not-so-sticky

Step by step, I walked Dad through the routine. "Empty your pockets." He emptied his pockets. "Take off your shoes." He took off his socks. "Now take off your socks." He took off his socks and looked up at me from where he was seated on his bed. " You're really enjoying this, aren't you? " he asked. I sighed. "O.K., let's go to the shower," I said. " What? But I don't have any shoes on! " "You don't need your shoes in the shower," I explained. He looked at with suspicion and a touch of irritation but he cooperated. "O.K., take off your shirt...now take off your eyeglasses...O.K., now I'm going to put shampoo in your hair," I explain as I dampen his hair over the sink and suds his hair. " Don't over-do it ," he directs me, sounding a bit cranky. His hair soaped up, I fiddled with the temperature of the water. "O.K., now take off your pants." " Heavens! ...

It's been a really long time since I've had a lecture from my dear old dad. But tonight he had it stuck in his head that I needed to go to college and get my degree (which I already have). My father used to lecture me a lot as a kid, particularly in the car. And he knew every single back road in Columbia County so I heard a lot of them... We often went for a car ride for no reason other than to ride around. More often than not, playing the car radio was not permitted. Looking backwards, I suspect now that he found it distracting, although as a teenager, I would have sworn it was an act of control! Sometimes he would reminisce about how different things had looked when he was a kid, how the strip mall had once been farmland, how unfamiliar it could still seem. Other times, we said nothing at all, and drove on in the silence. Interrupting our shared silence, he would hum the beginning bars of Don McClean's  Starry, Starry Night   which at the time I didn't recognize as an...

Liam slept in this morning; he didn't wake up until nearly 6:30. By this time, our pillows had been confiscated by the interloping children who were all sleeping horizontally instead of vertically, leaving little room for either Dana or me. I was only half asleep when Liam leaned over and kissed my head. Then he flopped his head back down on the pillow, smiling, his fuzzy hair frizzy from sleep. I was peeking at him, my eyes half open. Perhaps he'd go back to sleep? Liam sat up again and kissed me again with his sloppy drool mouth. Then he flopped back on the pillow again. It was cute. I heard the hall creek in the way it does when Grandpa Bob is wandering in it. It's funny how when you have lived with someone for awhile, you learn to know the sound their steps make. Dana and Lily were sound asleep still. Liam was ready to go. I can't think of anything sexier than when someone lets me sleep in...the only thing that comes close is watching men vacuum. That is very sexy....

Boy! Raisin Bran! That's stupendous! Boy, I love Raisin Bran! My father should be the poster child for Raisin Bran. If I marketed cereal for a living, I would definitely put Bob Brown's image on the front of the cereal box. He even comes with his own slogans. Raisin Bran! Wow! It doesn't get much better than this! This is all mine!? I've got to go get me some of that Raisin Bran! Boy, I love that stuff! Every morning Dad is overjoyed when presented with a bowl of Raisin Bran. He acts surprised and overjoyed all at once, espousing various odes on the joys of Raisin Bran. I wish everyone was as easily satisfied. Some mornings, he's more patient than others. Occasionally, Dad will try to get himself a bowl of Raisin Bran before the rest of us are awake. Unfortunately, this often doesn't turn out too well. Fetching the milk can be a daunting task. The refrigerator does not simply contain milk. There's a myriad of options presented when Bob opens the door. Confo...

Robert Allen Brown, Germantown, NY, Christmas ~ 1970? , originally uploaded by sleepjunky . Last night, I had this dream that I had uncovered a manuscript my father had written years earlier, along with a package of letters that were bound together with a rubber band. The letters I found were letters that I had saved which he had kept from years when I had lived in Wichita Falls, Texas. Unfortunately, I don't recollect mailing Dad any letters (although because I do not remember does not mean that it did not happen), and when I asked Dad this morning if he had ever written a novel, he plainly answered 'no' (although because Dad does not remember does not mean that it did not happen, either). In hindsight, I should have realized I was dreaming, because ever time I tried to get settled in some place where I could read the manuscript, I was interrupted. I could not read more than a few words before something random would occur. The last thing I remember was sitting in th...