, with the "special" furniture and glass table
  68. and we didn't cross that line
  69. only to take pictures in our sunday dresses
  70. she called me lally. i will always be hers. other people in my family call me that, but it's never the same
  71. i miss her so much
  72. she broke my heart
  73. i still love her
  74. forever
  75. she taught me how to tie my shoes
  76. she gave me an infinite amount of memories that i can't even think of right now, but that have shaped me into the woman i am today.
  77. i was a surprise
  78. at the ripe old age of 38
  79. she stopped for a milkshake on the way to the hospital before delivering me
  80. i will think of a thousand different things to tell you about her after i post this
  81. i love her so
  82. i would give anything to see her, just to see her, not even to say anything to her. just to see her reading a book in the sun.
  83. i pretend to have conversations with her over the phone
  84. i catch glimpses of her at the grocery store, i think of her when i hear someone whistling south pacific
  85. oh, she could whistle so sweetly
  86. she gave me my sister so i wouldn't be lonely growing up
  87. my sister has proven quite a valuable plaything/cohort/partner in crime
  88. my mom was right about so many things
  89. oh, how i love her
  90. "if a a boy tells you he doesn't deserve you, he is right."
  91. "also believe him if he tells you he is an asshole."
  92. she thought i was funny
  93. and was always in my corner
  94. i don't know what i would say to her if i saw her
  95. i would say nothing
  96. i would hold her
  97. i would thank her
  98. and that would be enough for me
  99. i smell her perfum now
  100. oh, and i want to hold her

Thursday, June 21, 2007

thursday 4/26/07 1:58 pm

I was in a hospital room. In a chair at a round table. Surrounded by curtains and beeping machines. Curtains all over. Yellow ones. I could see feet where the curtains didn't reach the ground. Feet and scrubs. I don't know why I was there. They were doing ekgs. They got an ekg back from Barron. I heard the lab tech say to calibrate the machine. Barron’s ekg was all pink instead of yellow. They thought the ekg was off. I looked over. I was waiting for medical records. I didn't think I'd actually see him. My dad was laying in a hospital bed. In his blue bathrobe. That bathrobe with the red trim. They got the paddles out. He was writhing in pain. I didn’t want to go over there because I knew he wouldn’t want me to see him that way. His eyes were closed. Maybe he wouldn’t even know I was there. I walked over scared. I couldn't breathe. This is what we waited for, what we needed, what we were looking for all that time, what our mother would never give us. I reached and held his hand to try and calm him. He fought it. I told him it was me and fought him back. I told him I was there. His writhing calmed.

He opened his eyes and tried to focus. Who?

Me, Yolanda.

You have to talk slower.

Yo land a, I whispered.

Nand?

He held my face and kissed me.

stay asleep

He kept having heart attacks. One every few minutes. The doctor gave him pills. We left the hospital. As long as he had those pills and as long as I was asleep, this little world existed.

how much time do i have

We stood in front of a garage door. He pressed a button on a key fob. The garage door opened. He pressed another button, the car beeped and the doors unlocked. He stole mom’s car from the garage. A car I never sat in, from a garage I never walked through. We hopped in, he told her we were going to the store. She was yelling at him to get back in bed, or to take his pills. Whatever she was saying, she was pissed at me. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. One of many similar outfits. His glass case rested in his chest pocket. "Face to case," he always said.

We drove through this little hillside town. Full of bouganvilla vines and cobblestones (interesting, it was the same kind of roads as the dream I had with him in the white waiting room that June). He laidthe seat back. He was driving. Wouldn’t let me drive. For some reason. I didn’t insist, for some reason. He kept taking pills. Kept wincing in pain. Kept driving.

stay asleep

I don’t remember what else we did. We talked. I told him I loved him. I had to tell him I loved him so he would know before this little world dissolved. He looked me in the eye. I saw that smile. That smile I knew so well growing up. The one I could always coax out of him with a joke. That laugh. Oh god, his laugh. I knew I had to say goodbye. I wanted to say goodbye before my alarm went off, before he died again. I didn’t want to say goodbye yet.

i want more time

He was out of pills. He grabbed his chest and pulled over. He needed water. Cold water.

not now

I ran into the house we stopped in front of. He followed behind me. It was an Asian family. They didn’t speak English and were scared. I tried to tell them it was okay, I just needed water. We were strangers in their house. Of course they were scared. I didn't care. They grabbed the phone. I ran into the kitchen. My dad needed cold water. Cold, it has to be cold. I saw a water cooler. Got a glass of cold water. He drank it and it was better. The mom was on the phone talking, yelling, pointing and waving at us. I said we were leaving and thanked them.

We were back in the car. Then we were walking in the cobblestone street. Hand in hand. The change in his cargo shorts jingled like always. No words. All words. Peace. Ticking clock. Mom’s voice. Someone's voice. Inner voice? Said it was time.


i know

We were down the hill from the Asian family’s house. I put my hand on his shoulder and said I wanted to talk to him. He was happy. He said yes. We walked up the stairs.

it’s okay

We walked up a flight of stone stairs to the Asian family's backyard. There was a party, trays of food, tables and red table cloths, candles, silverware, fireworks. It was late afternoon, before dusk. They were glad to see us. They were celebrating. We were at a party. I was at a party. Phill was there. I hugged him. I tucked the top of my head into the crook of his chest and chin and smelled him.

My dad’s here.
Where?
I looked over. He was gone.
He’s not here.

That weight of grief hit my chest again, like it always does.

He gave you to me.

i woke up exhausted, drained, gasping for air, filled with grief all over again. these dreams are like reliving his death all over again. these dreams are different than any other dreams i've ever had. i both welcome them and dread them. i wonder every time if this dream is the last dream.


i'd rather relive the grief than say goodbye.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

my dad liked donuts.

my dad liked donuts.
what dad doesn't like donuts?

i stood there in the cafeteria this morning. holding my cup of scrambled eggs, sprinkle of cheese, and salsa. and i fought back tears.

that lump they said, those feelings they said, that pain they said would hit you in the oddest moments. it always does.

it hit me.
in the cafeteria today.

while i tried to talk gia out of getting donuts for breakfast. after, actually.

i couldn't remember what his favorite kind was.

i looked at darcie. trying to decide between coffee and orange juice. i looked at that guy with the pleasant face and scrubs. smiled at me.

my dad liked donuts.
oh.
oh god.
not here.
look, potato chips.
dad.
shhhh.
choke it back.
don't lose it here.
coffee?
no.
cranberry juice?
stop.

i wanted it to go away. this basketball in my throat that choked me every day after i read that letter. after i got that voicemail. after months and months of looking, of asking, of begging, of sending, of writing. that firepaingiantpunchtothegutcan'tbreatheveragainiamdrowningsuffocation of grief. i knew it would go away. i knew i wouldn't always gasp for breath while gassing up mycar or brushing my teeth. i wanted to be through it. i wanted to stay in it. i wanted to fuse to the couch and live as blue velvet.

he tied my shoes.
he liked donuts.
he taught me how to catch a baseball.
he bandaged my knees.
he said i was strong.
he took off my training wheels and ran next to my bike with his hand on my back.

it never goes away. it evolves. it changes you.and it sucker punches you in the cafeteria.

chocolate. with peanuts.