Direction

Making Peace

Human Peace Sign--Budapest--2006--Google Images

I don’t recall meeting my biological father until I was about twelve years old. My mom met my stepdad when I was four days old and he was the man who raised me as his daughter.

My two older sisters remember our parent’s marriage. I do not. They clearly resemble our bio-dad, but I do not.  This never bothered me, until I moved out of the house. As a child, I learned bio-dad wasn’t well thought of in our home and that he had been known to mistreat people once or thrice. The message I got was that he never deserved to be in our lives.

 No longer living at home, I made a decision to get to know my biological father better, to complete that missing part of my DNA. I knew we had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and migraine headaches in common.  It would take many years before I would find a more admirable connection with him.   

As I started my relationship with him at 22 years old, he would tell me stories about the feral cats that began showing up in his back yard.  At first it was one or two cats, then they began having babies.  Hearing about his wild cats was pleasing to me, and in some way I felt closer to him because of it.

Many years later, a feral cat showed up in my backyard.   His coat was matted and part of his ear was missing.  I made friends with this cat and his health improved. He let me pet him and care for him.   If you’ve ever nursed an animal back to health, you know that’s a special relationship.

Only recently did I make the connection that my fascination with animals, and taking care of them was something I shared with my bio Dad.  I’ve chosen to see his more admirable qualities, knowing that there is at least a little good in anyone if we look close enough.  

--Leah from The Daily Piglet

Thank your Lucky Stars

photo by LoLaSuzanne, outside Johannesburg, South Africa 2008

Serendipity

       --the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely

--wikipedia definition

Simple

my backyard LoLaSuzanne May 2009

I crawl out of the car, haul out purse, various files, loose papers, slam the door shut with my hip.  I catch a heel on the curb, throw out my arms for balance. Files somersault and papers billow out to horizon and float to lawn.  I roll eyes to sky.  I’m so tired I consider walking away. 

Instead, I pick it all up, drag myself to the front steps.  I'm forced to drop the whole business on the porch when I discover I have already misplaced my keys.  The guys painting the house stop pretending they're working and openly guffaw.

I sigh big.  As in everything-is-a-production big.  The keys turn up in my purse and I nod at the painters as I twist the doorknob. 

Inside, I promptly drop an earring in the toilet.  Failing to take into account the degree of misjudgment possible, I lean over the bowl, bump my head on the raised lid,  fall into the wall, and while steadying myself, use the commode handle for leverage.  The earring floats in a little circle before it disappears.

Through the den’s glass doors, I catch sight of one of the workers on the rear deck. His face is ruddy and wrinkled.  He’s sitting on my railing staring into my house. I almost march out to the deck and explode.  Almost. 

Just then the sun glints off the object of his concentration.  Oh.  The wind chimes. I collapse on the sofa and watch him watch the bells. He steps down from the railing and shuffles closer. There is no wind and I wonder what he sees in the stationary metal and glass.  With a single finger, he thumps the mobile’s center bar.  He's all grin and dimples as the bells and crystals sing at once. When the chimes quiet, he picks up his paint bucket and leaves the deck.

--LoLaSuzanne

(another version of this piece published in Moonshine, 2007)