That's A Lot O' Open Wah-Uh

Today I am doing housework.

I will thank you not to snicker.

Only, I keep finding clear plastic bottles with varying amounts of water in them. Two ounces here, one ounce there, six ounces over yonder.

This makes me mad.

If I open a bottle of water, I finish it. If I don't drink it all in one sitting (or standing), I put it back into the fridge, remember* having put it there, and finish it later.  Then I toss the empty into the recycling bin where it belongs.

***adjusts halo***

Apparently TG does not share my philosophy. One of the partially full/partially empty bottles was on his desk. The other was elsewhere in his office. The third was on his bedside table.

Sarah Bernhardt wishes she could've been schooled by this kid.

I showed them to Erica, who is painting the upstairs hallway today.

"Look!" I demanded. "Look at what your father has done in addition to losing his car keys!" In mock* fury I brandished the trio of sloshy bottles.

Erica's chin drifted in the general direction of her sternum and she affected the look of quasi-guilty mutton on the hoof. (Erica is easily mea-culpaed, for some reason. I had nothing whatever to do with this development in her adorable personality.)

"One of those might have been mine," she confessed.  She tried to hide her current bottle of water.

(Current ... Water ... if you get it ... good you got it.)

I feigned* outrage. "At least when I open a bottle of water, I drink the whole thing!" I spluttered. "I don't take three swallows and then forget about it and leave the bottle lying around for someone else to pick up!!!"

(I never exaggerate.)

(My dudgeon gets much higher when the situation merits, in case you were wondering. Quite simply, I enjoy entertaining Erica. We do not get out much.)

Erica's chin resumed cruising altitude, then went a half-inch higher. She gestured grandly with her water bottle.

"Three swallows? THREE swallows? THREE SWALLOWS?" Erica thundered.

Sarah Bernhardt wishes she could've been schooled by this kid. 

I thought quickly ... something I'm sometimes good at, sometimes not.

"Okay then ... three SPARROWS," I retorted.

To which, Erica spit water out her nose. (She has a drinking problem.)

Water ... Pirate ... I'm good wiv it, y'all.

***sails away***

* key word

And The Winner Is ...

I mentioned recently that one of my favorite movies of all time is The Trip To Bountiful (1985) starring Geraldine Page, John Heard, Carlin Glynn, and Rebecca DeMornay. Erica and I watched it again over the weekend, on TCM. It was as delightful as it has been each of the many times I've seen it ... if not more so.

The film, a simple yet poignant story about loss, was directed by Peter Masterson, husband of Carlin Glynn. Together they are the parents of Mary Stuart Masterson, who starred opposite Johnny Depp in Benny & Joon (1993).

But I meander. Apologies.

Geraldine Page received her eighth Oscar nomination for her role as Carrie Watts in The Trip To Bountiful, and for the first time, at the 1986 Academy Awards, she won for Best Actress in a Leading Role. Pretty amazing given that the presumed shoo-in was Meryl Streep for Out Of Africa.

Her blog will make you laugh and make you think ... two of my favorite activities.

F. Murray Abraham's tribute to her on Oscar night was pretty cool, as was the standing ovation Ms. Page enjoyed as she struggled to find her shoes, which she had kicked under her chair because she did not expect to need them until the show was over.

You should watch it.

Ms. Page died a little over a year later, suddenly, at the young age of sixty-two.

Similarly, I have been shamefully dilatory in passing on a very thoughtful and generous blog award I was given several weeks ago by Ruth.

Keli at Counterfeit Humans, in a blog that doesn't get nearly as much traffic as it should, posts consistently funny, honest, and insightful material about one subject: stupers (her term for individuals who exhibit insupportably stupid behavior).

Stupers are everywhere and Keli does not spare the horses in providing piercingly astute commentary on their amazing antics.

She even admits when she herself has been a stuper. Told you she was honest.

Her blog will make you laugh and make you think ... two of my favorite activities.

So here ya go, Keli ... a little late but no less sincere, for what I consider to be great achievement in use of the English language: the Brillante Weblog Premio-2008 award.

 

Display it proudly, because you deserve it.

Thanks for all you do, and for the encouragement you have been to me.

A Way Of Forgiving, Part II

Forty years.

My father has been gone for forty years.

I never knew him because he abandoned our little nuclear family in 1959, when I was two years old. My sister was three. And although I was eleven when he perished in a horrific plane crash on Friday, September 13, 1968, in Hollywood, California, it would be two more years before I learned of his death.

We didn't exactly keep in touch.

I know the precise location of my father's grave -- Pierce Brothers Valhalla Cemetery, 10621 Victory Boulevard, North Hollywood, Los Angeles County, California, 91606 ... Lot 2, Section 228, Veterans Memorial Garden -- but I have never visited it or seen a picture.

I would like to stand there someday, and simply be near his earthly remains.

Erma Bombeck wrote that before she became a mother, she had lots of theories about childrearing. Later she had four kids and no theories.

I have reared four wonderful children (with the help of my darling, their father), and a few of my theories have survived intact. Here's one:

Whatever else you can or cannot provide for your children, either materially or otherwise, in my view the very least you can do is be there.

Just be there.

And no ... I don't mean in the quasi-smarmy vernacular that says "I'm there for you." I mean be there. Actually, physically be there. Every day, until your days run out.

Perhaps you'd say, well, what about abusive parents?

Abandonment is child abuse.

I would give years off my life to be wrong.

How I wish I could write something that sounds all lovey-dovey, like, Oh Daddy, I love you and I miss you. Someday I'll see you again. Talk with the angels until I get there.

But I can't, because I never called my father "Daddy" ... or anything. That I know of. Certainly I don't remember ever speaking to him, or even being in his presence.

Since I have no memory of him and have been given precious little information about him, I think what I love is simply the idea that, like other people, I once had a father. Of course I had a father, but you know what I mean.

Because I'm as introspective as I am extroverted, I do a lot of living inside a heart which tends to be as melancholy as it is stubborn. Consequently I've crafted a sort of relationship with a dead person whose tenuous connection to my life is based chiefly on anecdotal evidence.

Not quite the same as being walked down the aisle on your wedding day by a dad with tears in his eyes, or buying a Father's Day card for someone whose blood actually runs in your veins. Not to mention tenderly placing his grandchildren into his arms, or having him tell you that he's proud of the woman you've become.

But when my Papaw walked me down the aisle to marry Greg, by God's grace I was able to do something that might not have been possible if my father had stayed.

I was able to give my four children the kind of father who would never desert them. A father who today, if need be, I am certain would lay down his life for them.

I was privileged to rear those children in a Christian home with parents who love one another and who are committed to one another, even though we are not exactly perfect and this fact has made for some interesting situations over these thirty years.

I have seen each of my four children come to Christ and accept salvation, and go on to live in a way that honors the Lord. My grandchildren are being brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord as well.

My father had no testimony of faith in Christ. I believe he was lost and is in hell today**. I will likely never see him again, even in eternity.

I would give years off my life to be wrong.

If he accepted Christ's finished work on the cross of Calvary (the only way to heaven), obtained forgiveness and mercy, and is in the presence of his Savior now, that will be all the more reason for me to praise God while the ages roll.

I believe my marriage and family is one of the ways through which God has restored to me the years that the locust has eaten (Joel 2:25). And although there are times I am angry with my father and have nowhere to go with the pain but to the Lord, in that blessed truth I find a way of forgiving.

Listen to the song again.

# # # #

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know. Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way? Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me. (John 14:1-6)

I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. (John 11:25)

# # # #

Blanchard Guy McManus

October 16, 1930 - September 13, 1968

I do love you, Daddy.

# # # #

** Not because he was a "bad person" -- my father was a sinner, no worse than you or me -- but because Scripture tells us that a literal lake of fire is the final destination of all those who reject the Son of God.

And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away; and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened: and another book was opened, which is the book of life: and the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it; and death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them: and they were judged every man according to their works. And death and hell were cast into the lake of fire. This is the second death. And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire. (Revelation 20:11-15)

It doesn't have to end there.

So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye stedfast, unmoveable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that your labour is not in vain in the Lord. (I Corinthians 15:54-58)

For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast. (Ephesians 2:8-9)

# # # #

A Way Of Forgiving, Part I

This will make more sense when you read tomorrow's post, if you do.

Meantime, enjoy Il Divo's spectacular performance of Somewhere.

Never Forget

Our eldest was still a newlywed on the morning of September 11, 2001.  Second daughter was away at college.  The two youngest were at school.  I was at home. 

A friend called me to say, "You need to be watching the news."

TG was in Washington, D.C.  He was approaching the White House, due for a meeting in an office building across the street, when the terrorist-controlled plane struck the Pentagon.  He saw the smoke.  He managed to get to his hotel and stood in line to use a phone (we didn't have mobiles yet) to call me.  By that night he was home.

I thank God for protecting him and the rest of our family.

I pray today for the families of those who died.

I thank God that I am an American.

God bless President Bush.  God bless our troops.  God bless America.