I spend an inordinate amount of time straightening up my house.  It seems I mess it up, then I reach a point I can no longer tolerate my own disorder so I have to do something about it and then this cycle repeats itself.  And over and over.

I remember the few times my family went on vacation without me (I raised a boy and girl) things actually did not move.  They stayed in the same spot.

But I have to live with my own messes.  So does my wife.  I try to logically place items I put away.  Currently we are running out of space for books.  And we still buy more.  And I have run out of space for newly recorded cassettes.

We have empty cassette racks but we have to agree where to place them.  And that has not occurred yet.  It would take me another lifetime to play all the cassettes I have not heard.  Don’t ask me where we got them that is another story.

All this drives me crazy (and my wife).  Sometimes parts of my house actually looks neat and organized.  Until next time.

I thought the tears were gone but they were not ended.  I heard the song Neil Young wrote thirty-seven years ago, “Old Man”, again and I thought of my Dad who died nine years ago.  A little later I burst into tears.

We had such a “rocky” relationship.  Most of my life he did not accept me and we argued a lot particularly about finances:  I knew I did not meet his expectations of a son.  He never told me exactly how.

The last conversation I had with him he told me he was far more impressed with the million dollars his future son-in-law made selling his company than anything I did.

I remember our conversation and was then aware it might be the last time I might talk to him.  He was ninety-one and possibly blind.  His mind was lucid but I had to talk to him slowly.  I tried reasoning with him but to no avail.

He did not value anything I accomplished in my life.  All he valued was money.  I finally gave up and left him in bed.  That was the last time I saw him alive.  He died shortly after.

Although he did not approve of my life I did know the last year or two of his life he loved me.  That was a gift but I wish he would have valued who I truly was a little more.

Anyway, hearing the song “Old Man” brought up memories of my Dad and all the years we “lost”.  I loved him despite how hard he was with me.  In the end he loved me.  That was all that mattered.