Too Many Damn Days
Life certainly is confusing. You always hear crap about forgetting the past from people who are encouraging you to move forward. Then other geniuses tell you that you should never forget your past or you'll be destined to repeat old mistakes.
Well which is it? Forget the past? Don't forget the past?
Obviously the past can't just be brushed aside anyway, so I suppose it must be embraced. But what happens when it's sad?
I keep thinking about anchovies this week. Last Father's Day my Dad had us sitting in the driveway as he scurried about the basement looking for a can on anchovies to give me as a Father's Day gift.
For one reason or another that can is still in my cupboard. I've eaten plenty of anchovies over the year but when Dad died (which I still can't say out loud) I decided not to eat that can...holding onto the past and I glance at it from time-to-time, shake my head, and go about my business.
With Father's Day staring me in the face, it's small wonder that I'm sleeping four hours a night again.
Too many damn days.
And Jeff's birthday is this week. Whenever I look at the calendar the sadness descends upon me like a wave and I think of all we'd be doing this week to celebrate, and damn, there are too many damn days like that.
So there's a certain helplessness settling in today as I spin around wondering where to go with the day to fill the empty spaces.
There's a pot of sauce already on. Family will be by today as we celebrate my hoodlums birthdays. As I type this the scent of olive oil and pork and tomatoes fills the house.
I may eat until I drop.
And tomorrow, on Father's Day I will get up with the birds and golf with the Apes and then hang with the hoodlums again as I celebrate the fact that they've been good sons to me.
It's too bad that none of them like anchovies because I feel compelled to give them each their own can.
I know how much that means coming from a Dad.
In the meantime, I may grab a few tomatoes and open up the can in the cupboard. A little olive oil, and I'll scarf them down. Anchovies with tomatoes and olive oil is good living.
And when there are too many sad days of remembrance, I have to force myself to understand that good living is the goal, and the one that Jeff and Dad would wish for me on days when it hurts.
Forget the past?
Nah, that's bullshit.
Well which is it? Forget the past? Don't forget the past?
Obviously the past can't just be brushed aside anyway, so I suppose it must be embraced. But what happens when it's sad?
I keep thinking about anchovies this week. Last Father's Day my Dad had us sitting in the driveway as he scurried about the basement looking for a can on anchovies to give me as a Father's Day gift.
For one reason or another that can is still in my cupboard. I've eaten plenty of anchovies over the year but when Dad died (which I still can't say out loud) I decided not to eat that can...holding onto the past and I glance at it from time-to-time, shake my head, and go about my business.
With Father's Day staring me in the face, it's small wonder that I'm sleeping four hours a night again.
Too many damn days.
And Jeff's birthday is this week. Whenever I look at the calendar the sadness descends upon me like a wave and I think of all we'd be doing this week to celebrate, and damn, there are too many damn days like that.
So there's a certain helplessness settling in today as I spin around wondering where to go with the day to fill the empty spaces.
There's a pot of sauce already on. Family will be by today as we celebrate my hoodlums birthdays. As I type this the scent of olive oil and pork and tomatoes fills the house.
I may eat until I drop.
And tomorrow, on Father's Day I will get up with the birds and golf with the Apes and then hang with the hoodlums again as I celebrate the fact that they've been good sons to me.
It's too bad that none of them like anchovies because I feel compelled to give them each their own can.
I know how much that means coming from a Dad.
In the meantime, I may grab a few tomatoes and open up the can in the cupboard. A little olive oil, and I'll scarf them down. Anchovies with tomatoes and olive oil is good living.
And when there are too many sad days of remembrance, I have to force myself to understand that good living is the goal, and the one that Jeff and Dad would wish for me on days when it hurts.
Forget the past?
Nah, that's bullshit.
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