January 23rd, 2010 | 15 Comments »

Okay, I’ve never had funeral potatoes, but I might want to look up the recipe.

I swore I wouldn’t attend any more funerals after my Mom died because, frankly, it was ugly. But then, it was not Dad’s children that were being mean-spirited. It was Mom’s. I just now figured that out.

My mother and father had a marriage made in hell, and I believe his second marriage made him into the kind of man that gave his second set of children the father I never had.

I have to say that this particular funeral service was very healing for all concerned, and certainly provided healing for me.

I want to say a word about his second wife, mildly amusing OCD stepmother. She loved him without reservation, and wanted to be certain that his send-off was her last gift to him. She pulled it off like a champion. There was no drama, no sniping at others, and everyone just loved on everyone else.

She did her best to make everyone feel welcomed, and wanted to send him off with a nice family gathering. She put aside any differences she might have with others, and she did it because she loved him so much.

The funeral directors made a point of remarking what a nice family they dealt with. I’m pretty sure they have seen some train wrecks, but there were none in evidence that day.

Grammie showed up and provided some welcome comic relief. I can honestly say it was an awesome service. Look here for a creepily appropriate picture of Grammie.

I resolved I would say goodbye to my father in the same spirit which I met him. With the unrestrained love of an infant.

That is precisely what I did. I am so thankful.

I’m totally okay with this. And? That is my miracle.

And guess who was one of the first non-family members that showed up for the viewing? Horny McSlutty! Bonus. We thought he might be dead too.

Thank you all for your good energy and wishes. Know that I felt it, and greatly appreciated it.

You are in my heart.

October 20th, 2008 | 9 Comments »

I was having a deep discussion the other night about how psychic abilities go down the tubes when the psychic is horny. It’s like they just can’t inhabit the same headspace. Not helpful. Maybe it’s the same quirk that doesn’t get me lottery numbers. You have to be utterly relaxed to do psychic work, and horniness and greed are more exciting than relaxing, durnit.

My particular solution was to take the object of my lust affections to my mildly amusing OCD stepmother. She comes from old Irish stock and has a bit of the fey about her. And the cheap. She used to get my telepathic messages to call me, but would put it off until I wound up calling her, thereby saving long distance charges.

Back to the boyfriend-vetting. I would watch her eyes when I introduced her to my particular prize of the moment. If she was uncomfortable with him, her left eye would commence to twitching. Really, it was something to behold, bordering on Tourette’s Syndrome behaviour.

That was the bad boyfriend alert. Not that I always listened to it, because I wanted to take him around the block a bit first, if you get my drift. *patented innocent look #523*

The funniest part? With all the twitching going on, the bad boyfriends thought she was winking at them, and took it as an invite.

Heh. They clearly didn’t know my father well.