I’m currently making my way through a book called “I Thought my Father Was God” by Paul Aster; a compilation of stories submitted to the National Story Project on NPR. Although I have yet to reach the story that gives the book its namesake, I have to admit that it’s a good read, proving that there are millions of unpublished Americans who write well and have amazing stories to tell, regardless of their willingness to be published.
I believe I was attracted to the book for two reasons. 1. It’s very low commitment. Most of the stories are a page to two pages long which is just enough for me to make it through a few stories without actually committing any time to it. 2. The title caught my eye in the bookstore.

I grew up Roman Catholic and went to a Catholic grade school so there was never an opportunity for me to confuse my father with God. But recently I’ve been contemplating childhood and the reverence and awe that we have for our parents during that time. When I was probably too young to understand the complexity of life, I adored my parents. To me, their marriage was perfect, my family was perfect and my father in particular was the epitome of what it meant to be a father in life. If there was something to be known about a particular subject he knew it. If there was advice to be sought about the worldliness of the birth and death of animals and particular hues of the sky, he would know it just as readily as his library of knowledge about endless subjects from sailing to saddling a horse. During the day he was a mindful, skillful business owner and during the evenings and weekends he crafted wood, metal and dirt into more useful purposes like fences and rolling landscape. I admired and respected my father with the admiration that only a six year old could have.

There is one instance in particular that was pivotal in sealing the deal on my amazement of my father’s abilities. When I was about five years old, my parents and I were spending a Saturday afternoon on the deck in our back yard. The hummingbirds were out and about for the season and they dropped by our feeders and flowers on occasion, but never nearly as much as I desired. That afternoon my father was lounging in his chair, boasting about his bird calling abilities. Being skeptical, I dared him to confirm his talents by calling a hummingbird for me. Then he did the unforgettable: He leaned back in his chair, tilted his head back slightly and with a rather sing-song tone of voice he said “Here hummingbird, hummingbird, hummingbird” much like one would call the family cat. In an instant the hum of the bird’s wings could be heard approaching in the distance and one appeared, stopping for a drink at the feeder near our table. I was awestruck, realizing that my father had abilities that in my lifetime, I would probably never realize. By no means was he God, but to me he was pretty damn close.

Now that I’m older and awe comes less often than it does when you’re a child, I realize that the hummingbird instance could have just been happenstance. It doesn’t mean any less to me, since the part of me that’s still a child questions whether the episode was just chance, although I know that my father was probably just as amazed as I was that afternoon. Still, he’s the most intelligent man I know and I can appreciate that it’s quite possible I may never realize the entirety of his knowledge and experience.

posted by paula 11:12 AM

More random thoughts:

1. Where does the phrase “all pooped out” originate from? I’m sure we’ve all had some pretty amazing bowel movements in our lives, but are you really that tired after them?
2. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. You asked to see my Christmas wish list and now that you have there should be no complaints. My list is just that: a “wish” list. Not a "I'm-being-completely-practical-about-my-wishings-for-Christmas-so-my-relatives-and-friends-can-get-off-cheap" list. In fact, I had to tailor some of the stuff I was really wishing for, because let's face it: you guys will never buy me a Segway Human Transporter.
3. No one likes a karaoke monopolizer, no matter how good of a singer they think they are. Karaoke performances are limited to one and only one performance. I don’t care if one was a duet and you just have to sing that dramatic version of “I Can’t Make You Love Me, if You Don’t” and you just have to prove to everyone that you have years of vocal training going to waste because you’re cupping your ear on stage trying to hear yourself over the disinterested crowd. It’s one performance and one performance only.
4. Never get your hair cut by a straight man named Daron while he’s talking about his heavy metal garage band and his ex-wife in South Dakota.
5. How is it that Steven Segal not only continues to act, but people actually write scripts with him in mind? Moreover, who writes a script about an intelligent, gun-wielding doctor who is trying to stop a lethal virus from taking out the army and says to himself “Steven Segal would be perfect for this role”? Apparently M. Sussman does.

posted by paula 12:25 AM

What’s currently on my wish list from Santa at this moment: A huge cd of professional quality graphics so that I can do something with this little site. Right now it could be Christmas graphics since I want a little change, but that’s not even remotely practical. If you're still looking for my wish list, I have one. Just ask.

Speaking of photos, the photos from Thanksgiving are finally up.

posted by paula 6:48 PM

This just in: Scientists have determined that extra marital sex can increase your risk of heart attack. Other increased risks: homicidal death.

posted by paula 1:14 PM

It’s the kind of day where my cube-neighbor, crunching on carrots with her mouth open in a deathly silent office is driving me batty.

posted by paula 12:58 PM

My co-worker is a Blogger. I discovered this by accident really, while spotting the familiar Blogger screen on his computer just by chance while talking to another co-worker outside his cube. Just about the time I was about to say “Hey John!* You’re a Blogger? I am too!” I realized that admitting that I was one might compromise my position here, having blogged about certain persons and places at length.
What’s strange is that I don’t suppose that anyone here would really care that I blog – as long as it’s not in derogatory fashion about them – since most in my department haven’t a clue as to the power of the Internet and all probably haven’t a clue as to what Blogging is. But that doesn’t mean that I’m about to advertise it, since it’s a rather funny reaction that one gets when others realize that you write about your everyday experiences and publish your opinions on the WWW and that those bloggings might just be of a particular experience you had with them.
I don’t know why I should be surprised. Said co-worker is literally the department techie and his blog is probably about programming and C++ or the evils of our Access database which is much too big and clunky and should have been converted to a superior product years ago. Still, I’m in this horrible limbo where I want to read his blog but not let him read mine. . .
Oh the dilemma!
*name changed to protect the innocent

posted by paula 11:41 AM

Baking my Way Down Memory Lane
The beginning of the holiday season – this past weekend – was just as I expected; an exciting and melancholy combination of old and new. We spent it in Wisconsin with my family, obviously enjoying the first holiday with the new addition to our family: my niece and Godchild Marina. Thanksgiving was our immediate family as usual, which in the past years has grown from the five of us to the nine of us.
The day after was spent in an informal gathering of extended family. My mother comes from a rather large family of siblings, which give way to a large family of cousins and aunts and uncles for me. We’re spread from Virginia to Colorado so getting us all in one room is rare and usually only happens at weddings and funerals. This gathering was melancholy for me in two ways: it’s wonderful to see the extended family that I never really knew personally as a child. Being that my eldest aunt is 17 years older than my mother and I am 10 years younger than my oldest sister, the cousin closest my age is probably 10 years my senior – putting me in better relationships with my ‘second cousins’ or as I’ve been corrected by Emily Post cousins-once-removed, that being my cousin’s children. Now that I am of adult proportions, I’m finally building relationships with my cousins on a level I couldn’t have in years past.
The melancholy part enters when I realized that this was the first large gathering of our family that was not funeral related and it reminds me of those we’ve lost both recently and in the past, primarily the grandmother I dreamed about last week and two uncles that left us last year unexpectedly. The change is evident in our family and is still ever-present although at times I wish it would disappear or be forgotten.
In a search for these people and what they left behind, I think I’ve tried to extend myself to my history by cooking. I’ve mentioned before that my grandmother was a caterer and I’ve taken note that food is a way in which I remember my family most – our family gatherings being spread with food of feast proportions. This weekend I was making brownies in my mother’s newly remodeled kitchen to ‘test out’ the new appliances and make food for our family gatherings. The kitchen was traded in just a few years back for newer, flashier, top-of-the line appliances that my mother had been deserving of for years. Digging through the cupboards, I noticed that her utensils however, have not changed at all. Where my generation has bought the Williams Sonoma versions of spatulas and pans she’s kept the same ones for years. I baked my dish in an old metal 9 x 13, similar to the ones I saw in Ryan’s grandmother’s and mother’s houses. While baking, I took note of the millions of criss-cross lines etched in by knives through out the years. These pans have not only seen a variance of dishes, but a variance of individuals and a part of the history of my childhood and life as I know it. Countless brownies, rice-krispie bars and birthday cakes have crossed those pans and for a minute, I stared at it and took a walk down memory lane. I wondered if my pans would eventually have history to them and regretted that I didn’t get any of my grandmother’s dishes but was thankful that we have some of Ryan’s grandmother’s – like having a piece of worn history in our home.
Beyond my reminiscing, the weekend was a good one. We’re a little tired now that we’re at home and a little expectant of what the holiday season has to bring. There are a few pictures to share, which I’ll get up online just as soon as I can. Until then, here’s wishing that all of you had the same great experiences that I did this weekend.

posted by paula 9:55 PM