Lydia Archives - Page 38 of 51 - Ramblin' with Roger

Dreaming about my dad and my daughter

It’s now 13 years since my dad died.

les green.garden — \”Got big-time swagger,\” sister Marcia proclaimed.

About five months ago, I dreamed that my father had ordered a bunch of nondescript raw materials in long, brown cardboard boxes. He was convinced that would resell them and make himself rich.

At some point, he decided that we (he, my daughter, and I) had to drive into Canada. “Dad,” I said, “I don’t have my passport. Or Lydia’s.” He did not have his either if he had one at all. He starts schmoozing with the border guard, while I’m filing through my wallet hoping that maybe I had SOME paperwork that would be satisfactory. The odd thing is that he described his granddaughter as his daughter.

Of course, as I’ve noted, my father and my daughter never met on this plane, though my daughter once told me that she DID meet my father, while she was up in heaven waiting to be born.

That said, much of the dream was basically true. He could drive a tractor-trailer, he always had get-rich schemes but was often lazy with the details, and he could often charm people.

It’s now 13 years since my dad died, and he’s still in my dreams.
***
Coincidentally, back in October 2011, Melanie wrote about HER dad dying 13 years before. “Many people feel that’s long enough to be sad about it… It’s like we’re supposed to have some on/off switch on our biological clocks that automatically turns the hurt and the caring off after an acceptable number of hours, minutes, and seconds have passed. It’s not like that.”

The Lydster, Part 112: The Pied Piper

The Daughter will be a fine childsitter herself, if she is so inclined.

The evening I got home from that brief hospital stay in April, my daughter wanted to go to game night at her school. My wife did not; truth to tell, I didn’t much, either. But I hadn’t spent much time with her the last couple of days, so I took her.

We go to the gymnasium, and instantly all these four-to-six-year-olds scurry to her, calling to her by name. She knows them from the afterschool program they all go to. Still, I didn’t know that she was so popular with the younger set there.

I WAS aware that she had a similar relationship with the younger children at church. She plays with them, watches out for their welfare, and generally plays big sister. There was a mother at church who noted that my daughter could control her child in a way she could not.

I think this is a function of some of the girls, now young women, who have looked out for her, and are among the pool of child sitters for her.

Someone at church said that she’ll I reckon when she gets older, she’ll make a lot of money as a fine child sitter; I reckon, if she is so inclined, that would be correct.

I bought me a cat

Weird thing about getting a cat in the 21st century: the “book” said that you should keep the cat in a small location so that he doesn’t get too disoriented.

Being the terrible blogger that I am, I have totally neglected to mention the fact that we got a cat this year.

The Daughter has been wary of animals, especially dogs and cats. So we had never had pets of any kind since she was born. But as she spent more time with her friends’ cats, she decided that she wanted a feline of her own. In fact, when she didn’t get one for Christmas 2012, she gave us a deadline for her birthday in March to get one. Finally, around that date, she and her mother went to the animal shelter. There were two kittens she really loved who liked playing with each other. But before they could decide on which one to get, or possibly get them both, one was selected by another family.

They came back the next day and picked the remaining kitten of the pair. He was born around January 26, so he was two months old when he arrived. The Daughter named him Midnight.

The weird thing about getting a cat in the 21st century: the “book” said that you should keep the cat in a small location so that he doesn’t get too disoriented. I had cats 30 to 55 years ago, and I had not heard such a thing. So he was in the guest room for a time unless he was with one of us, for too long for my taste. Part of the issue is that, to this day, it’s almost impossible to catproof the house. While sometimes he cuddles and is mellow, other times he’ll run the length of the house and jump on the dining room table, or some other verboten locale, knocking over any vulnerable items.

The general routine is that someone, whoever gets up first, will go downstairs and feed him; that’s usually me. After that, he’ll be purring and mellow for about five minutes. Then he’ll look out the window and watch what The Wife has dubbed KITV, Kitten Television before he starts marauding. This tires him out and he’ll sleep for a while.

The Daughter really loves him. I guess The Wife and I do too.

ARA: Influences and historical conversations

We’ll have Adolf Hitler, Mahatma Gandhi, Thomas Edison, and Andrew Carnegie.

Dear Lisa says Okay, I’ll play:
Who (living or dead) has had the most influence on your life?

I’d have to say my father. He turned me on to music, which was always in the house. He had a thing for social justice. His moodiness was something I tried to avoid in myself, not always successfully. He could be an unfocused dreamer, something I can be guilty of as well.

If you could go back in time and have a conversation with someone, who would it be? My apologies if you’ve already answered these questions before!

Well, I have, so I’ve decided to change it. I want a conversation with FOUR people, together, in the summer of 1910. We’ll have Adolf Hitler (1889-1945), who would be 21, and Mahatma Gandhi (1869-1947), who would turn 41 in the fall, and Thomas Edison (1847-1931), who would be 63, and Andrew Carnegie (1835-1919), who would turn 75 in the fall.

I’d be interested to see what the other three would have to say to young Adolf: Gandhi about non-violence, Edison about creativity, Carnegie about going from being a robber baron to a philanthropist who built libraries.
***
Tom the Mayor asked:

Have you ever lost your temper with your wife? Or your daughter?

My wife and I almost never fight. We disagree, but not all that often. The last time I remember getting REALLY angry with her, and it was several years ago, was when she was in a conversation in our house with someone else. I piped in with a point, and she said, to the other person, that I had gotten said point from some specific Sunday morning talk show. After the guest left, about a half-hour later, I exploded that I don’t parrot what I see on a given talk show but take in from a variety of sources and develop my viewpoints. THAT ticked me off.

The Daughter is very sensitive; just ask her. When she was younger, just being disappointed with something she did was enough to launch her into tears. Later, when I had to prod her into doing something – doing her homework, cleaning her room – I would use my calmest firm voice, yet she’d start crying, adding “You KNOW I’m sensitive!” which actually made me laugh inside.

So, I’d say I would get agitated with her sometimes, at which point, I will take a timeout from her. To be fair to me, my wife has experienced similar things; sometimes, SHE’S the “bad” parent. Now when The Daughter writes about it, she may have a different take, but that will be HER blog.
***
A question in my spam folder:

What do you consider the best security defend agency in the country? thanks!

A well-informed populace.

The Lydster, Part 111: the agony and the ecstasy

I explained that sometimes people moan when they are experiencing pleasure, such as a back massage.

The weather on Saturday before Memorial Day was cold and wet; it rained virtually all day, and the high for the day was only 47F (8C). It was just as well that we (mostly my father-in-law, wife, and daughter) were painting the living room. I was primarily moving furniture and taking things out of the cabinets, etc.

Sunday was a bit better, in terms of the weather, but there was church and more painting to do.

So Monday, Memorial Day was a nice respite from the storm. The Daughter was out front playing around 10:30 a.m. when she came inside, quite concerned. She was afraid that someone had gotten hurt. She’s a very caring person.

I went outside with her, and we could hear the distinct sound of moaning emanating from an open window next door. But these were, I quickly discerned, the sounds of pleasure, not pain.

I explained that sometimes people moan when they are experiencing pleasure, such as a back massage. She accepted that because she’d seen my pained laugh when something unfunny took place.

This, of course, leaves me with two related issues. One involves talking about the birds and the bees. The other is trying to discern which of the neighbors – it’s a three-story building – were celebrating the holiday, then finding a way to suggest that anyone walking by was aware of their activities. I have a pretty good idea but don’t want to discuss this with the wrong party. Or maybe I won’t mention it at all unless it comes up again.