Let’s hone this story down to the essentials. The peripheral details are a distraction. Or as Bertolt Brecht would say: “And I always thought: the very simplest words / Must be enough.”
It started 3 weeks ago. Her idea. First announced in a two-word text message: Hey Dad. A mere two-word sentence that is customarily succeeded with cash outflow. The three dots flash: ping, ping, ping, ping. One hand grips my smartphone, the other hand protects my wallet. Here it comes.
Let’s go Dad. Come on. Let’s you and I go. Just the two of us. Come on Dad.
She’s gainfully employed, and no longer tethered to Mom and Dad. But, she remains fully tethered to the rent-free, food-free, laundry-free and chore-free arrangement — and bathing in it guilt-free.
It will be a Father – Daughter thing. How many times do you think you and I will have this opportunity? She deftly moves her Dad into position, places his right hand on the fulcrum piece on the teetering Jenga tower, and the tower wobbles and collapses.
And as Paul Harvey would have said, now here’s The Rest of the Story. [Read more…]
The music starts at 0:54 sec of this video.
Christine Anu, 44, is an Australian pop singer and actress. Anu is arguably Australia’s most successful indigenous performer and one of Australia’s most popular recording artiste, backed by an award-winning repertoire spanning across music, theatre, dance, film, television and children’s entertainment. Her illustrious career over two decades boasts of platinum albums, sell-out musicals, Hollywood blockbusters, and high-profiled collaborations with showbiz and musical luminaries such as Baz Luhrmann (Moulin Rouge), Paul Kelly and David Atkins.
Find this tune and her new 2014 Christmas Album: Island Christmas
The holiday cocktail party begins at the door, where the trill of the doorbell flees from the vestibule and disappears into the crowd, leaving a vacuum of sound into which the small talk surges, foamy with greetings, a sea of hellos and how-are -you-doings that you can scarcely keep your head above, gulping for air as you paddle your way through the handshakes, showing your teeth. But ahead you can see, there in the kitchen, the raft of drinks, a-tinkle with glasses, and you grasp at its edge and with the others bark like a seal as the slow tide lifts you toward midnight, when with the deepest gratitude you know that somewhere upstairs your coat has just bobbed to the top of the pile on a bed and is drying its wings and waiting to lift you away.
~ Ted Kooser, December. The Wheeling Year: A Poet’s Field Book
Credits: Photograph – M. Klasan via Preciously Me