Out of Sight, ALL on mind

I'm just not sure how much more of this Mom and I can take.  They said part of the reason for Dad going to Bakersfield, was to make it easier on us.  Well - hi, IT'S NOT!  He's on our minds all day -- and I feel terrible because I haven't talked to him since Monday, and I haven't seen him in 11 days.  I saw him every single day while he was in the hospital -- this is just not fair.  I feel like I've turned a blind eye, like I'm being ignorant, like when I'm out and about trying to live my life I'm automatically succumbing to this "out of sight, out of mind" attitude and it eats away at me and I feel guilty.  And then I call on Monday night and this is how the conversation goes:

Dad, timidly, "hello?"

Me, "DADDY!! Hi!" 

Dad, whining, "ohhhh get me out of here!!!!! (starts to cry)  take me home! PLEASE take me home!" 

Me, "ohhh Daddy, we're going to take you home. You're coming home soon, in a few days I promise."

Dad, "I wanna go home now!"

click. he hangs up.

Mom, "how did it go?"

Me, "ummm... not good.  awful. the usual."

HOW can this pain be beneficial?!  And yes, we ask this to all the professionals there, and we get "well - he's making gains in therapies, he's really doing well, if he wasn't doing well and we thought he was in danger we'd definitely stop this program..." etc. etc.  So what are we to believe??  We're both TERRIFIED every time we call or visit because he instantly starts crying and wants to come home.  so painful.  We're at the end of week 5, he still doesn't know where he is all the time.  I don't blame him.  We're in the same boat.  I don't know where my Dad is either.

I had one of those electric shocks of emotion today sitting at the carwash.  (sidenote: the carwash ALWAYS smells like chocolate chip cookies!  I have no idea why, it's so deliciously perplexing and inconvenient to smell cookies baking at the dirty car wash - but it does, don't know why.) anyway.  sitting there in a plastic chair on the asphault, sun beating down on me but it feels nice, watching the immigrants dry all our cars, I get a flashback memory to going to the Red Sox/Dodgers game in Boston with my Dad the week after my 21st birthday.  Three images - bam! bam! bam! then a heave followed by tears.  Dad and I sitting in our seats behind home plate decked out in Dodger Blue, Dad and I pushing through the flow of fans on Yawkey way into Fenway Park, Dad and I cheers-ing with our plastic cups of beer - our first beers at a game together (our first drink together, period) - and then sitting back and watching the game.  Then a fan came down and tapped me on the shoulder and said in a thick Massachusettes accent, "is this your Dad?"  "yeah" I say.  He reaches over me, "Let me shake your hand, Sir,  I hope one day I'm sitting here with my Kid and sharing a beer.  He's up there - he's 7.  It's just nice to see.  Despite the fact that you're Dodger fans and all."  They shook hands, Dad gave a laugh of pride with the words "thank you" mixed in.  The fan turned and walked back up to his son.  Dad looked back at the game but threw his arm around me and squeezed me hard.  That was the biggest, beaming smile I've ever seen on him.  

ohhhhhhhhhhh it hurts. 

Curious Case

[pretend this is yesterday, Monday, when reading. and then pretend it's last Thursday.  I really need to get more on top of this!]

I just sat down and looked out the window - the sun had just cracked through and yet, rain was pouring down. I seriously checked the roof to see if someone was spraying a hose because it was the oddest phenomenon.  I was blinded by the sun, yet these huge drops of rain were sprinkling down.  I raced to each window peeking out to see if there was a rainbow - I stepped outside but it was raining too hard and I had just blow dried my hair.  I didn't see a rainbow - but I'm sure there was one somewhere!  Hhhm - oh well, on my solo trip to Bakersfield two weeks ago I saw FOUR rainbows, one of them I was chasing all the way through the grapevine.  It was really incredible.  What was my point of all this?  Hmm. Just an odd phenomenon I guess - make of it what you will.

The Oscars are stupid.  It makes me really think how I would use my celebrity if I in fact got my acting drive into gear and really made it (which by the way won't be happening via USC's MFA program, the missing piece of disappointing news from last week).  First, I would totally pull a Sharon Stone and wear something from Gap and make it look stunning.  I am so so so disgusted even more this year by all the coverage of the fashion.  Not the fashion itself, I understand that there's a time and place for glamour and it cannot be ignored, but the coverage of it is appalling.  The fact that Sarah Jessica Parker's gown is deemed by these tacky, gaudy, entertainment "journalists" as "such a huge disaster" - it makes me want to puke to see where some people's priorities lie.  But I know I'm not alone in this, and I know it'll never change, and I really don't have the energy or heart to devote much more bitching to the whole thing - it just is curious and hideous distraction from reality.  Or is it the reality of it itself that's so ridiculous?

(I started this little paragraph last Thursday after seeing the movie.)  What an odd reflection of reality Benjamin Button was.  To have a life's worth of memories and experiences, trapped in a body too young to contain them, and the confusion of it all competing with your environment and people around you telling you differently than what your brain believes - sounds awfully familiar.  Benjamin Button basically had a brain injury - his brain cells told his body to age backward (or was it that clock Mr. Cake made??? I didn't quite get the connection) - and so Ben Button appeared an average old guy to everyone around him, but his mind was telling him the opposite truth.  I wonder what my Dad would think if he watched that movie... I can't imagine.  Regardless, it left me sad, achey, and depressed.  It also left me annoyed because seriously - why did they need the old Cate Blanchett dying in the hospital with Katrina hitting outside the window?!  The movie would have been dramatically improved if it had just been the story itself - not some cross between Titanic and Forrest Gump.  

Still Cloudy

The rain went away despite how much I appreciated it.  I love the way the clouds force a sense of coziness whether you want to stay in or not.  I enjoy that.  Monday, after lying on the couch with my mom all afternoon watching Sex and the City's in front of the fire and eating leftover Chinese food - I got up to make brownies from scratch - baking on a cloudy day is so theraputic and lovely.  We deserved that day of relaxation no doubt, especially after the three hour drive in the downpour from Bakersfield.  anyway - my point of tonight's entry was not to linger on the past weekend - but to ponder the disappointments of today.  I'm sure you're just itching to read on now with such a promising introduction like that.  Today was not all bad, but was bookended with unfortunate circumstances that just leave you feeling a little empty inside, as if we need to be drained any more.

Let me start by saying, with the clouds cleared and the sun shining this morning, I woke up with a bright energy - excited to take the dogs for an extra long stroll.  My ankle didn't hurt so much, and I even broke into a little jog every few minutes.  I decided to take the pooches to the stream up in the hills from our house.  It's typical that we run into a dear neighbor named Burt when we walk up Imperial Ave around 7:15am in the morning.  Dad formed a sweet relationship with this neighbor over the years - Burt almost considered my father like a son.  He lived alone, except for his sweet little overweight Yorkie - Geoffrey.  Geoffrey always accompanied Burt every where he went.  And Burt always had dog biscuits in every pocket of his coat on the off chance we ran into him with Melvin.  When Burt and Geoffrey first met Melvin and my Dad about 8 years ago, Burt used to make fun of Melvin saying he ate black jelly beans cause of the spots on Melly's tongue.  He would leave little surprise bags of black jelly beans and a bottle of scotch for my Dad as just a kind gesture every now and then on the porch.  Dad was there for Burt and Geoffrey when Burt's wife developed Alzheimer's, and later died about 4 years ago.  And the man and his dog continued to grow old together, alone.  In his old age, Burt doesn't quite understand the complexity of why my Dad hasn't been around lately on our walks or to check in on him.  And I hadn't seen Burt and Geoffrey in quite a while.  Well - this morning as we were coming up Imperial, Melvin spotted Burt's gold Lincoln continental car parked in it's usual spot.  He instantly perks up, and I let him off the leash and watch him race to Burt, then proceed to pounce on him and sniff his pockets knowing well where the treats are stashed.  Jenny, stuck to her leash, has no idea what this exciting encounter is.  I look to see if Geoffrey pops out from the car... but there's no Geoffrey.  I greet Burt, and cautiously ask... "is Geoffrey at home?"  "Coyotes got him."  He says simply.  "oh... Burt.  I'm so so sorry."  "yeah - it was pretty terrible"  his voice cracks.  I didn't know what to say.  My heart broke a little bit.  "are you thinking of getting another?"  I ask... trying to be optimistic.  "I gotta get better at walking them first."  he says.  Interesting response.  I wonder why on earth little Geoffrey was out in coyote range late at night.  The wheels in my head instantly start turning, trying to think of a way to be helpful to this man.  Maybe if he adopts a dog, by the time Dad gets back, Dad could help take him on walks every morning.  Or maybe they could meet us at that same spot every day at 7am and we could walk the new dog with Mel and Jenny and then drop it back off with Burt.  Maybe this could be Dad's new routine or job.  Maybe... maybe... ahh how do I explain that Geoffrey died? ahhhhhhh. too much.  Meanwhile, Melvin keeps pouncing.  "he's gonna clean me out!!!"  Burt says cheerily, as he searches for more dog biscuits, leftover from the Geoffrey days I assume.  "and whose this?  She's too big to be a snowflake..."  I laugh.  "This is Jenny...  Say hi Jenny!  meet Burt!!! Burt always has the best treats!!!"   Burt searches his pockets more.  "I'd give ya one, Snowflake but Melvin's cleaned me out!  I outta call him Ex-lax!"  I give him an awkward laugh.  "Cause he cleaned me out!!!"  Burt repeats.  "Aww haha, that's okay."  "well you all have a nice day now."  Burt says.  and he starts to walk away.  "you too, Burt!! Melvin, say thank you to Burt!!!"  But Burt's already started to wander away, tuned out.  And Snowflake and Ex-Lax and I attempt to continue on our walk.  I couldn't enjoy it though, the crisp, freshness of the morning was tainted, and we turned and headed for home. 

you know - that's enough for tonight.  I'll save the other bookend for tomorrow -- who knows, things may have changed.  

Happy Valentine's Day

yet another holiday meant to set oneself up for disappointment.  I didn't expect to kiss a boy this year -- it would have been nice, no doubt, reeeal nice, but I haven't really put myself out there enough recently to garner a valentine -- I've been a little preoccupied.  This whole Dad drama sure put a damper on my social life, not just timewise, but effort-wise.  Geographically, I'm separated again from social circles I used to frequent on any given weeknight or weekend.  Emotionally, I've stayed so involved with my Dad and Mom that I've fallen out of touch with people and out of practice in what it takes to muster up the energy to go out and be in a crowd.  It is quite exhausting, even in a normal living situation.   And I miss that - I miss seeing my wonderful variety of friends every other night.  And I guess what I'm getting at in this is that I need to start to step it up again - I need to take full advantage of the next 5 weeks of freedom - and make the effort more, and immerse myself in my old circles again, and get back in the social groove, because it's truly re-energizing.  (I can do it alone... but it helps with a little push! :)

I spent today finishing up my grad school auditions - which went surprisingly well and were truly encouraging and inspiring.  Both the auditioners from USC and UCI were so gracious and kind, I felt so comfortable, and I honestly feel like I did a pretty good performance.  My fellow auditionees were extremely cool as well - not your typical annoying dark, heavy breathing, persistant stretching, voice tuning, competetive theatre crowd you often can be immersed with in these situations - but these people were really down to earth and lovely.  It was an all around good vibe all day - my confidence was rockin' to the point that I almost asked this cute boy Brian that I chatted with while waiting in the wings what he was doing for V-day tonight... but I'm just not quite that bold yet. :)  baby steps, Anne.  baby steps.  

I came home to sweet, Jenny.  We cuddled on the couch.  My little furry valentine.  Meanwhile - up the 5 somewhere in Bakersfield, Mom, Dad, and Sarah were at Black Angus sharing a most unique Valentine's Day dinner.  I wished I could join them.  But I'll be heading up tomorrow morning with Jenny - to meet Mom and Melvin at the Double Tree for the rest of the weekend. Everyone sounded exceptionally positive over the phone this evening... Mom said she sees something happening... changing... the wheels are really turning, and it's different.  I can't wait to get there and see for myself, and it's only been three weeks... five more to go.

 

I can tell my brain is tired.  But I wanted to send little words of love out on this Valentine's Day.  love to my family, love to my friends, love to my dogs, love to my acquaintances, love to my readers, love to those around me, love to those around them, love to those who make chocolate, love to those who make wine, love to those who make theatre, love to those who heal people, love to those who research brains, love to those who caretake, love to those who clean, love to those who give, love to those who make a difference, love to those who help, love to those who understand, love to those that sacrifice, love to those who take risks, love to those who motivate, love to those who play, love to those who take pictures, love to those who take time, love to those who sing, love to those who hug, love to those who reach out... love to those who love.  I think that covers everyone. xoxox

Bridge Over Troubled Water

My parents song.  It's playing on my newly updated iTunes right now.  Mom and I went out to dinner tonight.  And she said, "I'm starting to accept, that the Daddy we knew, is never going to be the same again.... I mean, I know he'll get better, I have no doubt he'll improve, no doubt.  But he won't be the same."  I said, "I remember that Daddy more lately, since he's been gone, I'm remembering more how he was before this."  And then I started to agree with her -- that I'm accepting that he won't come back the same... maybe he'll be like 80% what he was.  And then I immediately slammed my wine glass back down on the table and said, "NO. nevermind.  I take that back.  I don't mean that.  I can't mean that.  Because the moment I accept a fate that he won't ever return to be the best he can be again then that instantly kills that dream and possibility.  And if I did that long ago Dad would be dead today.  So yes.  He will come back, more than just 80%."  He will.  And hi - he will read this.  Did ya ever think about that?  He will read this one day.  It's his story, and he's the star.  It's only fair.  God do I miss him.  It's truly the weirdest longing - because, he's not dead, there's no sense of finality or closure - and I can't just talk to the air and hope he hears it - all I can do is send positive energy and love and hope to his spirit that was before June 27th, and try to pull that energy back into his body, which is far away in Bakersfield and a million other places mixed up in his mind.  Well - I just cried.    

(This is one of my favorite pictures - it lives on Dad's blackberry.  And now that I'm almost iPhoto savvy I'll aim to upload more fun pix. :)  

Hooray!!!

don't get too too excited - the enthusiasm is strictly for the purchase of my NEW LAPTOP AND FREE PRINTER!!!! woooo!!! I got a brand new pretty white MacBook!  Dad is cringing right now somewhere in Bakersfield.  He always frowned upon anything Apple and consistently purchased P.C.s.  Well, sorry about it Dad, but the mother board flipped out on the HP and it's somewhere receiving technical therapy and hopefully under warranty.  whatev.  I'm over it.  I'm on to cleaner, brighter, and better.  I'm sure many of you have seen that Sex & the City episode where Carrie's motherboard dies in her computer?   And the whole episode revolves around the theme of "mothers."  Miranda's mom dies from a heart attack and they have to attend her funeral in Pennsylvania.  And when our motherboard died here, I felt like I was wrapped up in my own little episode of "My Motherboard, My Self."  Between my Mom's tears, my own, and then the computer - sheesh!  It also got me thinking about one particular Mother I haven't paid much mention to in this blog as of yet, but who means so so much to me.  Mimi.  My mom's mom - who passed away just six and a half months ago.  I'm so grateful that she has not had to bare the weight of the pain our family has been hit with, the universe was working in strange ways the day it set a stroke upon her - while my Dad was in a coma.  But that's a detailed story for another time and page.  I'll let the birth of my new motherboard be a tribute to Mimi.  Below is what I spoke at her funeral service - words from a lucky, and grateful granddaughter.  

Put your shoes on Lucy don't you know you're in the city, put yours hoes on Lucy... I forget the rest!  Mimi, how does it go?  Angie?  Katie?  can you girls finish it?  hmm... mimi used to sing that to us... as we put ourselves together for the day - a typical weekend with Mimi and Goen.  Katie and I would sleep over, wake up and sneak into the kitchen to see Mimi behind the counter and Goen behind the paper, a little bowl of prunes in front of him.  After teasing and tickling and toast, we'd start our day.  We'd put our shoes on, we'd play outside, we'd go ride the marry-go-round at the mall while Mimi came and sang at this church, and we'd come back to Mimi making us sandwiches for lunch.  Lunch was followed by total immersion into Mimi's make-up, an all around free-for-all where Katie and I painted our eyebrows, cheeks, lips, anything that Mimi did that could make us one day as beautiful as she. (she? her? - I didn't catch the grammar gene.)  That was "typical weekend with grandparents: Mimi and Goen, Tradition #1."  Cut to a few days before Christmas Eve, a most special day, devoted to just me, my mom, and Mimi.  A trip to South Coast Plaza, every year for the past 22 years.  TWENTY TWO YEARS!  It started with Mom and I spending the night at 4440 Faculty with Mimi and Goen, then waking up in the morning and embarking on the most epic day of shopping ever, always starting at Nordstroms - so Mimi could buy a pants suit for Mom, meanwhile I'd try and pick out an "adorable" pair of shoes that she just had to buy for me.  Then we'd venture into the plaza - gaze at that beautiful tree - then hit the stores as we pieced together the presents for our family gift exchange on Christmas Day.  I went from sitting and crying on Santa's lap to sitting and crying over a bottle of Pinot Grigio split between the three of us, Mimi squeezing my hand across the table, and watching our eyes dart from generation to generation - sharing stories of our phenomenal family, Mimi's past, my future, and everything in between.  A precious once a year outing only my Mom, Mimi, and I can share.  the one and only time my mother liked to shop.  That was Mimi Tradition #2.  Nine months following Christmas, the matriarch and her Goen offspring gather at Alisol.  A tradition sparked by Cowboy Goen - where there's nothing but fun, family, and food on a farm for three days.  An amazing excursion I think we all looked forward to more than we'd admit.  For truly, every year on that first Friday - we all look at each other and say, "WOW! are we back again already?"  and three days later "it always goes by SO fast!"  And through the horseback rides, the lounging at the pool, the endless milkshakes, and endless bottles of wine, the late nights at the ranch bar, running up the tab with cosmopolitans, which got more expensive as we cousins crossed the 21-year mark... or didn't.  And through every moment - she was sitting there - enamoured and engaged, watching us, and admiring with endless pride the remarkable family she created.  That "Mega-watt Mimi smile" in turn spread across every Goen girls face, that vibrant, cheek to cheek smile that made me feel so so so special.   That strong, charismatic, and contagious break of laughter - rings through all of us.  That was Mimi's ultimate tradition.  To laugh, cry, smile, and be together.  We are her passion, and the only other passion of hers that can hold a candle to her family, is music.  So Mimi, in accordance with your will, I hope I fulfilled the part of "Brief anecdotes and music, music, music."  Let her music, tradition, and passion carry our Mimi through with us, for the rest of our lives.  To the most magnificent grandmother.  I love you.

TRUST

I had quite a little journey this weekend - and way too much thinking time on the 5 freeway all by myself. Friday morning El and I (that's my Prius' name - short for "electric" :) hit the road in the rain to spend the day in Bakersfield with Dad, and follow him through his therapies. After a terrifying 2 hours through a torrential downpour in which I swore El was going to fly up and spin out everytime we hit a puddle, I finally arrived at the clinic, shaking and thankful for my life. I walked into the maze that is CNS Bakersfield -- down the busy hallways -- scanning the people, observing the variety of clients and their caretakers at their side. I felt quite reassured at the variety of clientel, there was a great mix of people - young and old, people who Dad could easily be buddies with - not like he ever had a problem making friends with anyone, but I just want him to feel equal amidst the population there. He was excited to see me - but I know a little thrown. It was strange. He closed off during therapies, and both the speech therapist and the occupational said, "come on David, you've done better than that before", which makes me think rather than trying to impress me by doing really well - he felt silly for having to do such menial assignments in front of me, and his pride and insight kicked in and got the best of him. That right there is his biggest deficit. The fact that his inherent impulse for competition and success in whatever he's doing, is telling him that he's smarter than this and knows his shit - while his brain is trying to unpuzzle the task - is why he's not succeeding at normal human capacity. If he could let this pride down, let his guard down, and trust the situation - he'll succeed and strive to be at his best.

My faith was renewed when we went into counseling with Joe, the 6 foot 5 Asian man with a big belly, barely busting the buttons of his green Hawaiian shirt, a man so friendly, gracious, and delightfully eccentric, Dad is instant buds with him and introduces me right away. We sit down in Joe's office, a cluttered accumulation of his 28 years of doing this, and Joe gets me up to speed on what he and Dad have been working on together. And basically, they talk. And Dad trusts him. And they are friends. Joe tries to put in perspective for me what Dad is going through, something I already pretty completely understood, but I'll relay this on to you...

Joe: Imagine that I said to you, "that's a great yellow shirt!"
(my shirt is a vibrant purple)
Me: okay... but it's purple.
Joe: Nope, no it's yellow. trust me.
(I look down)
Me: no it's not, it's purple.
Joe: No Annie, trust me, your shirt is yellow.
(obviously, this could start to get aggravating...)
Me: umm no it's clearly purple.
Joe: I'm sorry Annie, it's yellow. I'm a professional, (he indicates to his certificates on the wall), and I'm here to help you, so you need to trust me that your shirt is yellow.

this in essence is what David Nemer is dealing with. So now Joe turns to my Dad,
Joe: David, do you know why you're here?
Dad: ...ummm not really, no.
Joe: well I'll let your daughter tell you.
(thanks. I turn to Dad, and as routinely and matter-of-factly as possible, so as to not flip him out I say the usual...)
Me: well Dad, remember you had that bad heart attack? and it stopped pumping oxygen to your brain, so now your memory is a little off.
Dad: my memory is not a little off.
(now it's Joe's turn... 28 years of practice in action...)
Joe: well David, actually it is. you have a brain injury. and you're an incredibly intelligent and smart guy, we've become good friends now over the past couple weeks, and what you're daughter, who loves you, is saying is true. And I'm a professional (indicates to certificates again), and the people you work with are, and you have to trust what we're saying is true - because your family loves you and cares about you, and we love you and care about you, and we want to help you get your memory better. But you just have to trust us.

Joe's manner is extremely calm and rational, not babying, very friendly and sophisticated. Dad shifts in his seat a bit, his eyes watering up a little, but he remains calm at hearing this information, and processing it. And I have real faith for the first time that this will work. I see my Dad in there, accepting it, the David Nemer of the past and the David of the present slowly merging. I get chills.

We move on to talking about the rest of the weekend, possibly going out to dinner on Saturday night somewhere in town, we're talking about steaks. The "here and now" conversation so normal and accurate for about 6 minutes. "That sounds so good Dad maybe we'll go tomorrow night after I get back in town." "tomorrow?" Dad ponders. " oh too bad I'll be in Phoenix." Enter Joe to save the day.

This is how it will work. The daily therapies of memory exercises and games will tackle that part of the brain to get it working again, through tons of repetition, eventually training the brain to stick those memories into place so that everytime Joe gives his little speech, Dad inches closer to believing it.

To Lose Him

We're approaching the end of week 2. If only the next 6 will go as swiftly. This transition has been difficult no doubt, but my Mom has seemed to wear the weight of it most openly. The departure was painful, the visit was dramatic, and the distance in between is an open ended agony. I think we both feel that. I had not cried a tear since Dad left that Friday two weeks ago - I think I got them all out in the moment, and then sucked it up and looked ahead. However, my mom's tears were daily, along with the mantra, "I just keep losing him." I've had to remind her - one, "we" keep losing him, and two, it's not about us. It's for Dad, and he's not lost. He's only going on the most important business trip of his life for simply 2 months. We know and are well aware of the logic around it all, and I understand it gets blurred in the pain. Yet, again, I did not cry until Saturday night when we were mid-visit with Dad. After we finished dinner, we went back to the hotel to take the doggies for a little walk before Sarah took Dad back to his apartment. Sarah and Mom chatted in the room, while Dad and I took Jenny and Melvin for a stroll around the grounds of the Doubletree. There was little bits of chit chat, I can't deny it sort of felt awkward. :( I sort of didn't know what to say, I didn't know if Dad thought he was staying in the room with us or what. But we got back to the door and met Sarah and Mom there. "Okay, David, Sarah's gonna drive ya back to your apartment and we'll meet you in the morning for breakfast." Mom says, cheerily. "She is?" Dad says. "Yep! we've gotta head back to the residence now, the dogs are staying with Annie and Barbara at the hotel." Sarah chimes in. "ohhh... okay." Dad plays along. There are hugs goodbye on the steps, while the leashes gradually get more tangled around our legs by little Jenny wiggling all about. And Mom and I head inside, closely the large, heavy glass door as Sarah and Dad turn to walk away. That's when I lost it (and I lose it now as I'm trying to type). We turn and walk toward the room, and Melvin would not turn to follow. Instead, nose pressed to the glass - paws splayed out in front of him as I'm pulling his leash, he planted himself in such a strong stance - watching his Dad walk away. And I can only imagine his little doggie mantra running through his canine brain, "no no no! Don't take him again! where's he going? where's he going? where's he going?" It broke my heart. Dad may be away from us now, by choice, circumstance, and distance, but Melvin is the one who keeps losing him. And there are no words of reason to tell him why. But I know, I know he knows something. He feels something. Just have faith Melly - Daddy's coming home.

trip #1

MUST FIX COMPUTER AT HOME. I simply write better during the evenings. But I wanted to briefly state that this weekend was our first trip to Bakersfield. It was no doubt a rough experience, but at the same time, quite positive. Before I indulge on the details of the weekend in a later post, some images I'm left with include walking into Dad's apartment and meeting his roomate and the handfull of resident assistants, all of whom look like high schoolers sitting in detention, forced to smile as they work on homework in these big massive binders used to document my Father's every move. Then there was taking Dad to our hotel room to visit with the dogs and watch a movie, and Jenny doing her job and snuggling up under Dad's arm like a teddy bear for an entire 2 hours. And then miraculously snagging four seats at the bar at Black Angus for dinner - where the wait was 1 hour and 15 minutes - there were 4 seats in a row left for me, Mom, Dad, and sweet Sarah, Dad's "personal assistant," right in front of the big screen to watch the Laker game. Dinner was so classic and so fun - and if anything, left the impression with Sarah that my Dad is a social, outgoing, fun-loving, FOOD-loving, distinguished, smart and amazing man - who deserves the best environment and life to facilitate these qualities in him. Fortunately, Sarah is incredibly down to earth and cool - and Dad clearly enjoyed hanging out with her, if not more than Mom and I that night! So with Sarah on our side - you better believe I'm raising a fuss to get this high-school dropout apartment situation changed ASAP. But all discrepancies aside... Dad seemed content, and had an understanding that this is where he's supposed to be right now - and it's his job to do. Sarah also reassured us by saying, "if it's any consolation, he asks for Robin all the time..."