Walking With Hazel: Dad, Get UPPP.

"Dad, it's five-sixty-ten; time for you to get me some yogurt."

This is how the Little Miss communicates.

Today began, well, early. We woke up and we got some breakfast, which consisted of just yogurt and oatmeal, because Dad realized that he'd gotten all the groceries EXCEPT for breakfast stuff, but we were okay. And then the Little Miss noticed a) the huge stacks of clothing that our friend Sherri had brought over for her (thank you!), and b) the tiny piano that Barsky had given her (also thank you!).

Which is why, at five-sixty-ten in the morning, the Little Miss was done up in a pink dress with polka dots underneath a cat costume while hammering down on a small toy piano.

This is to say nothing of how she reacted when she saw the Iggle-Piggle doll that Sherri had also donated. Let's just say that shrieking doesn't do justice to the sound that came out of her mouth.

Since then, it's been a matter of dressing up, sliding down the back of the couch, comparing our feets, playing songs on the piano while Dad sings along (you don't want to hear THAT, lemme tell you...), and, y'know, more yogurt.

Now it's noon, and we have plans, so we have to go. We'll be in touch.

Goddamn.

This is Jasmine.


Two weeks ago, Jasmine was in my daughter's bedroom, reading Hazel a story about cats playing hide & seek. She was eating food in my kitchen, and talking about New York and Colorado and Calgary, and about how much she was in love with her partner. She was here. Right fucking here.


Jasmine was killed in a car accident last night. A stupid, senseless, almost comical sequence of events ended her life.

Jasmine was more than a friend. I have a hard time describing what she was to me. What she still is to me. She's this shining thing in my head that I don't think will ever diminish. Don't get me wrong: she was also kind of a freak, I mean, she got Kathleen Hanna to sign her tattoo and then got Kathleen Hanna's signature tattooed in its place. But that's also what made her so fucking awesome. And it was always good to see her, to be around her.

It might be selfish, but I will not deny that I feel robbed. Cheated. I feel like I want to hold the entire fucking world accountable. I know I'm not the only one to feel this way, either. I don't wish to wrestle some moral or lesson out of her life or her passing, because her life was her own. Her story is her own, and not to be cheapened by having someone else place their own personal philosophy upon it. But if I'm left with anything, it's this: hold your loved ones close. Now, and always.

Today, we spent the day around friends; and while Dad may have gotten a little sad at the beginning, he still let the Little Miss put grass in his hair, and we bought a new winter hat for the Little Miss and tried to avoid all the politicians that were out in the street, and then we splashed around in puddles in the parking lot, and then we went home and played in the front yard, where we blew bubbles and Dad helped the Little Miss climb a tree except for when she felt she was too high up, and then we had dinner and saw some more friends and then we had popcorn and made a fort out of couch cushions and then went to bed. It was a good day as any could be.

And tomorrow, Dad's gonna go to work and try not to dwell on how much he misses his friend, but focus instead on just how much he loves her.

Walking With Hazel: Too Busy To Talk.

Yesterday kinda got away from us. We could sit here and tell you about how we saw a punk cutting the fingers off of his mittens with a Swiss Army Knife, and how Hazel proclaimed, "His fingers broken?!", or the amount of living room gymnastics that went on, or how, when dad's back was turned making both muffins AND cookies, the Little Miss downed 3/4 of a cup of chocolate chips.


We could. Go into detail, I mean. But we've got pancakes to make and living room camping to do, so we're just gonna keep yesterday for us and hope that the rest of you are finding something fun to do on this rainy miserable day.


Peace. We out, yo.