WoolGatherer

Long Live the Queen

Words really can't express the sorrow and shock I felt today when I heard that Donna Summer had passed away from cancer at age 63.

It's a cliche expression, but I literally grew up with her music. I was a sixth-grader living in Atlanta, GA when Donna was first at the top of the charts, and I recall hanging the front cover of Newsweek magazine on my wall. It featured Donna's title, "The Queen of Disco."

Many were the hours I spent dancing with my sisters in our parents' basement, nearly blowing out my dad's speakers with the thumping bass of "I Feel Love," a song I probably listen to at least once a week to this day.

Both my my sisters sent me texts this afternoon expressing their sadness; I think we all feel like we'd lost a part of our childhood, part of our family. Donna's soaring rich voice had few equals, and it's sad to think it has been stilled far too soon.

In the past few years, my sisters and I were lucky enought to see Donna perform twice. Both concerts were phenomenal. She may have lost the bad-girl figure she once had, but that glorious voice could still tear off the roof.

She will be dearly missed.

Makes me want to tickle his tummy...

Cute little Hudson's wiggle nose...

Hunk noir...

Perfection.

Hairy goodness...

Um, I really, really like this guy.

I'm actually weeping...

To mark this magical day...

A repost of an oldy but goody in honor of myself, on this my natal day...

 

My father was once a Benedictine monk.  That has no particular bearing on my story, but I share that juicy tidbit confident in the knowledge that not many of you can say the same about your fathers.

I imagine, too, that few of your fathers referred to you with nicknames as strange and wide-ranging as those my dad has called me over the years. 

As this week comes to its welcome conclusion, I offer you a sampling of the nick-names I have answered to over the years.  (Nearly all of these are still currently in use, by the way.)

• Quincy (the name he had intended for his first-born before my mother put her foot down)
• SQ (for Sean Quincy)
• Kevin (my actual middle name)
• Barny (for Barnabas Collins, the vampire on the 1960's gothic soap opera Dark Shadows)
• Seany Barny
• Sean D. Barny
• Count (as in Dracula)
• Chunky Puppy
• Chunk "o" the Pup
• Your Pupship
• Fat Boy (NOT one of my favorites--forbidden since 1980)
• Macaroon (I graduated from Macalester College)
• Studly Cool
• Main Man
• Ivy League Bastard
• Son of the Pope
• Buckeen (a male member of the lower Irish nobility, alternately: an Irish bully)
• Head Boy in the Department
• Your Lordship
• Drug-Crazed Maniac
• Your Emminence
• Mein Sohn
• Puer Optimus
• Scum Sucker
• Scum Sucking Dog
• Sean Kevin-Cod Tuleremia Fokwatts Doola-Dilley (your guess is as good as mine, but he still calls me this at least twice a month)
• Sean Kevin-Cod (when he's feeling less garrulous)
• Kevin-Cod (when he's feeling inclined to brevity)

Not even remotely kidding,

Woofy...

Consider yourself at home

The first movie I ever saw in the theater was Oliver, the 1968 musical version of Dickens' Oliver Twist. I've had a song from that film running through my head for the two weeks since I moved into the townhouse I'm renting: Consider Yourself at Home.

That's what I'm trying to do--somehow find a way to think of this strange new space as my home. It hasn't been easy so far. It's finally starting to feel familar, but there's a long ways to go before it will feel homey. (Hudson has his own misgivings, but he's starting to settling in.) To be honest, I still feel depressed and lonely each time I drive up to the house, but I think that's fading a bit.

For the first few days I kind of hated it here. But now that I've got my snazzy new home theater set up and some pictures on the walls, it's pleasant enough. Tonight I ordered an electic fireplace to add a bit of cheer and heat. I'm seriously lacking in windows, and the ones I have are drafty. Hudson will be happy to have a warm place to nap again, too.

As much as I don't feel at home here, the old house no longer feels "right" to me either. In the two weeks since Darren moved back in, I've been over there a couple times to pick up stuff. (I only go over when he's at work.) He's bought new furniture, changed the pictures on the walls. It feels and (even smells) like a stranger's home. And I suppose it is.

So if my old home is lost to me, the only option is to make this place my home.

I realized that one of my problems is that I have no happy memories in this new house yet. I need to work on changing that.

For now, Hudson and I will just snuggle on the couch, and try to consider ourselves at home.

Shhh, my junk is reading...

Is that a come hither stare?

I really need to schedule a beach vacation...

Oh daddy...

Something special for Sunday...

Moving day!

I'm sitting here waiting for the movers to arrive. My world is nothing but towers of cardboard boxes. I'm already worn out, and there's a long day ahead.

Maybe the movers will be cute?

A chapter closes, a chapter begins

Hi. It's me again. Happy belated New Year to you, fine readers of WoolGatherer. I hope 2012 has treated you well so far.

This day finds me relaxing at home, looking out over the pond and lake--a view that I've loved for the seven years I've lived in this house. The weather is nasty, drizzly and cold, but I don't mind. Hudson is on my lap, the fireplace is burning cheerily, and I've got a Harry Potter film to keep me entertained.

I'm also surrounded by towers of cardboard boxes, evidence that I won't be here much longer. In fact, in five days the movers will come, and I'll be setting up home in a rental townhouse a few miles south of here. So, this is my last weekend here by the pond.

I'm sad, of course. Very sad still, that Darren walked out on Hudson and me, sad to be leaving the house I thought would always be my home, sad to think of Darren moving back here once I've left. How differently things have turned out than I ever expected or wanted.

Over the last six months I have been very angry and resentful to have to leave my home, but that anger has mostly faded. At the moment, my focus is on getting through the move and setting up my new house. The place I've found is nothing special, but I think I can make it homey. Besides, it's just a year lease. If I don't like it, I don't have to be there that long.

I know that the move is healthy for me. I know I need to start building new, happy memories in a setting that isn't permeated by memories of Darren and our life together.

I still don't know what to do with those memories. I find no joy in them, only resentment, pain, and sorrow. I hope that will change over time. I spent a third of my life with Darren, after all. I don't want all of those years to be poisoned by how coldly he treated me at the end.

My friends and family are, to a one, excited to see me start this new chapter of my life. I can't say I'm excited precisely, but at least I'm no longer suicidal, as I was for months over the summer and fall. There were some truly dark days, and I'm glad to have them safely behind me.

So, next weekend, I'll be snuggled up with Hudson in a new home. I'm scared, but I'm also open to being happy.

Darren is gone.

Fine.

I'm still here. I still kick ass.

And I'll be okay.

Much has happened

Two years ago tonight, I fell on the ice outside my house and broke my ankle and leg.

Much has happened since then, both good and far too much bad.

Here's to more of the good in the year ahead!

I like where this is going...