I pulled the comforter off of my bed to wash it, only to discover that both cats love sleeping on it. Right now it’s all folded up at the foot of the bed, waiting to go to the laundromat. Here’s Mimi taking a nap on it. Hopefully they aren’t too disappointed when it disappears to be washed, then shows up again on the full length of the bed. BTW, this is the comforter I sleep with, not the decorative one.
Need I say more? Okay, it’s purpose is to dispel all myths surrounding black cats, who are just as fun, mischievous, devoted, and loving as any other kind of cat. That makes them good luck!
I had so many things to share with my dad this week. I won at Scrabble, which never happens since the other women I play with are exceptionally good. The temperature hit 100 today, which is really high for the area I live in, while in Palm Desert, where he lived, it hit 101, which is kind of low for this time of year. My AC went out two days ago when it also hit 100 (they got it fixed within 24 hours, but it still got awfully hot in my apartment). I got a new sofa.
As you can see, it’s not earth-shattering things I’d be sharing with him. But it was the kind of thing that could keep us talking for two hours on a Sunday afternoon.
Only problem is, my dad died on May 4th of this year.
Most of you who follow my blog know he died after a brief battle with pancreatic cancer. It was a shock, he was so healthy, he didn’t take any medication and was extremely active. Family history said he should have lived another eight to ten years.
And now I’m battling my grief. I can’t share the simplest things with him, not to mention some of the bigger things, like leaving my job and getting my gall bladder out, both of which happened in the last month. I’m happy and I’m healthy. I want him to know that.
I know all about the stages of grief–denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. I’m not sure where I’m at. I’m past denial. I’m not even sure that one lasted very long. I don’t really feel a great deal of anger and I haven’t done any bargaining. I don’t feel depressed, but I don’t think I’m fully at acceptance either. I simply miss my dad.
Today would have been the day I call him. I probably would have brought up football as well, since we’re in the pre-season, even though I was the bigger fan. He knew the game really well but rarely watched it. If there was a big game on at the time of our call, he didn’t mind if we postponed a day.
I’m lucky to have reconnected with my dad in the last few years as we had had a tepid relationship for so long. We rarely spoke, although those conversations sometimes were long, and while I knew he loved me I didn’t really feel like he had time for me. He was so busy with his life and frankly, I was busy with mine.
It was after his wife died that we became closer. I barely knew her and had no idea she’d been battling Alzheimer’s. They became virtual recluses until shortly before she died, when he finally put her in a memory care facility.
I called him every day after that for several weeks, then every other day, and eventually we got into our weekly call habit. He flew me out to see him several times and treated me like a princess while I was visiting him. We’d planned another trip for October of this year, but of course that won’t happen.
I got a new sofa yesterday, and of course the cats had to check it out. Walter was the first to get there. It didn’t take him long to own it. Sorry for the quality if the first photo. I don’t know the ins and outs of my camera so I have no idea what I did wrong! The color in the second photo is much truer to both Walter and and the sofa.
Okay, this being America it may be hard to find a local dish that isn’t available somewhere in the states, and this one is no exception. The exception is how good it is. I’m talking about tiramisu, and I’ve never tasted any better than what was served to me in the south of France.
Okay, I know that it’s an Italian dessert, but I didn’t make it to Italy. And the south of France serves some amazing Italian food.
It was delectable. Light and rich and I’m guessing there may have been magic ingredient not commonly found in the U.S., because I’ve never tasted anything like it here. I have a friend who claimed her mom made the best tiramisu ever, and it was good, but not as good.
For that matter, the south of France had a number of dishes I could probably find here that would no doubt be so much better in their native land (or neighboring country). The food there was delicious, and even though I don’t typically drink much, the wine was incredible.
My World With Words 
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