My Dad would have been 90 today. I'm not sure what he'd make of this new world; angrier than 2000 or hysterically laughing after running out of options. I'm pretty sure we would have been in frequent contact, my being his political offspring, trying to outdo each other name-calling politicians; neither of us were/are satisfied by boring ones, although I've logn run out of creativity this time around.
When we were cleaning up the house after Dad died, Mom commented Dad's family had astonishing amounts of studio-shot photographs, not just from this generation but from the grandparents' generation, when "these things weren't cheap." I don't know if her family had photos and lost them in in the fires in the war, or if Grandpa was too busy to think of it. My cousins, (Mom's big brother's girls,) who lived next door to us also had studio photos taken at least once a year that I knew of, which I envied because they looked so posh, but turned out to be irreplaceable gifts because they lost both parents ridiculously young.
Tonight I have Stella's talk to go to, "No time for Art! (Or how to make jewelry in another dimension)"; Dad would have loved the idea, "at your ripe old of age of 59.5-minus-five-days," (and he would have said exactly that; I get my penchant for details from him,) I still think there is wonder to be had in life.
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Stat Counter reminded me blogs can be, and this one is occasionally, read machine-translated. And while I don't give a lot of credence to machine translators, having been a human version in previous lives, there are measures writers can take to make the machine-translated text "readable". As in not using so much colloquialism. But then it takes away the character of the writer and the flavor of blogs, and while I know sometimes I overdo it, I also like it here because Unravelling is more about a record of how I spend my life. Rather than respectable weaving.