Seven years ago, I was hanging out with a "B" as in "boy" -illionaire till the wee hours of the morning. At one point he grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear, "Kambri, when you live in my world, you can do anything you want."
Indeed, in his world, you can.
At the same time, 1,542 miles away, Dad was stabbing Gloria.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
Too Old? Too Sexy?
Click the photo to see the answer inside of this year's handmade card sent to me by Dad for my birthday. What a treat to see it in my mailbox today. He never fails to crack me up. (In case you can't see the details too well, the front has a square panel cut out, revealing what looks to be buttocks.)
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Happy Father's Day
It's that time of year again. What a buzz kill.
This year Father's Day fell on the day before my birthday and the weekend of my high school reunion (that's another story). Knowing this, I had to plan in advance. And by plan, I mean mail money sooner.
That's all.
Well, I guess the card counts, too, but really when special days pop up on ye olde calendar, it's not cards Dad is worried about, it's C-notes, Benjamins, Lincolns, Jacksons, bucks, greenbacks. Wow, there's alot of slang for money. I'll just stop there. He's pretty blunt about it. Jail does that to you, I guess. The length of time between letters, processing of mail and deposits makes for an urgency that, in print, comes off as rude: "Send Money." Why dress it up, I guess.
I send Dad $20 a month sometimes more but never less. I send extra (anywhere from $50 to $60) for Thanksgiving, Christmas, his birthday in February and Father's Day. The extra cash at Thanksgiving covers the special treats the commissary offers like pecan pie. The others dates are obvious.
Recently I discovered the automatic deposit option which will surely disappoint the Pakistani fellow I purchase my $0.69 money orders from...the same location I blogged about being featured in "30 Rock". He has more than a little crush on me and looks forward to my regular visits. Once I get confirmation from the TDCJ, however, my Pakistani boyfriend and I shall part. And in summer, no less, when I'm not so bundled up. Ahem. Maybe I'll drop in to say hello or buy stamps or One Day Fun Passes for the subway.
Saving the time, the $0.69, the envelope and the stamp by using this auto-debit feature, I made the monthly payment $25. Plus prices in the commissary have recently increased, so the few extra bucks might help. No more, though. No. That would only fuel his gambling. And, as my husband Christian noted, for someone who knows more about football than anyone I've ever known, Dad has the WORST luck at picking football parlays.
It's frustrating knowing my money is going to waste AND that he's losing on something that he loves so much. I'm not sure which is worse.
He has his choice, save and spend on things he loves like oatmeal pies and strawberry ice cream or risk it all for a chance at doubling his money. Guess which one he'd choose? So while $20 or $25 a month sounds chinsy it's my attempt -- no, it's my hope -- that he'll choose wisely.
I hope he got his extra money in time for the holiday. I hope he got himself a treat. I hope he had a nice Father's Day, becuase that's all we have: Hope.
This year Father's Day fell on the day before my birthday and the weekend of my high school reunion (that's another story). Knowing this, I had to plan in advance. And by plan, I mean mail money sooner.
That's all.
Well, I guess the card counts, too, but really when special days pop up on ye olde calendar, it's not cards Dad is worried about, it's C-notes, Benjamins, Lincolns, Jacksons, bucks, greenbacks. Wow, there's alot of slang for money. I'll just stop there. He's pretty blunt about it. Jail does that to you, I guess. The length of time between letters, processing of mail and deposits makes for an urgency that, in print, comes off as rude: "Send Money." Why dress it up, I guess.
I send Dad $20 a month sometimes more but never less. I send extra (anywhere from $50 to $60) for Thanksgiving, Christmas, his birthday in February and Father's Day. The extra cash at Thanksgiving covers the special treats the commissary offers like pecan pie. The others dates are obvious.
Recently I discovered the automatic deposit option which will surely disappoint the Pakistani fellow I purchase my $0.69 money orders from...the same location I blogged about being featured in "30 Rock". He has more than a little crush on me and looks forward to my regular visits. Once I get confirmation from the TDCJ, however, my Pakistani boyfriend and I shall part. And in summer, no less, when I'm not so bundled up. Ahem. Maybe I'll drop in to say hello or buy stamps or One Day Fun Passes for the subway.
Saving the time, the $0.69, the envelope and the stamp by using this auto-debit feature, I made the monthly payment $25. Plus prices in the commissary have recently increased, so the few extra bucks might help. No more, though. No. That would only fuel his gambling. And, as my husband Christian noted, for someone who knows more about football than anyone I've ever known, Dad has the WORST luck at picking football parlays.
It's frustrating knowing my money is going to waste AND that he's losing on something that he loves so much. I'm not sure which is worse.
He has his choice, save and spend on things he loves like oatmeal pies and strawberry ice cream or risk it all for a chance at doubling his money. Guess which one he'd choose? So while $20 or $25 a month sounds chinsy it's my attempt -- no, it's my hope -- that he'll choose wisely.
I hope he got his extra money in time for the holiday. I hope he got himself a treat. I hope he had a nice Father's Day, becuase that's all we have: Hope.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
The Internet Sucks Sometimes
I went to wish someone a happy birthday on Facebook and saw his status that said my grandma is on her death bed.
Oh.
Wow.
I didn't know.
I didn't leave a note. What was I going to say? "Yay, happy birthday, my grandma will soon be dead but, hey, you made it another year. Yippee!"
My brother didn't know either. Well...he does now. Life in the digital age is strange new territory. The internet has made keeping in touch easier but the social etiquette of things isn't all laid out nice and neat. But maybe Twittering an actual death is the best, most modern way of spreading the news? It worked for David Carradine.
So, now I have the task of telling my dad that his mother might be dead very soon. She's 92 so it's not like it's not been a long time coming, but he's been asking about her a lot lately. Not because he's worried about her so much. He's more interested in protecting the furniture he made her and other material things. He has nothing and so he broods and worries and frets and boils over and hems and haws and...well...you get the picture. He's got TIME on his HANDS.
I worry that when she does pass, he will enlist me with another laundry list of To Dos. Ask about this, make sure about that. Well, guess what, Dad? If you weren't in jail, you could do this yourself because I really don't care about *things*. I've shed myself of house and home and junk more times than I can count. I like being portable. I don't want cars or furniture or stuff.
....Sigh....
But...he has no advocate. No one is listening to him and that's a big bugga boo for him for so long. To not be heard. So, if he needs help in being heard, I'm the only one here to give that to him.
And I will.
And I'm not sure why.
--Kambri
Oh.
Wow.
I didn't know.
I didn't leave a note. What was I going to say? "Yay, happy birthday, my grandma will soon be dead but, hey, you made it another year. Yippee!"
My brother didn't know either. Well...he does now. Life in the digital age is strange new territory. The internet has made keeping in touch easier but the social etiquette of things isn't all laid out nice and neat. But maybe Twittering an actual death is the best, most modern way of spreading the news? It worked for David Carradine.
So, now I have the task of telling my dad that his mother might be dead very soon. She's 92 so it's not like it's not been a long time coming, but he's been asking about her a lot lately. Not because he's worried about her so much. He's more interested in protecting the furniture he made her and other material things. He has nothing and so he broods and worries and frets and boils over and hems and haws and...well...you get the picture. He's got TIME on his HANDS.
I worry that when she does pass, he will enlist me with another laundry list of To Dos. Ask about this, make sure about that. Well, guess what, Dad? If you weren't in jail, you could do this yourself because I really don't care about *things*. I've shed myself of house and home and junk more times than I can count. I like being portable. I don't want cars or furniture or stuff.
....Sigh....
But...he has no advocate. No one is listening to him and that's a big bugga boo for him for so long. To not be heard. So, if he needs help in being heard, I'm the only one here to give that to him.
And I will.
And I'm not sure why.
--Kambri
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Are Memoirs True? by Jerry Waxler
For anyone who is writing or thinking of writing their memoir, here is a great essay. The whole site is an excellent resource as is NAMW.org.
If 2 people disagree about a conversation yesterday, how can we agree about the details of a whole life? It's an important puzzle for every memoir writer.
--Kambri
--Kambri
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