Changes, Cleaning, and "Fancy Nancy"

 

We're teeing off on the last hole here on Walton's Mountain.

Can I throw a few other metaphors in?

So I once again changed the office arrangement and I suspect that will be the last time before I move.

Unplug. Move. Bring a table up from the basement. Remove old card table. Move other table in place. Plug everything back in. Now test it all out for comfort.

It will do. Of course, further testing will take place upon tomorrow's "Doubleheader," the next deposition, and the next podcast. Then I'll be content.

Then it will get broken down and moved.

There were also piles of things to go through. One of those included a gaggle (a fine word) of old USB flash drives that I wanted to go through.

My goal is to clean a lot of junk out over the next few months in a process that I think will be cathartic.

So I plugged each flash drive into the very MacBook I'm typing on. Most were empty.

One had a folder that said Fancy Nancy on it and a movie file of the same name.

The folder was loaded with photos. The movie was those photos in a slide show with a somber, thoughtful piano loop.

It was for my mother and it played at her funeral. At least, I think it did. To be honest, that's one of those things that's still a blue.

I watched the whole thing, not knowing if what to think. None of it seemed real. There was that moment when it hit me that she's not in a nursing home or hospital or away with my sister or at dialysis.

She's gone.

Those pictures hit so many of the life moments. Smiles with kids and grandkids and her family and my dad. They were black and white and color. They spanned from probably the 1930s until just days before she died.

It raised a lot of emotions. Grateful for the 51 years I had with her.  Sad for the only 20 years with my father (the anniversary of his death passed quietly on Thursday though I don't doubt a few of you recognized it in the post that night). 

Even some glimpses of anger, for while I can't read what the dead think, I have a sense neither of my parents is doing a happy dance over what is going on among the living. Call it a hunch.

Yet it's best to not wallow in that tonight. I'd rather smile at the thought of her laughing with Hector at South of the Border or holding a baby Sean or smiling with me on the day of my high school graduation or as part of a group picture with Susan, Dave Torromeo, Mark Jeffers, Shawn Sailer, and the group from an expensive night of "The Clubhouse" in Norwalk.

Smile. Yes, I'd rather smile.

Before we call it a night, another poignant note is that I saw a picture of her and Eric and it was year ago yesterday that we lost him at the much-too-young age of 34.

Watch the video if you wish (you might want to mute the music) and have a few smiles of your own.