Back to the grind……

We got home yesterday-barely making the connection in Charlotte.  The plane arrived late and we literally were the last ones on the plane. The S.O. was not amused. Flexibility does not come to her-especially when traveling. She does not suffer the serving class well. We boarded the plane and someone – a US Airways pilot-wearing a tag that said ” Union Pilot” -was in our seat. The flight attendant ” Just take any open seat”.

“We have these seats assigned to us-and we need to sit together”.  Its not our fault the damn plane was late.

Something about bumping the “Union Pilot” gives me just a tinge of satisfaction.

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I love my father dearly. I respect him more than I can ever tell anyone-he’s my hero in many ways. Probably most of all of because I could never make the sacrifices that he has made throughout his life. My father is a great man. He’s been through a lot in the past year. And he got gypped by all of us kids-two of whom are now dead, while the rest of us have become creatures of our own times-and not reflective of the values of the generation he grew up in.

Yet, for a whole host of reasons, I don’t get to tell him how much I love him and respect him.

You see, my father is not a talker. Not about deeply emotional things. He’s a worker-a man who gets things done. In the values set he was raised in-his job was to work hard and provide for his family. It was Mom’s job to handle the emotional stuff. Except now, as I have gotten older, I’ve come to realize that her background never quite brought her to a level where she could deal with it all. She dealt with a lot-but we were not the dynamic sucesses that she hoped we all would be. Particularly me. As the only son-she had it in her mind that I would accomplish great and lofty things.  And, from my point of view-I feel like I’ve accomplished a lot in my life-but it will never be the kind of public success, I think she longed for. Dad, however, I think better understands the arcs and curves that our lives have taken. And he’s always been there for us.

The S.O. made dinner for him on Friday night. I helped. And while in the kitchen getting things out and on the table, my father and I crossed paths in the kitchen. We looked up and into each others eyes. For a long set of seconds we simply stared at each other. And not a word passed. The moment seemed begging for it-but neither of us knew what to say. So we broke the gaze and went on about the kitchen tasks.GRRRRR! I want to tell him what’s in my heart-but is not his way.

Coming back I thought about that particular instant hard. I’ve got to let him know how much I love him. But even if I do-he will simply shake it off. Its not his way.

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 For all the complaining I do about the S.O, it’s on a visit to my home where I learn to appreciate her again. She keeps conversation going-which us family folks can’t do. Too many hidden rocks to navigate around. However the S.O. can talk with anyone. She picks some very simple subjects to ask questions about-and in so doing draws my father out. It’s quite a thing to watch – and it’s not something she had to do.

But she did. And I am appreciative of it.

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Tomorrow, I have to go to a trade show. To “man the booth” and pass out literature about my company. I don’t mind it so much-a day out of the cube is a day out of the cube. But as I told my co-worker today-its too bad we don’t sell automobiles instead of instruments of death.

Automobiles get pretty models to stand in front of the car.

No such luck for us.

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 The news-it will have to wait for another day. I want to finish Shanghai Girls:

This is the first fiction book I have read this year. I downloaded it to the Kindle as an experiment to compare reading it on the Kindle versus reading 1959 which I have as a “real book”. I was able to finish this book faster on the Kindle.

But its still a “chick” book-sickeningly so. Pap for the feminine set. Its a good book and I enjoyed it, which is embarrassing enough-but it kind of makes me mad. She can get published writing this nonsense-and here I am, still blogging in obscurity?

There is no justice in the world.

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Maybe I can get a job writing for Bikini Cinema!

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