Waiting

Something our modern society is no longer capable of is waiting. Food is fast, marts are quickie, all the preferred services are instant, immediate, in a flash. Many things happen "while you wait." But that's just a saying, as you don't truly have to wait for very long. The unfortunate result of this world of instantaneous fulfilment is that we have become impatient. Multitasking has become an art form, as nobody wants to take the time to do one thing properly, then begin the next. Do it all half-arsed, all at once! Hurry hurry! Woe unto the clerk in whose queue one is expected to stand. The people on line mutter in discontent, mutinous and angry at being asked to wait their turn. On the highways of America, frenetic drivers are speeding faster than the already absurdly high speed limits, texting and eating their fast food while road raging at slowpokes following the letter of the law.

I am not immune to this need to have it all, right this second. I tap my foot. I roll my eyes and exhale upward to ruffle my hair, anxious to GET ON WITH IT.

Right now I am forced to wait. I am waiting for an entire month to have a new home in a new town. I am waiting to find a new job, new friends, new places to shop and play. I am waiting for my husband to come back from deployment. And there is nothing I can do but wait. It has been difficult to unclench my jaw, relax my tense muscles, and just...wait.

I thought, when planning for this interlude in my life, that I would do so many things "while I wait." It was my intent to multitask the month away, so I brought projects and supplies for dozens of things to while away my time. And yet, I have done very little of them.

I know that when the month is over, I will be on the mouse wheel again, rushing and hurrying to do it all, right this minute. For now, though, there is nowhere to rush off to,nothing urgent I need to do. I have plenty of time. I can relax and enjoy this slow-paced existence, a little one month vacation...while I wait.

Fathers

Fathers Day is coming around again, and I am sadly now without a father. More to the point, I am without MY father. It hurts.

One night this week I spent with my sister-in-law watching movies. We selected three seemingly unrelated films to watch. All three of them, it turned out, were about fathers. In the first one, two children with no father found a surrogate male role model in their wacky uncle. The second one involved a young woman trying to determine which of several men was her father before her wedding. She ended up with three wonderful fathers. The last film was about another young lady who went to live with her father, who was a bit cranky and set in his ways, but he loved her desperately.

All of this cinematic fatherness got me to thinking. My husband is in the peculiar circumstance of having two fathers, both great guys and wonderful dads. I have none. In fact, I haven't anyone even remotely resembling a father figure in my life now.

See, my dad was a huge presence, the hugest, really, in my life. There was no room for any other fatherlike entities, and I wouldn't have wanted one getting in the way. I never had a grandparent or aunt or uncle, or any of those other auxiliary relatives. I had a dad, a mom and a brother. And now I have no dad. Like I said, it hurts.

My dad was smart, kind, compassionate, fair, tough, funny, and he loved me more than anyone has ever or will ever love me. (My husband disputes this, but I know the truth. My father's love can't be outdone. Even by my dog.)

I miss him with every ounce of my being. Constantly.

But here I am, facing fathers day, wondering what to do with myself. My dad was a great one for bringing home strays--folks with no local family, someone needing a meal, whomever. He adopted people into our family life for a few days, or years, or forever. It was the kind of person he was.

Maybe I need to find a faux-father to adopt me, for a little while. Maybe it will dull the pounding, aching emptiness, at least for awhile. Maybe not. But it would be awfully nice to have someone kind of like my dad (but not precisely) around to do all the dad things with. I miss that.