Sunday, February 18, 2024

Back Soon ....

I am back home, and going back to work this week. I won't have to go back to Oregon for a few weeks until I get Death Certificates for the banks and so on, but much of the work can be done at home, but ...

I will take Maddie's advice and take February off this year.

I'll see y'all soon.

Monday, February 12, 2024

Just Saying ... Not My Month

 We hate February in my family.

My mother passed away in February 17 2007.

My Aunt Pam passed away February 14, 2009.

My sister Jeri passed February 1,5 2014.

My father passed away February 1, 2024.

And while some of you may not count your pets as family, I do, and so ... Tuxedo passed away February 15, 2023.

February sucks.

I was home for a long weekend last week, and am back in Oregon for a few days and then will come home for a long stretch as probate does its thing. I don't know when I'll post anything other than gloomy stuff but I will be back with snark and politics and architecture and pop culture and fun as soon as I can.


Wednesday, February 07, 2024

It's Just Me ...

I am still in Oregon taking care of Dad's estate, though I will be coming home for the weekend tomorrow and then returning to Oregon on Monday. Between lawyers and banks and Social Security and death benefits, it's a lot and I am slightly overwhelmed. I do see a small light at the end of the tunnel and am walking toward it ... no, not that light. I just wanted to let y'all know that while I haven't commented I have read all your comments on Dad's passing and they really mean a lot to me.
Thanks, and I hope to "see" you all soon.

Saturday, February 03, 2024


My father passed away February 1st at the age of 91. He passed quietly and peacefully, surrounded by family who laughed and told stories and reminisced about my dad ... and I will give you a few of my favorite Dad Tales …

When I came out to my family, my father’s first words to me were, “You’re my son and I love you.”

When I decided to move 3000 miles away from family because I’d met Carlos and knew that was where I belonged, he said “Be happy, I love you.”

And when he spoke his last words to me, the night before he passed, he said, “Take care of yourself, I love you.”

The day he died, other than waking up at midnight and asking the nurse if he was still alive, and saying “Oh shit: when she told him, “Yes,” my dad didn’t say another word to me; but that was all I needed. I love you.

My nieces, Ashley, and Betsy, were there, as was my sister-in-law, Debbie, and we sat with Dad and held his hands and told stories and laughed and cried, and after one particularly loud laugh session, we noticed his breathing had stopped and he was gone.

I will always believe he heard us laughing, and thought to himself that we were going to be fine, and he could leave.

Thanks Dad. I love you.