December 4, 2011
answering machine message

It's me, Bomp.  You don't have to call me back.  I'm driving through Northeast Colorado on my way to Milwaukee, Wisconson with a load of--listen carefully Matt Brannon (that's my husband)--Miller Beer!  That's right!  Ha ha! (My dad doesn't drink at all--he has never been interested in alcohol.  But he knows Matt likes beer.) 

And I'll tell you this: the Miller Beer area of Milwaukee is pretty interesting.  It's like a perfectly restored, I don't know, turn of the century kind of place.  If you ever go to Milwaukee, it's worth a tour just to see all the old buildings and stuff.

Alright, so I am signing off. 

Just tooling along through the snow, listening to my Christmas records.  I've decided the best of the three--and they're all kind of crappy--is the Burl Ives.

Thanksgiving Highlights

My dad was deeply disappointed when he learned he would not be able to make it to my house for Thanksgiving.  I felt sad at the thought of him spending another holiday alone in his truck.  Then things turned in his favor.  Suddenly there was a load to drop in Seattle, so Dad would get his home time after all.  On his way here he discovered a route that took hours off his drive time, so he arrived early.  My neighbors said it would be fine for him to park his truck right outside my house (I live in a sort of wooded neighborhood with wide streets, and on a corner, so he could park Big Blue out of the way.)  So, to our mutual surprise and delight, he pulled in just an hour after my sister and her family arrived, surprising them all.  It was a happy way to meet.  In the last couple years I have seen him only for brief periods of time at the truck stop 40 minutes away.

Here are some of the things Dad did during his visit:

1.       Played Barbies.  I’m not crazy about those half-starved, spiky-heeled creatures, and yet they have infiltrated our home.  Most of them have been to the kid-scissors hair salon, have had permanent ball-point makeup applied and are looking a little worse for the wear (why should I protect them when I dislike them so?).  Dad got hold of an old, beaten-down mermaid doll with matted hair and a scratched fin.  He named her Barbara and made her an antagonist.  “Oh it’s OK,” he said, “She’s just got a few hard miles on her.”  He gave her a rough, gravelly voice.  She shouted, “Where are my cigarettes!!!”  This has become one of my daughters’ favorite new phrases.  He also had her do a lot of cussing.  I could hear the string of kid-friendly profanity from three rooms away: “Manure, diaper, droppings, underpants, bottom!”  My girls thought this was the best game in the history of the world.  I muttered things like, “Oh dear.”

2.       Got Choked Up.  At Thanksgiving Dinner he started to say something about how glad he was to be with everyone, and then paused for a moment.  I figured he had lost his train of thought, when he said, “Boy, I’m getting a little choked up, here.”  He then managed that this was the best Thanksgiving he can remember since the last Thanksgiving before his mom died. 

3.       Placed his Order.   Dad’s a big fellow and, I’ll say, no longer spry.  When he finds a comfortable spot on the couch, he is likely to stay there for a spell.  The morning after Thanksgiving Dad was comfortably sitting and called out to my sister and me, “Excuse me, don’t bring me any coffee.  I don’t care for any, thank you.”  Shan said, “Oh no, Dad, did I forget to take your order?”  “I have been sitting here for nearly four minutes,” he said.  Shan poured him a steaming mug of black coffee and delivered it to him at the couch.  He said, “Couldn’t I get some kind of English tea biscuit to go with this?”  Shan came back to the kitchen and told me, “Dad wants an English tea biscuit.  That means he’ll take anything sweet.”  We looked around and found some leftover pumpkin pie.  Shan delivered the plate of pie, along with a napkin and a fork.  Dad said, “Now, can I get a little fork?  I like to take tiny little bites, so my pie will last for my whole cup of coffee.”  Shan dug around until she found the largest, heaviest serving fork I have, and brought it to him with a smile.

4.       Told Stories: He told me about the foundered horse his dad bought for cheap at an auction, and how they spent months caring for her and nursing her back to health.   She turned out to be a wonderful animal.  He told me a story about truck-driver coffee that he was certain would make his “yuppie children…swoon with hatred.”  He talked about the first time he visited the Grand Canyon, and the excruciating donkey ride down that sounded to me like a metaphorical trip into his own, personal deep canyons. 

5.       Disappeared Into the Night:  At about 9 p.m. on Sunday Dad, or “Bompa” as my girls say, fired up Big Blue and drove off into the mystery of the darkness and the road and the vastness of the country’s great territory.  My four-year-old, taking a short break from cussing and shouting out for cigarettes, started to cry.  “Where does Bompa live?” she said.  “What if he gets lonely?  What if he feels scared.”  A couple days later he assured her over the phone that he was quite happy, sitting outside in mild California sunshine and doing a crossword puzzle.  This helped her to feel a little better, though she still imagines him alone in the night and prays that he’ll be OK.