not here, everything here is ok, but over on another blog that I had passed over to someone else to run and there are some “issues” and some content to cook up, will take up part of my weekend. trying to relocate the groove that was and could be. reinforcing past success should be relatively easy. now the hard thing is getting forward motion with my novel…. let alone getting the last few chores of winter prep maintenance done…..lucky tonight to get Grace the golden retriever walked mid evening before that cold rain downpour tapping hard on the roof over my head. It was warm today all the way up to 17 celsius and that was warmer than the season usually gives by this time of October. My least favourite time of the year approaches, cold rains in November.
worst part of my week, early morning driving on the 400 highway down to the north end of Toronto. grrrrrrr.
some TV stuff
ABC’s Last Resort continues to entertain my brain. I need to find out where that island really is. Looks too gorgeous to be a real place. Hope it isn’t Catalina Island.
In Plain Sight (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I have watched my way through two seasons of In Plain Sight with Mary McCormack and Fred Weller as US Marshal Inspectors in the Witness Protection program set in Albuquerque, NM. Love the show. Next month I will purchase season 3 and so on to the end — it finished its five year run this year.
It is too bad that the producers were not able to put the US Marshal Raylan Givens from Justified together with the Marshals from In Plain Sight in some kind of crossover two parter. We can dream can’t we. Would have been fun to watch Mary Shannon size up Raylan and vice versa.
On this day, October 2nd, in 1942, my grandfather, Dr. William Gibson, died of cancer. This was one day after my father’s 23rd birthday. 1942 was the third year of the war, my father went into the Royal Canadian Navy. He married my mother in March 1945 in Montreal. My sister followed in 1949. I joined the team in 1953. My father was 34 years old when I was born. He died when I was 39 years old. So it occurred to me that I had him available for advice and to just plain talk to for 16 years longer than he had those chances with his father.
Although he had four brothers, two older, two younger, I don’t think he was close to them. We lived far enough apart to make contact difficult. So I ask myself who was his mentor during his twenties and thirties. Who could he turn to for advice. I always felt I could turn to my parents if I really got into trouble. He didn’t have that option, not all of it. Perhaps if he had someone to advise him he would have made some different choices. Now that he has been gone for a full 20 years (this past January was the 20th anniversary of his death) , I ache to talk with him. When I was a kid he was busy with business, often away on business trips, often on the phone for hours at night at home, all of which manufactured a lot of tension between my mother and him and which flooded over and filled our home. By the time he was retired a little early by health problems and was ready to talk to me and he had the time, I had permanently turned off my receiver.
Somehow in my confused life, a family of my own never quite happened to me. Putting it that way is accurate and revealing at the same time.
I pitched in at the end of his life to help him in his caregiver role to my mother who was the more ill of the two. But he died first and for a short while I took his role full time, helping her become once again more self-sufficient. I remember in those days in the 1990s doing what I could to help, my sister pitching in as well, but all the while the chilling thought would roll in usually late at night. The thought that I would one day be aged and frail and health draining away and I unlike my parents would have no kids to help me out of this life.
More irritating still, there is no kid to hear me say, do these things for they worked well for me, and God, please don’t make all the mistakes I have made, you don’t deserve to do that to yourself.