I'm Ready for My Close-Up, Pop!

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For Ed

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Dear Daddy - It has been 12 years since we lost you. Twelve years is a long time, and so many things have happened since that sad Sunday morning; for that is a harsh reality of death: life does go on. Thousands of minutes have passed since 6:09am, December 7, 1997, and yet that particular moment is seared in my memory like only a handful of others. I regret not fully waking up to give you a hug and kiss that Thursday night before you left for the Keys Friday morning. I had been in Tallahassee all week, and you arrived home late after a business dinner. In a half-alert moment, I heard you open the door; but I stayed in bed. I missed you the next morning as you left early for Marathon...no doubt excited for the warm, beautiful weather and the peace of Avenue M. My last memory of you is sitting on the sofa in the living room at Grandmama's watching football with Uncle Tommy Williams, Grandaddy and various other family members. You were laughing, with that twinkle in your eye, and joki...
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What a Difference a Year Makes

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Exactly one year ago today I learned I was pregnant. I took an early lunch that day to run to Publix for goodies to celebrate my boss' birthday later that afternoon. I don't know why the supermarket was particularly crowded that day, at that time, or why I chose the Health & Beauty aisle to make a shortcut beeline to checkout. All I know is I casually -almost laughing! - tossed a home pregnancy test into my cart. "There is NO WAY I could be pregnant," I thought. My reasoning continued: I am on birth control, for goodness' sake, and I've NEVER had a problem! Oh, and normal events have occurred, well, normally, until June; and it's not that far past the normal time for June anyway. And, I just can't be pregnant! We just got back from a 10 day, rum-soaked vacation in the Keys! Plus, anyway, wouldn't there be SOME indication? I mean, everyone I know who has been pregnant has been terribly sick, and they are tired and food either makes them nauseate...
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Ziggy Pop

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It's time to lighten the mood in this joint. It is Friday, after all, and who wants to ride ickiness into the weekend? Not me. So, here are two brand-spankin'-new photos of my boys. It's too bad they really don't like each other very much. PG - 43 years, Zane - 17 months Nice try, but no. We are not cutting Zane's hair. EVER.
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