On Rotation: Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon

When my dad passed away this past September, I became the keeper of his record collection. Im not sure how large his collection is but Id guess its a few hundred albums. Dad amassed the very eclectic collection from the early 60s until the mid 80s. He's got everything from Frank Sinatra to The Everly Brothers to The Doors to the Eagles to Frankie Goes to Hollywood. Having his records to play in my home has given me a lot of confort since Dad's passing. Music was so essential to him and his records were a huge part of his musical being. Even in the last weeks of his life, Dad chose to live his life with music playing in his ears and heart. Music was the priceless gift he gave his daughters.

Matt bought me a record player for my birthday this year and since then, we will pull out Dad's records and listen to them while we do our weekend chores. In the interest of my sisters (both of whom greatly enjoyed his record collection) I thought it would be neat to share our selections as we play them.

Todays first selection (chosen by Matt) was Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon. As I listen to the songs roll off, its undeniable what an iconic album it is.

Side one:
Speak to Me
Breathe
On the Run
Time
The Great Gig in the Sky

Side Two:
Money
Us and Them
Any Colour You Like
Brain Damage
Eclipse

Matt just shared that he would take this album to a deserted album. He loves it that much. When I asked him what his favorite song on the record was he didnt hesitate in blurting out "Time" followed by various lines from the song. That made me laugh. I am so oblivious to the lyrics of most songs. I always hook into the music. My favorite song is probably "Us and Them." I love that sax playing off the melody. The overall musical rhythm of the song is so hazy and ethereal and dreamlike. Its relaxing to me. Magical.

Sunday = Downton Abbey

Just a little prelude for tonight.
I love Sundays.

The Book Thief and The Thirteenth Tale

Although The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak took me a while to get through, I enjoyed it very much. I first noticed the book on Seamus' required reading list for school. Sometimes I will read books from that list in order to have some knowledge about what books to recommend to my son. The Book Thief sat on our shelves for quite a while before I finally picked it up to read. I knew the topic involved the holocaust and often my heart cant handle the brutality of that theme. I waited... and waited... and waited until I was ready to take on the topic. In early December I finally picked up the book and slowly began reading. The narrator of this story is Death and that sucked me in pretty quickly. The descriptions of him going through his routine of plucking life from humans is done very beautifully and with thoughtful description. I enjoyed that writing a lot. I was also pleased that this book focused on regular Germans in Nazi Germany and how their lives were affected by the war and Hitler's regime. While the Nazi treatment of Jews was definitely a theme, it wasnt the only one. The Book Thief was not a quick read, in my opinion, but I would absolutely recommend it to my son or anyone else for that matter.

After reading The Book Thief I was hungry for another well written book. I went on amazon.com and after researching top rated books, settled on reading The Thirteenth Tale by Diane Setterfield. I really wanted to love this book and I did for the first three quarters of the story. The plot centered around the mysterious past of Vida Winter, a popular and prolific author. Ms. Setterfield wove an evocative story that had me hanging on her every word. However compelling the story began, I realized 3/4 though that the ending was approaching too fast. Setterfield was either going to magically pull the story through to fruition or she was going to fall short. In my opinion, she fell short. There is no doubt the author is a talented writer and a gifted storyteller. It had been a while since I had been so quickly absorbed in a book. I literally didnt want to put it down. However, in my opinion Setterfield gave up at the end. The Thirteenth Tale's close felt rushed and finished disappointingly flat.

Me Gusta: Downton Abbey on PBS

Downton Abbey night! Twenty minutes and counting.
If you havent watched this mini-series on PBS, do! It has become the highlight of my week - my guilty pleasure. Season 2 started up in early January, but you can get caught up with season 1 online or on Netflix.

Happy Sunday.

Coming Soon: Reading Lists

I would not consider myself a "reader." I enjoy reading a good book as much as the next guy, but Ive known way too many true readers in my life to include myself among them.

True reader: my best friend, Linnea. When we were kids and had sleep overs, I would always (and I do mean ALWAYS) wake up to her reading a book. It didnt matter when I arose - she would be there, still in her pajamas, nose in a book. Her father was another true reader so Linnea grew up surrounded by books and reading all sorts of stuff. Madame Bovary. Flowers in the Attic. The World According to Garp. There seemed to be no genre she wouldnt read. Heck, Linnea even read our required literature books in school! I never read them, but she did. Thank God she did too, because I wouldnt have passed my AP/IB Honors English classes without her telling me what all those books were about. The funny thing about Linnea and her habit for waking up and reading is that I dont recall her ever bringing a book to sleepovers. She just picked up whatever was around and began reading it. Now THAT is a reader. There have been several times as adults where Linnea and I have slept in the same room and I still expect to see her reading when I wake up. That image of her is engrained in my memory.

True reader: Shar Jorgensen, the mother of another best friend, Kira. Matt and I lived in the small apartment under the Jorgensen's house and during that year Mrs. Jorgensen suggested to me many great books to read. She had superb taste and I always enjoyed the books she recommended. The rotation of books going in and out of her house was rapid. Mrs. Jorgensen was a terribly fast reader and very generous in loaning out her books. I recall her holding a book to read one day - brand new - and the next day she was done with it. That blew my mind because it takes me days/weeks to get through a book. Mrs. Jorgensen also had the uncanny gift of being able to read 3 or 4 different leisure books at one time. I literally can not fathom how she accomplished that, but she did... routinely.

Personally, Im addicted to good books. There are few things in life as satisfying to me as the "high" I feel upon reading a really, great book. The process of reading a well written book is gratifying too, but I want the ending to be good. I want to feel fulfilled upon finishing. I want to feel like the time I spent reading, ignoring everything and everyone around me, was worth my selfishness. The expectation I have for most books I read are quite high and that proposes an obvious problem. Every book can not satisfy. Even a good book doesnt always find merit with me. In short, I am a high maintenance reader or what my sister calls a "books snob." I dont read just to read; I read to feel alive.

I want to start posting about the books I read on this blog. I have a couple reasons for it. One, I dont always remember the books I read. I often know if I liked or disliked the book, but the details of the story become lost. Isnt that weird? It can be frustrating for me. I will often have a strong reaction to a book that a friend is reading, but when Im asked what I liked or disliked about it I cant actually remember. It would be helpful for me to write some notes for recall purposes. Im thinking that by writing about a book, something of it will stick in my head. Secondly, Im guessing that by writing about the books I read, I can narrow down the type of book I most enjoy and therefore chose reading books more effectively. Im guessing this could be super helpful.

Ive Always Loved me some Ghandi ji

My mantra for today.
Happy Wednesday.

Could It Really Be This Simple?

Once when I was a preteen or teenager, I asked my mom if she was happy. We were in the car driving somewhere; I cant remember where. I remember asking her this question because I felt at that time that she didnt seem happy. To be clear, I wasnt thinking in terms of her overall life. I was thinking at that moment with me. Or maybe, I was thinking in terms of her being a mom to me and a wife to my dad. She didnt seem happy. Instead, Mom seemed preoccupied, maybe even stressed. She was a working mom with three daughters. She was married. She had bills. I couldnt understand or appreciate all the important and, alternatively, mindless responsibilities that clouded her daily life. It just seemed to me that she was unhappy. Do you know what she told me when I asked her that question? I will never forget it. She said (and Im going to paraphrase) "Am I happy? ((5 seconds contemplation))) No. I wouldnt say that I am happy. I dont think of myself as being happy or unhappy. If you asked me if I was content, I would tell you yes. I am content. But am I happy? That's a silly question."

Initially I was totally shocked and disturbed by her response. I wanted her to reply "yes." I wanted her to placate my fears by assuring me that even though her life was chaotic, she was happy and therefore happy with me, my sisters, my dad and our life together. In my mother's typical, pragmatic way she didnt do that. But you know, by the end of the day I was getting a grasp on what she meant. Little by little I became slowly reassured that her response of "content" vs. "happy" wasnt such a bad thing. Being content with one's life is a really GOOD thing.

I think about that conversation a lot now that Im an adult. Am I happy? Gosh, what a loaded question. Is anyone? Honestly, my life is complicated. Here is a snapshot of my life right this second:

My husband is making tea from a new teapot.
My sons are playing a computer game together. They are talking with each other and seemingly strategizing on their individual laptops. They are not arguing. They are getting along really well right now.
My dad's old records are playing on our new record player - a birthday gift from Matt.
All four McGarveys are occupying the same room as the music fills our house.
There are dishes in my sink.
There is laundry lining my hallway floor.
Dont even get me going on my bathroom - ewwwwwww!
My old computer wont stay on for more than 30 minutes without freezing up.
But I am currently writing on my new laptop, another birthday gift - this time from Mom.
Its raining outside.
Hopefully my car floors are drying out because I left my windows open last night and the rain soaked my car - inside and out.
Im drinking a Peace Tea that my husband brought back for me while running his errands.
Matt is sewing a hem on Seamus' new boy scout pants.
Our cat, Omalley, is sleeping on the couch.

Am I happy? Hell yes I am and honestly it surprises me! This is a nice moment for me and I hadnt even realized it until I started listing it out. But who knows what will happen in the next hour. In the next day? Who knows when our bank account will run dangerously low - causing strain on our minds and marriage. Who knows when the rain will begin to cause issues with our yard or our house. Who knows when Seamus will start yelling at his brother, or worse at me or Matt. This moment of happiness wont last very long - of that I am sure.

Where am I going with this? I dont know. But you know what, Im going to get off this computer and enjoy this moment.

Happy Saturday.

So Not Funny...

Saw this today on perezhilton.com and it made the hairs on my neck stick up.

While watching it a second time I yelled outloud "Sophia! Stop staring down the lion!" Sheesh.
Happy Wednesday.

Girl, Put Your Records On!

When my dad died, I inherited his old vinyl records. Id been saying for the past 20 years that upon Dad's death, I would take his albums. Its kind of weird to think of that now that he's gone. I hadnt expected to be in a position to receive them so soon. The day I brought his records home was difficult for me. I was missing Dad and somehow got in my head that having his records near would make me feel better. It worked. Having his hundreds of albums close has been comforting over these past few months.

For my birthday this year, Matt got me a portable turntable. Ive taken to discovering some of his more obscure records, but today we listened to Led Zeppelin II. Dude... what an amazing album that is! It felt good to see and hear that album spinning in my house. Matt was singing along to every song. He's a huge Zeppelin fan - knows all the songs. The kids were humming from time to time while reading on their kindles/ipads. It felt good; it felt right.

My sister, Jen, will not believe it but there wasnt a scratch on that album. Not one.

It was a Sunday miracle. :)

Goodbye 2011!

I have never been so happy to say goodbye to a year as I am in regards to 2011. My fortieth year has not been kind.

-My dad died. My godmother/aunt died.
Heavy, heavy stuff. Fact: my heart is not the same as it was last year. Im not sure it will ever be the same. However, the old adage is true: time is a healer. Each day has been a little easier and the further I get away from Dad's death, the more possible it seems to continue living without him. Sad I suppose, but true. While Im on the topic of death, I went to more funerals this year than I have in any other year of my life. Just off the top of my head, I can count 6 funerals I attended this year. Two thousand and eleven has been a life taker.

What else:
-my family (mom, dad, sisters - not the 4 mcgarveys) went though a lot of yucky, hurtful drama this year.
Im not going to get into too many details but there was a lot of adjusting this year. Our family dynamic changed in more ways than one and the change has not been easy. We lost a key member of our family and gained others. Growing pains. I played a major role in part of the drama and Im not particularly proud of it. It is what it is and believe it or not, some moments I treasure came about on account of the drama. Ive always thought that my family was pretty tight. I question that now. Im realizing more than ever these days that family relationships are much like romantic relationships: it takes honest communication, respect and trust. Contrary to many songs and movies, love is NOT enough. When the communication and trust are missing, the relationship doesnt work. Our family hasnt worked well this year and Im unclear if it will in the future.

-I got a job.
The job thing hasnt been that bad, actually, but it has been a life changer. Im happy to be the PE teacher at my kids' school, but its been a huge sucker of time. Computer time is very limited and Ive lost some core friends because of it. Family time has also been limited. I dont want to think of how many fast food dinners Ive provided my family. Too many. Im grateful, however, for a paycheck and I love my students. They are wonderfully bright, curious and kind. Still... my body aches and hurts at the end of each night. I should have gotten this job 10 years ago. Im not sure I can do this for another 10 years, but right now I can honestly say that I really enjoy my job very much. I get paid to play with kids. I cant complain.

- James
The pearl of this year: my new, baby nephew James. He has been the only true joy 2011 brought. We had to wait until the last month of the year to enjoy his presence, but he is here now and life is good.

I Just Cant Seem to Drink You Off My Mind

I had a couple bad days this week. I know it sounds cliche, but the emotion seemed to materialize out of nothing. My grief caught me off guard and left me wondering when I can expect some peace about Dad being gone.

Friday was pretty hard. It felt flat from the very beginning. The day never gained any momentum. Work was fine and my students were great, but for some reason the day didnt seem to roll like most do. I didnt recognize it at the time but I felt numb, just going through the motions. Around 3:00pm I often get tired and Ive found that if I get an iced tea at Wendy's (which is right next door to the school) it will push me through after school volleyball practice and on until dinnertime. I was standing in Wendy's looking at the menu when I noticed the caramel shake I used to buy my dad after his chemo and hydration treatments. Out of nowhere it hit me like a monster wave - hot, heavy tears. I couldnt stop crying so I hustled back to my office, closed the door and broke down. My friend Erin walked in on me and when she asked what was wrong all I could muster was "I miss my dad." Erin lost her mom when she was 20 years old and she responded,"Yeah. That never goes away. I miss my mom too."

I had a big talk with Matt about what happened. Friday marked two weeks since Dad's death and Matt thinks its all still very new. I think he's right. Im realizing that Im going to spend the rest of my life missing Dad, but Im hoping that someday in the future it wont hurt so much to think of him.

PS. In regards to the title (lyrics from a Rolling Stones song) I did try to drink my dad off my mind last night. Saturday was my other bad day this week. It didnt work, but I was left with a killer hangover today. Not a good feeling. Im not going to try to drink Dad away ever again. If Im going to rid my heart of his ghost, its going to be through talking... not drinking.

Slowpoke

My dad passed away on Friday, September 2nd, 2011.
My sisters, mom and I were with him.
He slipped away from us peacefully and without pain.


I feel numb. I feel pain. I feel hurt. I feel lost.
I feel anger. I feel heavy. I feel alone. I feel dazed.

I want to rip out my hair.
I want to run until I collapse.
I want to check out and disappear.
I want to destroy something and break it down to nothing.

Its been three days and the void in my life feels massive and raw and unrepairable.
It feels like other things that were solid are starting to slip away into its abyss.

I want this to have never, ever happened.
This plan is unfair and cruel.
I want my dad back and there is nothing in this world that can make it so.

Oscar Meyer or Ball Park Franks

Last night my dad woke up in his chair, looked me straight in the eye, and in the clearest voice said "HOT DOG!" For the past few weeks, his speech has become very labored and difficult to understand, but last night he appeared very coherent - his voice strong. Jennifer has been caring for him around the clock and she came over to the chair where we were. He was looking straight at me and said it again "HOT DOG." Everything in me was ready to comply with his request. My mind began working on where I could pick a hot dog up fast rather than making one from scratch. I knew we had no hot dogs in the house. As I began to reply "Ok, Dad... I'll go get one at Costco" my sister interceded and said "No Dad. Its late. Lets have some ice cream instead." She was right. It was past 8:30 and my mom was already asleep in bed.

For a second though, I let myself believe that he was fine and that there wasnt any sickness in his body. For one second, I let myself hope. His voiced seemed so unburdened and confident and reasonable. His eyes were not tired and confused. He really seemed like my dad again.

Jennifer went into the kitchen and Dad's eyes looked straight ahead at the tv- resuming that cloudy stare. Then he barked in my direction "TOMORROW."

Goal for today: bring Dad a hotdog from Costco... maybe two.

Hard Times

Dad had a rough day yesterday.
He was taken to the emergency room late, last night and was finally admitted at around 5am this morning.
Mom and Jennifer had a long night at Tri-City. They are home resting now.
Dad is ok. He is being hydrated and has been given medicine to help him rest.
We are calling hospice today.

Another Story from Puerto Vallarta - but Not a Nice One

This story is one Ive thought of countless times in my life. Im not sure why, cause it ain't pretty. For some reason, it is lodged in my mind.

When we were five, my family would roam the cobblestone streets of Puerto Vallarta exploring the coastal town. We'd window shop, investigate the smells and sights of the large, covered markets and hang out in the plaza by the crown topped church. One evening we were all out walking and my parents decided we'd buy some bread at a panaderia. Pandulce and coffee is a common dinner meal for many Mexicans and when we were in Mexico we would often practice their custom. After a long day walking, my sisters, parents and I found ourselves in a populated panaderia and began choosing our dinner treats.

At panaderias, there are racks and racks full of fresh bread and pandulce. On this night, my parents allowed my sisters and me to serve ourselves using the oversized tongs and circular, metal trays. Normally this would be awesome, but on this day it posed a problem for me. Even though I had eaten pandulce plenty of times, I was not overly familiar with the different types, styles and flavors presented in the store. In the past, someone else chose the sweet bread for me and I either ate it or didnt. There were definitely types I didnt like and I wasnt really sure which ones they were. My sisters didnt seem plagued with the same insecurity I felt. Ultimately, I followed their suit and chose one or two I thought looked good.

Once outside the store we began to snack on our pandulce, but when I bit into mine I didnt like it. Just as I feared I chose poorly. For some reason I was very ashamed of myself and didnt want to tell anyone. I reached my hand back into the bag, picked out what looked like a normal piece of bread and began eating it. Boy was it good! The bread wasnt fancy looking so I must have thought it wouldnt be missed. I was wrong again. The bolillo I feasted on was Dad's and he was mighty pissed that I had biten into it. He began yelling at me outside of the store and my dad rarely lost his cool. It takes a lot for him to lose his temper and/or patience and on this day he did both. His irritation caught me off guard and Im ashamed to admit that I began yelling back at him. I think I was either in 8th, 9th or 10th grade. My parents can both attest those were not my best years.

Twenty some years later, the facts if this incident, which made a big impression on me at the time, have altered. When this incident happened, I took my Dad's anger very personally. I felt very attacked and ashamed that I had pushed him to his breaking point, but that awareness didnt stop my bad behavior. For some reason I didnt admit the blame and just say "Im sorry." Now when I think back at that night, I believe there was a lot more "psychology" going on than what appeared on the surface. As I said earlier, my dad has the patience of Job. It was out of character for him to lose it on me about something so small. Actually, that is not true. Dad's temper rarely flared up at people. Instead it was directed at smaller things - things my mom, sisters and I deemed insignificant. The big stuff he took in stride. The reason this memory is stuck in my head is because I believe it was one of the first times his fury was solely focused on me. I made him angry. He wasnt upset at the dog or the sprinklers not working or the baseball game on the tv. His anger was focused on me and I did not like it. There might have been other extenuating circumstances too. Maybe he was tired that day or the heat and humidity had gotten to him. Maybe he was hungry and had plans for that bolillo once we got home. Maybe there was extenuating tension with my mom or me or my sisters that I was unaware of. Its possible I had been doing things to annoy him the entire night and me eating half of the bolillo sent him off the edge.

Or maybe, I was a selfish, spoiled 14 year old who hadnt learned to be responsible for her own actions. I think maybe that was it. :)