Funeral scribbling
Got back last night from Salem / Roanoke. rhaps and shrewlet let us stay overnight at their place with no notice, and Rhaps even came down to the service on Friday. I’m really glad, too because it was one more familiar face for raininva, and I think that meant much to her.
Dad thought highly of both Rain and Starr, and I felt they should both be there. The family proved their great class by welcoming and supporting them both; I don’t know if I’ve even been prouder to be an O’Brien. Beth, Cathy, Benny and Jamie (old-guard Batron Starfleeters) showed up for the public reception on Thursday too. Interestingly, time_shark‘s name came up a few times, as it turns out that my dad and my dad’s dad knew Nelson Bond’s family pretty well, and I got to reminiscing with some of the Bonds and their friends about the Showtimers and the southwest Virginian fiction community.
My father was involved in fascinating stuff I never even heard about, stuff I can’t even talk about here. There was a long stretch of my life where I wasn’t close to the man, but I thought I had a pretty good idea who he was and what he got up to. I was right in some ways, and completely wrong in others. I wonder what else I missed?
My sister Whitney, of whom you’ve heard me talk almost nothing here because we too have been somewhat out-of-touch, asked me to be a pallbearer. I was honored, and I’m not sure I could have been talked out of at least trying… but this may have been the stupidest testosterone-induced promise I’ve ever made. I’m not supposed to lift over 25 pounds since the hip surgery; to be fair, I violate this on occasion, but usually with discretion. I strained several muscles, and nearly fell over once. Thank goodness no one said anything. At least I did no actual damage to myself.
Whitney’s one-year-old daughter Kennedy was with her for the two Thursday receptions. Baby singing and the throw-the-toy-on-the-floor game was exactly what I needed that day. Everytime the walls started to close in, I’d just look at Kennedy’s innocently quizzical expression, and things got a tiny bit better.
Friday on the way home, I stopped by my Mom’s, and she and Starr and I grabbed some lunch. While trying to dig up some Tintin comics I wanted to re-read, I found my old I.P.M.S. award for the Ether Flyer Thunderchild model, as well as some Pathfinder group shots and another portion of my dice collection. I can’t believe how much of my life is still at Kentland. I despair of fully sorting through it.
This too, is a bit rambly, but I’m getting closer to my center again. Tried to do a little fiction today, but the headspace isn’t there, and I’m determined to write something. I don’t have the luxury that a Conan Doyle character would of six months of “brain fever”. Bills gotta be paid, chores gotta be done, and life goes on.
And on a crass note, Dad was going to take care of my Dragon*Con travel for me. This isn’t an entitlement whine, but a note that I don’t have a Plan B yet. We’ll have to see what I can work out.
