I read this (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/25145431/) this morning and it just bummed me out.

Tim Russert dies today at age 58.  For a news junkie like me, it's rare to sit and watch a political analyst and television show host without the bluster, the grumbling, the crankiness, and the pompousness of so many other hosts.  Tim Russert could get his point across quietly and clearly and respecitvefully.  I have to say, in the last few months of election coverage, he was tending to ramble a little bit during this nightly discussions with Brian Williams on the national news.  But I just smiled and thought "Tim, what are you saying here Tim?"  On Meet the Press, he was extraordinary.  It was nice to watch a host ask probing questions and be tough without seeming to take glee in it.   Tim Russert was a hard working man.  He loved his family.  He wrote a book about his dad.  He wrote a book about his dad.  I think that is pretty nice.

Farewell Mr. Russert.  Thanks for all the hard work and smart words.

It is 1:20 a.m. and I should be asleep.

I should be asleep, but I am sad.

I read THIS yesterday, and it made me sad.  Hurt-to-my-bones sad. 

I watched THIS tonight on the NBC nightly news, and it made me sad. It made me remember almost every moment of my father's own cancer diagnosis and death.  And it made me remember good things along with the bad things.  But it made me sad.  Crying sad.

I barely had a few minutes to talk to my husband today because he is on Oahu working.  And he had time to work from dawn to dusk and have dinner and beer, but only a brief moment to talk to me.  And I really do appreciate that he called me earlier in the day for a quick "I love you."  And I know he is tired at the end of the day, but it made me sad.  Frustratingly sad. 

I hear that Hawaiian Airlines raised their fees on all their flights again, and it made me sad.  Annoyingly sad. 

I can't even think of a good song I'd like to include in my blog to express how I feel.  How sad.  I suppose all I can do is go to sleep and greet tomorrow with a better attitude than I have right now.  Because, ya know - it's too late for me to start watching Moonlight and Valentino.

Except, this is still one of the best songs ever written, and I love it when I am sad so I'll throw it in another blog here:

Today is one of those days where the sun seems to shine too bright.  The birds sing their songs too sweetly.  I walk around among people and see no one.  My temple pounds.  My head is heavy but when I lay down to rest, I find no relief.  I sobbed into my husband’s chest last night and, though he put his arms around me, he could not ease the pain in my heart.  It felt like it wanted to jump straight out of my chest.  Today, I feel antsy.   I feel like I don’t care about most of the everyday things in my everyday life.  I take it out on my husband, as I alternate between being grumpy and downright pissy with him.  Is it his fault?  Of course not.   Can he change what is wrong with the world?  Unfortunately, no.

This week a sweet, beautiful, and bright little girl passed away.  This week, a year-long battle with brain-stem cancer was lost.  This week, I can imagine that a large black cloud fell over my old workplace as one of our own lost his 12-year old daughter.  I think of her. I think of her mother. I think of her father. I think of her. I think of her mother.  I think of her father.  I can’t stop thinking.  There are no answers when a child dies.  No reasons.  And, for a long time, no solace. 

There’s not much more I can say.  Except, there is lots more to say.  And I’ll write more about efforts people can make to help get Senate Bill 911 and House Bill 1553 acted on and passed by our congressional leaders.  Together, they are the “Conquer Childhood Cancer Act” of 2007.  Similar to bills that were introduced in 2006 but never voted on.  Actually, if you click on that link, the website has some information on what you can do to help.  But I’ll try and write more later also.

One day later....

I still feel restless.  Antsy.  Sad.  I argue with my husband in the evening.  Then, we sleep, wake up in the morning and argue all over again.  He comments about our relationship.  But he is being hyperbolic he says.  As he is so very hyperbolic every time he makes negative comments about people or things.  It’s my new least-favorite word.  Because the exaggeration is based, I think, on a truth of a belief.  But then, the conversation is done.  Because he declares it done.  And I jog home from breakfast while he goes back to work.  Only, I don’t jog today.  I find myself running as hard as my legs and lungs will allow me.  Running like all my personal demons are chasing me, and feeling like I have nowhere to go.  Gasping for air and wishing my physical discomfort was worse.  A good distraction it would be.  I don’t expect the random world to make sense.  But I would hope that some of the people in it would.  Take that away from me and I’m running in circles.  And that’s not good for my bad knee.

There was a beautiful sweet young girl who loved to share her tales, her dancing, and her laughter.  She would declare herself shy then babble and talk of all manner of things.  She would hide and jump and surprise and provide laughter to the dour but openhearted grownups in our offices and cubes.  She would play and dance.  She would work and learn.  And I am thankful for the time I was able to spend with her.

Sad, sad news from Italy today.

Ouch. My heart hurts.

Luciano Pavarotti has died in his hometown Modena in Italy. Can anyone every compare?

I grew up listening to the great Pavarotti. Literally - when I was just a youngster, tugging my blanket and stuffed animals with me to the living room to sit with my parents and sister and watch Evening at Pops on PBS. For years, I watched Pavarotti, Beverley Sills, conductors John Williams and Zubin Mehta and a myriad of guests.....and always, so much music.

I can't describe Luciano Pavarotti.

From the CNN report -

Widely considered the greatest tenor of his time, Pavarotti began his life modestly in Modena, the son of Fernando, a baker and amateur singer, and Adele, who worked at the local tobacco factory.

"I dreamed to become a singer when I was four and I hear my father singing in the church with a beautiful tenor voice," he told CNN in a 1991 interview. "And I say to myself, well, let's try to do something."

And do something, he did. Here he is singing what is probably my favorite of all songs he has sung. With his white handkerchief, no less. Not his most famous song, perhaps. But my favorite. O Sole Mio (My Own Sun).

Farewell, truly a master of his art.

My mom picked out a fountain today for her backyard. She had been shopping around with Big Sis for one for a long while. She saw some she liked. She could not decide. They went back out this morning but did not buy one. They came home, and Mom asked me if I would go with her to one other place where she had seen a fountain she liked. So Mom, Youngest Nephew, and I drove Big Sis' truck out to look at fountains. Mom made a decision! They loaded the 300+ pound thing into the back of the truck. Big Bro and I got most of it set up in the yard. We had to wait for Big Sis to come back to house to lug the last piece in place.

And Voila! Mom has a fountain. The Nephews had fun playing around with it. Mom found an old basket of sea shells that my sister and I had collected/bought many many years ago. The Nephews had fun placing them all over the fountain, changing the flow and sound a little bit.

Mom bought this fountain for Dad. It's not just from her. Several of her family members, instead of buying flowers for the funeral last year, gave her money to get a memorial-type fountain for Dad for the yard. We all thought it was something Dad would like. And it's more permanent that flowers. And here it sits. Almost exactly one year after Dad died. I like that it's kind of modern looking, but still has a natural look to it. The patterns look almost like bamboo. Mom likes that it makes a decently loud sloooshing noise as the water flows down. Dad may think it's a little big, but I think he would like it.

There's lots I can say about last year. For now, I'll show you the fountain. And think about Dad.

.....for well-written wit. For saying harsh things that sometimes need to be said. For not backing down. I didn't always agree with everything you wrote, but I really admired your writing. Wow, I liked your writing. And your fighting spirit. Not since the loss of San Francisco sweetie Herb Caen have I been so bummed about a columnist's passing.

Farewell, Ms. Molly. Thank you.

Did you ever see the film "Mother"?  If you have, did you love that classic food scene as much as I did? Isn't that the most typical Mom behavior?  Must....feed....children.  Doesn't matter how old the child - Moms have this instinctive need to feed you.  From the big block of cheese to the "protective covering" of freezer burn on the ice cream, that scene in Mother is one of my favorites!  It cracks me up because it is so true. 

It reminds me of similar scenes I've lived with one of my best friend's mothers.  Mama T always tried to feed me. And feed people she could! But there was one time where my friend and I had gone out to eat with friends and when we got back to the house, Mama T was aflutter with excitement at the thought of feeding us.  She delightedly showed us the steaks she had taken out of the freezer to fix for us. We tried to tell her we were not hungry. But she talked up her steaks. We insisted we were not hungry. But she talked up her steaks. We finally had to admit that we had already eaten out and were honestly too full to eat a gigantic steak each. I think she fed both of them to my good friend after I left! 

Mama T was always looking out for me, making sure I was comfortable in her home, making me welcome, and checking in on me. And not just me - though her daughter and I have been friends since we were five years old.  New friends and old friends alike, once you were in her home, you would be mothered.  She always wanted to see and believe the best in people, and by seeing the good in people, she treated you with kindness and respect and care. 

I am very lucky that I have good friends whose parents are so open and supportive of their extended families.  Mama T just happened to be the one who was in my life the longest.  She passed away a week ago, and I feel like a little part of my childhood left with her.  I could go back to my old hometown, and see her, and feel like I still belonged there (my parents moved away several years ago).  I could look forward to being pampered and scolded all day with her love and her no-nonsense common sense. For all that, I know her family will miss her very much.  But I hope they are comforted, as I am, with some hilarious memories and the warm-blanket feeling you get when you remember someone who truly cared for you. Moms are very very good at that.