Another fantasy then, for you Jack and for who, at the beach you both like so much with smores (crackers, chocolate and marshmallows all in one, got it) and jack smoking and I bring tiramisu. Anyway, the fantasy:

The sun is bright and pleasant, not too hot, gentle, kind. The ocean is slightly wavy, the sand white and glittery and warm. Feet sink into the warm sand, there I am, walking, dressed appropriately for a soon to be 55 year old woman, by the way. Anyway, I am walking feet in the warm sand, sun gently on my face. I feel comfortable and fuzzy. There is a party in front of me,. I see a younger man, later thirties sitting on the sand with a boy, his son, perhaps. The man hands the boy a candy bright red apple fire truck, new and shiny. The boy is delighted, mouth open eyes grateful, taking the truck in both hands. Father smiling down at the son. they both get up and run around. I keep walking, another party, I see… an overweight Aussie… (too obvious, Jack?) with a wife and a dog…

More tomorrow, Bed time for me. I will look at latest posts though…

anita

Dear Jack:

Yes, he is. I wrote that to you long time ago: you are my hero. You stood up for me again and again. And you stood up for yourself. This makes you forever hero to me!
anita

Dear who:

I can tell a bit at a time. Here is some more then: at the beach, the kid runs into the water, the warm ocean water. The dad runs after him, feet in squishy wet sand, laughter in the air. Suddenly time stands still for dad and he remembers his son dropped the new firetruck before getting into the water. He feels anxious and walks back to get the truck. As he sees the trucks lopsided in the sand, he picks it up and feels a deep sadness for the kid that he was, long ago. Dad had a truck just like the one he got for his son, bright red and new. It was one of the few times that his mother gave him something with love, with a smile, not with her usual frown, discontent. It was Christmas of long ago, the bright red firetruck was his gift.

Squatting at the sand, holding the truck, his son’s crying of joy as he splashes in the water, dad remembers the laughter of long ago, one of the rare times he laughed in the presence of his mother, that Christmas day as he opened the wrap of the best gift he ever got.

More later…

Dear Egotistical self-absorbed Jack:

Just saying: hi.
anita

Thank you, who. You wrote today that you bonded with your mother watching the movie. Can you tell me more about your relationship with her as is and how and if the past abuse was resolved???

anita

Dear Jack:

Hope you have Margarita Pizza for Christmas, or do you HAVE to have traditional Christmas food (whatever that is in Australia, now that i know it is a hot summer Christmas, who knows what traditional Christmas food is there… what will you have there?)

Three hundred and nine degrees F or C and that means you are roasting, Jack. Sprinkle a bit olive oil on yourself with a touch of pepper and you are good to be eaten by a Tasmanian Devil?

anita