not in the mood

Yeah, I'm just not in the mood today for going backwards in time with bad memories.  Maybe it's the cold gray day, maybe it's the quietness and calm in the house, or the hope of newness coming with the new year just ahead.  I don't know.  I just feel like sharing something fun and humorous.  I did tell you that I can laugh about the past now,didn't I and with God's help I have gotten past those hateful, hurtful feelings. 
It's a different thing, forgiving---from---forgetting.  Forgetting may mean someone hasn't dealt with it at all,but merely suppressed it...it being too difficult to think about.  Forgiving means that your emotions can't be roused to affect you any longer in adverse ways, though you may be able to remember the incidents exactly as they happened, as if it were yesterday. 
I have loads of cool memories, as well.  And one of those is what I want to share today.  I remember when, (Will not start out that way very often,I promise.)  my brothers and sisters and I wanted to go outside to play in the snow.  We were too poor to own the proper snow gear for children.  So, we improvised.  We used dad's long socks for leggings, and two sets of mittens and/or gloves to cover over the holes in the fingers of the other set.  And to make our shoes stay nice and warm, we took plastic bread bags and rubber bands for our boots.  They worked really well for sliding on the ice ! 
On one of those rare snow-days from school, we bundled-up and took out the front door.  To our surprise, the snow had drifted all the way up to the porch ,which was five feet  high above the front yard.  All of us went running off the porch, jumping into the huge mass of that cold, white pillow of snow.  Soon, a snowman was constructed, as well as a fort.  And shortly after that, snowballs were flying everywhere.
There was a strange thing about our front yard.  It was tiered. A stair-step system had been cut into the hill that we lived on, to prevent erosion.  So, with all the deep snow that had come down the night before, the snow literally eliminated that gap.  Looking out across the front yard, all we could see was the level, snowy landscape; the hill's drop-off wasn't visible in the least.
My sister decided that it was firmly packed snow that had spread over the front.  She yelled that she was going to run out to the end of the hill.  We turned to see what fun she was having in the snow, but all of us gasped, as we watched our elder sister disappear from view, right before our eyes!  The snow had swallowed her up in an instant!
We ran to what we thought was the end of the hill, and saw nothing.  No coat, no scarf, no head, no hat, nothing!  Being the hypochondriac that I was, I immediately started screaming that she must be 'suffocating' underneath all that snow.  It was as if my sister had caused an avalanche to cave-in all around her.
The next thing we did was to yell for our dad.  Dad to the rescue!  It had snowed so much that not many got out on the roads that day, and so neither had our dad.  But , dad used any excuse not to work, but to hang-out and drink.
We were all breathless, after running through the deep snow to the house.   Trying to tell him all at once that our older sister had disappeared in the snow, through gasps and shivers wasn't accomplished much.  But by the fear in our eyes, he got the gist of what we were explaining. 
Dad immediately ran outside, with coat still in hand.  I remember watching him putting on his coat, as he went half-running, half-jumping through the snow.   He hollered at us to show him where she went over the edge, and we did our best to point out the area, though there was no sign of footprints or anything.   Just like it was water in pond, dad dove into the snowy bank, not fearful for himself at all.   It was like watching a snow plow, as he tore-up that hill of snow trying to find his daughter. 
After a short while , that seemed like 'forever' to me, he had hold of her coat and hurriedly found her head and brushed the snow from her face.  She seemed like she was asleep, but looked up at dad and smiled.  Later , she said that everything was dark, and soon she felt warm and just asleep. She thought she was dreaming ,she said.
Mom had hot chocolate waiting for us, and we all warmed-up before going out again that very day.  Snow was a precious toy that came around only at certain times, and we couldn't waste it's good use.  I hated winter , but the fun we could have in the snow almost made it all worth the stinging pain of fingers and toes.
We'll never know if my sister had passed-out from lack of air, or if she had hit her head on the cold hard ground, or if she had nearly frozen to death.  The first seems more likely to me.
It's amazing how a terrifying event can be so quickly shaken-off and one resume normal activities, especially when you're a kid and snow is all around you....see

wasted intelligence

Dad was an inventor...and a great one.  He insisted that he invented the vibrating bed before anyone else.  He sure didn't like it when he heard someone in Japan had invented it, about three years after he had.  Actually, that old saying--- 'Necessity is the mother of invention'---that's what spurred my dad on.  His dad was deaf you see.  He worked at a factory and had been injured by something there.  In those days, not much compensation was allowed for work-related injuries.  So, grandpa still went of to that factory job everyday.
Only problem was...he couldn't hear the alarm any longer to wake him at 4:30 in the morning.  My grandmother complained that she had become his alarm clock, and didn't like that new role one bit.  So my dad invented a motorized box-springs that shook his whole bed, whenever the alarm clock went-off. 
Only problem was---dad overdid it!  Grandpa would bounce off that bed and onto the floor, the second the alarm went-off.  So, dad tamed it down some, and everybody was happy.  Until the day that dad heard a Japanese man made millions selling that idea to hotels...for other considerations than getting 'out of  bed'! 
It's so sad that my dad had all these nifty ideas, and never did anything with them.  Like the time he invented a gas dryer for my mom.  She always had two babies in diapers, at the same time.  In the winter that was a hassle.  (We are now so blessed!  I don't know 'how' they got along in the pioneer days.)
So, since dad had dug a basement under our little 600 sq. ft. home to install the new furnace, he then cut a larger hole in the kitchen floor, made a huge hamster-like encased chicken-wire pen, and then he took-off from his motorized  vibrating bed idea, attaching a pulley system to turn that giant hamster cage.  The diapers went in there, and every time the furnace turned-on, the pulley also turned the cage, the diapers flipped and flopped...and soon mom had more freshly dried diapers for her  babies bottoms.
Dad also invented tools for his trade.  He was a mechanic, by trade, worked on cars and trucks, and he was an auto body man.  Dad loved cars, everything about them.   He invented tools to make the jobs easier.  Yet, dad never took it to the next level of patenting any of them.  Dad was our own Thomas Edison.  Only problem was---he never aspired to bettering himself or his family.  The bottle was his main objective, main goal, and first love.    So enough reminiscing for one day...see

not going to the amusement park

Another day...another memory.  Dad didn't like doctors.  Dad just didn't like spending the money on them.  Money was a preciously coveted commodity with my dad.  He wanted it all for himself.   Could say more, but that would be off-topic right now.
 Anyway, enough with that.  Consequently, he didn't like taking us, his four children, to the doctor.  But, mom was getting harassed by the school, and told him we simply had to get caught-up on our shots.  And since he hadn't let us go to a doc in a very long time, each of us had many shots to get caught-up on.  
So, off we went, after dad got in 'his' 'shots' for his own special moral support.  We didn't have that chemical support system available to us, though.  We had to simply sit back and accept them driving us to our appointment with terror. 
As the four of us whined and shivered in fear, in the huge back seat of that old Cadillac, dad began to make his promises once again.  Only I noticed that stern glance that mom gave his way, as he proclaimed the fun-time we'd all have at the amusement park, after and only after we marched in that doc's office, like little soldiers and take it like big brave men.
Yeah, he knew just what to bait us with, and that was all the incentive we needed.   We did march in there as brave as could be.  Stood there and took three shots each, as brave soldiers, mostly to please our dad...keep dad on your good side...well...and for the reward of that fun-filled amusement park, which we had passed-by so many times...and because it cost money...never got to swing into that place and enjoy what it had to offer.  But, those shots would all be worth it in the end.  No pun intended.
So, it was about ten miles from that doc's office to that amusement park.  And, as dad had calculated correctly, it only took about ten miles for those horrid shots to kick-in.  Mom knew this of course.  We were so ill and so feverish, aching all over, we all just cried all the more, as dad  passed-up that little amusement park, so he could get us on home because we felt so awful. 
His sneaky laugh was worse than that amusement park disappointment, though.  And mom's continued stern looks at him were enough to show me that, he had planned to dupe us from the start of that little adventure.  It's like that with an alcoholic parent, though.  The kids try to not say anything to set-off that parent on one of his tangents.  They will lie for and to that parent, and make-believe that they are so happy and everything is okay.  So long s dad is okay, it's okay enough for everyone else.  Doesn't matter if it's really okay with you.  Just keep good ol' dad happy and calm.
That's the way to play the game, you see.  Don't rile the alcoholic parent.  Find out what his/her weakness is for blowing-off and blowing-up.    It's not a matter of keeping him 'from' drinking.  That'll never happen. It's a matter of keeping everything quiet and still while they 'are' drinking.   That's the game...avoiding blow-ups...a twisted extreme to winning their approval.  
But then, another issue arises, which is a new and surprising cause for contention.  And the one that brought it on gets yelled at and ridiculed by the others in the house.  And all that one can say is that; "It never caused him to be upset before!---and I just didn't know!"  How could they have known?   It wasn't fair.  He never did 'that' before, when that one had said or did that certain thing before.   Hard to follow along with me on this, I know.  And that's the way it was with an alcoholic parent...very hard to follow...very hard to keep-up on his/her hair-triggers. 
Keeping account of everything that could provoke an alcoholic parent, keeping those hair-triggers in one's mind was exhausting.  No wonder we didn't do so well in elementary school.  Too much to think about.  People say don't burden your mind by bringing work home with you...but children of alcoholic parents bring the burden of home on their minds to school with them.
 So enough for today.  Anyone relating here?...see

my ridiculously absurd life with my alcoholic father

So today I feel it's necessary to begin with some precursors, and a prelude of sorts, concerning my style of writing.  First, this blog is meant for those 18 and older.  Second, I haven't bothered to pretend to be politically correct, because life is not always lived-out properly.   It happens one day at a time, with all the good and bad emotions in the mix...and not many think of the resulting consequences of their actions that will come back on them, to be explained or repented of, at some later date.  Third, you will notice that I use dots...dashes--- and "ditto marks" as I write.  Fourth, everything I write in this blog will be non-fiction...or at the least..the truth as I see it. 
Too, this blog will reveal my life... but hopefully, elements of yours as well.   So, dig-in-deep and search your inner soul for any evidence of lingering regrets, remorse, or otherwise revengeful memories.
It seems that alcoholism and gambling and other women/men just go together.  That translates into irresponsibility and lost paychecks that disappear with far less effort than it took to earn them.  The ironic thing is that for some unknown reason, catholics approve of all of this...minus the other women or men part.  But, then too, there is the confessional for that indiscretion.  Too, that lifestyle...or lack thereof...produces much insecurity,nightmares and daytime fears. 
With my dad, there were always those big, sad, blue eyes that could make me do just about anything.  Manipulation was his thing and he knew how to use it.  Take for instance fishing.  Yeah, fishing.  Dad had this thing about fishing.  No one else he knew did.  But, he didn't like to go alone.  So he'd flash those big baby blues at me...and for some reason everyone else could tell him "thanks-but-no-thanks for an offer to go fishing with him...but!...not me...wasn't even a question...last choice but always he could count on me. 
So off we'd go, drunk or not, mostly yes, drunk dad driving !  And we'd stay until we couldn't see each other across that lake any longer.  The sun would set with us waving and smiling from across the water to each other.  No words, no real connection at all.  Oh dad thought so.  But that's more of a man thing than a drunken thing. 
And we would not mind that we didn't catch anything.  Actually, I hated all the stuff that went along with fishing.   The tall grass that snakes could hide and slither in, the stick-tights that hurt my fingers as I tried to remove them from my pants, the worms that pleaded for life as I popped the hook through their little bodies two or three times, depending on their length, and the slimy fish that demanded to be released from that menacing hook in their mouths.  But dad had given me tha look.  And that's all it took.
More tomorrow folks...see

life, not fun with an alcoholic dad

Whoever reads this, it is my hope that it may be of some help, if you've experienced childhood with an alcoholic, sanguine personality for a father.   When promises were made only to be systematically broken. When dreams were formed from a father's lips who insisted he be believed, only to forget his own words at the first sip of his favorite vodka.  Don't be dismayed.  After fifty plus years, I am now able to laugh at the absurdity of it all.    Able to discuss that horrid childhood, with only a passing sigh, no longer a seething hate.  And able to view the gross fallibility of a weak-willed parent as a stepping stone to a more stable life for me and mine.   Many reminiscent posts will follow in the days to come, which you may or may not find humorous.  However, these will be meant to encourage all that... there 'is' life after alcoholism....see