Forrest Gilfred Parker…. born April 17, 1943, died June 14, 2006. Dad’s would’ve turned 69 three weeks ago. Seems weird that he’s already been gone 6 years. I’ve been thinking about him on and off since his birthday, culminating in the eating of aforementioned fried egg sandwich.

I loved my dad and still do. Our relationship, for those of you who know us, or me, or him, was complicated. A lot of time spent apart, a lot of time not communicating, but also a lot of love. He was a great kid of a man. I say this because he had, all his life I’m sure, the joy of a kid. He never lost it as he aged. It was fantastic. He wasn’t dealt the best of hands, legally blind, high school at the Montana School for the Blind and Deaf, a father who died when my dad was 16, but he never lost that joy. Amazing.

The thing is, what dad didn’t have in eye sight he made up for in musical talent. My dad was a musical phenomena. Able to play nearly any instrument he picked up, he chose the pedal steel guitar as his baby because it was the hardest to play. Everything else kind of came easy to him. He never became famous, though he played nearly as well as Buddy Emmons, his idol, but that didn’t stop him from playing in all kinds of bands in all sorts of venues. He played music his whole life as well. Famous didn’t matter, the music did. I loved that baby blue double neck. It was probably as big a part of him as his seven children were, and the sight of it always made me smile. I have great memories of listening to him play, laughing and smiling when all the right notes went all the right ways. He could riff with the best of them. Talented.

I also loved the way he ate, or enjoyed food I should say. He seemed to be in constant perpetual motion. He wasn’t a sit around and relax kind of guy. Projects and doing this and that. His blindness progressed to the point he couldn’t work, but that didn’t seem to stop or slow him down. He couldn’t see well, but he moved around a lot. All the time. I was always amazed how he did it without slamming into things more often. He also helped his friends a lot, like helping to put a new roof on the church he and my step mom attended. A roofing blind guy. We, all of his kids, teased him. He was a tease himself. And his laugh… oh my lordy. I could laugh just thinking about his laugh. A full blown giggle combined with a deep down in his gut kind of laugh. Uniquely his own and always with that toothy smile. Dad’s face glowed when he smiled. So he moved around a lot, always on the go, and consequently his food often was food he could eat while running around doing this or that. Loads of sandwiches, and always a cup of coffee, cream and sugar. We all drink coffee now I think, and I think it’s probably a genetic thing as drinking it seemed to be in his blood. And even though he was on the go, eating on the go a lot, he enjoyed his food. Fried egg sandwiches, banana milkshakes or better yet, malts, and sweets. I just remember the joy he got from it. The joy he got from most everything he did.

The same complete joy he got from spending time with his kids. Probably his favorite thing to do. And what a crowd we are. All gray haired, except for maybe Ken, the youngest, all with his playful sense of things, all with his corny sense of humor. The lot of us, if I do say so myself, are pretty darn fantastic. He was proud of us. And we, whether we admitted it to each other or ourselves, were all very proud to call him our father. We are still proud. So the other day I had a fried egg sandwich, and I smiled a little thinking how he would like that. He would like that I was eating it and thinking of him. He would like that I got a bit of joy from it. He would like that I ate it while listening to some good music. The whole scene would’ve been music to his heart. And for my dad, that’s about as good as it got. Music, food, and the cup of coffee I had to go with.

I love you dad, and I miss you.

This is an amazing story about beauty, perception, art, and what we see, or don’t see, as we go about our daily lives. Do you stop and notice, enjoy, live in the moment with something beautiful or do you walk past without a glance, without a thought for what’s happening right in front of you. What would you do?

Check out this review… and get  a little sampling of the joy.

NPR Review of Sneakin Out

I woke up this morning, a brown eyed girl who was born in the USA, feeling a little down. I heard the folks over at Donnybrook  said good riddance to 100 songs I, and many other girls a lady and a loser all happen to get more than a feeling from.  It’s not that I want to call them creep or suggest they have a black hole sun for a heart.  That’s not it at all.  I mean, come on people, can I get a baby one more time from all you on board the crazy train.  Don’t stop believin’ people!

Once upon a time there were people who said don’t speak, listen, hold my hand, jump on the love rollercoaster, and quit bustin’ my humps!  Don’t give in, don’t be a zombie.  What a wonderful world this could be if people just got over the wicked game of radio censorship, put on their poker face, and like the speed of sound, like lithium, let that sound wash over them.  It’s magic man.   Or could be.

What’s with the haters?  Don’t they know a love story when they see one or have they lost that lovin’ feelin’?  I think Jeremy or Janie’s got a gun and they are out for a super freak on a leash named Fernando, the fortunate son he is, who only wants to experience the feeling of how to save a life through the beauty of jammin’ in Margaritaville to some classic tunes.

Can you hear me people?  Or is the tubthumping too loud for you Luka?  Am I livin’ on a prayer?  Am I just a jump around pretty fly gettin’ the run-around?  This censorship, this banning of the music that knows how to start me up, taking me on a stairway to heaven, it’s wrong.   Am I getting too baba o’riley?  Do I need to chug a little black velvet, cry like a free bird, pour some sugar on me, and take it easy?  Maybe I need to take a moment and when I touch myself with a Kleenex to the eye, I should feel it in the air tonight… the feeling of fireflies, but maybe not… maybe it’s enter sandman, stage left.

I don’t want it to be so.  God bless the USA, I want the good times.   I want there to be a higher calling. If I had 1,000,000 for every time someone said I want to hold your hand, I want to know what love is, and I can’t help falling in love with these tunes man, I would be rich!

I feel like I’m making a Lisztomania here.  Completely freaked out by the thought of losing the don’t worry be happy feeling of listening to some great tunes because a group of peeps at Donnybrook randomly decided, in a drunken stupor, that these sounds don’t make them feel like making love anymore.  It’s like getting rid of American pie filled with apples.  It’s like watching grandma who got run over by a reindeer.  It’s theft, that’s what it is… they’ve been caught stealing.  They are a bunch o’ bad to the bone peeps who might just blister in the sun if they keep going on like this.  Robbing the tunes from the people who still want them.

I know this diatribe is turning into a bohemian rhapsody.  It’s just that the boys of summer and I, who were born to be wild, want to say that if this heresy doesn’t stop it will fade into you and the longer it lasts the more you will lose that Friday I’m in love feeling.  This is no celebration. This is no butterfly taking wing and whispering bawitdaba. This is a time to stand up, a time to light my fire and yours.   This is a time to give up Santeria, crow like a rooster, whip it into shape, and take back our airwaves.

I want to say to these drunkards, though the thought of this does make for a good thriller, that the ants are marching now one by one, the boys are back in town, and we are going to take the money money and run yelling mony mony. There is no kryptonite that can stop us cuz this is nuthin’ but a G thang gangstas.  I know without a doubt that when Stevie says I just called to say I love you, you, wastoids, will say I melt with you Stevie, and you won’t be able to stay at the YMCA, or look at waterfalls, or go walkin’ in Memphis again without wanting to listen to one of these songs.

It’s closing time on this missive, but I want you to know, you lit up fools, that you shook me all night long with this idea, but I know I wouldn’t be the gambler in saying that most of your body is a wonderland, your body of work that is, and I do appreciate it.  After all of this, isn’t that thought just a little bit ironic… yeah?

 

December 10, 1:20 AM, Pacific time

Sun coming up over the Atlantic.  Traveling in this plane, just having woken up from a nap laying across two seats and Karen (a miracle in and of itself).  Taking pictues with my phone out the window and listening to the Hip (80) playlist on the ipod on my phone. Bose quiet canceling headphones on.  The world is a beautiful place.

I’m having one of those moments… So filled with gratitude and wonder and love.  So much love I feel like this smaller body of mine might not be able to hold it all in.  Overflowing out of me as teardrops falling down my face.  It’s so quiet in here right now. All these people sleeping, watching the movie or listening to their own music.  All these people going somewhere…. To see someone they love, like we are, or to see somewhere new, or just making the journey home.  And here we all are together, on this plane winging our way across the Atlantic as the sun comes up. I’m listening to Good Life right now, and it really is a good good life.  Thank you thank you thank you thank you….

Today has been a mellow day.  My honey has gotten a lot of business done, both professionally and personally for us.  She and Kev are, right now, at one of our rentals looking at the dryer.  Seems it quit working and since we put it in there we are responsible for it.  If Kev can fix it, great… if not, we buy a new (actually a used) one.  Not too terrible.  I’m here, hanging with the dogs.  They are actually sitting in the living room on the chair looking out the window longingly waiting for Karen and Kev’s return.

I was just chatting with someone about the aches and pains that come with getting older.  My contention though is that yes, there are aches and pains, but the good parts about getting older are worth the occasional inconvenience of having an older machine.  What, pray tell, do I mean?  Well… what I mean is that as a person gets older they know themselves better, usually like themselves better, and are more of who they are… at home, out in the world, etc.  We become more of ourselves and more comfortable with who that is.  So I will take the stiff ankles (thanks to the racquetball injuries of my youth) because they come with a better me.

So what is all this alone again naturally stuff?  No, Karen and I have not had some bad break up (not gonna happen folks… ever).  No, what I mean is that I am the only PO in the office today.  Everyone else is at a training.  Apparently, according to my boss, I’m un-trainable.  Can’t be trained.  I accept this.  Actually, I think I have it better than they do.  It’s so quiet and peaceful around here.  Music, birds outside, great view, good book to read during lunch… I can’t complain.  I did go around this morning and take a photo of myself sitting at each of their desks.  After the round of photos I sent them each a text including the photo I took in their office and told them I had them covered.  Pretty funny.  Funny to me at least.  I obviously have no trouble entertaining myself.

And now, that song… Alone Again, Naturally  I couldn’t get the code to embed it, but if you follow the link you’ll get a little treat from 1972.  Enjoy!

The other song, I just looked up the lyrics, is I Need You by America. Here’s the video for that one… Gotta love America.