WoolGatherer

To mark this magical day...

A repost of an oldy but goody in honor of myself, on this my natal day...

 

My father was once a Benedictine monk.  That has no particular bearing on my story, but I share that juicy tidbit confident in the knowledge that not many of you can say the same about your fathers.

I imagine, too, that few of your fathers referred to you with nicknames as strange and wide-ranging as those my dad has called me over the years. 

As this week comes to its welcome conclusion, I offer you a sampling of the nick-names I have answered to over the years.  (Nearly all of these are still currently in use, by the way.)

• Quincy (the name he had intended for his first-born before my mother put her foot down)
• SQ (for Sean Quincy)
• Kevin (my actual middle name)
• Barny (for Barnabas Collins, the vampire on the 1960's gothic soap opera Dark Shadows)
• Seany Barny
• Sean D. Barny
• Count (as in Dracula)
• Chunky Puppy
• Chunk "o" the Pup
• Your Pupship
• Fat Boy (NOT one of my favorites--forbidden since 1980)
• Macaroon (I graduated from Macalester College)
• Studly Cool
• Main Man
• Ivy League Bastard
• Son of the Pope
• Buckeen (a male member of the lower Irish nobility, alternately: an Irish bully)
• Head Boy in the Department
• Your Lordship
• Drug-Crazed Maniac
• Your Emminence
• Mein Sohn
• Puer Optimus
• Scum Sucker
• Scum Sucking Dog
• Sean Kevin-Cod Tuleremia Fokwatts Doola-Dilley (your guess is as good as mine, but he still calls me this at least twice a month)
• Sean Kevin-Cod (when he's feeling less garrulous)
• Kevin-Cod (when he's feeling inclined to brevity)

Not even remotely kidding,

Woofy...

Consider yourself at home

The first movie I ever saw in the theater was Oliver, the 1968 musical version of Dickens' Oliver Twist. I've had a song from that film running through my head for the two weeks since I moved into the townhouse I'm renting: Consider Yourself at Home.

That's what I'm trying to do--somehow find a way to think of this strange new space as my home. It hasn't been easy so far. It's finally starting to feel familar, but there's a long ways to go before it will feel homey. (Hudson has his own misgivings, but he's starting to settling in.) To be honest, I still feel depressed and lonely each time I drive up to the house, but I think that's fading a bit.

For the first few days I kind of hated it here. But now that I've got my snazzy new home theater set up and some pictures on the walls, it's pleasant enough. Tonight I ordered an electic fireplace to add a bit of cheer and heat. I'm seriously lacking in windows, and the ones I have are drafty. Hudson will be happy to have a warm place to nap again, too.

As much as I don't feel at home here, the old house no longer feels "right" to me either. In the two weeks since Darren moved back in, I've been over there a couple times to pick up stuff. (I only go over when he's at work.) He's bought new furniture, changed the pictures on the walls. It feels and (even smells) like a stranger's home. And I suppose it is.

So if my old home is lost to me, the only option is to make this place my home.

I realized that one of my problems is that I have no happy memories in this new house yet. I need to work on changing that.

For now, Hudson and I will just snuggle on the couch, and try to consider ourselves at home.

Shhh, my junk is reading...

Is that a come hither stare?

I really need to schedule a beach vacation...