Spring Snizzles in Chi-town

It's the 2nd day of spring, and Chicago celebrated in usual fashion with totally inappropriate weather. It's been dubbed "snizzle" (snow+drizzle), and it's pretty nasty.

It wasn't so bad this morning when we made a rare family trip to Metropolis, our favorite coffeehouse. By the afternoon, however, things started piling up. Luckily, the weather didn't stop the UPS truck from delivering my eagerly and long-awaited Singer Genie 353 sewing machine.

Here she is in all her lovely vintage glory. I have to admit it was the flower power pattern that totally sold me. It also got really good reviews on some sewing sites.

Ain't she a beauty? Now if I can only figure out how to raise the bobbin thread. I think I might have to take the Genie to Easter dinner for a lesson from Ted's mom...

Hope y'all are having more seasonably springy weather in your part of the world.

*Heart*strings

Today is the five-year anniversary of the day my dad died. Yesterday would have been his 69th birthday. We went to the cemetery with my mom and brother yesterday early evening. I hadn't been there in a long time. I understand that some people derive comfort or the fulfillment of some sense of obligation or duty by visiting their loved ones' gravesites. I used to think that I would too, but every time I would visit, all I felt was a big emptiness, so I stopped going except to accompany my mom on momentous occasions.

There is a part of me that is irreparably wounded due to the experience of watching my father die. In some ways, I've closed the door to that compartment of my heart that is made of a mangled, bloody mess. I don't talk about it to my mom or my brother or anyone else. I don't talk about it even to myself. And I'm okay with that for right now.

I happened to be driving behind this truck going down Devon Ave on Sunday afternoon. I've seen it parked in our neighborhood, and it always makes me mad, like what the f*ck do YOU care where I'd go if I were to die today? Can you do a scan of my soul and tell me whether I'd make the cut? I'd really like to write a letter to stick beneath the windshield wiper that says, 'I'M GOING TO DISNEYLAND, WHERE ELSE YOU MORON?!' It really annoys me when Christians use fear to coerce people into "saying the sinner's prayer."

Well, my dad DID die one night 5 years ago, so where did he go? To be with Jesus, I suppose, but WTF does that MEAN? I don't understand what Heaven is. I don't understand Eternity. I don't understand why every day I wake up and I still can't believe my dad's not alive. I still see him in my dreams a couple times a week, and he's so real that when I wake up to the reality that it was only a dream, it's like another little kick in the gut. Not quite the kick in the gut as when he REALLY died five years ago, but nevertheless, a little kick.

And yet, there is a part of me that can't help but believe that someday I will see my dad again. That someday, he will get to hold his granddaughter whom he's never met, whom he would have fallen totally head-over-heels in love with, more so than he ever had with me. I don't know how all that works out logistically; I mean, I would like Cadence to have a long and healthy life, so I don't know if she'd be a little girl in heaven or a grown-up version or what, and I'm starting to sound really crazy as I'm writing this, but it's my blog and I can be deranged if I want to, I guess.