"You can't keep a good Hunky down"...

I called my sister last night to see how she was doing after
the first chemo treatment (so far, so good) and she said our
Uncle Kenny was there. He asked to talk to me and the first
thing he said was, "How ya doin', kiddo?" and instantly I
flashed back umpteen years and I could see his wonderful
smile and the constant twinkle in his eyes. It also dawned
on me that I use that same greeting...because of him.
That part of him is a part of me.

I asked him how he'd been and his response was
"Oh, you know, for 82 not so bad. They can't keep a
good Hunky down." We both laughed in agreement.
I'm only half Hunky (Hungarian) from my mom's family,
but it's strong in me. Hearing him reminded me of that.
The next thing he said was "I'm glad to hear you're
coming home to help your sister. Your mom and dad
would be happy, too." That brought a lump to my throat
but it took until much later before I really figured out why.



















Later that day, I had to run an errand and after I
got back in my car, I just sat there and thought of
Uncle Kenny again and our conversation.

I've lived here almost 38 years and I've always said
that it never felt like home, it was just someplace to live.
Not home.

Right that second, it felt like something kicked me
in the heart and the tears started to flow.
Then, I heard myself say "I'm going home." Now I'm
sobbing and I keep saying "I'm going home."
Over and over I repeat that, out loud.
And I'm looking up as I continue to cry "I'm going home."

Home.

I'm going HOME.

Feeling not quite at home here makes sense now.

The most important part of me never left home.

Home.

I'm going HOME.

Sparky and Spring flowers...

This is Sparky's best side, especially
when I'm trying to take his picture.

I thought last year's winter killed off
the bougainvillea but, they're making
a strong comeback.

I've taken dozens of photos of the jasmine
and this is the only one that was even close
to acceptable. I give up.

Dammit, Spark... stand still!

These plumbago aren't really mine.
They're invading from the neighbor's
side of the fence and mix with the
bougainvillea. I love the color.

One of the gazillion lizard/anoles that
Sparky loves to chase.

His favorite hunting ground is under the rose bushes.
*
*
*


My sister had a port put in her arm Thursday.
Friday (today) at 9am she gets her first chemo treatment.
Our 82 year old uncle (mom's youngest brother and
the last living member of her family) called her today
to tell her he will bring her dinner on Friday.
Mom would be pleased, especially since he got out
of the hospital recently after a heart problem.

The plan is, I'll be moving to Ohio in about a month
to stay with my sister and help take care of her.
Lots to do to make that happen.
My head is spinning but I think it's a good decision.

p.s. Am I rude or what? Forgot to say
THANK YOU
to everyone who offered prayers and good thoughts
for my sister. Ya'll are the best of the best. ♥

Doing the priority shuffle...

It isn't about me any more.
It's about what one of my sisters needs now.
.
here

Have patience, old girl...

I've learned
how to wait
and in waiting
I've learned
that wants
don't always
match needs.

Commenting is wonky, sometimes...

*sigh*

A couple weeks before my blog was kidnapped, I'd been
having problems leaving comments at a few blogs.
Pop-up comment format works fine. It's the embedded
comment pages that often don't work for me. Sometimes.
Before I have a chance to finish typing a comment, the
page goes white. Refresh does nothing. Clicking on
'back page' brings back the comment page for a few
seconds, then goes white again.

Wordpress blogs are hit or miss.

So. If you don't hear from me as much or, lately, never,
that's why. It sucks.

Fool...

dreams
are nothing but.

more amateur art...

My evening entertainment today.
I call it "Zebra in Snowbank".
The paper is actually pure white even
though it has gray tints here. Oh well.
One ear is too thick at the bottom and
I should've made the nose longer.














Found a kid's book for a dollar.
Used this photo to work from.

Point of View...

I understand
that you don't.
from this side
it's clear
you're looking
through mud.
stop stirring the sediment.
it settles for a reason.
now, look again.

art therapy on the psych ward...

Van Gogh, Da Vinci and me.
We got it goin' on.

Haiku Monday - Circle...

hoop skirts. Southern belles.
grand BBQ at Twelve Oaks.
the first hula hoops.

This week's Haiku Monday is hosted by the
thoughtful and creative Curmudgeon's Complaint.
The topic he chose is: CIRCLE.

March 11, 1945...

I know I've mentioned
before that my dad served
in the Navy on the
USS Randolph during WW2.

As is so common with veterans,
he didn't share many details
of his service with his family.
He talked about learning to box
and getting his nose broken.
He talked about making an
attempt in track and breaking
his ankle in the long jump...
or, was it pole vaulting?

The most serious thing he talked
about for a long time was one of
his mates who died from alcohol
poisoning after a day of drinking
in the hot sun.
If he was asked where he served, he would only say
"in the Pacific". He mentioned being in Hawaii and
having no desire to go back. He enlisted after Pearl Harbor.

One day he showed us a scrapbook he made. The cover is a
piece of scratched plexiglass with some brown stains
near the edge. When I asked him what the stains were,
he said, "Oh, that's blood from the Kamikaze pilot
who hit our ship." He wouldn't say anymore.

Not long ago, I read the book "Flyboys" by
James Bradley. It talks about US forces bombing a
tiny (three miles by five miles) island called
Chichi Jima and eight pilots who crashed there, were
captured, tortured and killed by the Japanese.
This book mentions the USS Randolph as part of the
support forces in the bombing raids on Chichi Jima.
This is where dad's ship was when it was hit.













(click photo for book info.)

My dad's job on that ship was working on the
flight deck. He helped handle the "rubber bands".
Some sort of straps stretched across the deck that
the pilots had to hook on with the plane's tail to
keep the plane from flying off the deck when landing.
Twenty-five men were killed when that Kamikaze
hit the flight deck on March 11,1945.
My dad was one of the lucky uninjured.

















Putting out the fire after the Kamikaze attack.

















Aerial view of the USS Randolph showing the hole
in the flight deck from the Kamikaze hit.
That's where my dad was sixty-seven years ago today.
I wish he'd told us more.

More photos and chronology of the ship can be found here.

beach mulch...

every so often
the ocean regurgitates.
seaweed holds the shore.

Haiku Monday - Silence

when words die. when hearts
stop beating. when souls depart.
Silence takes life's place.

you won't see me or
hear me again. Be careful
asking for silence.

**************************

This week's Haiku Monday contest
is hosted by the ever sweet Foam.
Her topic of choice: SILENCE.

Submission deadline is tonight at midnight.

Can't hold my breath forever...

spending too much time
trying to make sense
when there doesn't seem to be
much sense to make.
spending too much time
holding my breath
waiting for the answers
turns me blue.
too old to waste time
turning blue
being dizzy
staying confused.
hurting.
pretending my name is
Vincent or Emily or Ansel or Georgia or Marjorie K
is time better spent.
I know none of those
names are mine. And
I figured that out
all by myself.

*******************************

My friends, you touch my heart, again.
I don't know what will happen here or how often.
If it bores you at times, let me know, make a request
or wait for the next post. Maybe you'll like that one better.
If anyone thinks that on-line friendships are meaningless,
well, they don't know shit.
Tell them to talk to me, 'cause if there is something that I
do know... it's shit.

Thank you for being here, and there.

done...

Nothing but bullshit here for too long.