For whatever reason I felt like writing today…… When I look at my life this past year I’m in wonder. Complete stand still. It’s like watching a moth to a flame and then that moth finally realizes nothing can be done, and heads to God. I felt that. I’m 35. unmarried. no kids. we lost our home in Hurricane Sandy and our cars. Our belongings..all gone. A few photo graphs I still wipe off with the smell of seaweed and squid. And place them on facebook. On a way to say, I’ve been here. Look at my life. In photo graphs. I wake up at 6 usually every morning. I have way too much coffee. Way too much breakfest. No one eats breakfest anymore. I love it. I love the sizzle of bacon. The egg whites on hash. The coffee drizzeling out of the french press . way too often. In that time of my life with sandy. I didn’t do things way too often. I left it all. It left me. Now I linger. I love the ocean. I don’t blame it. Yeah the car sucked. It drove okay. But it was mine. The cd’s in its case were mine. Yeah the house sucked. But I decorated. I even put a nice milk pitcher in blue over a birds nest with a red white and blue napkin flag on the stone aged cuppord and liked how it looked. Not for americas sake. but its french country look. Even though i’m french. And I’d never really support the french. I just liked it. The hummels in my mothers cuppord I saved for her. Hadn’t seen her in four years. And yet each year bought one. One in each season. Remembering Helga, or Michelle. The times we were wheeled through the garden in a red beat up wagon over merrick road and she’d laugh and love it. But it’s a new time now. I’m 35. My dad’s 60. he forced himeself to retire. Mom still works. Haven’t seen her in four years and now I’m alone. No home. No car. boyfriend works 90 hour weeks. It’s time to go home. Sensibly. Of course no apology…just sensibly….enough. I bring her the hummels. 16 in total. she whails. crys. joy. then embrace. I hear of dad’s circumstance. Of her reactions. Of her circumstance. Of his still ness. And then I lean to God. I start to write to him. Play piano to him. wear a cross for him. embrace and walk to him. Full circle. House is cleaned up. Bob’s daughter takes it for a lil while. gets her feet wet. finally wants to live on her own. what it feels like to some what be free. man i said that with satire. didn’t mean it that way. he’s in kew gardens and living from hotel to hotel on business. I’m with mom and pop’s. allison is in the city. my dog sonny whom I carried over my back from row boat to fire truck in that mess is still with me. and I begin to form a new relationship with my mother. one kindered. half moon. whole moon. nothing expected. and i still have my pops. first three months we drink silly. we watch davis, coltraine, boney james, grover washington till 3 a.m drinking. then he slips into a new way. he doesn’t like the drink. he becomes sober. he wants more. he begins to hear me play the piano. begins to tape me with a new tape recorder he picked up. he watches less. does more. I see him and how he transitions himself from banker to retired. but he’s not happy. not content. the late hours don’t do him any good anymore. so he begins painting. he paints and paints with his best friend ed since he’s 15. he’s now 60. but he’s tired. there’s no creative outlet in it. he won’t play his drums downstairs but I know he’s got them since he was 15. as long as he’s known my mom. so I decide.. yeah. let me drink lol… let me hear coltraine … just for a lil bit longer. I’m not ready yet to move one. but my dad is. let me help him. I begin to write cover letters to agencies, conservatories, and jobs. The conservatory answers. They want him. They want my father to teach Jazz. Play jazz again. I’m thrilled. He’s thrilled. Full circle. He gets the job. He’s a jazz player. He’s a jazz teacher. He’s 60 but it doesn’t even matter. Never mattered to pop’s never mattered to me. And then… Bob whispers… You know it’s time I ask you to marry me. Would I need your father’s permission? and you see the tide turns. the house and cars and belongings are lost. some may say the ring gained. Some may see it as the job gained. I see it as my father gets to go back to jazz… and so do I…. even for just a lil while.