It's Complicated...

...this Father's Day thing. 

It's complicated because for most of my life, my father, who's been dead now for 23 years, was an alcoholic. 

Not a mellow alcoholic. A mean binge-drinker. Who had a foul mouth, an even more foul temper, and was physically and verbally abusive. 

So. 

It's Father's Day. 

I'm an adult child of an alcoholic. 

And you might think, "Well, it's been long enough."

Sometimes, it's never long enough. 

As an adult child of an alcoholic, on my bike ride today, watching the families gathered under the park pavilions with their grills, burgers and coolers, I remembered. 

I remembered driving to the cabin my grandparents owned. While he was drunk. Or, maybe if we were lucky, he was sober. Then. Drunk came after. 

Or maybe, it was a good year, and nothing untoward happened. Those were few and far between. 

My father was a complex man. As we all are, I suppose. He grew up with a single mother - my grandmother was a widow with 4 young children; she never remarried, and worked in a laundry at a local hospital to provide for her kids. 

It wasn't easy. My father didn't have a lot of luxuries. He never graduated from high school. He joined the Marines, spent time in San Diego and missed action in Korea by a hair. He came back home, met and married my mother. 

I'm not sure when the alcoholic behavior started, though I can bet, based on some tattoos, it was in the Corps. I know he told me he started smoking before he was 10 years old. 

He was a talented cook. He was a mechanic. He got his GED. When sober, he expected us to do our school work, be polite to others, and have a good work ethic. He grew roses. He brought home a little sapling and it grew to be a magnificent maple tree behind our garage. 

When he was drinking, he was mean. He used language that kids shouldn't be exposed to, even by today's lax standards. And he used his hands and a belt. 

I was shipped off to my grandparents a lot of the time, growing up, just so that I was out of the way - which I wanted with my whole heart. I couldn't understand why my grandparents couldn't adopt me. I couldn't understand, as I got older, why my mother wouldn't divorce my father. Divorce would've been preferable. 

Adult children of alcoholics have a lot of issues when these "parental" holidays come along. I look at Facebook and see all the loving posts. I can't in good conscience do that. 

My father did get sober - about 8 years before he eventually died of cancer. 

He did teach me a lot. I can cook like anybody's business and I'm good at it. 

I'm enamored of old movies - you know, the ones which actually have plots and great acting. 

I read - he didn't teach me that, but it was my only escape. 

He also taught me the other stuff: I can come into and go out of a room, and nobody will know I've come or gone. I can't abide people drinking to excess. Seriously, Hubby really likes a particular winery/restaurant. I can't. I just can't. 

I know that, when you're driving with someone and you don't trust their driving, you shouldn't look directly out of the window (either the windshield or the side window). Look ahead, sort of sideways out the passenger side. It makes it seem like they're not as reckless. 

Yelling doesn't bother me. Yelling was my normal. Cruel comments bother me. The comments he made about me still resonate (hurtfully) when I see myself in a mirror. 

Never having friends over? Check. I rarely have friends over. Comes from the days when I never knew (yeah, I really did know, but I lied) how he'd be when he was there, or when he came home. 

Not liking parties where alcohol is served? Yep. Not a fan. 

Not drinking. Double-check. Even if I didn't have the medical conditions I have which prohibit drinking, I'm scared of the potential for alcoholism to be inherited. 

Control-freak? Yep again... I want things done my way. I'm the one who knows how to do it. 

Oldest child always in charge? Uh-huh. Goes without saying. 

On this Father's Day, I want to encourage adult children of alcoholics - or indeed any adult children of a parent with an addiction - to go easy on yourself. 

No, you probably didn't (or don't, if the parent is still alive and addicted) have the typical holiday. But it's not you. Truly, it's not. 

Don't let their addiction control any more of your life than it already has. 

I never fully repaired my relationship with my father, though I know he tried more than I did. I never truly believed he was "done" with booze. He'd made that promise too many times in my life. 

Perhaps that's harsh, but one thing this kind of growing-up does for you is this: you lose the rose-colored glasses quickly. If you ever had them. 

And I don't think I ever did. 

Happy Father's Day to those folks who've managed more than I have. You're lucky. You should know that. 

You Thought I'd Forgotten...

...Well, I haven't forgotten. I've just been nuts. 

I'm back. It's 2016. I'm making a promise to be here more frequently, and hopefully with content that will make you want to share this blog with friends. Selfishly, I'd love to grow my readership, but realistically - you gotta write to get readers!

Christmas And Post-Christmas Sick...

Well, I managed to make it through Christmas without getting sick. I mean I just managed to make it through Christmas. 

My mother called me 2 days before Christmas and told me she'd injured herself, and it was up to Hubby and me to cook Christmas Eve dinner for 20 people. Oh, ok. No problem. Except that I was already starting to feel something coming on, but I wasn't going to freak her out. 

Christmas Eve dinner this year was as follows:

• Roasted balsamic & garlic chicken
• Pierogies
• Roasted potatoes
• Salad
• Glazed carrots***
• Parker House Rolls
• Cookies and Potica

***There's a story on the carrots...***  So as I'm in the kitchen at my mom's house, I mentioned to my sister that "the last 3 hours have been the most insanely crazy of the season." A relative who shall remain nameless (we have a small family) looks at me (from a seat on the couch...) and says, "Why? What have you been doing?"

Yep. I looked at this relative and paused for a nanosecond and then said, "Only cooking the entire dinner. That's all," and then I stomped into the kitchen to cut up the potica. As I'm wielding the knife, I'm muttering something along the lines of, "For God's sake, does that idiot think this all happens with unicorn farts and fairy dust???" As Kid #1 comes in and hears me, he tells me to chill. He's right. Said relative is a moron. 

As we're at the table, I say to Hubby, "We forgot the carrots." Of course, there's enough food to feed an army. Life goes on. So does dinner. When we're packing the car up to go home, we find the carrots - still wrapped in their lovely bundle and relatively warm.Oh well. We were able to parcel them out to various folks who wanted leftovers. 

I started to feel crummy the Sunday after Christmas. That Wednesday, I went to the doctor. Lucky me: double ear infection, sinus infection and swollen glands. I've been living on squishy food and lots of tea. I'm floating in tea, actually. I'm on an antibiotic that had (let's just say for politeness) "adverse effects" on Hubby's digestive tract, but so far, other than a tiny bit of tummy upset, I'm ok with it. 

I spent part of the night on the couch, hacking up a storm, and I'm valiantly trying to stay awake. Hubby has run out to do some errands; I'm on a doctor-imposed (and honestly self-imposed) weekend of "rest, drink tea and shut up." 

So after Christmas but before I got really sick, my mom and I talked about it. Let's face it - she's near 80 and for the past 20 years, Hubby and I have been carrying the load. WHICH WE DO NOT MIND. Except that all the nephews are old enough and I do have siblings. And as my niece-in-law AND my kids have said, "It's really now time for us to do more." 

Next holiday, we're going to try a new system. And people are going to have to get off their duffs and pitch in. I really don't mind doing the cooking, but I can see that it's like learning to make potica: this year, the boys and the fiancee did more of the process because that's how you learn. 

Oh, recipes!!

                                  ROASTER CHICKEN:

Marinate your chicken parts (we used thighs, drums, and breasts) in a basic Balsamic Vinegar + olive oil + garlic + parsley marinade for 24 hours. 

In one of those ancient roaster thingies (seriously, this is what ours looks like - it was my dad's) -- or a large crock-pot, put the chicken and the remaining marinade. 

In the roaster, arrange as much as you can on a rack and with the pieces mostly in 1 layer. 

Add about 1 cup of water. Clamp the lid on and leave it at about 325* for about 1.5 - 2 hours. 

Our roaster is ancient. So we put it in the bathroom so we wouldn't blow a fuse. That's the best the bathroom had smelled in a long time...

The balsamic almost "pre-browned" the chicken. The garlic got sweet in the roasting, and the parsley gave it a bit of a peppery bite without being overwhelming. 

Of course, you use a bit of salt & pepper to taste. It came out tender and juicy, and unlike a crock-pot, it didn't fall off the bone. 

                                    ROASTED POTATOES:

Take the appropriate number of baking potatoes and, after washing them, slice them lengthwise into something resembling wedges. Toss these wedges with salt, pepper, olive oil and Italian Seasoning. 

Spread them on a foil-lined rimmed baking pan. Cook at 375* till fork tender. About 15 minutes into the cooking, move the wedges around on the pan. 

                                    MAPLE GLAZED CARROTS:

I used garden carrots for this and I did it in a large saute pan.  Melt about 2 T of butter in a saute pan on medium-high heat.

I used about 2.5 cups of sliced garden carrots - you can substitute baby carrots, halved lengthwise, if you prefer. Put the carrots in the pan, and add about 3 large pieces of candied ginger, diced. 

Add just a dash of salt. Swirl this around in the pan, keeping everything moving so nothing scorches. Make sure that the heat stays high enough to caramelize things, but not burn the butter. 

When the carrots are fork-tender, shut the heat off. Add about 1/2 tsp. of Saigon Cinnamon and about 3 T of pure maple syrup. Stir all of this to coat. Serve warm. 

Don't leave them in the car... Just a little piece of advice...

So I mentioned that we did potica, right? Well, we ended up with 5 loaves. Here they are. One was sold. We did a single batch of dough, and a double batch of filling, so it was a bit more "wet" than we're used to. I think we've just about got the ratio right. We're not sure, but maybe Hubby and I will do another single batch for Easter. 

I brought some to work, and everyone proclaimed it "really good" with another person saying that she might have me make her one for next Christmas. 

The thing is, the dough is fickle. You really have to have the right conditions, and you really don't know how it will react till you're in the middle of it. But that's part of the challenge. Now that I've done it for a number of years, I'm not sure how my dad managed to do it. Every. Year. For years. We sold them out of our house, and I think we sold 30 or 40 of them a year. It was insane. 

The Knitting...

I had gotten so overwhelmed that the knitting went to the wayside for a number of months. Too many months. I have a few projects on tap, and a resolution to myself for 2016: to knit more. 


I have a baby jacket on the needles; my "standard" easy jacket that I use almost every time. It's in Cascade 220 hand-painted, and yeah, it's not exactly "typical." Picture this with the huge red buttons I bought. It's going to be classy. The person who's the mom-to-be is kind of an edgy person - she's far enough along that I feel safe in knitting this for her, and I think she'll like the more sophisticated look. The yarn is wool, superwash, so it's good for a baby with a mom who's both fashion forward and a crunchy-granola kind of mom. 

Kid #2 got a few more rows on the afghan. He's pleased and he's anxious for it to be under the tree next Christmas. It could be done...

And I started a new pair of socks. I have 2 singletons and THE DREADED TEAL SOCK to finish, but "Bowties are Cool" is on the leg, I believe, and Opal's Watermelon is started. This one is in Sweet Georgia, Tough Love sock yarn, colorway "chai spice" and it's a Vanilla Latte pattern available on Ravelry. It's a simple rib. The yarn feels "busy" to me, so I didn't want to have a complex pattern that would be buried, but Opal Watermelon is plain, so I wanted a little something spicy there. This suits the yarn, I think. I wasn't sure how the colors would lay out. There's no pooling going on, as far as I can see. It does look fall-ish, but I'm going with it. The 6-row curl on the top actually seems to be too much this time around, but I'm going to make the second one to match. 

My goal is to have 4 more pairs of socks - PLUS finish the singletons and THE DREADED TEAL SOCK. I'd like to do more, but we'll see how it goes. A pair a month isn't going to happen with my schedule. 

Tippi...

Tippi and I have worked out a schedule with my former employer to continue to visit the folks at the university. It's bittersweet. I'd love to be back there, but life goes on. We're now visiting the library, and it's a great place to meet everyone. 

This is how Tippi rang in the new year. I wasn't too far behind her last night. Hubby cashed it in and hit the hay about 8:45 p.m. (which is what happens when you get up at 3 a.m.) and I was up till the fun hour of 9:30. But then I was up at 1 p.m. and "sleeping" on the couch, as my cough shook the house... 

She's going to be 9 years old in a few days. I look at the grey she's acquired on her muzzle. I look into her eyes and I see how she moves a little more slowly. And it scares me. But I have to breathe and enjoy her. Elkhounds, barring illness, live up to 15 years old. We have no real idea if she was 2 or 3 when we got her; we have no idea of her bloodline - any hereditary problems or the like. So we have no clue. 

But if you think about it, that's like us. As humans, we've got a fair idea of how our family's chronic ailments will or might affect us. But still - none of us has the number of our days. I guess that's our clue to live each day mindfully. You'd think as a yoga teacher and practitioner I'd already do that? Well, I'm as human as everyone else... Sometimes I do, sometimes a week has whizzed by and I couldn't tell you how. 

Random Picture...

This is an old abandoned church in downtown Joliet. I snapped the picture on the way to a meeting. And then I played around with the phone camera's features and did some sepia tinting. 

My goal is to bring the "big camera" to work one day and take a walk at lunch. The city has some architectural gems. You just have to give it a minute and look. 

Of course, the local preservationist wags would say, "Look quickly because they're tearing things down." And to an extent they're right. But there are still some good old buildings left, if you use your eyes. 


May your 2016 bring you health, happiness and joy. May you find the joy in unexpected places. And may you find the happiness in yourself. Every day. 

An Epiphany...

We interrupt the travel blog to bring you The Epiphany.

No, not the one that occurs after Christmas. This one was the one I had at 3 a.m. or so this morning.

Yesterday, we did the clear-out and clean-up of my deceased brother's house prior to getting it sold, since he died intestate (without a Will) and the house needs to be sold so that proceeds (if any) can be distributed to heirs. I say "if any" because, like 99.9% of 49-year-olds, there is some debt. But that's not the epiphany.

Yesterday was wearing, both because it was hotter than heck, and because you work like crazy to clean out; you find out more than you'd like about a person. You see things you wish you could un-see. You note the pathetic brevity of a human life, made even more so by the fact that he died just shy of his 50th year -- in the year 2013 -- of a heart attack. 

You realize that, in the case of a sudden death, someone (or in this case, several of us) descends upon your home, decides what's trash and what's either treasure or can be sold - and the great majority of everything we own, quite frankly, is trash. 

My mom was stunned at the trash in the back alley. All she said was "Oh my God." Yeah, that's a life that someone lived, reduced to trash that will be hauled away. We loaded up 4 vehicles with stuff that we had to go through; the few things that could be sold; stuff that needed to be returned (work uniforms, etc.); stuff that needs to be handed over to the kids... all that. 

And as I look around my office here, I wonder. What will happen to all of this? This is "stuff I really need" - at least I think so. But the kids? Not so much, probably. Who will go through my books? What will happen to the guitars (though I already know the answer to that one)? And what about my yarn stash? The CDs? We have boys; nobody's going to be clamoring for my evening bags or fighting over my craft stuff. 

Anyway, I wasn't sleeping this morning. Again. And I was pondering, because I met one of Bro #2's friends yesterday. A very soft-spoken guy, and I had to wonder. Bro #2 and I didn't get along; let's just get that out of the way. It was difficult to hold a civil conversation for more than a few minutes. 

But at his wake and funeral, the 3 remaining siblings heard about his "kindness," his "empathy," his "dedication to his job," and "how much we all enjoyed being around him." 

Really? Who is that guy and why didn't HE ever show up at family events? Why did WE get the loudmouth, bigoted, ignorant jerk who once said to Kid #1, "That long hair makes you look like a hippy fag - I'll cut it off for you" as he grabs him by the ponytail. For what it's worth, Kid #1 had (and still has) gorgeous hair, even when it was down to his shoulders. And for the record, when it got slightly below his shoulders, he cut it off and donated it to Locks of Love. So there.

And for what it's worth, I told him that if he ever laid a hand on my kid again, he'd draw back a nub. Kid #1 told me later, "It's ok, Mom. That just him." 

Anyway, who was that guy? Why did we not know him? We saw evidence that, in spite of him being somewhat of a ne'er-do-well, he was trying to get his life together. Maybe the Big 5-0 was staring him in the face and perhaps he felt some urgency. Bro #1 told me the other day, "You know, if maybe we'd had another 5 years, we would have FOUND that guy everyone was complimenting. But our brother died before WE could find that guy."

Was that guy always there, but we didn't notice? Well, that guy may have been there, but we didn't get a chance to see him. It was all bluster and bravado, and his oldest kid was (and is) the same way. Everything was always a contest. Always one-up, always bigger, badder, nastier.

And then, at 3 a.m. or so it hit me. 

College. 

Rather, the LACK of college. Between me, Sis, and Bro #1, we have EIGHT college degrees. Out of all the grandsons, 3 of them have at least a Bachelor's degree. Between us - the siblings - there's a nurse, an engineer, and a double Master's Degree manager. For what it's worth, I win the tally on "the most diplomas." But either way.

It was college. Bro #2 barely made it out of high school. For a while, he was a cop. That's a totally honorable profession, of course, but due to circumstances lost in the mist of memory or just Not Talked About, he left his police job after about a decade. 

But the rest of us went to college (as adult students paying our own way, but nevertheless - we went). I think that perhaps the bravado and bluster were coping mechanisms because he felt that he wasn't "up to our standards." The pecking order is, pretty much, that I'm the smartest one, Bro #1 is next, Sis is a very close #3 -- and then there's Bro #2, a/k/a "The Baby."  At least that's how it's perceived. 

Frankly, Bro #1 and I think that Sis beats us...She's a nurse, and really, for all the "smarts" I have, I barely made it out of high school Chemistry alive. I think it's totally awesome that she can save (and has saved) lives. I also think it's amazing that Bro #1 builds experimental airplanes. Me? I can write and I have a really good memory for stuff that nobody else either sees or chooses to store in their brain; I'm also pretty good at leading people and having disparate groups of people play well together. There are the usual things that can't be quantified that I do that nobody else in my family does, but as far as straight-up academics, THAT is one thing I can do really, really well.

And I believe that Bro #2 was distinctly uncomfortable. Maybe he felt like nobody valued what he did. Maybe he felt like he was dumped on as a child. Maybe he felt like all of us were successful and he wasn't, nor was he likely to be. Maybe - just maybe - he felt like he had to be a jerk to get any attention, because we truly can be a loud and obnoxious bunch when we get together. As the youngest in the family, might it have been that he felt that in order to gain ANY attention, he had to be a snot? 

I don't know. I will never know. But I think I'm on to something.

I still have a lot more work to be done; there's a whole big recycle tote with paperwork in it. I have to go to the bank tomorrow to set up the estate account. I have a few things that I have to document and file away. Stuff needs to be cataloged on the balance sheet I'm doing. I have to check with a Realtor to get the house up for sale. I have to chase down a bank account (evidence of which we found yesterday). Mail is transferred to my house. I had to put the utilities for the house in my name. We're missing a garage door opener and a car title. 

It's a mess. 

But within that, I have to say this gives me a good impression, if I didn't already have one, of the brevity of life -- and what happens when you leave it unexpectedly and someone else has to clean up the mess. 

I'm not saying that there's a "perfect" departure. Even the most organized among us will leave some little mess when we go. There will always be clean-up. But this? This is a really large undertaking and I am feeling the pressure to "fix" what I really can't fix. It is what it is, and honestly? It ain't pretty. 

But I'm going to do the best I can. Because that's how it's done. I know we didn't get along. And I'm not sure that extra 5 years that Bro #1 wanted would ever have begun to chip away at over 40 years of idiocy. But I will do this so that his kids get whatever little bit they can, and I can at least leave his final affairs tidied up as best I can do. That's all I can do for him now. That's all that's left.