I am afraid inspiration still has eluded me. Actually she is doing an excellent job of hiding. Which you'd think would mean she'd be in my brain, because that is absolutely the last place I would think to look for anything. And the way things are filed there if she was in there it would be impossible to find her among the grey mush.
On the real life side, Dad's back is getting worse, to the point of meetings with surgeons. I went to clinic to give blood for an ALS research project. On way back drove passed the old homestead (this blog is named after it). Place was run down, yard in serious need of mowing. The dogwood at the curb is dead. Each Easter Dad would take pic of Mom, the girls and myself. Each year my Easter suit is more hideous than the prior year. I still loathe shopping for clothes. At the time it was mainly just boring. What kid wanted to spend a perfectly beautiful spring Saturday in JC Penny looking for the most psychedlic suit in the state. Actually shopping with Mom ended on the annual quest for the Easter suit. I have heard a similar tale from a comedian once and I'm not sure if he had somehow tapped into my own life or if this is perhaps more common than you'd think. It was one year when we splurged, which meant we were in Sears rather than JC and I was trying on the suit. The first sign that things were not going well was when I heard my Mom's voice from inside the dressing area. Evidently I was taking too long to try it on or perhaps she thought I had been abducted. Then when I finally came out for display, just as I thought it was over and I could go back and change she spotted a loose thread, in the crotch. She pointed it out to the sales clerk and before I could voice my objection he was shoving some senior sales personnel toward us. The older man actually put on his glasses and there I am in Sears, with my Mom and two sales clerks squatting in front of me staring at my crotch as other shoppers pass by wondering what in the world is going on. I still haven't forgiven Mom for that one.