Cleaning out my unfinished Drafts folder and found this. Apparently I forgot to post it, or at least I can’t find it anywhere.
Wonder what in the world distracted me that day. Oh well…here is a belated, off the wall, music post!
so here’s my convoluted process…
With this theme I immediately thought of a great song from the Sixties. No surprise there, eh? But I got it wrong, thinking somehow the word “day” was a part of the song. It wasn’t. It was in the Group’s name…
Good song anyway…
But WAIT!! There’s more. Then, I thought of a song I used to LOVE that I thought was about a great “day”, which is was…sort of… Here’s a hysterical, lip-synced video, complete with Beatles haircut tossing, and white go-go boots!
But THEN…I spotted this great news clip video next to the video
What a great DAY it was for music back then! I loved it all!!
I’ll try to stop now……….
Here’s my story…long, but it makes me so happy every time I tell it.
Hope you enjoy.
It’s Never Too Late….
(Branding VS Bonding)
“Maternity is a matter of fact; paternity always a matter of opinion.” Unknown Author
When I was two, my Mom and me found me a Dad. They got married and had my sister Eileen when I was three. They had my sister Barbara when I was six. When I was nine, I found out that Dad was not my first Dad. I don’t remember that fact being particularly bothersome. But when I was twelve and my folks divorced, well, that was definitely bothersome. When I was fifteen, being fairly exhausted by the role of Junior Mother to my sisters while my own Mom drank herself into oblivion, I left home in search of the rest of my childhood. When I was nineteen, my mother made her first (at least discernible) suicide attempt. (She took pills.) She survived, but only after being in a coma for as many days as I had had years on the planet. She woke up saying, “I don’t want to sleep anymore.” I thought she meant it and was really relieved and hopeful. Her narrow escape from death seemed to inspire her. She turned her life around dramatically…but only for a couple of years. When I was 21, my mother was more determined…no reprieve this time. It is much harder to survive suicide by gun.
When I was 24, and had a toddler of my own, the difference between a biological parent and a step-parent right in my face, I wrote my Dad a note. It said, “Now that Mom is not alive, you and I are not REALLY connected by anything, do you want to stop being my Dad?”
As of this writing, I don’t remember how he answered that question. I think it was something sweet and positive.
I do know that after he died in 2001, when we were going through his belongings, I found that 30 year old note from me, crusty with age, in a small box full of obvious treasures; like a very beautiful picture of my mother (his one and only love), correspondence from his father, and a very impressive letter of endorsement from his commanding officer in the U.S. Cavalry recommending him to West Point. My barely camouflaged plea for parental reassurance was in very admirable company indeed.
When I was 40, I received the following letter from my Dad:
When your mother and I got married, we didn’t have much money and you were very young so we didn’t think you would mind if we skipped the legal proceedings for me to officially adopt you. Then, as it does, time passed and we just never got around to it.
Would you think it silly now, at this late date, for me to make it all legal? Would you let me adopt you?
I think you know that you have never been any different in my eyes from your two sisters, except that you were my oldest. Your biological father left before you were ever born, marrying your mother in name only, at the “insistence” of your grandfather, so I knew I would be your only Daddy.
Have I ever told you when I knew you were mine?
When your mother and I were dating, we always brought you along. I knew from the start it was a package deal with her and that was just fine by me. One afternoon when we were out, I picked you up to carry you on my shoulders, as had become our routine. Well, while you were up there, you had a little accident and leaked all over my neck. That wasn’t too bad really. But when I went to change my shirt and tie later, I found that you had marked me. My white shirt and neck were stained a bright crimson, the color of my tie. I didn’t think of myself as a “red neck” but I proudly wore that red mark around my neck for several days until it finally wore off. I told the guys at work that my new little girl had branded me. That’s when I knew I was your Daddy.
Now, I would like to make it official if that’s OK with you. Let me know what you think.
My response to him was a no-brainer.
So, the Christmas after my 40th birthday, my Dad flew to Seattle from San Diego. My sister Barbara was there. My sister Eileen, who had rarely seen any of us since our mother died all those years before, flew over from Hawaii, and my 2 long time best friends, Lee and Linda, attended as witnesses. It was definitely official, taking place in a courtroom in front of a judge who asked both my father and I a peculiar series of questions. “Do you have any ulterior motives for taking this step?” “Does doing this help you to avoid legal action in any way?” “Are either of you doing this for financial gain?” etc.
Then the judge pronounced us legally “father and daughter” and leaned over his bench to shake my Dad’s hand. He said, “Congratulations on your new baby girl.” And to my sisters he said “She is your real sister now.” Then he thanked us all profusely saying, “Usually during this week between Christmas and New Years, we have nothing in Family Court except Child Protective Service cases or maybe the termination of parental rights. How refreshing it is for me to have participated in this long awaited and obviously joyous occasion.”
Judging from the things my Dad did during the time immediately before he died, my legal adoption was not the first time he had considered my sisters and I being re-united.
Although he had never uttered a single word of criticism or advice concerning our long-time estranged sibling ties, clearly he had thought about it. He simply carried on three separate father/daughter relationships. He developed his own connection with his 3 grandchildren and before his death he fixed it so that at least once more, we had no choice but to all three be together. I mean really together. We had to join up and cooperate in the dispersal of his estate. All papers had to be signed by all three of us at the same time. There was even plenty of money designated specifically for travel expenses from our respective far corners, etc. Clever, clever man. Either that or he was a real brat.
If Dad was nearby, and we believe he was, we know he got a real kick out of it as his lawyer innocently said, “Yes, I thought this was an unusual request that there be 3 executors and that all must be present in the same place for all procedures. This is not how it is commonly done. Your Father must have known that you three get along really well to put you in this position as equal trustees.”
I wonder what that attorney thought of the look of shock, dismay and wonderment that passed among my sisters and me in that moment.
Dad, I’m sure, was chuckling. I guess he really believed that it is never too late.
I love close-ups. I’m really hooked on macro and still learning the difference between the two.
I know in photography-speak, it’s about the lens but the only specifically macro lens I have is for a glorious, old Nikon film camera.
So these days, everything is just an experiment for me.
This is what my phone camera can do macro-wise. (I do love a photograph where the content is interesting, but impossible to identify.)
Sometimes, I miss what could have been a great close-up until I mess with the crop feature in my editing program, turning it into a close-up. Is this cheating?
Of course, there are those photos you never, EVER want to see any closer or bigger!
But there are the really fun shots too, like when the subject just cries out to be photographed up CLOSE!!
And last, but definitely not least, my favorite all-time close-up, courtesy of my dear friend Tracie!!!
Not sure if my choice this week fits the theme but I do love the melody of this song.
It’s just that the song, and especially the video, mean so much to me. It has been around for a while but I fell all the way in love with it when I heard it on an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. (Historically, this TV series has given me so many favorite songs.)
A couple of weeks ago, a baby, in serious trouble, was born into my extended community, and somehow this song gave me comfort. (She’s going to be fine but it was close…way too close.)
My son’s birthday was yesterday, and everything about this song made me think about him…his life…his path.
My favorite lines:
This is not love you’ve had before
This is something else
It describes the love I feel for my children and my grandchildren.
It’s just a beautiful song and video. I hope you enjoy.
I’ve posted this song before, just don’t remember if it was for this challenge or not.
I’ve always loved the song and all it says, but it wasn’t until pretty late that I found the love of my life, and he just happened to live on his own “ridgetop”.
So now we live in both homes…my humble, ancient, hodgepodge house in the country part of a city. And in his glorious mountain home, all hand-built from recycled, reclaimed, re-purposed materials.
Two versions…same song, different photography,,,both lovely!
Ridgetop by Jesse Colin Young
Well, I live on a ridgetop
And, Lord knows, I like it just fine
Where it’s windy and foggy
And quiet most all the time
Yeah, my lawn is pine needles
And my driveway is old funky dirt
And my front pathway markers
Are pieces of granite and chert
Now, my taxes are high
But I don’t believe it’s a sin
I’ve got hundred foot pine trees
That just love to dance in the wind
And a yard full of bushes
That turn into pie in July
Between blue jays and hoot owls
I’ve got twenty-four hour singing sky
Now, when I built my house
I cut six trees to clear out the land
But there’s thirty or more left
And you know that they’re gonna stand
It’s a squirrel sanctuary
They think this woods is their home
And as long as I’m here
I’ll make sure people leave us all alone
Yes, the hill that I live on is steep
And the road’s full of ruts
And the people who live in the flatlands
Think we folks are nuts
But the ruts in my road and the curves
Keep the tourists at bay
And it’s lonesome and peaceful
And you know I like it that way
Now, I work in the city
I think my job is a gas
And I know it’s good for me
To travel and get off my a**
But the nervous parts of each trip
Is the Golden Gate Bridge
And the road like a snake
That will lead me back home to my ridge
Ah, I live on a ridgetop
Yes, I live on a ridgetop
And I like it
And I like it .