Tuesday, December 23, 2014

Reading - quantity vs qualiy

So in 2014 Goodreads had his little gizmo on it asking you to set a reading goal for the year.  I chose 52.  A book a year.  And I accomplished it.  But now that I have I am asking myself how I got there.

The answer is, after some pondering, a mix of audio books that I listen to in the car and he usual reading (mostly on kindle).  Now I'll admit that in 2014 due to 'life events' related to my mother, dementia and my living 2.5 hours from her that my audio book reading time increased substantially this year.  Five hours every weekend will do that.

However, my regular reading this year seemed to be boosted by a lot of YA reading.  Now there is nothing wrong with that.  I found myself caught into series such as Divergent (and in prior years The Hunger Games) this year.  I am often drawn as a writer to YA fiction in part because I can study it.  Good YA fiction is written so tightly that you can't hide drek.

I did notice that at times I was putting off reading larger tomes that interest me.  Things such as whatever is next in the Game of Thrones series (I have to remind myself where I left off by the way).  Or, Stephen Kings 1963.

So as I look toward a reading list for 2015 I am setting the numeric goal lower.  In fact, I'm not setting a numeric goal.  I am reading what interests me.  And if that is a massive novel that takes weeks to read - so be i.

Tuesday, October 7, 2014

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

The Demenita Chronicles: The Jerk

Another entry from my documentation of my mother's dementia.


Monday, August 11, 2014

The Dementia Chronicles

This is a series of posts I have made over at livejournal documenting my recent adventures with my mother's dementia.







Going forward I will either cross post here or provide a link there.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Third Hand

You are sick.  You are dying.  I get it third hand.  Someone else hunts me down and calls me.  Not you.  Yet again I hear things like "His eyes sparkle when he talks about you."  Yet you did not let me see that sparkle on my own.  I've heard "Your Dad loves you so much."  Then why wasn't he there?  "You're his favorite" is perhaps the hardest one to take because I've know.  I've know for a long time.  I've know Mom guilted you into buying a car for me and you did nothing for your other daughter.

And my mind screamed - sometimes still screams WHY!?  Why me?  Not her.  I don't like being the favorite.  My sister is my equal.  But not in your love.

"He says you're so smart."  Then why wasn't he there.  There for school stuff?  There to play his roll as "Dad."

"I didn't want to interfere with the way your mother was raising you."  But it is your job as my father to interfere with the way I am being raised.  It was your job to raise me.   A man she married when I was seventeen and did battle with for years at least attempted to raise me.  I felt more for him in the years he battled the ravages of emphysema and COPD, as I watched him slowly suffocate to death even though at one time I loathe him, perhaps hated him.

I feel nothing.  A bit of societal guilt perhaps because there's that part of me that did the 'should' thing for a few days before I returned the call.  But really?  I feel nothing.  You are in the past.  I do not know you.  You only know me in your mind.  A figment.  A fiction.  An image that is not real.

"He says your mother can make a sewing machine sing."  She can.  She could.  But you and your issues and the traumas and dramas that you buried in alcohol and self-pity destroyed not just your marriage but a family.  You destroyed me.  And it has taken years to build myself back up.  And I am strong because of you and your actions or lack thereof.  But there are no tears to shed.   Not here.  Not over you.

I will say - I do have my cherished memories.  Riding bicycles on Christmas Day when I was six.  Going to the city with you to buy produce and then supplies for the store.  But where was the rest?  Why are they so few?  Where were you when kids at school made fun of me?  For my college graduation?  Where was the child support payments?  Was the car you bought me after Mom guilted you supposed to make up for it?  And if so - where is my sister's?  You took food from out mouths and clothes from our backs.  Oh, sure, Mom made it work.  She's wonder woman.  You?  you're the guy I know third hand.