This is my dad walking me down the aisle (why am I being carried down the aisle on Cleopatra's couch? That's a story for another day ...)

Funny thing: my last post was about religion and my family, but it was especially about my dad who did not believe in organized religion and who, without knowing it and for better or worse, formed my relationship with religion, God and spirituality in general.  Sprite’s Keeper “assigned” this topic in Spin Cycle and without that assignment, believe me, I would have NEVER come to write about it and, thus, would not have  made the realization that I did while writing it … to wit: my dad is true to what he believes and he Does. Not. Waver.

Last Friday, my dad died very, very unexpectedly.  Shock, sadness, regret, longing and sorrow have been my constant companions since the moment that my brother called me and said, gently but succinctly, that dad was “gone.”   But, to my surprise, I have also walked hand in hand with feelings of love, happiness, gratitude and profound joy with the life that he helped me create, the really wonderful times we shared with him and the lessons about loyalty and love that he left behind.   I miss him very much.

My dad LOVED backpacking and went on long trips with his brothers and others until he had to get "that damn hip" replaced. Then, alas, it was no more.

He even loved it when he was this young ...

... and we were this little.

He loved to build things. This was his first "house," which he built for me and my sister. Later he built two real ones for my mom.

Another big love? Fishing ...

He's been doing that for a long time, too. I mentioned that he was consistent, didn't I?

He was an excellent brother ...

... and was especially fond of this little one who came along rather unexpectedly when my dad was 12.

And they've all stayed friends forever.

Even their wives like each other.

And speaking of wives, he picked this cutie up when she was just 17 and he was 19. He was in the Marine Corps and she was in high school. Odds of success? Very low ...

But somehow, it worked out well ...

They kept at it ...

57 years worth ... aren't they cute?

As a father, he provided love and support ...

Good times in exotic locales ...

Companionship in the simplest ways ...

And once a year, the most delicious smoked turkey ever.

But it was as a grandad that he really, really excelled. This is what the first few weeks of my son's life looked like. Crying baby + dad = sleeping baby.

Hand him a baby that looks like this?

And a few minutes later, the baby looks like this. Must have had something to do with that deep, broadcast quality voice.

He was always up for playing ...

Or reading ...

Or teaching ...

Or simply being there when something exciting was happening, like my son's nursery school graduation.

He was a beautiful boy ...

And a lovely, intelligent, thoughtful man ...

He will be missed by many. Love you, dad.

Here’s a picture of me the first time I went to church when my parents were about 25 years old and still trying to do the 1960s church thing (Episcopalian Church, in case anyone is taking notes):

My Christening, 1963

This event happened at my Grandmother’s Episcopalian Church.  I’m pretty sure we never went back there. I’m also pretty sure that once all three of us kids had our baptismal insurance policies sealed up, my dad never went back to any church of any kind, ever.

You see, my dad worships at the altar of science.  He is an aerospace engineer who believes that religion was invented to keep the rabble in line, to make foolish people do the right thing out of fear.  He was noisy and scornful about his dislike of religion and his lack of belief in anything larger than what he could see with his own eyes. He thought his parents were crazy, weak and deluded.   They were, by the way, incredibly awesome grandparents.  Here’s a picture:

That's my grandparents in the back with my great grandmother seated between me and my sister ... we are, of course, wearing matching coats.

But I digress.  We were talking about religion.

As far as my mom is concerned, I think she simply gave up on organized religion.  Hauling three kids to church while my dad mowed the lawn, watched football and drank Coors must’ve sucked.   For my part, I went to church here and there over the years, dipping my toe into the Christian, Methodist and Episcopalian ponds but nothing stuck.  In the end, my dad’s voice was always louder than God’s.

Fast forward to today … thanks to a degree in English Lit (there’s a lot of bible in there, my friends), a little 12 stepping and the books of spiritual teachers like Pema Chodron, I actually do believe that there is something larger than me at play.  In moments of calm, I might even call that thing God.  Church still eludes me, though.  Unfortunately, the judgmental misanthrope inside of me rears up and rebels every single time.

A few years ago, Liam had a babysitter who underwent a spiritual awakening if you will and her incessant yammering about Jesus and whatnot made him start asking about going to church.  We tried out a couple (Science of Mind and Unitarians) but, frankly, we all decided that we like going to the beach or for a nice long hike on Sundays… and really, that is a church of sorts if you look at it from the right angle.

Malibu

Palos Verdes

Mineral King

And p.s.: Now that my parents are in their 70s, my mom finally strapped on her “screw you” attitude and joined the Episcopalian church in their Texas town.  She is in hog heaven, cross stitching name tags for new members, running bake sales and delivering meals to the homebound and whatnot.  For his part, my dad has morphed but little:  he is watching football, fishing and drinking Heineken.

And you know what?  In the end, here’s what I can say I really learned from my dad about religion: To thine own self be true (and yes, I know that’s Shakespeare, but you get the idea…).

Thanks, Sprite’s Keeper, for bringing up this topic.  It was going to be a long, long time before I got to this on my blog!  Now go on over and see what the other girls are bringing to the bake sale!

It started off small enough ...

After a LOT of instruction about how to light, hold and place the matches ...

This is actually where I cut out but  I came back in time to see the traditional Fire Dance …

See? It all works out ... at least this time it did. *whew* I need a Xanax.

I spent a lot of time with these two characters on the beach.  It was a gloomy summer here this year but we had a few good ‘uns.  We also spent a lot of time hanging out by the pool at our friends’ new house in the Valley but, sadly, no photos.  Must have something to do with the Vanilla Vodka Lemonades.

Our friends from Australia came for a visit. This is Robin. We are about to go drinking out to dinner. It was a long night but we still look pretty respectable here.

This is how Liam entertained their girls during their visit.  One iPad for you, one iTouch for me … *sigh*

We went to Sequoia National Forest and hiked in Mineral King. Here is Liam in front of a seriously massive tree.  I have eleventy-gajillion more pictures of this trip but I’ll spare you.

Jud and I went to Ibiza, Spain and danced our arses off for a whole week while some of the best DJs in the whole world did their DJ thing.  Tiesto, Armin, David Guetta … perfection.  It was absolutely gorgeous in Ibiza.  We took a lot of self portraits. This is one.

Here’s another. We’re on our way to dinner at midnight.  That’s what everyone does in Spain.  There were toddlers at the next table.  Eating at midnight.  Go figure.

We went to Vegas for Labor Day. As you can imagine, there was hardly anyone else there.  This is my husband in heaven at our cabana at the Encore Beach Club. We had a most outstanding time there with our besties!

I caved and bought the black iPhone 4 since the white one is coming out, apparently, never … and that was just too long for me.  It was love at first sight. I swear, I almost kissed the FedEx dude when he brought it to my door.  I think I scared him a little.

Then school started. Bummer. I seriously enjoy the little guy. Now someone else gets to listen to him talk all day.

In other news (and this is where the Random Tuesday Thoughts really begin), this is what I came home to yesterday afternoon. A gigantic bird of paradise bouquet in the green waste container. Kind of pretty in a weird way.

Unfortunately, I soon found out that this is the donor of all those leaves. My husband completely mugged my bird of paradise so that more light would come into our den. WTF? He left, like, three leaves. Also, yes, my house is green. Very green. So green that my neighbor moved in protest. I’m THAT neighbor.

Big story on Yahoo News today … Crystal Renn, who is what’s called a “Plus Size Model” in this crazy world, is walking the runway for Zac Posen.  Here’s her gushing about him:

“He wants women to be able to fit [into his clothes] and to be able to buy them. They’re making the clothes for my size and everything.”

Are you f-ing kidding me?  If she’s bigger than a size 8, I’m a monkey’s rump.  Again I say, WTF?

Seriously? Really? Plus Size?

And finally – and then I’ll let you go, I promise – thanks to everyone who called and/or wrote to ask me what the hell with the whole blogging thing and what was with the long hiatus and seriously, you can’t write a few posts over the summer?  Anyway, I enjoyed the vote of confidence.  Seriously, thanks.

Now, go on over and check out more random goodness at Keely’s place.  Skat!

If you’re using Firefox, you might need to watch it the old fashioned way … by clicking here.

Oh, and here’s the story behind it.

Wordless Wednesday is sponsored by 5 Minutes for Mom among others.  Go on over and check out some more (easy to read) Wordless Wednesdays!

Come to Mama!

I can’t wait for my new iPhone.  We didn’t get on the waiting list for the first wave in time (because you had to be hovering over your keyboard at the exact moment they sent the reminder and we just … weren’t) and now I’m holding out for the white one which is available sometime in late July.  I’m a little bit crabby about that but am planning on ramping that up to being completely insufferable when my husband gets his stupid black one before I get my gorgeous, sleek, white one.   (Isn’t it cool how I can get worked up about something that hasn’t even happened yet?  That’s just one of my many talents …)

In other news, I got an IPL last week … which is not that newsworthy except that I went to a place that was recommended by a friend where I could get it done for $75.  That’s, like, half price.  And while I’m not usually one to go for discounts where it concerns maiming and pain (2 fer Lasix? No, thank you.  Budget-friendly boob job?  M’kay … no), the friend who recommended doesn’t suffer fools gladly and would NEVER tell me about something that she hadn’t tried and loved so … that’s how I found myself in Little Saigon deep in the OC last Tuesday morning.

I could not read ANYTHING on ANY SIGNAGE after I got off the freeway.  Luckily, numbers are the same in any language so, whew! I found it.  And this is what I saw on the locked door …

Uhhh ... whut?

So, there was a price for the discount and it was CONFUSION.  It worked out, though (with a little help from my friend who is from Vietnam), and I got my face all crispy fried (in a good way) and am oh-so-happy with my new almost freckle-free-face.  End of story.

I eat too much… it’s the only conclusion I can come to about the vexing problem of the 15 Pounds That Won’t Go Away.   I know how much I should be eating.  I even have this handy-dandy reminder in my kitchen but, alas, I still have 15 Pounds That Won’t Go Away on my body:

I wish that being good at crafts and planning diets was an aerobic activity. *sigh*

Don’t you love it when you let your garden go to pot and then you walk out one day and a flower has insisted on growing?

Life persists and all that ...

I work out in my garage now because if I’m going to fail at losing weight, I don’t want to also pay for a gym membership.  Insult to injury, if you ask me.  So anyway, when I come out of my garage at the end of the workout, this is what I usually see:

My two 16 year old cats, chilling in the planters ... who needs a dog when you've got these two?

Gotta give a shout out to my friend Gretchen at Second Blooming for passing on her obsession with the Hipstamatic iPhone App.  It is AWESOME!  Here’s a random shot of my dad and my son reading together in what appears to be 1960 but is really yesterday (if my dad wasn’t wearing that lame visor, we could have pulled it off!):

Finally, two of my best girlfriends and I  went to see Sex and the City 2 because, well, you just kind of have to go with your besties to see it, you know?  That’s the excuse I’m going with anyway.  And why do I need an excuse?  Because it was an unmitigated disaster, that’s why … really, truly awful.  Reasons #1 – 99 have a lot to do with this cringe-worthy babe, playing a one-note character who, apparently, is never going to come close to completing a character arc <<shudder>>:

I'm all for cougars but this is getting embarassing ...

Okay, that’s all from Lake Woebegone.  Go on now and look read some more randomness at Keely’s place!

These are postcards, by the way. Even I'm not weird enough to take pictures of the main drag of Nowheresville, USA. I am, however, weird enough to buy vintage postcards of my hometown on Ebay.

No Walmart, but somehow we bought everything we needed here.

Check out the back of this card: "The building housed the Christian Science Exhibit at the New York World's Fair. Afterward it was dismantled and shipped via the Panama Canal to its new home in the beautiful rolling hills of North San Diego County where it was reassembled." I mean, it's cool, don't get me wrong. But to ship it through the Panama Canal in 1940? Not so much ...

The main drag again. One gas station. One grocery store. Several bars. We even had a place called the Egg-o-Mat where you could buy a dozen eggs on the honor system. I could ride my horse to school, y'all.

No post written by some old lady who is totally bitter that her little town full of orange avocado groves got turned into Disneyland a booming metropolis would be complete without an image of what the town looks like today.  Unfortunately, the sprawl makes it hard to recreate the pictures above but here’s an aerial shot that gives you an idea:

I like how it looks all post-Industrial Revolution dark and gloomy compared to the cheerful images above.

Okay, I think the rant is over for today.  I’ll just leave you with another vintage postcard of where I live now … only this was about a hundred years ago.  It makes me think that there might be some old lady somewhere gritting her teeth over the state of this town and how it used to be all sand dunes and flower farms and the pier had a huge salt water plunge where you could play all day for a nickel ….  *sigh*  Old age is cool.

It was my birthday last week … 47. Woo-hoo/Whatever. I didn’t really want to commemorate it and I did pretty well with that. My husband and I drove up to San Francisco for the weekend to celebrate a friend’s 40th which was fun except for the driving part which went on and on and on and on. Here’s a snapshot because I really seem to be into that lately:

The San Joaquin Valley. It's the gift that keeps on giving.

San Francisco was totally awesomer than normal. We stayed at the St. Regis on Union Square (shopping!) and took a trolley car down to Fisherman’s Wharf (holy tourist trap, Batman!) and pub crawled from there to the Embarcadero and then back to our hotel (toasty.com!). The next day was GORGEOUS and I only feel that’s noteworthy because I used to live there and it’s never, never gorgeous. It’s like the “marine layer” armpit of the Western Hemisphere. Grey and gloomy, you can’t even tell you’re by the bay. Anyway, here’s a pic of the gorgeousity:

View from the bar that serves absinthe! Right on!

We did a good bit of drinking that night, too, so I’ll just cut to the chase and tell you that two hungover monkeys drove our car back to Los Angeles in the morning. Here’s a picture of one of the monkeys eating chicken noodle soup at Denny’s in God-knows-where, California. Note the number of saltines consumed by the monkey:

Denny's Chicken Noodle Soup: the cure for the common hangover.

When we got home, my parents and my son had worked up some birthday stuff for me including a lovely skit ripped off from Abbott and Costello’s famous “Who’s on First?” routine and these cookies that they “made for me” (but ate themselves as soon as I got home):

On my actual birthday, we went out with our neighbors and watched a Laker’s game in a pretty fancy-shmancy bar here in the ‘hood. Love them (the neighbors, not the Lakers … although I’m fine with the Lakers. They seem like nice people, too).

The weekend after my birthday, my besties took me to Malibu where we stayed at a marvelous hotel by the pier and shopped and ate Italian food and drink a lot of wine and watched movies in our fab room and ate cupcakes and went out for Sushi and martinis and read gossip mags and ate eggs benedict for breakfast. Perfect. Here’s the view from our balcony:

And here are my girls, curled up with magazines and iPhones:

As an aside, school’s almost over for the kid. I can’t wait. Because the first day I don’t have to blast him out of bed and beg him for an hour to keep moving? I will weep with joy …

That’s all the news from here … now go on over and see what everyone else has going on at Random Tuesday Thoughts!

Hence, what follows is an ode to my favorite horses … from the one that took me up the trail at 4 years old to the one that took me over my first nail-biting Oxers in my show-jumping phase not too long ago.  I could tell long, dull stories about each one but I will refrain.  Pictures and blurbs only…

Again, Butch, the most patient horse in the world:

The following year, we also took horses into the first camp before we started our daily hikes.  The horse my sister is on “tried to kill her” according to my sis.  Whatever, wuss:

You can hardly see me in the back but suffice to say, I was in heaven.

This was my first horse, Sam.  A lovely boy, I got him when I was about 10 years old and he passed when I was just finishing up high school.  He gets two pictures because he was AWESOME.

Before the horse pictured below, I had always ridden Western-style.  Cheyenne was my first jumper.  I wish I had action photos on this one.  It would have been very amusing … and, btw, why do I have so many pictures of horse’s butts?

Around the time I was riding Cheyenne, I went on the most awesomest cattle drive. If anyone is on the fence about going on one, please know that it was one of the best vacations I have EVER been on … and I have been to some pretty cool locales. Here’s a hard-to-see photo of me riding a crazy pony who (I found out later) had only been ridden less than a dozen times in her life. Best. Ponyride. EVER.

I can’t remember this horse’s name but I rode him for a long time.  It’ll come to me … or not.  I have half-heimers, after all.  Anyway, this horse was bat-shit crazy and literally spooked at the shadow of a bird flying overhead.  I fell off this horse many, many times.  Fab jumper, though.  Loved him.

This is the horse I rode last, the one I had to give up because I was preggers.  Her name was Roo and, aside from Sam, she has been the best horse I have ever ridden.  She would literally jump over ANYTHING.  She took me over my highest jumps and my first Oxers and walls.  I wish more than anything that I had an action shot of us but I don’t.  Here’s our portrait anyway, in fond memory:

On account of the osteopenia, I probably won’t ever jump horses again.  My husband, my son and my insurance company have all begged me not to and, for the time being, I have acquiesced.

Right now, though?  I’m really thinking about being disobedient…