The wisdom of our elders...

It is to be hoped that we are never too old to learn. That our minds, our hearts, and our souls will remain open to new ideas, new methods, new concepts. That we can embrace that which is different, new, or even unpleasant to us with objectivity, grace, and dignity.

That we can allow for a second chance - especially where people are concerned. Especially where our *family* is concerned.

These concepts, these ideas, should be hallmarks for us as thinking, rational, intelligent adult humans.

I am trying. Lord knows, I am trying.

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My Mother has expressed some concern regarding my blogging. She has asked me to either remove, or edit, any posts that are obviously antagonistic towards her husband, my stepfather.

I don't mind telling you that initially, I was a bit miffed.

What sprang first to my mind was the idea that I would have to edit (heavily edit) this blog. I worried that I might be compromising my "integrity" as a blogger.

As the afternoon progressed, and my Mom and I continued to talk about it, I began to understand her request. I listened to her point of view, and I realized that what she was saying was simple: It was time for me (and The Wrench as well) to try and accept her husband as he is. Warts (metaphorically speaking) and all. And that as long as I continued to hold negative feelings about him - in Real Life, or in my blog - I would not be able to truly accept him for who he is.

It has been 13 years since they were married; it has been almost exactly 16 years since we lost my Dad.

I have actively resisted *liking* this person, my Stepfather, for nearly the whole time. I have viewed him with distrust, suspicion, and a strong dose of resentment. I have been acting like a child who has suddenly had an unwanted sibling thrust upon them; hoping against hope that he will just disappear.

Mom is right. While it is true that it is not incumbent upon me to like my Stepfather, it *is* important for me to treat him, and their marriage with respect. I do not have to become his best friend, or confidante, however I should strive to treat him as I would want to be treated.

To that end, I will be editing this blog.

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You'll notice that (for a while, at least) some posts will likely be "missing", while I go back and review them.

I have no intention of sugar-coating reality.

But if I am to give my Stepfather the benefit of the doubt, I have to change the way I think about him, talk about him, write about him. I have to (try) and remove the negativity and the prejudice. I have to try and remember that he does love my mother to distraction, and he tries hard to take good care of her. That he adores our daughter, and thinks of her as his own grandchild. That he is, at heart, a good person.

For my Mother, I will do this.

That's just how much I love you, Mom.

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update - I have edited the blog, and returned the posts that have been "in limbo". The story remains the same, but I have changed the way I reference my Stepfather.

Ouch!

Title says it all. It hurt. Still does, as a matter of fact.

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I have taken to wearing Crocs. As Stu noted, they are remarkably comfortable, and a bit addictive; my New Balance tennies are gathering dust in the corner. I had no other choice, actually; following the surgery, I was admonished to wear sandals, or an "open shoe".

Since I refused to subject the general public to the ghastly spectacle that is my post-surgical foot, I opted for the Crocs.

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My bruises are quite splendid now, and I think that just like autumn leaves, they will finally begin to fade. I hope that in just a few more days, the only reminder of the entire expericence will be the scar itself.

That is scary-looking enough on it's own.

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I wound up sleeping through much of the last ten days. I finally went past the point of being "caught up" on my sleep, and tumbled over into a state of perpetual sleepiness. I was groggy, grumpy, and lethargic all the time. The Wrench, and Twinks were endlessly patient with me. They fixed me clever little treats to tempt my appetite, and they fetched, carried, and pampered me cheerfully. There are no words to describe how grateful I am to both of them. They were awesome.
I am the luckiest Thim in the world to have them by my side.

As a side note, I did have some really *interesting* dreams. And no, I won't share them with you.

I want this Blog to remain G-Rated.

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During my post-surgical recovery, my Mom called. She wanted to know if we would come over to Two Hours East this past weekend. Stepfather was going out to lunch with one of the Stepsisters and her husband, and Mom wanted to spend some time alone with us. The Wrench piloted the minivan, Twinks played her new Nintendo DS Lite in the back, and I enjoyed the scenery. We spent six hours with Mom - took her to lunch, admired their new cottage, drove around a little bit, but mostly we just spent time together. The four of us. That was probably more healing for me than any amount of sleep.

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And now it's time to go about the business of getting Miss Twinks ready for school again. Clothing and shoes will be purchased. School supplies will be stockpiled. The summer is almost over.

Ouch, indeed.

Not here...

...For a few days, anyway.

I'm scheduled for a little teensy-tiny, eensy-weensy out-patient procedure tomorrow (Monday) morning.

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Since the doctor told me no less than three times how it wouldn't hurt that much, I have a sneaking suspicion that it's going to hurt. A lot. Well, at least afterwards.

That suspicioun is rooted in past experiences. About 17 or so years ago, after we had lost our second baby, one of the "routine tests" that my doctor wanted to do was something called an endometrial biopsy.

If you are a women, and you are reading this, and you have had one of these, you already know what I'm going to say next.

If you are a man, forget about it. You cannot even begin to imagine.

It hurts.

So badly. So very badly.

I've had to undergo that procedure twice in my adult career, and if I never go through it again, it will be too soon. I would not wish it one anyone.

Female doctors will give you a sedative, and/or a tranquilizer and advise you to bring a friend or family member to drive you home. Male doctors say "Let's just get this done! It will be over with in just a second - why it's just a little pinch!" in a jolly voice.

I'd like to pinch something of theirs, and see how they feel.

Trust me, they wouldn't be so damn jolly afterwards.

Luckily, my adventure in out-patient surgery tomorrow will be nowhere near my uterus.

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In the meantime, I recommend going over and visiting Stu. He is doing this newfangled AudioBlogging now, and his current post is to show me just how easy it is to get started.

Silly Boy.

He thinks I'm going to AudioBlog.

I like Stu. He makes me laugh!

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Be sure to visit Danger Mouse too. Especially if you have any good advice for morning sickness. :)

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So, that should keep you busy for a little while. Don't forget to check out all of my friends over there on the right, in my blogroll. Every one of 'em is special. :)

I'll see you in a few days.

T. :)

The Chronicles of Florida: An unexpected finale

Oh yes, just when you thought it was safe to read CTN again...

The Chronicles of Florida return, not unlike a bad dream that you just can't shake off in the small hours of the morning.

Just in case you need a refresher: Day 1 * Day 2 * Day 3 * The Introduction * The Liar, The Witch, & The Wardrobe * Homeward Bound

We have been home for several weeks now, and Mom and I have (as usual) talked several times each week, sometimes daily.

The first hint that something was going on down there in the land of Seniors, Sand, Sun, and Surf was a casual remark that my Mom made about three weeks ago. She indicated that The Stepdad was talking about a bridge loan. So that they could move. Not home; no, nowhere near The Greater Metro, but someplace other than their present location. They were both now very unhappy there, and growing more discontented by the day.

The next time we spoke, the bridge loan was a done deal; The Stepdad had been approved. The moving company that had brought them to Florida barely a year ago was called, and a date set. To be honest, I had taken the "I'll believe it when I see it" attitude, but both my Mom and The Stepdad were in great good spirits at the thought of leaving Florida.

Two weeks ago, the moving company came and made the estimate; Mom and The Stepdad started getting ready by hauling their suitcases out of storage.

On this past Monday, I FedEx'd Mom an old cell phone of mine that I set up for them to use for the trip. It increases my peace of mind by an untold amount to know that at least they will have a way to get in touch with help should something (God forbid) occur.

Tomorrow morning, the moving company is supposed to come, and pack everything up.

Friday afternoon, after the moving company has loaded all the boxes and furniture, they will start driving toward their new "Retirement Community".

Located just Two Hours East of here.

That's right. They are moving back to Two Hours East.

In about a week, my Mom and I will once again both live on the same page in the Rand-McNally atlas. For the first time in about 10 years.

I.Am.Happy.

The Daughters of Doom and Gloom aside, Two Hours East means we can go see Mom every weekend if we want to (and we want to. Really we do.) It means that I can zip over to get Mom for the important little events - like when Twinks has her next ceremonial in the OFG. And this year, for the first time in 10 years, Mom will be able to go with us to our "home church" for Christmas Eve Midnight Mass. The Wrench is every bit as thrilled as I am; as I've told you before, he and my Mom are great friends, and he absolutely adores her. She thinks he is the best thing since sliced bread; when they are together there is always laughter, and they are fiercely protective of one another.

Twinks and I have already made the drive over, to wander through the new "community" and to take pictures of the lovely duplex cottages where they will live. We carefully avoided The Daughters of Doom and Gloom, and I drove Twinks around the little city where Mom and The Stepdad lived when she was a baby. We drove past the house they had occupied previously, and I pointed out half-a-hundred "landmarks" that she had only seen as an infant, but had heard about. We had a lovely afternoon.

My Mom's new house is going to be 113 miles from our front door, one way. Almost exactly two hours driving time.

Happy.Happy.Happy.