Crying Times

About thirty yards from the house, we have what we lovingly refer to as "The Barn." What it really is is a very large garage with two oversized slide-up doors in the front, a regular walk-in side door, and a large slide-up rear door. It's where all of my dad's tools and workbenches are, where the tractor lives, where all of the storage space is, and where my treadmill is. It's big, cold, and quiet--a place to get away to; a place where I can work out, sweat, be alone. I go to The Barn at all times of the night and day--eight in the morning; eight at night; two in the afternoon; two in the wee hours. It's a place of renewal for me. A place where I can go privately and introspect, review, assess, release.

Lately, with the economy in the gutter and my father worrying much more than he should about finances, I've been using The Barn a lot. I go there to cry. I certainly can't cry in the house. If either of my parents saw me crying, it would do nobody any good. I hold things together. I keep things running smoothly. That's my role here. My parents know that; I know that. And although I know they would be understanding and wonderfully supportive if they caught me in a moment of weakness, it would burden them emotionally and that simply is not acceptable to me. And so.....I carefully pick and choose my crying places and my crying times. Most of the time, I choose The Barn. Other times, it's the bathroom (with the door locked). Sometimes it's in my car, to run an errand. Sometimes it's very late at night in my bedroom.

My point here being........I've discovered that it's okay to have a place and a time where I can go and just cry. Caring for one's parents, or your kids, or just taking care of yourself can be tough. Stuff happens. Stress builds up. We need to have places where we can go and cry it out.

Berries and Squirrels

Last night, walking through the living room, past my Dad (in his big leather recliner, absorbing that day's newspaper), on my way to my bedroom down the hall, Dad grabs my arm, "Hey!"
I stop. "Yeah!" (This is the "dance" he and I always play when he, so "delicately", wants my immediate attention.)
"What's a blueberry?"
Honestly. This is his question to me. No preface, no lead-in, no warm-up. Just...."What's a blueberry?" It's up to me to discover the context. Logically, I went with the blueberries that Mom insists on having on her Grape-Nuts every morning, 365 days of the year, availability notwithstanding. (Thank you Chilean blueberry farmers.) I suspected he didn't mean the fruit but that was my knee-jerk association. I was in the process of searching for another context when Dad, I guess sizing up my prolonged silence and look of utter confusion, decided he'd help the process along.
"The....phone thing."
Instant understanding. "Ohhhh! You mean a Blackberry!?"
"Yeahhhhh! Blackberry! What's a Blackberry?"
And then, before I can answer, "Do you have one?"
My answer is simple, "No."
And his answer is even simpler, "Well..........why not?"
Again, before I can respond, "How's a Blackberry different from a phone? Is it a computer?"
Keep in mind, I was standing this whole time. But now Dad was getting into more serious matters. Explaining exactly WHAT a Blackberry is requires getting down on my knees--closer to his good ear. And then I begin...
"A Blackberry lets you surf the Internet, check email, has a full keyboard, plus it's a phone and a camera." Of course, I had to repeat each of those phrases multiple times before Dad could catch every word.
Once he "got it", Dad was quick on his comeback. "Well.......why don't you have one?"
But I was just as quick, "Because it would cost $200 and I don't really need one."

Normally, anything that costs over $50 sends Dad into the stratosphere. Money matters and my father do not mix. Money stresses Dad out. He admits it. And, because of this, I move mountains to keep him shielded from anything finance related. Don't even get me started on his response to the current recession. But......for some reason, the cost for my getting a Blackberry did not seem to bother him. "Well.........that's not bad."
And then he surprised me again with, "I think you should have one."
I found his logic too odd to take seriously, so I just stood up, chuckled and said, "Okay Dad" and continued down to my room.
But clearly Dad was not finished with this talk of Blackberries.

Later on last night I came back through the living room again. He stopped me again.
"How do you get a Blackberry?"
Now my curiousity is really piqued. "Dad, what's all this about Blackberries?"
And he, very innocently replied, "Well, I just think you should have one."
But before I could explain to him, again, that it simply wasn't worth the money, at least right now anyway, he hit me with another bombshell, "I'll pay for it with my squirrel fund."

Okay so..........now we've gone from blueberries, to blackberries, to squirrels, and none of this is about anything edible or living. And so I had to ask, "Squirrel fund?"
And, in response, my dad smiles one of those smiles of his (I have a photo of this smile on the blog here. Changed it today so it would connect to this story.) and he says, "Oh yeah. Remember when I worked for the Coast Guard Auxiliary? Well, I got paid you know. And we didn't really need that money so I put in a squirrel fund so I'd have extra money if I ever needed it."
I knew he wouldn't answer my next question but I asked anyway, just to see the expression on his face, "Where is it?"
He didn't disappoint. F irst the smile, then, "It's a secret."

That pretty much the end of the conversation last night. Butt his morning, Dad wheels into the kitchen (earlier than usual in fact) and hands me a wad of twenty dollar bills, ten of them. "Here," he says, "buy yourself a Blackberry."
You shoulda seen the look of surprise on my face. My dad having some kind of secret squirrel fund hidden somewhere in the house is not half as shocking as his determination that I must have a Blackberry and, on top of that, he's going to pay for it with money I didn't even know existed!
Before I could retort he added, "Consider it an early birthday present."
And I've got nothing except for, "Wow Dad, you're a pretty sneaky guy."
And he answers ,"Nah, I'm just a nice guy." And then there's that smile again.