You Don't Always Get What you Want. But Sometimes You Get What you Need.

Allow me to explain. When I was about five or six, so we're talking 1978 or 1979, I asked Santa Claus for a Ken doll for Christmas. Barbie needed some arm candy. Fast forward to Christmas morning, and there under the tree was a Ken shaped box. Imagine my thrill as I tore through the paper to find the Purple fringed doll above.

Confused, I ask, "What is this?" Why did Santa bring me this doll?" Where's Ken?"
My mom told me: "That's Donny Osmond. He's better than Ken."

My Barbie dated Donny Osmond for years.

I have often re-told this story to my mom's chargin. She has heard it many times over the years. Most recently while out to dinner with my oldest friend Connie.

It's now Christmas 2010 and I am worried, and sad. Wondering how I'll feel on my first Christmas without my dad. As is tradition, we open one gift on Christmas Eve.

I opened mine to find a brand new Ken. Complete with "real hair." (pictures to follow shortly).

My mom had intended the present as a joke, but what she actually gave us was a gift.

A reason to laugh and to have fun at this first somber Christmas.

We spent the next few days posing Ken particapting in things we were doing as a family.

And as a way to document my adventures with Ken, I'll start using this space to share my new adventures with Ken.

2011- Day 1

One of my goals for 2011, is to write again. This is a big improvement over last year, where my sole resolution was to not commit suicide.

Since today is the very first day of the new year, it seemed to be a good time to get writing, even if today it is only this blog entry.

I survived my first set of holidays without my dad and my second without my dear friend Nevada. Both of those things seem surreal. I'm cleaning out clutter though to get mentally geared up to do many things this year. Self publish a story collection, (sounds less imitating than writing a book), getting back to the gym and exercise (we will take it one day at time), but considering I had cereal and a glass of wine for dinner, today doesn't seem to be the day. (Let's be honest and two cookies). :)

Hoping to continue traveling this year as nothing sets my spirit free, like new air when I wake up someplace new.

Plan to focus on getting a new job where I don't dread going in to work, all while enjoying the plethora of vacation time the current job allows.

Today, I bought a new computer battery as what good is a laptop that can't leave the house for fear of being disconnected from the power outlet? And I did make it to the grocery store.

May 2011 bring me love, laughter, gym adventures, writing material, good writing, good beer, good friends, a great family, a chance to wear all my cute old clothes again, a few vacations, and a lot less pain than the end of 2009 and the entire 2010.

Love to all that read this. I hope we can take this journey together.

My GPS is fired up for our adventures.

Thanksgiving 2010

Below is a repost of my Thanksgiving, 2007.

Turkeys Come Home

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's pre turkey and I've already had a nap. I'm hungry and going to drink wine.

I'm thankful that my dad and my uncle joe are here.* I shall try to focus on happy things today.

I've arrived up north. Tis the quiet before the bird.

Till Later.

*Thankful we had them as long as we did, although no time would be long enough.
Looking forward to feasting and drinking.

Wednesday Ramblings

It's unfortunate that this is most needy I've ever been in my life, and yet I hit a wall with friends. The availability just really isn't there.

It has forced me to be even more independent. And to seek out those that can see me on a whim. Mostly those people are my Nevada friends.
Which are certainly mine by now, but I use that descriptor as a way to explain who they are.

I needed those people that suffered as much as me, and I also need people who are not grieving, for breaks when needed. But I have had to adjust and because of that, I have to make some rules for myself for self preservation.I've stopped asking people to hang out. No matter if the reason is as valid as anything in the world, I can't keep getting rejected. It just adds sting to an already open wound. It's not intended as punishment, but rather a coping mechanism. I simply can't wait around for people to throw the little scraps of time my way. I'd be happy to hang out with people, but I have to let them ask me, after I've attempted it more than a dozen times. At some point, you're just begging, and who needs that?

Between Nevada's death and my dad's, the hole is huge in my life, and I can't really look to other people to fill that void. As lonely as I am, I still need to find my own way in the world.
It's certainly more difficult with the loss of one of my best friends, and the only father I'll ever have. And the lack of a significant other. The burden feels like it is mine to carry.
And even if there were someone significant in my life, I still would have a lot to figure out on my own. I realize no one can make me happy but myself.

That being said, I find I suffer from feeling left out of a lot of things that friends have. Husbands, kids etc. And yet, I don't know if I myself will go that path.
I hope to meet a love that is ever lasting, but who is to say, when and if that will be. And when I picture kids, I picture myself adopting for some reason.
If I even have kids. I still don't know and I guess since I'm not pregnant or even having sex, that's one worry I can cross off the list.

The fact of the matter is, that our lives are so very different.

Thus, so are my relationships.

But, they're are not going anywhere. True, some friends haven't been as involved in my daily life, they still care about the major things... birthdays, funerals, etc.
I don't have to wonder if they will show up.

They just do. Or their flowers, cards, gifts, scarves, and coffee do. :)
And that's what friendship is.

The truth is, we all do the best we can. I know they love me.

All I can hope for from anyone is that no matter how busy their lives get, they'll still find time for me in it.

Sailing Around the Room

Lyrics by Emmylou Harris

One last gaze upon the sun
It bid farewell to everyone
Kick that bucket out the door
Where I'm going I won't need it anymore

Gonna lay my burden down
Take a bird's eye look around
From the tall pines of Carolina
All the way to the wall of China

So I'll go sailing round the room
Through my window, across the silver moon
No flesh and bone to hold me
I'll finally set my soul free
When I go sailing round the room

Life may be just but a dream
Rowed my boat on down the stream
To wake up on a different shore
Wind up as something I ain't never been before

I could be a drop of summer rain
Falling down on an Oklahoma plain
I won't leave the world behind me
Look around and you will find me

So I'll go sailing round the room
Through my window, across the silver moon
No flesh and bone to hold me
I'll finally set my soul free
When I go sailing round the room

I will be in the smoke from Mauna Loa
Morning mist from the Shenandoah
I will be a grain of sand in the Kalahari
Magnolia by the Mississippi

I will be birdsong when day is breaking
Words of love when your heart is aching
I will be a blue bonnet by the highway
I'll be everywhere and always

When I go sailing round the room
Through my window, across the silver moon
No flesh and bone to hold me
I'll finally set my soul free

When I go sailing round the room
Through my window, across the silver moon
No flesh and bone to hold me
I'll finally set my soul free
When I go sailing round the room

Waiting for My Sunrise

A year ago, Nevada died. I will never forget that morning. I'd slept poorly the night before and was up super early, anxiously waiting to hear her condition. Knowing in my head that things were looking pretty bad, but my heart was in no way ready to accept the unthinkable. That she'd actually die.

But in a cruel twist of fate, she'd essentially died, while having a surgery that was to save her life, and truly her only treatment option worth the risk. My highly intelligent friend, was a glimmer of her former self with her MoyaMoya.

Although her brain was under constant duress, she was Nevada till the end. Shaving her head into a mohawk before surgery, joking how funny it would be to die in a plane crash on her way to Califorina. We laughed about the absurdity of that situation, and I hugged her goodbye never knowing it would be our last conversation.

In the weeks after her death, I numbly wandered through the shell of my life. The hole she left felt like a crater. I saw her nearly daily. We talked every day on our long walks and after the walks, I'd make her dinner and we'd have a few beers. How could somebody so present in life be suddenly gone?

I struggled for months. Wasn't sleeping, I drank to much, and some days when I came to work, I'd look down, surprised at my outfit because I didn't remember getting dressed.

When New Year's Eve rolled around, I was having a truly dark night and although I felt sucicidal, I made one resolution. "Do not kill self."

Beyond that, happiness was reserved for other people. It was a foreign concept. How was I supposed to laugh again? When one of the greatest people I'd ever met in my life was gone forever?

The one thing Nevada and I talked about a lot, was my lonliness. My lack of a boyfriend. She took on my love life with two hands and a bull whip. She'd made it her personal mission to find me a man of my own. She'd been in a relationship for a few years, and wanted nothing more than for me to find that too.

I admire many things about Nevada. Her loyalty, her deep love for her boyfriend, for her friends and for her family. The way she embraced life with two hands, and was able to live in the present moment as it came and didn't waste a lot of time, dwelling on the past.

Another passion that we shared in our friendship was our love of writing. And although I used to really love it, that part of me, has been shut down for a long time. After she died, I couldn't read (which I love) or write, or do much more than breathe.

Nevada was much more dilligent in her efforts and I always found that inspiring, but I was full of excuses as to why I hadn't started writing my own novel, while she was in the middle of her second.

As the next chapter of my life begins, I know Nevada and I aren't over. She'd written to me in her first book:

"Kelly, Each New Sunrise is a chance to finish your book." (her book, was Waiting for the Sunrise.")

Nevada may not be here, but she is everywhere. And I can't think of a better way to honor her, than by making myself happy by finally writing my memoir.

I wish her story had a different ending. But somebody needs to write OUR story, and I'm finally ready. And maybe in the meantime, I'll wake to watch the sunrise.

Write On

I'm lucky in that I get to sit at a desk and write. The bad part of that is because that's the nature of my job, I rarely have the energy of feel like writing outside of my job. But I need to. Writing has always helped me express emotions and deal with my pain.

And unfortunately, this past year has given me a whole lot to work with. Problem is, that my writing is so rusty. It's about as out of shape as me right now. But, I have to put hand to key board. I've kept journals as long as I can remember.

Writing is my escape and my salvation. I have taken small steps in writing in this blog.

Onto some actual longer writing.

The Blonde and Witch

In recent weeks, I've started collecting mini Madame Alexander dolls for a friend's daughter. The theme is Fairy Tales, and I ended up with an extra Cinderella. So I brought her to work to hang out with my mini version of the Wicked Witch of the West doll.

It got me thinking of different sides of my personality. The good little doll with the pretty blond hair doing what everyone wants her to do. And the little witch who does what she wants, but maybe hurts people in the process.

Every person needs a good balance of witch and Cinderella. Or their version of it. This past year, as turned me inside out. And some days, it felt like the bad was going to over take the good. But, it hasn't yet, and Nevada's one year is coming up.

We'll drink, laugh and remember. I think on that day, I may be just a little bit of the witch, but I'm hoping to be filled with the good cheer of Cinderella.

OK Monday

Woke up to stare down another day. As far as Monday's in an office go, it's not too bad. No pressing deadlines today, a lunch time walk, homemade potato leek soup for lunch, and now I'm back at my desk. Typing.

Tonight it's time to go visit a good friend that had a baby. It's hard to feel sad while holding an infant. So, looking forward to that. I'd hoped to make them home made dinner, but there just isn't enough time. They'll enjoy some Boston Market instead.

Busy week ahead:
Tuesday: Lotus Night.

Wednesday: Therapy. Then shopping for Connie's birthday gift. I've known her since she was six, but when I asked for some gift ideas, she said no beer or coffee. UGH. Who doesn't want beer? :)

Thursday: Possible walk with a friend after work.

Friday: Is going to be brownie baking for a BBQ on Saturday and more gift shopping, if I haven't found anything yet.

Saturday: Walk and lunch with a friend. Then a BBQ with more friends. Whee.

Sunday: Birthday lunch and walk with Connie.

Let's hope I don't end up at the gas station buying her one of those hanging pine tree car air fresheners.
Yes, staying busy helps me.

In between these days and outings, I'll sleep, do some dishes, sort more clutter at home, mail a few letters, pay some bills, do some work at work, watch Mad Men, and as a friend put it best the other day: Just Be.

For Carol :)

It's been a while, I know. I've just been off grieving. And some days that means just going to work, coming home and vegging in front of the t.v. I haven't felt like I've had anything note worthy to say either. But, my writing isn't going to improve if I continue to ignore it, like I do the laundry.

So... let's see. Got paid for a freelance job and responsibly paid off my credit card with my newly earned money. But today, I managed to rack up a couple of dollars. Not to worry, I can pay that off this week on payday. But the thing is, I was at T.J. Maxx and they had a lot of cute clothes.

And since I feel very fat and unattractive, I went to the gym this morning and then went and bought some new things. I'm not new to the ebb and flow of clothes shopping. But usually, I just suffer through my fat stage looking as ugly as I feel, and that really doesn't help.

So, instead I bought some super flattering work out pants, and a few new shirts. Including my outfit I'll wear to honor Nevada's one year anniversary. And then I met a friend for a pedicure.

Why? Well, because my toes were seriously ugly looking. Now, I'm sure I'm as fat as I was this morning, but I feel more motivated. I need a few more new shirts, but I'll get those soon.

Weight is definitely a physical thing, but it is also a mental issue. And mentally, I feel cuter. AND ready to take on the gym in my hot new work out clothes.

That's important. I came home and cleaned my house. A house where clutter where always live, but I'm slowly sorting through it. And then I made home made soup. Why? Because I need to take care of myself and treat myself with some kindness. And bit by bit, I'm coming back to myself.

I don't know when the hard grief will change to a less crippling pain,but while I wait it out, I'm going to be at the gym. Or getting a pedicure. Or at the library. And sometimes at the bar.

Turns out, you can cry anywhere.

The Man in the Yellow Pajamas

Today marks the first six months of my life, without my dad. I miss him terribly.
And the one thing that really hurts, is that my dad knew how lonely I felt at times, always wondering when I was going to meet somebody.

Destined to single till death, I would tell him. And he would tell me very confidently, that no. That I would find that right person, and when I did, it would be forever.

I remember clearly sitting in the hospital chair in Ann Arbor, and my dad had just defied the odds once again. He was drugged up to be sure, but he was dressed in yellow pajamas. And he asked, "Did you come here alone?"

And I said, "Yes, dad. I'm always alone. That's how I roll."

He looked out the window and I can't accurately capture in print the look on his face, but it was one of complete and utter confidence... like he was looking beyond whatever was out the window.

And he said, "It's going to happen. And he clenched his jaw, the way he used to do, when he was mad or making a point.

His face said: It's a done deal.

I miss my champion of all causes... no matter if he was fighting for me to get paid from my job at the car wash or fighting for my heart.

Four Queens is a Winner

Date: June 2007
Place: Downtown Las Vegas, Four Queens Casino.
Time: Middle of night. Dad is at poker machine, Kelly is at black jack table, until her presence is requested by B.Q.
BQ: Hi Kelly. Take this card. Go get yourself something.
KQ: What are you talking about, Dad.
BQ: I have all these points, go get yourself a t-shirt. In the gift shop. Go pick it out and I'll meet you there.
KQ: Heads to "gift shop" which is a glass booth full of tee shirts, mugs etc. Kelly stands around waiting.
20 minutes pass... no B.Q.
Finally KQ goes to find him... he is in the same spot at the same video poker machine.
B.Q. Hey kid. What's going on?
KQ: (mad) the shirt you insisted I get? I'm still waiting in the "gift shop."
B.Q. Oh yeah... had a good few hands, I forgot. Let's go.
KQ: Grumbling and mad now...fine.
BQ and KQ in front of booth now.
BQ. Pick this one. You like Pink.
KQ: Not really, but it's the best one.

Present day: I woke up and decided to wear my pink glittery Four Queens tee shirt.
Thanks B.Q!

It's funny what memories float to the surface as important. I now cherish the shirt that I didn't even want and the memories of my one trip to Las Vegas with my dad.

Work in Progress

I've been diligently trying to get my footing back after a tumultuous few months. Each day, I find myself making small strides toward healthier choices, in hopes of making me feel better about the emotional upheaval.

To that end, my brother is dropping off my new bed this evening. After years of sleeping on a crap bed, I'll finally have a comfy spot to lay my head. Think a shopping trip for new sheets will be in order for the weekend. And since the grief and upheaval, I've suffered insomnia for nearly a year. Finally going to see the doctor in the morning, and hopefully find a suitable solution. I think my brain just won't turn off the angst that stirs even in my subconscious all day and evening long.

I desperately want to get back to my gym routine and especially now, that I've set a goal that will be happening in a few months. Time to gear up and get ready.

I also commit to writing short stories, the memoir type that is my speciality and where my passion lies. It's been so long and I feel so out of sorts, but it's like anything. One day at a time. And if I don't feel like doing it, I must remember how happy it makes me. And in this case, I believe it will lend itself to healing.

For entertainment, I've decided to downgrade my Netflix for the summer and decided to get myself a DVR. A lot of my favorite shows are on during the summer, but I won't be missing any parties or BBQ's, because I have to watch tv.

And planning and going on little weekend jaunts is another way I'm trying to keep my spirits up.

And of course, my weekly trips to Black Lotus shall continue. Where I drink and laugh and feel like my old self, meaning I laugh and enjoy the friendship and loyalty that is as permenant now as my Mug Club membership, at said bar.

Happy Birthday B.Q.

He is known to many as B.Q., Tubby, or Duke.
And to three of us, he's known as dad.

Happy Birthday Dad.

Thank you for raising me with the grit to get through this. I have cried a lot over the last few months, and I really miss our talks, and our phone conversations while I drove to work. And some days, I don't feel strong at all. I feel ill equipped to take on one more day.

But then I remember how you're pain free now. Served your country that in my opinion, didn't return the favor. But you didn't even wait to be drafted. You ran in, while others did their best to run away.

And I thank you for your service. Vietnam did what it could to wreck you, and you spent the rest of your life picking up those pieces, when I'm sure it would have been easier to run.

Here's a few things I want to share with you today.

1. I came to work today. I really wanted to stay home. Or huddle up on a bar stool. I can't promise I won't do that later. But, you'd never begrudge any one a good time, so I know you understand.

2. I appreciate you never making anything cliche. Instead of calling me your little girl, you always called me your little goil. And you're the only person who ever called me goil.

3. Thanks for giving me your wit, your humor.

4. Thank you for the sharing the gift of your story telling.

5. Thanks for the large Irish family that just won't go away. :) Even when you tell them you want to be alone, and just can't make this year's family reunion.

6. Thank you for our amazing nuclear family. A fantastically quirky, artistic and fun mom, who raised us to be good people, and two brothers who would kick any one's ass, who tried to harm me in any way. And to you, for always insisiting your kids were polite, well groomed, and well mannered.

7. Thank you for sending me to grad school which lead me to this job. A job that lets me show up later than most, and while here, I'm paid to write. Sure, I'm writing in a blog right now, instead of writing about Lincoln, but it's because of you that I'm here.

8. Thank you for the tea parties. That's a special dad that will sit with his daughter and drink gallons of imaginary tea.

9. Thank you for all the generous gifts over the years. It was never about the material items for you. I know you just loved to share the wealth, after growing up poor, you wanted your children to have nice things.

10. Thank you for instilling in me, a sense of survival. Perhaps ironic writing that on your first posthumous birthday, but it's true. You survived Vietnam and seven years of cancer. I think that fighting spirit, was passed down to me.

As a baby born at just over six months, doctors all said I would die.
I remember you telling me the story a few years ago.
How you wanted to give me a name, Kelly Rose,so that I would know that somebody was figthing for me.

The torch has been passed. I'm fighting to win the grief battle every day.

Happy Birthday to the original fighter.
The Might Quinn,indeed.

Your loving daughter,
Kelly Rose.

I Love

I posted a blog the other day, about all the things that I hated now that Nevada has died. Not all were negative. But to make a counter blog about all the things I loved about her, was a suggestion.(thanks mom).


I love that I came to work at Wunderman in January of 2006 and met Nevada.

I love that after our initial conversation, she gave me a chance, and we became really good friends.

I love that she always made me see things in a different way and helped me to laugh at myself.

I love that she was so passionate about writing.

I love that she wanted me to find somebody to love so bad, that she spend hours and hours helping me get ready for dates, fielding emails, and writing personal ads for me.

I love that she walked with me almost daily. And helped me get thin.

I love how much she loved her boyfriend Trevor.

I love that she always had time for me.

I love her ability to live in the moment and be fully present, with whatever she was doing.

I love her loyalty. Once she was your friend, she was there no matter what.

I love that we could have fun no matter what we were doing.

I love her strength in times of crisis.

I love her hatred of talking on the phone, and the fact that I had to get a text plan just to talk to her.

I love that she hated the phone, but she would talk to me whenever I needed her.

I love that she accepted me for me, but tried to make me the best me that she could.

I love our how our walks often ended at Bastone for beer.

I love how she introduced me to good beer.

I love the way she wouldn't let any harm come to me on her watch.

I love her fearless nature, even in the face of a scary, unknown illness.

I love her sense of humor.

I love her sense of style for her own self and her ability to dress those around her.

I love her quirky love of projects, no matter how random. Including making her own bed. Literally.

I love her love of life.

I love her crabbing at me to snap out of mood swings.

I love her explaining ankle beards.

I love our talks about turtles.

I love that any secret was safe.

I love how she could calm me, when I was freaking out.

I love that she believed in me, at times when I didn't believe in myself.

I love sitting on patios in backyards, drinking a good beer with her.

I love the trip on the train to Chicago when we ate our way through the city.

I love her friendship.

I love her ability to really listen.

I love her ability to dance.

I love her zest for finding the perfect gift.

I love her.

Birthday Recap

*Editorial Note: This blog originally appeared elsewhere.

I'm not a attention monger. So, it's weird to announce even in a family blog, that today is my birthday. I feel a decade older than I did last year. Probably because I lost of of my best friends in October and my dad in January. I don't feel like doing a whole lot of celebrating, but I am also trying to find the joy in the friends and family I have left.

Two birthday memories from growing up stick out.

1. Not much for planning, my dad rarely had birthday gifts purchased and wrapped the days before. On my I'm guessing 9th or 10th birthday, my dad took me on a shopping spree at K-Mart. We went up and down every aisle, and he let me pick things, I'd never get at home. Whoppers in a carton, Cap'n Crunch cereal, Dr. Schoals red buckled clogs that were the rage that year. The best part, was that every time I picked up an item, I'd ask, "Can I get this one Daddy?" He'd smile and say, "Throw it in the cart."

2. My other memory involves the Bachelors One in Keego. Again, not much for planning, or so it seemed, my dad picked me up in Milford and suggested we go to lunch at the B-1. When we pulled up outside, The sign read, Happy Birthday Kelly Rose.

As an eight year old, I thought I was famous.

Thank you for all you did, Dad. A man I once proclaimed, "Daddy, I know you're name.
When he asked, "What is it? I said Daddy Quinlan."

Weekend

My weekend wasn't too bad. It was the first time I'd been home in two weeks. Friday I left work a little early to go get my driver's license renewed. After that I came home and ate dinner. Got restless after that, so I decided to treat myself to a pedicure, after a horribly sad week.

A nice walk and pedicure complete with massage chair, and my mood was uplifted. Came home and vegged out with some tv after that.

Saturday morning, I got up and went for a two mile walk and then Karlene came down to spend the day with me. Like a true friend, as soon as I told her my bedroom was way too hot and I was thinking of getting a new Air Conditioner, she happily agreed to help me.

That's how the two of us ended up lugging the old one downstairs and putting it on the curb, with a sign that said works. It's gone, so someone is happy. We went and bought a new one on sale for $100.00, and it's working great. Then we went to my Aunt Carol's retirment party and then treated ourselves to a Dairy Queen on the way home.

After that, Rachel stopped by for a visit. Sunday was chore day, until dinner time when my mom, Shane and our family friend Jeff came over to take me out to early birthday dinner. :)

An Irish restuarant with a really cool waitress. I felt very loved, but I'm having a hard time feeling happy these days.

I Hate

I hate that you died.

I hate that you make me cry.

I hate that I wear you in a ring on my hand. A tiny pile of ashes.

I hate that I dumped you in the Chicago River, on the beach in Northport Michigan, and on the corner of 4th and Troy in Royal Oak, where we started all our walks.

I hate that we won’t ever laugh about how stupid I am about men, over beers ever again.

I hate that you’re going to miss the rest of our lives.

I hate that you won’t ever meet who ever I do end up with.

I hate that my dad had to go, so quickly after you.

I hate MoyaMoya.

I hate that you couldn’t be fixed.

I hate that you would never hurt me, and I’m in so much pain.

I hate that I can’t talk to you. Or walk with you.

I hate that we will never eat at Bastone again.

I hate that life had other plans for you.

I hate that our time together was so short.

I hate that I’ll miss you for the rest of my life.

I hate that you have to miss the next party.

I hate not hearing you laugh.

I hate the hole you left in my heart.

I hate the idea of never knowing you.

I hate the idea of never having your friendship.

I hate you not being here everyday.

I hate this.

Play that Music

I say this with love. It's about me after all...

Anyway, sometimes, I like to listen to 50 Cent and Dr. Dre. Listening to a song right now, called, "Bitches ain't shit." Nothing makes me feel whiter. And maybe that is why I love the escape that this music brings me. I can't relate to it in any way, and I have no rhythm at all.

The non PC lyrics also hold a certain appeal as everything in our world is sanitized now. This music is gritty and colorful.

And from a writing perspective, I admire the rhymes and the way they effortlessly roll off the tongues of these artists.

Christmas with Brian

I woke up feeling out of sorts. And I still do. And it's afternoon. When is this bad feeling of ick that is in complete contrast to the sunshine outside, going to subside?

Will it be at 5:30, when I'm meeting up with friends for another friend's birthday? That's a good place to start. Part of the reason I feel all whacked out I think is because I have to go up north early next week, and clean out my dad's house. Pack up all his clothes and revisit the last place I ever saw him alive. It was this past Christmas.

I don't think either of us knew it would be our last. My dad had texted me a few weeks before the holiday and asked that I not get him any gifts because he was feeling broke that year and didn't think he could afford any presents.

That broke my heart. I'm 36 years old and my dad was still worried about not having enough money to get me a gift. I told him not to worry about it, but I'd already gotten his Christmas gifts.

He then asked me to return them, but I told him no. That I'd bought those gifts for him and I wanted him to have them. I really try to give thoughtful gifts and the things I'd picked out, wouldn't suit any one else.

I had gotten him a space heater after he told me that a. he was always cold and b. his heating bill was very expensive.

But no one wants a space heater for Christmas, so I also picked out a video poker game because I figured he'd get the fun of the casino from the comfort of his easy chair since travel had become difficult.

And finally I got him a book since he liked to read. And since my dad is very funny, I thought he'd enjoy his first David Sedaris book, and I picked one of my favorites:
"Me Talk Pretty One Day."

My dad was always so generous with his Christmas gifts in years past. Partly I suspect because he wanted to make up for times he wasn't there, I can't be sure. It's not the sort of thing one asks. But just the year before, he'd gotten me an ipod nano and had it engraved with Kelly Rose.

Even though Rose is my middle name, I rarely see it in any other context than a legal document and every time I turn my ipod over and see my name there, it makes me smile.

The man who gave me the name, also had it engraved on his last gift to me.
Gift in the material sense.

He gave me so much in the things he taught me. The fact that I successfully used jumper cables and jumped my own car last weekend is a direct result of him talking about cars with me.

In typical girl fashion, I only heard: blah blah oil. Blah, blah. Listen for weird noises." Blah blah.

While my car knowledge is still very limited, I can check my oil, can jump my car, and it's ever something that seems out of my realm, I have enough sense to take it someplace or ask questions.

This weekend will mark another chapter in our lives. His and mine. He'd want me to move on, and someday I hope to do that.

In the meantime, I've got a drive to make, some boxes to pack, and a goodbye to say.