Life is but a fleeting moment in space and time. One moment you're making out a list for groceries or taking a leisure bike ride on a sunny day and the next, you're 60 years old, trying to figure out how to make four more weeks out of a day.....

A year ago this evening, I just hung up the phone with my father, hearing his voice for the last time. Live at least. I save one of his messages on my phone and every 21 days, I hear him say, "Yeah, this is dad.....just got this new phone and it seems to work pretty well....." I skip the rest for fear of tears welling up again. I keep it there knowing that someday, it may play out it's last remembrance, but trying to hold on to that last little piece of him. I didn't know it, this night a year ago, but I would never again see his prideful smile as I walked through his door with a bag full of groceries and my laptop. I wouldn't make another trip to take him ice cream and cigarettes. I wouldn't get another walk with him along the Highline Canal or another talk about life sitting in the cool spring air on the balcony of his modest one-bedroom apartment. I wouldn't get to kiss his forehead or wish him a good night again. I wouldn't see him make tea in the early morning hours while camping at the creek or hear him spout off opinions of how the movie "300" didn't get the facts right.

What would I have done differently? I often ask myself if I would have stayed the night with him after the Memorial Day party when he so obviously made up his mind. I ask myself if I would have stayed at his place longer, that Sunday afternoon, instead of leaving to come home for dinner with C. I wish I would have but I know it was not what he wanted. He had to do this his way, in his time, with his own will. I couldn't take that away from him....not then....and not now.

Accepting my father's choice is not always easy. Often times it feels futile....but I do it because, in the end....I respect my father for fighting the good fight and for allowing me the honor of being the last person he would see or hug or kiss or tell that he loved her. I'm blessed for that...no matter what the outcome.

Here's to you, my daD, Pedro Pistolero....and the love and pride you've shown. You are always in my thoughts and in my heart. I love you, daD!

The Moon Hits Your Eye

Every month, right around the 1st, I wake up between 2 and 3 in the morning, drag myself out of bed and ascend the oak-stained staircase C so thoughtfully built by hand. As I float to the kitchen window, I feel my arms begin to weigh and my stomach starts to flutter. Overlooking the backyard, I stand still; watching, waiting and staring. I survey the back deck and notice the moonlight reflecting off of the window seal. I close my eyes for only a moment so that I can concentrate on the silence. Sometimes I have to wait longer for the sounds of the ice-maker and furnace to wane, but soon, I find a center...a place I can call home, in the middle of my heart. And then I look up. No matter how many times I've done this (11 consecutive months now), the moon still mystifies me. My heart begins to race as I study the pewter gray crevasses outlined with darkened terrain; the accented light gray oceans of dust enveloping clouds of rock and craters. I begin to breath in deeper, so that I slow my heart just enough to hear the subtle beats inside my ears. And then I take the deepest breath I can and say out loud, "Hello Dad. Your moon is so sweet and soulful and it looks amazing tonight." Then, in the mist of the early morning hours, I wait for his reply.

I suppose I'll be waiting forever....

But I'll be there next month, and the month after that. I owe him at least that.

Nick Cage Dammit...you owe us an apology...again!

So, for those of you who are fans of my blog...and there are so many I see, thanks by the way.....you may remember that I have expressed a particular dislike for Mr. Cage in the past due to some poor decision making capabilities on his part. Yet again, this descendant of Hollywood royalty has partaken in a particularly long and pointless film called Knowing. This movie, depicting a coming apocalyptic event, is long, confusing, pointless and follows too many story lines to be plausible.

Mr. Cage has done this before. While he and his handlers seem to pick some good films...I really like Leaving Las Vegas and Family Man wasn't bad at all.....for the most part, the past couple of years have been full of disappointments and seemingly some regret although Nick continues to participate in these sub-par films, so perhaps no regret there. Not only that but the whole hair plug thing is just a sign that marrying that very much younger woman wasn't enough. Besides, when you house exotic pets, monkeys, shrunken heads and still find yourself in the poor house, you must consider my request to separate yourself from your current entourage and hire an agent and manager that share your tenacity for life and the arts, as misguided as you might be. At least you could try to select the good roles.

So, Mr. Cage...you owe me an apology for stealing from me 2 long hours of my life that I will never get back. Please contact me at your earliest convenience so that I might consider accepting your apology....the third you owe me in as many years.