i always thought i’d have the gumption to keep this blog going. during the slow days at work, what a perfect time to pull up ye olde textpattern and write something. anything. or with the advent and subsequent advancement of smartphones, surely i could capture a decent photo to publish here on a semi-regular basis. right? the truth is i’m just not interested it anymore. yet at the same time i continue to be captivated by the internet and its abilities to keep certain topics and people at the forefront. but i’ll never be one of them.
i have my primary haunts here on the interwebs. but i think i’m suffering from technology ADD. i check everything often, get discouraged when it’s the same ol’ crap, yet don’t contribute anything of my own. but then again, why should that be the goal? why clutter the already oversaturated online environment? i’m certain i’ve pontificated on this here blog on that exact topic—everyone has something to say, and everyone demands to be heard. but how is my story any more captivating than the next person’s?
when my dad died last year, this was the necessary platform to purge my feelings. i needed catharsis as did some of my family. in retrospect it seems fitting that i was the person to do the writing, the reflecting, the analyzing. i’m told that my words, particularly those about my father’s final moments, set off a trail of tears. that wasn’t my intention, naturally. i was just writing from the heart, something i’ve tried to inject in every posting, no matter how brief or mundane.
as i scribed more than a dozen entries dedicated to dad’s life and death, i set out on this expedition of sorts to let my limited readership know what one does with grief. well, we continue to live. i still have my own life to attend to. my husband. my work. my animals. my self-assigned projects. they all need me. and i continue to give myself to them while harboring a small tinge of sadness. some days are understandably harder than others. and though it hasn’t been a year yet, today i can say the hurt isn’t as prevalent; however, i still think of my father every.single.day. and sometimes still, i tear up at one simple fleeting moment that reminds me of him.
i’ve never had a big following here, but i felt i gained a little bit of traction, albeit short-lived, with those particular posts. since then, though, i’ve lost my voice. my brain still reels with the everyday onslaught of news coverage on politics, war, economic and environmental issues, the younger generations faced with tough times ahead. couple all that with the lesser intense, yet just as important, topics of family, crafting, exercising, food that embody my daily life, and you’d think i’d have fodder to keep this site populated with a regular stream of somewhat entertaining entries. but i simply can’t. i actually feel like reclaiming some of the personal nature of my writing and doing it just for me (despite already admitting to a small audience in the first place).
having said all that, i’m not jumping ship completely. like i said, i still have occupancy in various places on the interwebs and will continue to inhabit them. and as i alluded to in my last post, other projects with new interests are in the works. just because i’m not writing doesn’t mean cool stuff ain’t a-happenin’. i’m just too busy living life some days to document it. and there’s no online law prohibiting the return to a once-abandoned endeavor. just ask my husband. :)
i will always love writing, just as i will always love photography. and just like what happened with my photographic eye, my writing is taking a backseat to other things. i feel comfortable saying i am not passionate about one thing. my passion is actually the hunt for new ones, something i undoubtedly inherited from my father.
28 February 2011
last friday, naz and i made plans for a lunch outing. my daily workout routine of precor elliptical training wasn’t going to suffer one day—although, maybe it would after noshing on fried plantains and sipping on café con leche. thank you, paladar.
once our bellies were full and the mist had subsided, we strolled down a couple of streets before i headed back to work. passing by orvis, naz wanted to take a quick peek at some of their jackets and shirts since his hunt for chambray is continual. the aesthetic of orvis doesn’t match my own personal style, but i always love stopping in. the staff is nice, the vibe is pleasant. and on this particular visit, i ambled over to the fishing section, where an old artisan sustained his craft of making fishing gear, his hands working adeptly around some wire and feathers. he asked us if we needed any assistance, and upon our polite decline, he thanked us for stopping by. a true gentleman.
surveying the varieties of rods and lures and hooks and feathery doodads, i got nostalgic. when i was younger, dad and i had our share of fishing adventures. we’d go to the anglers’ club in belleville, where we’d have contests to see who could catch the most bluegill. i’d cast my snoopy fishing pole and wait as patiently as a little girl could to see if my bobber would disappear under the surface, signifying fish activity. if i caught anything, i dare not touch it. dad did all the dirty work for me. the baiting, the unhooking, and the tossing back of the fish. my biggest intrigue with fishing was really how far i could cast, but the arms of an eight-year-old did nothing for the advancement of my line. my fishing skills never improved over the years, but the time with dad overshadowed the sport itself anyway. i’m sure he loved having me by his side regardless, as he attempted to instill some tricks of the trade.
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a little-known fact about dad was his well-intentioned entrepreneurial spirit. i say well-intentioned simply because his follow-through was often lacking. an exhausting full-time factory job, yard duties, and any other chores the family weighed him down with all played a part into his rapid disinterest. honestly, i think he also quickly grew bored with his business ideas, maybe realizing early on that these tactics to get rich quick simply were of no merit. dad tried selling leather patching kits, wedding invitations, printing services (“specialties are our specialty”), laundry balls that required no laundry detergent (they allegedly cleaned your clothes using electromagnetic energy or some cockamamie crap), among other things.
his most successful pursuit was that of “michael’s tackle box.” dad took his love for fishing but his distaste for poorly constructed lures from walmart et al to good use. he went into the lure-making side business. in fact, he excelled at the craftsmanship.
dad stocked up on raw materials for his new venture: paints, brushes, rubber for skirting, hooks, spinner blades (hammered and smooth), swivels, wire, hooks, molds, blocks of lead, a melting pot, plastic bags, michael’s tackle box–branded labels, etc. he even built several drying racks that the newly formed lures rested upon until they were ready for packaging. looking back, and quite proudly i might add, dad did an amazing job with this operation. from melting the lead to filling the molds to fashioning the rubber skirts and dotting the eyes with a dab of paint. he even took the time to remove dried paint where the wire met the body—only the body required paint but inevitably part of the wire became coated due to the dipping process—a painstaking step the mass-produced competitors never did. a small detail he took pride in, separating his wares from others’. it was his love of working with his hands, something i inherited, that likely kept his interest the strongest with this endeavor.
he often went on fishing escapades with a couple of his brothers-in-law and other friends, where they’d try out his latest batch of goods. everyone loved them. they were sturdy, attractive (as attractive as fishing gear can be), and effective. an uncle often touted he caught bigger and more fish with dad’s product than the name-brand variety. there was talk of dad trying to get his lures into some of the stores in town. but sadly, his motivation stopped just short. he continued to make them for awhile at the request of friends and family, but it was no longer a viable business—his love for it faded.
contemplating what could have been had he stuck with it, i thought again of the craftsman at orvis. i would have loved to see dad sitting in front of a worktable with lures attached some C-clamp apparatus at a shop, greeting customers with a genuine smile and passion for his art. but life. life, she sometimes impedes herself, in ways that aren’t so easy to overcome. i wonder if he had any regrets about ceasing production on his lures and not pursuing the retail circuit. it could have led to better things for him and his family, or it could have backfired. but we’ll never know.
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one of the last skype chats i had with dad before his fingers stopped working properly was about our fishing trips. he questioned himself as a father; i retorted with my memories of bluegill competitions. it may have been a lame answer of sorts, but it was my attempt at reminding him that if i thought his skills as a father were lackluster, then i wouldn’t have remembered those times fondly. i hope i got my point across.
and by the way, september 20 was the three-month anniversary of his loss. time apparently hasn’t slowed down.
21 September 2010
i don’t think anyone would disagree with the fact that we’ve had a tumultuous year. between work and family issues, naz and i have faced our share of challenges, grief, and anxiety. but we’re also a good team. we play off each other’s strengths well and are able to persevere, leaning on one another when necessary.
despite our best collaborative efforts to keep our spirits afloat during the more trying moments of this year, we still need a break. we need some time to unwind and let our brains turn to mush, ever so slightly. and sadly, i almost didn’t allow this requisite decompression to happen. sensibilities got in the way of whimsy. frugality pushed in front of adventure. but only momentarily. until i thought of dad and how disappointed he must be in me.
i agonized over our upcoming quarterly tax bill. i fretted over finding animal sitters. i felt a pang of guilt after opting for a true holiday as opposed to visiting mom like i promised back in june. i worried about requesting more days off from work, despite this time off being a complete 180 from those previous two weeks. (bereavement leave is decidedly different from vacation, and surely my coworkers would understand that.) and yet, after contemplating all of this and probably more, i recognized the necessity for a brief reprieve from everything.
naz countered my initial reservations with his fears of regret. living each day like it’s his last. embracing spontaneity and reckless abandon as best as one can while working full-time and attending to this thing called “adulthood.”
I also want to balance [finances] with a life that we don’t regret down the line. The trips or things we didn’t see or experience. I always have this fear that I won’t have experienced the things I wanted to. And I know I won’t do it all, but within means, I’d like to.
and suddenly, a chord had been struck—not to mention, the graphic image (the one i thought i tucked away) of dad’s colorless and dying body thrust itself to the forefront of my brain. the shell of a man who probably had his share of regrets during such a short life. whether he came to terms with all of his choices or non-choices, i’ll never know.
but what i do know is dad would not approve of my worry. he wouldn’t condone me second-guessing everything. he would leap then look. that was his nature. and if there were any traits of his i should incorporate into my overall persona, it would be that. not to take life or yourself too seriously. enjoy yourself to the best of your ability. you simply have no idea how long you have, as cliché as it sounds.
dad would question why we don’t live life like we’re on vacation, while actually ON vacation. even mom applauded our eventual decision with a “Yeah! You go, guys!” text message. she, too, is getting into the spirit of experiencing life and not living for others. i didn’t think dad could instill lessons in all of us after the fact, but he has managed to teach us from beyond. or rather, in my case at least, his spirit is attempting to restore my own impetuousness from days gone by. the former me wouldn’t bat an eye at jumping ship for awhile to explore other lands. the me from the past typically put the thrill before the dull. and there’s no reason why i can’t reestablish this habit.
i won’t revert completely to those old ways (i have things called financial goals now), but i do need to accept the inevitable while making the most of what i can. so portland, oregon, we’re coming your way in a few weeks. hawai’i, your volcanoes and beaches and forests and waves were all temptresses, but you’ll have to wait till we can enjoy you fully.
and thank you, naz, for all of our constructive dialogue on this matter among others.
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edited to include this bit from the ray lamontagne tune, “till the sun turns black,” which seemed very fitting for this posting:
Can you see the wise man simply
Living loving quietly
Every breath he takes eternity
Till the sun turns black
01 September 2010
