The Day That Will Live In Infamy

A small candle lit to remember Pearl Harbor Day. My dad was already in officer training (or had he graduated?) having gone into the Army Air Corps when it looked like Hitler was serious. And the entire window of The Aspic and Spooon here is ablaze with candles for my dad who is on wait-and-see status in ICU but marginally improving.

The Spooon is two years old. Happy happy birthday, baby. For me, this blog has been a warm and cozy place to just blather about food mostly, but my life, my thoughts and a few photos. I never know if I'm going to stop, and I really should do a back-up or maybe collect my fave entries into some kind of proto-book of essays. But that would be work. For me, The Aspic & Spooon has been a lark, a nice bit of pub chat after a hard day, a place to gather all my wool, as my mother would say.

I am flying to Texas as I write this (posted 5 hours later), to see to my ailing father who is in the hospital on a ventilator because of pneumonia. It's particularly bad in many ways, and there is no telling what tonight or tomorrow will bring. But I'm headed to his side, with my darling Wonder Boy by my side.

Behind me are a number of angels and friends who got me on the plane, and around me are my better angels – my virtual family of online peeps (shout out to The Table and to fans of Love of Laundry! Thanks for all the good wishes and thoughts in our direction); and my Mothers, those ancestors who really are around all the time. (My own mother is quick to remind me that there are men there too. But they mostly smoke over in the corner, smirking and laughing and enjoying their company.)

Peekamoose (not his real name – like I needed to tell you that) has been a blessing all the way around. His medical knowledge is very helpful, and his big heart, wisdom and care have afforded me a perspective that I needed before embarking on this journey.

Rachelle is the ever reliable, always hearty and hardy friend who has a key to my house, permanently, it would seem. She is the gerbil's angel at this point, but also mine and Wonder Boy's.

Athena (not her real name, but it's Greek get it??? She's greek) drank a small glass de bon vin rouge, helped me think through my lists and gave me a wake-up call (not knowing that I have a bladder set on permanent 5:30am wake-up – perhaps TMI). She did some other stuff but it's far too personal to mention and I promised I'd keep it a secret (or be sued). (HINT: It involved wool. shhhhhhh) She was mostly there to make sure I had eaten, that I didn't go to bed in my clothes and that I remembered to pack.

Joann at the boarding kennel is Mr. Peep's the Wonder Dog's angel; Steve the Texan cabbie turned around and went back for my left-behind purse (not all that unlike the Left Behind children!! :::strokes beard:::); Jan the Texan ticket agent who saved mah bacon and the pilots of this aircraft who were nice to Wonder Boy and invited him to fly the plane after they gave him a look at the cockpit. (Yes, Betty, Beanmom, Mynx, Peekamoose and you smutty Greek chorus behind me, a small part of me just wanted to blog the word 'cockpit.')

There are people on this plane who were nice to us in the airport too – just fellow travelers who spoke a kind word when it would be easier to push past us, grumpy to get on the plane. One pretty lady even grinned and said, "what is UP with people today?"

Though I feel alone most of the time, it's simply not true as there are people all around me all the time. And when pressed to rely on them, it is amazing to learn that they come through. I'll be damned: people might just come through for you, if you allow them.

If I get nothing else out of this experience, that nugget is worth all the chocolate, frankincense, CDs, Tickle Me Elmos, cranberry sauce, gold, roast beast and brandy that Christmas has to offer.

(What is myrrh anyway? Pomade? Vegemite? Hallucinogens?)