funny... on friday

or not.

i tried, really, i did... but funny just didn't strike this week.

irony did.  so did WTF and head-banging anger and whole lotta heartache.


this is my dad on one of his many motorcycle adventures.

he takes the fear out of facing sixty-something years old, doesn't he?

two weeks ago while in florida at their winter getaway, my parents went to see a doctor because my dad had some numbness/lack of movement in his upper lip and some difficulty writing.  as an uber-healthy man, a stroke seemed possible but certainly not probable.  no way.

instead they found a brain tumor.  malignant.


growing in my dad's brain.  not the brain of the dude slaughtering all the people in syria.  not charles manson's brain.


my dad's brain.

panic.  denial.  acid-churning knot in stomach.  anger.  shock.  panic.  sorrow.  panic.  rage.  they have barged into my happiness, shoved the small joys aside and pitched a black tent of gloom.

yes, drama does help right now.  so does tapioca pudding and baked sweet potatoes.

as i write my dad is prepped to be rolled into an operating room to have a hole drilled into his skull so that the best brain tumor surgeon in the country (please don't fight me on this, okay?) at the best brain tumor center in the country (this one either) can biopsy the hell out of this @%#*#@$%#*&^ tumor and then give him a little pill that will make all of this go away.

lickity split.

buh-bye, brain tumor.

admittedly, the pill plan seems like a reach but it's keeping me sane.  so is painting and allowing my dogs on the furniture and pretending someone else will do the dishes.  google and statistics do not keep me sane or calm.  so, for now, i'm rooting for the little pill plan while preparing for... the not little pill plan.

i may have mentioned that every summer we live with my parents at their beach house, our family commune which should not to be confused with "kennedy-compound-ish".  while communing, we sit, swing, laugh, drink, scrabble, tube, drink, tease, run, stroll, seek and gather.


together.

my mom captains the washer/dryer and hors d'oeuvres while my dad captains the boats.  sometimes it's his own private boat speeding away from all of us but he's the captain so... whatev.  plus, new jersey's the next place to gas up so he's usually home in a jiffy.

i know this post isn't side-splitting and it's not about furniture and i can't promise i won't get serious about the crap that happens to good people (right, cassie and katy??) in future blog posts.  crap and it's trappings have been tweaking my last nerve lately and i feel the tingle of a freak out brewing.  if you're lucky, my wireless will be down when i blow.

if you don't mind, instead of leaving me a comment, would you mind saying a prayer or twitching your nose to the powers that be and putting a good word in for my dad?  i'll vouch for him being a really good guy worthy of your time.  i promise.

thanks, friends.