Father Figure

When I was sixteen years old, I lost my father. I didn’t really understand that I had lost him until I was a few years older. In retrospect, I really might have lost him when I hit puberty.

When my parents got divorced, my dad stopped being my “dad,” and for a while he was a “father.” Yet, slowly, he dissolved into an estranged distant relative; the type of person you would only see during the holidays, or the odd third cousin you weren’t actually related to, but had to carry on an awkward conversation with for the sake of your grandmother.

What I lost in my father wasn’t so much him specifically, but instead it was the marred image of everything that I remembered of him - every memory he had been in - and everything that he will be absent from.

Memories of growing up… We would never fish again together and discuss the finer points of the Sunday morning comics. We will never wakeup early together, listening to smooth jazz on KSBR, while drinking coffee with too much cream. No longer does he take me garage-saling or camping or hiking. I will never again hear him call me “Poogie” from the sidelines of a soccer field.

Firsts he has already missed in my life: my first love, my first pet, my first big move, my first college degree, my first trip to Vegas, my first cigar, my first drive in the snow.

Worst of all are the milestones he has yet to miss, but will; memories we will never make. He will not be asked for my hand in marriage. He will not be there for my father-daughter dance or to walk me down the isle. He will not be there for the births of my children. He will miss me buying my first home. He will not see me receive my Bachelor’s degree.

I lost my father. Last I knew, he was living in Tennessee. I tried so hard to reach out to the man that called me “Poogie,” the man who was supposed to hold my hand and protect me from the world, the man I loved as “Dad,” respected as a “father,” and introduced as “Dave.” But, he broke my heart when I was twenty.

I wrote him a letter; gushing my heart out, I tried to invite him into my life with my words. I told him about work and school, about my love life, and about my first time moving into an apartment with friends. I was reaching out for that man I had once known.

My “father,” that strange man, used my handwritten letter as court evidence. He used my own words as proof that he was no longer legally responsible for my health insurance. He relegated our relationship to a financial burden. My health and finances were none of his concern.

Somewhere, I had lost his love. I had lost my father by his own choice and actions. I finally gave up. I lost an irreplaceable love.

Geriatric Delights

"Tacky Treats" revised into a different story!

Geriatric Delights

Well, I was thinking about the party Cheryl hosted last Tuesday. I had a ball, of course. I mean who doesn’t love pudding and pinnacle?

And I know you enjoyed yourself; I don’t think I saw you without a cup of Jell-O in hand.

But, that brings me back to what I was wondering.

Why is it that a great-grandmother can afford to supply that much prune juice, and yet feel the need to steal a walker? What? You didn’t know?

Well, I loved the sugar-free candies she served. Sweet Delights are a Wonder Walker promotional item. I had tried them before, but I now have dentures and am grateful for their hard candy line. My dentures and I wanted more information about the walker candies.

Cheryl brushed me away. I didn’t think much of it since she was trying to host a party and get a pinnacle contest going. But, boredom killed the old lady – and I was a borderline boarded bitty.

So, I asked her suitemate if she knew anything about them. Cheryl is not a homemaker. Piper was the one who prepared the Sweet Delights, so she still had the receipts with the walker’s assembly instructions.

That’s when I saw “Larry” written in blue crayon on the receipts. I asked Piper who Larry was, but she didn’t know anything about it. She just said Cheryl brought it all in from her knitting circle.

Ooo… Ambiguous sweets! I know. Thrilling, right? But, I have to admit. I was curious about this Larry fella.

Did you every meet Cheryl’s gay friend? The one with the speech problem that moved in with her friend Ginny? The same Ginny that knits in Cheryl’s group?

Did you meet Ginny? She was the granny in the puce.

I chatted a bit with her to see if Cheryl was back in contact with Larry or something. I’d heard about some of the arguments between Cheryl and Larry. (And I can’t believe she got Ginny to take that bonehead in as a suitemate.)

I was curious if we were eating Larry’s candies. Hmm... Larry’s walker…?

But as it turns out, I was wrong.

“Larry” in the blue crayon is actually one of the male knitters from their group. And when Ginny heard that we were all eating his candies, she started laughing.

Apparently one of the other men in their group signed-off on Larry’s Wonder Walker forms without his knowing. So, when the walker was delivered, Larry paid for it and acted like he knew all about it – Even though the whole group was in on it.

Senility must go a long way in those social groups.

Anyways, Larry left the walker in their meeting room and forgot all about it and the candies.

I’m not sure what persuaded Cheryl to steal them, or whether or not she’ll get caught, but we were all eating Larry’s candies on Tuesday.

How silly is that?! Wonder Walker’s Sweet Delights courtesy of senile Larry.

But what do you expect from a lady with tea cozies from Wal-Mart?

Dow Rode

Meandering your way along mist soaked dirt trails; the heady smell of wet cinnamon and eucalyptus clouds your mind. Within five minutes of exiting your car, you are transported to a world unmarred by man. It’s like you are in another place and time… Ferns shadow lichen encrusted rocks and outcroppings. Trees that speak in tongues long forgotten stretch into the mist above. In the distance you can hear the tap-tap-tapping of a woodpecker looking for its next meal. Dogwood trees add splashes of white and pink amongst the green foliage. Gliding along the trail of your choosing, you glimpse a hint of mankind: a cement tunnel is in your path. Although you know Mother Nature never intended this passage, she has nevertheless decorated the path with her beauty. Pushing aside a spindle of honeysuckle, you make your way though the tunnel…

Magically, you’re no longer in the forest, but on a sea bluff! The smell of the salt air mingles with the sagebrush. You now begin to wonder if that woodpecker you heard was instead an otter working away at an abalone shell. A wooden rail (borrowed directly from the forest) is all that separates you from the ocean. Gazing out, time freezes; there is a gorgeous deep blue lagoon below you. A waterfall is cascading from the edge of the costal forest onto the untouched white sands of the lagoon’s beach. There are no words for the beauty you have discovered…

To the right is a rocky outcropping, just begging to be climbed. You oblige and find the perfect perch to sit, absorb, wonder, and relax in the splendor before you. It is midmorning, and the sun is just beginning to pierce through the marine layer. A beam of warmth falls upon your back, and you feel as if God and Mother Nature as one have invited you to stay as long as you wish. You feel at peace.

Then, all of a sudden, you hear laughter and running feet. Two young boys spring out of the tunnel. The wooden railing becomes a jungle gym as the boys’ parents step up behind them. Muffled awe drifts up to your ears from the adults. Meanwhile, the boys have begun to dig their initials into the fence with their Cub Scout survival tools. The husband and wife share a tender glance, and then shuffle their brood further down the trail.

The momentary lapse into reality reminds you of other trails and paths yet to be personally discovered by yours truly. But, before you clamber back down to the path, you take a mental picture – a postcard for your memories. Then slowly wander back to your car, whistling a song you don’t know the words to.

Tacky Treats

So, the second assignment for my creative writing class was to pretend that I was one neighbor talking to another about what I knew about that Laura chick and her pastry theft. So, here goes it!

"Tacky Treats"

Well, I was actually thinking about the brunch Laura hosted last weekend. I had an absolute blast, of course. I mean who doesn’t love breakfast burritos and board games?

And I certainly know you enjoyed yourself; I don’t think I once saw you without a mimosa in hand.

But, that brings me back to what I was wondering.

Why is it that a woman can afford to supply that much champagne, and yet feel the need to steal a dessert?

What? You didn’t know?

Well, I absolutely loved the pastries she served. Apparently Butter Braids are a well-known school fundraiser item. I’d never heard of them before, and I have the feeling my thighs are grateful for that. But, my sweet tooth and I wanted more information about them.

Laura sort of just brushed me off. I didn’t think much of it since she was trying to host a brunch and get some games going. But, curiosity killed that cat – and I was a hungry kitty.

So, I asked her roommate if she knew anything about them.

Apparently Laura is not much of a baker. Nancy was the one who actually prepared the Butter Braids, so she still had the wrappers with the baking instructions out.

That’s when I saw “Tom” written in red Sharpie on the wrappers. I asked Nancy who Tom was, but she didn’t know anything about it. She just said Laura brought them in from her office.

Ooo… Mystery pastries! I know. Exciting, right? But, I have to admit. I was now curious about this Tom fellow.

Did you every meet Laura’s ex-boyfriend? The one with the gambling problem that moved in with her friend Heather? The same Heather that works in Laura’s office?

Did you meet Heather? She was the little artsy gal in the purple.

I chatted a bit with her to see if Laura was back in contact with Tom or something. I’d heard about some of the drama between Laura and Tom. (And I can’t believe she got Heather to take that bastard in as a roommate.)

So now I was curious if we were eating relationally tainted desserts. Ew. Tom pastry…

But as it turns out, I was completely wrong.

“Tom” in the red Sharpie is actually one of the Vice Presidents from their office. And when Heather heard that we were all eating his Butter Braids, she started laughing hysterically.

Apparently one of the other brokers in their office signed Tom up on a fundraiser form without his knowledge. So, when it came time to collect the money, Tom paid for them and acted like he knew all about it – Even though the whole office was in on it.

Chutzpa must go a long way in brokerage.

Anyways, Tom left the pastries in their office freezer and forgot all about them.

I’m not sure what persuaded Laura to steal them, or whether or not she’ll get caught, but we were all eating “hot” pastries, so to speak.

How tacky is that?! Stolen dessert.

But what do you expect from a lady with lawn flamingos?

Creative Writing!

This is my first entry for my Creative Writing class!


Sinful Sweets 1/24/2011 9:34 AM (Laura Latterman)


On Saturday, I stole a pastry. No, I take that back. I stole two pastries. Now, this is not like a morning cartoon show where the rascally rabbit steals a cooling pie from the window sill. Instead, this was me liberating two frozen and forgotten Butter Braid pastries out of the freezer at work. I would love to say I cooked them and gave them to a homeless man, but I really just served them to my friends for Sunday Brunch.

One of the brokers in my office played a prank on a fellow broker by signing him up on a coworker’s school fundraiser form for Butter Braids. So, when time came to pay for the pastries, the prankee was caught completely off guard, but paid for them anyways. But, since he was not expecting the pastries in the first place, they then sat in the freezer at work for six months.

My theory is that I was really doing him a favor. His forgotten sweets were taking up room in the freezer with no hope of rescue from permafrost. And, if by chance, someone were to have reminded him about the Butter Braids, then he’d sorely remember being the butt of the prankster’s joke, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth instead of the sweetness of pastry.

All that being said, I know that it was technically wrong to take and enjoy that which was not mine, yet I feel no remorse in savoring and sharing those tasty morsels of pastry goodness with my friends. As the saying goes: waste not, want not. The pastry was going to waste, and I wanted it.

Monkey Butler

Monkey Butler - Free Improv Comedy & Acting Workshop - Thursdays in 2011
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Hiatus

I appologize for the seeming lack of effort as of late.  Work and school have had me super busy, but I think it's my personal life that has kept me from working on here.  I'll have more time, now that finals are winding down.  :0)