This post is no different. It is a post about not writing.

I have put down my book recently (did you notice “T”, that I didn’t put quotes around that word this time?). I feel justified in doing so. With all the various stresses in my life and the fact that my dad is a very sick man, I felt that I could not commit myself to write a novel about a man who loses his father. It was simply too painful for me to deal with.

The book hits too close to home.

Over the last few months, I have been doing a lot of procrastinating, more like avoiding my blog and my book. I have poked around and wasted a ton of time on Plurk (that won’t stop!) and found the act of writing greater than 140 characters to be simply more than I can handle at this time in my life.

But, recent events, have made me revisit my book and the story I am hoping to convey. I hope to go into those reasons as soon as I can wrap my head around them.

In the meantime, just know that I will try to update more often and hopefully regain some of my readership that have since jumped ship due to utter boredom.

My words may range from the utter mundane (my kid picked his nose type stuff) to painfully maudlin to sincere expression of the anguish I have been feeling recently.

Whatever the case, look for more of me on your blogs and I hope you will find mine again.

Thank you!

I’ve got no words for this picture…but HOLY CRAP!

A conversation I got into recently (actually an amalgamation of a few conversations I have had recently) boiled down essentially to some variation of this statement: If you believe in God, and therefore heaven, then at least you can find comfort in knowing that you and your dad will be together again some day. In the meantime, you could be happy knowing that your father will be with God in heaven. Don’t you want that for him?

It is important to note that I don’t believe in god in the same way I don’t believe in Santa Claus. I may want so badly to believe that a jolly fat man will land on my roof every year and provide me with a Hot Wheel loop-the-loop track. But wanting it does not make it happen. Desire does not validate . I can drop to my knees, pray to any one of the gods, look to the heavens, speak in tongues, belt out hymns in a church, drink chicken blood and absolutely none of that will make Santa drop down my even more non-existent chimney.

What keeps me up at night; what makes me cry at the drop of a hat; what worries me; what stresses me out and what can grab hold of me and punch me in my face is not that my father is going to die. Death is a part of life. What gets me mad, is that my dad will suffer. He is suffering. His body, his spirit and his dignity are slowly slipping away from him as this fucking disease chips away at each nerve ending. He is reduced to writing his words on paper; he needs to excuse himself from the table as he has to clear the food from his cheeks with his finger; the disease makes him laugh and cry uncontrollably and often at the exact same time; his sense of balance is compromised; he cannot cough efficiently and his swallow muscles are quickly becoming paralyzed.

When he goes, I will miss him. I will weep for him. I will find constant reminders in my day to day life of him. I will celebrate his life and mourn his death. But, as when anyone dies, there is no “other side” to look forward to. My dad’s soul will not rise into the clouds or sink into the ground. When he is gone, he is gone except for his memory. I do not look forward to or think about a day when I will join him. I only look forward to the day he is free from this unbearable suffering. The day after he dies, I will leave up to nature.

My opinion until I change it. Thank you for allowing me to express it.

Dad, I will throw mithril darts to trap rabbits to increase my summoning level so I can summon Kebbits to be able to draw out Abbyssyel Demons to train my slayer and get 1.2 mill GP Abbyssyel whips.

I then went blink…blink, blink. I had him slow down and help me with the spelling as I typed it into a post.

What do I do with this?

Technorati Tags: english please, baby goats, video games

The other thing we noticed was the fascination with American fashions. Kids were scrambling to be seen with Nikes or Levis. The funniest thing is that we saw many T-Shirts with English words on them. These words or phrases never really meant anything, but I think the kids were happy to just show some sign of Americanism.

I don’t remember any of the specific words, but they always had a common theme of sport, fashion, speed and movement. They went something like this:

Club Sport
Super Play
Queen Princess

Well, on Monday, my cousin, his wife and their 13 year old daughter arrived from Italy. They are visiting my parents for three weeks. It turns out that this is a bittersweet visit as it is clear they are here to see my dad as he battles ALS.

When the plane landed, we waited anxiously as they survived customs. When they emerged, I saw my cousin first, then his wife. Taking up the rear, was their daughter. She was wearing one of “those” T-Shirts. As she paraded through the gauntlet of waiting families, we all stood, jaws agape, at what was emblazoned on her chest:

…with a picture of two cherries. Did I mention that she is 13!? I have no idea whether to tell them that there is a double meaning with this because I actually believe they know that there is a different way to take it. I wanted to take her to my son’s basebal

Work has been leaving me numb lately and it is all I can do to work less than a 10 hour day. Too many projects, deadlines and fires to put out. You have all heard me whine about that ad nauseum.

The only thing on my mind on the drive home was a bottle of MacMurray Ranch Pinot Noir sitting in my cellar with my name on it. I could even picture on which shelf it was sitting. I knew exactly where I wanted to enjoy this wine; outside on the picnic table, under the grape arbor. This just might be my favorite place on Earth. Despite living in the city, with buses passing the front of my house every 12 minutes, under this arbor and I am instantly transported to the little village my dad comes from in Italy.

I didn’t even go into my house. I just went into the wine cellar and pulled out my wine. I brought it out to the picnic table and called my father to join me.

As you know, my father is battling Lou Gehrig’s disease. He can no longer speak except in a very thick, gravelly voice filled with mostly grunts and lots of guessing by his family. Even the shadow he casts has changed as this horrible disease takes over his once powerful body.

I told him to bring down a glass for himself and to join me. He came out with a plastic cup and I laughed. I poured him a glass and he eyeballed the 18.99 sticker still on the bottle. He smiled at me while at the same time shrugging his shoulders signaling his disbelief that a wine can cost so much.

Because of his disease, when my father drinks thin liquids, like wine, we have to be prepared for the reality that the liquid will move faster than his mouth can process it and he may sputter. This is a cause of enormous embarrassment for him and stress for us as we hold our breath.

I was busy swirling and sniffing while he dumped the wine into his mouth ungraciously. I saw him shut his eyes as I assumed he was merely trying to work his swallow muscles. But when he finally did swallow, his face turned to a grimace. He shook his head as if he just drank some vinegar and we laughed.

Here was a man who spent his whole life drinking only his homemade wine. He is no longer able to make it himself and I have begun stocking the cantina with bottles I purchased. Every single wine I have shared with him, caused the same reaction.

Once he got over the initial taste of the wine, we sat there, under the arbor with fresh shoots that will grow so thickly this summer that it will keep us dry when it rains. We were together, without saying a word, sipping the wine. I was no longer looking for those damned “cherries, spice and hints of vanilla” that the wine-maker tried to convince me were in there. Now, it was simply about being together; father and son, with never much to say to each other even when he had his voice. But the silence, the wine, the picnic table, the beautiful spring weather and the good company all combined to make my stresses slip away; even if for just a brief moment in time.

As the sun popped behind the thickening clouds, my father stood up and looked at the grape vines and held a fresh shoot in his hands. He tapped me on the shoulder and began speaking as if he had something very important to say. I could not honestly say that I understood everything but it was extremely clear to me that he was telling me how to prune the vines in the fall. I looked at him in the eye and told him that I am such a city boy that he will need to show me again in the fall. He smiled and lifted his hand and gave me a thumbs down.

(click on image to enlarge)

I know it is a little rough around the edges; most of what my dad builds is. Collecting wine, is quickly becoming an obsession. The room you see in the picture is actually part of the cantina that my dad built over 30 years ago. It was one of the first things he did when he bought this house.

This cantina would house no less than 25 gallons of homemade wine every year. As you know, last year my father was diagnosed with ALS or Lou Gehrig’s disease and has since stopped making wine. He lives upstairs from me and we cannot escape the gradual decline of his health. This collection is just one way that I have come up with to help me deal with the stresses in my life. My dad is an amazing man I honestly am not handling his disease well at all. I feel like I can fall apart at a moment’s notice. Luckily, I have my baby goats to remind me that I cannot shut down and crawl into a hole.

I confiscated a few shelves and have amassed a small collection of about 70 bottles. I am still in a very academic and discovery phase. I read other’s blogs religiously and devour their reviews. I then text message the wines to myself so that I have a mini-wishlist going at all times. I read about different varietals and wine-growing regions. I allow myself to be guided by what I am “supposed” to like first and then what I actually like as my taste buds develop.

I would be honored if you take a look at my collection, my hobby du jour. You can view a reasonably updated inventory by visiting my profile here on CellarTracker.

Let me know what some of your favorite wines are. I would love to hear your recommendations.

I have always considered blogging to be a very self-indulgent exercise and my recent pity party is proof of that. But I have also realized that my blogging world is as much about my relationships, very real and vital relationships that I have developed with all of you. When I wasn’t writing, many of you would still take the time to shoot me a brief email making sure all was well. I cannot begin to tell you how important that has been for me.

I think I am back on track. I have some real ideas for blog posts and I am aching to read your words again. Thanks to all of you, my dear friends.

Dan

I can only assume that these would be used for fishing but how long do worms live in a can? So, if I fished, and I walked into my local Fishing-R-Us, could I buy a can of worms? Are there different price ranges for different quality of worm? What makes one type of worm better than another?

Need I say more?