The excitement was almost unbearable. My heart palpitations were on the verge of causing a myocardial infarction. My breath came in short, rapid gasps, almost sending me into the throes of carbon dioxidosis.
A fire truck came barrelling down our street on Sunday, right in front of our house, sirens blaring.
And where there's a fire truck, there are firefighters.
Need I say more?
There were actually two fire trucks, and they stopped not too far from my house. Of course, I immediately thought, 'What a great way to start a Sunday!', and I wanted to get my boots on and run out there to see what I could do to help, because that's how I roll, especially when firefighters are involved. But I didn't. Instead, I perched in front of our big living room window and watched intently.
The excitement, unfortunately, was short-lived. About five burly men jumped out of the trucks and ran toward a house on our side of the street. They disappeared into a house. And then, minutes later, they came out again, got into their trucks, and left.
Once again, I was left with nothing but my imagination.
Even Mr. Handsome felt bad for me.
So, instead of feeling sorry for myself, as I normally would, I actually brushed me teeth AND my hair (I know!) and took Gryphon to the dog park so that he could get rid of some of his energy. And he frolicked with all the happy dogs, and even met one he thought was worthy of humping. Unfortunately, I didn't get any pictures of the event despite having my camera with me. I was too busy trying to pull him off the poor, unsuspecting canine, who was only a quarter of Gryphon's size.
On a more serious note, tomorrow is the fourth anniversary of my dad's death. It's a day of sadness for me, because I miss him so much. He passed away 10 days after being placed in one of the best nursing homes in the city, and I still feel awfully guilty for how things happened and wish I could change it all, even though I know I did everything I could, and then some. I think about him every day.
I miss his stupid jokes that he would repeat over and over again, forgetting that he'd told it to me just the other day. I miss how he'd forget the punch line, or mix up the words because English was his third (or fourth) language. I miss his silent support, knowing he was always there for us. I miss his gentleness. I miss that he would never want me to leave when I came to visit, wanting the company as he sat there with his eyes closed. I miss him.
It's a hurt that will never go away.
Miss you and love you, Daddy-o.