Saturday, November 13, 2004


Most of MIL's ex-furniture is out the door at this point. She doesn't want it, but has shouldered us with the burden of SELLING it for her. Feh. We are selling it to a bedroom furniture-less friend for $100 bucks. 12 year old French Vanilla modern-esque bedroom sets aren't exactly hot at the used furniture store. If they didn't want it, it was going to Goodwill for free, so...

AH, she's not cheap, really, it's just a bother. I mean, it was made clear that the furniture is hers, but we get to lug it around and all. I'm not used to those attitudes. My parents -- my Dad in particular -- not only didn't expect me to do much for them, but wouldn't LET me do things. I remember trying to take my dad to dinner for his birthday or Father's day a number of times, and having to pull some sharp shenanigins to get the check before he did.

Today would have been my dad's 74'th birthday. I'm getting over his death, I really am, but I still miss him. I know that eventually the pain will dull and I will have to really kick at the scar to make it hurt. I'm already passed seeing the ads for Red Skelton videos and starting to cry (dad loved Red Skelton, but he never opened the video set I got for him -- it never occured to him, I know.) Christmas is still hard -- my dad was all about Christmas, and even as an adult, there were no presents open until Dad arrived. That's a hold over from being a kid of divorced parents. The first year or so, I'd rip into things like usual, but then Mom started making me wait until Dad arrived (he was always late, that was his trademark) before I opened stuff.

I really miss my dad. There are a lot of people who've lost both parents. There are a lot of people who lost one or more parents when they were young, even very young. You know what? The idea that other people hurt, too, doesn't mean they hurt less or more. I've come to believe that amounts of pain are intensely personal and only dimmly understood by others.

Happy birthday, Dad.

Anyway, I've got a room to get cleaned out and painted, so I can put furniture I've been storing for years into it and reclaim it at my very own room. Now, the whole of my house belongs to me and Husband. There are no foriegn embassy rights, no one else who is entitled to come in and make decisions or changes or disapprove or do it "better" or hide all the lids to the plastic storage containers. That's important to me, and thus a very good thing.

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