Starting at the beginning... I may as well tell you that my Uncle Dennis was as close to a second father as I could have had. He taught me to print, and ride my bike, and snap my fingers. Bandaged skinned knees and took us for candy at the Fallis Store... told us stories about the seagull that bit off the end of one of his fingers... and while my real dad did all of those things too (save the pecked off finger thing), Uncle Dennis was the fun one who let us get away with murder and laughed about it, so we always had that special 'un-parent' bond with him.
Anyway, I think of him often and miss him terribly. He died a number of years ago... and though, I'm not sure how many it's been, I never really forget anything about him despite the time that's passed. I still remember how his house smelled, and the feel of those cotton plaid button-up shirts he'd wear for one too many days without washing. And in all honestly, I don't even remember some of those things about my -own- father, and he's only been gone 4 years.
Today has been one thing after another reminding me of him in unusual ways. I found an old box of play jewellery in the back of a drawer in my childhood bedroom and inside I found a letter he'd written me and left in my mom's mailbox (we used to write back and forth all the time, and the post lady wouldn't make me use stamps) and it was dated February 27, 1992. Today's date.
I love coincidences like because somehow they make me feel like I'm on some kindof path that I'm meant to be on, so I tucked the letter in my pocket. There've been various other smaller things that have made me think about him more than usual today... possibly because that note is in my pocket...
But the one I like best is that when I got to work tonight, I brought an orange to my desk while I checked my emails... and while reading, I looked down at my hands and realized I was rolling the orange around on my desk as if to loosen the skin.
I -never- do that.
The last time I remember seeing anyone else do that, it was him. Rolling it on the table and then biting the end and using his big clumsy seagull-bitten-off fingers to peel back the rind, because me and Kimberly didn't like the white bits...
My sister and I were always his favorite nieces, and everyone knew it. And we loved it. He was always proud of us, never yelled at us and I desperately wish he could see how we turned out... because he's a big part of the shaping we got as kids... even if it only shows up from time to time when I peel oranges. I wish I'd been wise enough to thank him while I could.
Ya know?
All of that said, life seems to be trudging along as usual. The work/sleep/work/sleep... city/sleep/city/sleep pattern works as well as could be expected, though the progression of the boyfriend thing makes it increasingly hard to leave town and increasingly difficult to recognize the reasons why I should stay at my current job. But isn't that just like me? I find love and suddenly nothing else matters. And maybe everyone is like that to an extent, and maybe that's the charm of love in the first place... but, everything extraneous seems so miniscule in comparison. Don't get me wrong, I adore the feeling... but, it's a bit alarming to know that something as simple and standard as a significant other is enough to make me disregard everything else around me.
Or maybe the trouble lies in the idea that there's nothing simple or standard about it at all.
I'm puking out sap right now so instead of turning this entry into a romance novel, I'd best just end it now. Hi to all both of you who'll read this though... meet Uncle Dennis and my estrogen supercharged 4am identity.
-J.
Anyway, I think of him often and miss him terribly. He died a number of years ago... and though, I'm not sure how many it's been, I never really forget anything about him despite the time that's passed. I still remember how his house smelled, and the feel of those cotton plaid button-up shirts he'd wear for one too many days without washing. And in all honestly, I don't even remember some of those things about my -own- father, and he's only been gone 4 years.
Today has been one thing after another reminding me of him in unusual ways. I found an old box of play jewellery in the back of a drawer in my childhood bedroom and inside I found a letter he'd written me and left in my mom's mailbox (we used to write back and forth all the time, and the post lady wouldn't make me use stamps) and it was dated February 27, 1992. Today's date.
I love coincidences like because somehow they make me feel like I'm on some kindof path that I'm meant to be on, so I tucked the letter in my pocket. There've been various other smaller things that have made me think about him more than usual today... possibly because that note is in my pocket...
But the one I like best is that when I got to work tonight, I brought an orange to my desk while I checked my emails... and while reading, I looked down at my hands and realized I was rolling the orange around on my desk as if to loosen the skin.
I -never- do that.
The last time I remember seeing anyone else do that, it was him. Rolling it on the table and then biting the end and using his big clumsy seagull-bitten-off fingers to peel back the rind, because me and Kimberly didn't like the white bits...
My sister and I were always his favorite nieces, and everyone knew it. And we loved it. He was always proud of us, never yelled at us and I desperately wish he could see how we turned out... because he's a big part of the shaping we got as kids... even if it only shows up from time to time when I peel oranges. I wish I'd been wise enough to thank him while I could.
Ya know?
All of that said, life seems to be trudging along as usual. The work/sleep/work/sleep... city/sleep/city/sleep pattern works as well as could be expected, though the progression of the boyfriend thing makes it increasingly hard to leave town and increasingly difficult to recognize the reasons why I should stay at my current job. But isn't that just like me? I find love and suddenly nothing else matters. And maybe everyone is like that to an extent, and maybe that's the charm of love in the first place... but, everything extraneous seems so miniscule in comparison. Don't get me wrong, I adore the feeling... but, it's a bit alarming to know that something as simple and standard as a significant other is enough to make me disregard everything else around me.
Or maybe the trouble lies in the idea that there's nothing simple or standard about it at all.
I'm puking out sap right now so instead of turning this entry into a romance novel, I'd best just end it now. Hi to all both of you who'll read this though... meet Uncle Dennis and my estrogen supercharged 4am identity.
-J.