My. Father. Is. Visiting.

First, I know I've been silent on the Hurricane. I honestly don't know what to say. The destruction is just overwhelming. The opinions on the response of the government are so varied. What I do know is that we should all give a bit to the Red Cross (my company is matching all gifts 100%, so that is the way I'm going) and pray that those stuck in the affected areas are able to be helped soon.

This weekend, my father is visiting. Along with my Stepmother, Barbara. There is a huge story behind my childhood, but let's see if I can sum it up with a few key points:

- My parents were divorced when I was 2.
- Barbara is my father's 5th wife.
- When I was in my freshman year of college, I was visiting my father. I was 19. His wedding anniversary was coming up, and I asked Barbara how long they had been together. She said 20 years. SERIOUSLY.
- I'm the youngest of my father's children by 20 years. He doesn't talk to any of his other 4 children.

My father isn't so hot in the relationship department. He is a racist, homophobic, opinionated, old school (and not in a good way, he loves to say "The Golden Rule? I'll give you my Golden Rule. He who makes the gold, makes the rules". Nice, huh?), and kind of nasty old man. This weekend will be one of survival. It's actually his birthday today, so tonight, I'm going to take him here for dinner. It's a nice place, I've always wanted to try. Where no one knows us (which is important. Sometimes, he makes a HUGE scene at restaurants. But I won't go there). Tomorrow, who knows? He is 75, and his days are usually filled with switching between the History Channel, the Weather Channel, and the Golf channel.

For the rest of the weekend (he and Barb are leaving on Sunday morning) I plan on doing a bit of gardening and hopefully get some more work done on the walls in preparation for painting. I brought the actual paint in a fit of optimistic delusion... we shall see.

Not to much photo worthy knitting going on here. Since there has been more than a few requests for puppy pictures, I must oblige. Here is Henry playing with a funny toy that my friend Suzanne brought him when she visited. It's a ball with a huge plastic tongue attached. For those keeping track, Henry is 5 months old, and he already weighs 45 pounds. He isn't going to be a small boxer!

Thanks for all the good wishes on my new job. It's done a lot for moral in my area to see someone get promoted through the ranks. For a while there, my company was always hiring managers from outside - which was frustrating, as all of us would work our butts off, but really have no sense that we were going to be rewarded for those efforts. Now, maybe the tides they are turning? And no, Sooz, I'll never be 'too important' to hang out with you guys!