It's the Climb

I promised myself I wouldn't post again until I read every blog on my sidebar and cleaned all three of my bathrooms. 

It took me three stinkin' hours.  And that was just to read my sidebar.  I didn't climb into bed until 1 a.m.   

What I discovered by reading my sidebar is that FIRST: Everyone is going to helk in a hand basket since I've been away!  Wolfgang is Disco dancing, Shelle Belle is hallucinating and Val of the South is bottling, for cryin' out loud!  

SECOND:  I have missed A LOT!  Swirl has found her grail, Kute Kasey made the softball team, and KRITTA IS FINALLY PREGNANT!   Wahooo! 

THIRD: There are way too many troubling things happening--the P and the L words are killing me.  (pain and loss)  I feel like baking when I read about all my dear blog friends struggling with the P and the L words!  I wish I could send you all an apple pie, dear blog friends. 

(((AIR HUGS!)))

I, myself have been busy confronting my relationship issues. With my stuff. 

Can't live with it!  Can't live without it! 

That's what she said. 

I missed my stuff so much while we were apart, but now it's just getting on my nerves.  It's always RIGHT THERE trying to confront me.  Soooo confrontational--yet in a passive/aggressive way.  But when I tell it to BACK OFF because I need some ME time, it just gets more passive/aggressive.  

Relationships are so exhausting! Especially if you're an enabler like me.  I allow my stuff to control me, particularly the socks, shoes, coats, hats, gloves, blankets, beanies and backpacks. They walk all over me--treat me like a darn slave.

Sorry, I didn't mean for this to turn into group therapy.  

On a lighter note. I searched my computer files for photos of Gigi when she was young and electric, but I got nothin'.  

No worries.  I will lay my hands on some photographic evidence soon, but in the mean time I did find some other fun photos. 

This is my dad.  It's his birthday today.  

He would have been 66 years old today.  How crazy-weird is that?  Espeically when you think he didn't make it past 36 years old.   

He was just a baby.  I've outlived him by 6 years and I'm the biggest baby alive.  

A few weeks ago I was driving home from my daughter's soccer game against Jordan High. Miley Cyrus was on the radio singing It's the Climb--fo' real--and I was thinking about how sad it is that the Jordan High mascot is a beet digger.  BEET DIGGERS!! Who thought of that? Were all the Falcons and Eagles and Bobcats already taken or something?  but then I started smiling to myself because those beet diggers really have made the best of their lame sauce mascot by making t-shirts that say JUST BEET IT!  

Just then I looked at the mountains and they looked so incredibly . . .  incredible.  I don't remember the mountains in Utah being so bee-U-tiful when I was a kid.  They've aged well, I'll give 'em that. 

So there I was standing all amazed at the amazingness of it all and smiling about the JUST BEET IT shirts and listening to Miley Cyrus telling me about the struggles she's facing and the chances she's taking and suddenly, for a split second, I felt.  I actually felt.  

Which is so to say I had a feeling.  

Do you understand what this means?  There is a crack somewhere in my stone cold heart.  And a feeling got through.  A feeling of compassion.  And love.  And understanding.  And closeness.  

It slipped out as quickly as it slipped in so don't get the wrong idea, but for a moment I felt an air hug from my old man.  And I blew a little kiss back and thought what a bummer it is that he missed out on sooooo much life.  But it wasn't a painful thought, it was just a thought.  And a feeling.  

Thanks Miley.

This is my mom and dad when they were young and in lub.  

This is my favorite shot.  Isn't my mom adorable?  I like to picture her as a happy hippie. 

Speaking of happy . . . on a serious note, I am happy to report that I am happy.  In Utah.  Can you believe it?  

I don't live in Provo, but I do visit Provo often and I am relieved that I no longer feel any pain/sorrow/angst when driving through the old hood. 

What better birthday present to give my dad than that?  I drove my kids past my childhood home last week.

I wanted to give it a big hug.

I wanted to give the whole neighborhood a hug. I was one of those annoying old ladies who thinks the youth of today are interested in the youth of yesterday. I was like "Oooh, oooh, that's where the cookie lady lived. And oooh, that's where Brian Bastian lived--I used to roller skate past his house every day and blow kisses. And oooooh ooooh, that's where I was when I found out that Elvis had died."

My kids were like "YOU WERE ALIVE WHEN ELVIS DIED?"

Then I drove my kids the five blocks to my dad's place.  He lived here in the upstairs apartment after he and my mom separated.

He also died here in this upstairs apartment. 

I wrote a story about it once.  You can read it here.  

But that was a lifetime ago.  Now we are both free of all those gobbley gook emotions that keep us chained to earth.  

LUB YOU DAD!  Happy Birthday.  

Can't wait to see you again.

P.S.  Don't forget to read this post for Kevin and JM on my serious site.