I have just finished the seventh and last Harry Potter book about fifteen minutes ago.

I am exhilarated and saddened to have finished it. I think I will get some sleep now and discuss more about this in tomorrow's post.

OK, so I finally got around to seeing it last night. It pretty much met my expectations.

I've read all the books, so I knew the movies were going to get darker and more somber, but I still wasn't quite prepared for it. What happened to the days-gone-by where Harry and friends were just learning to fly their brooms and the biggest thing they were stressed about was Draco Malfoy?

Anyway, it had been awhile since I'd read the book, which was better in the end, because I would have probably been outraged at all the stuff from the book that was cut. There were some things changed around, but all in all, the movie moved along fairly decently and kept mostly true to its basis.

Three days till the last book, and then we'll be put out of our misery.

Re: previous post. On one hand, I want someone to tell me I'm being irrational because my dad *should* feel entitled to lots of time with his son, who he only sees twice a year. But, I also want someone to tell me my dad is being dumb.

My dad has come right out and told me, "I'm sorry but I'm not going to change." That just doesn't sit well with me. We all must bend, but he doesn't? What is that bullshit?

Basically, I'm just damn irritated and about to tell them all to go screw themselves. There's no plan and no respect and no communication. Dad is just doing whatever he wants and not heeding the feelings of others. Unfortunately, everyone is enabling him.

I just want to tell him to get stuffed...but I know that would absolutely be pointless.

I am seriously trying to get a grip. I am 32 years old, for cripes' sake.

My brother and his family are back in town. I'm so glad to see him...I only get to about twice a year. He's in the Air Force and lives in the Phoenix area, although he's moving to Valdosta, GA in about a month.

He has two girls from a previous marriage, one step-daughter, and an eight-month-old, long awaited boy (who is adorable). His ex-wife is completely psycho. His new wife is awesome.

I don't even know why I'm telling all this, it really has nothing to do with the point of my rant. Except, maybe that I'm trying to convince myself how stupid I'm being.

The problem is my dad. My dad is set in his ways (what dad isn't?). He's a creature of comfort, and doesn't seem to go with the flow very well. He didn't attend many of my school activities as a kid, and he doesn't attend many of them now...that includes his grandchildren as well. But, he never beat us or our mom, or verbally abused us or our mom. He wasn't a workoholic and he never cheated on my mom. So, by 1970's parenting standards, he was a good dad.

Every time my brother comes to town, my dad believes they will do nothing but golf every day and travel to the casinos at night. He never asks, but assumes I will watch all the children so my SIL can go, too. He never gives any thoughts to "family" time so that we all can equally participate. Ultimately, my mom winds up harassing him about letting us ladies do something fun, while he watches the kids. This is a farce, because while the ladies go do something fun, MY HUSBAND and MY BROTHER do the kid-watching. My dad watches TV downstairs or goes to bed.

Anyway, my bro gets into town last night, and we all have supper together and hang out, drinking some beers and talking. We get home around 11:30 pm. This morning, Dad calls around 10 am, asking if we got home all right and how we were all feeling. Then he says something about a tee time this morning and how he's trying to drum up enough people to play. Then he makes a flippant comment about "Heather (me) watching the kids this afternoon while they do the casino." Heh. Then, in an abrupt about-face, he says he'll call back later when he's talked to everyone and figured out what's going on. That call came at anout 2:30 pm.

I found out later that my bro and dad went golfing this morning, and didn't bother to invite us, even though both of us are avid golfers. His "I'll call you later" meant a dampening of our plans because of hanging around the phone. Anyway, I decide to move on. That morning, I go over to pick up my step-niece and bring her over to the house so she can play with my kids...then I took them all out for lunch...then I took them all swimming. I invited my SIL and my mom, and nobody wanted to go. They all wanted to sit around the house, waiting my bro and dad.

So I come home from the pool about 3:30. My dad has called...they've gone visiting an aunt and uncle, and will be back around 5 pm. They want to know if we want to do a pizza joint for dinner. However, the monkey wrench in all this is that Elliot starts his toddler gymnastics class tonight...5:30-6:00. I don't know what's going to happen. I'm just livid. To be continued.

So. One of the most comforting things, to me, about being Pagan is our view of life and death. Death is a part of the cycle, and helps to sustain life. When I became accepting of that basic tenet, I became less scared of dying.

But...I admit, as much as I don't fear death, I am scared to death (pun intended) of getting old. I'm scared of losing my body functions, I'm scared of not being able to do things I've done for all my life, and I'm scared of sitting around, waiting for others to help me.

For example, I took my mom to the eye doctor today so she could have her eyes dilated. Turns out she's got cataracts (she's 55), and believe me when I say she was the youngest person in that waiting room. This particular doc only visits this neck of the woods once a month, so naturally you can imagine the place was packed with patients who were there to have the exact same thing done as my mom.

Again, my mom was the youngster of the group. So, there were a lot of walking canes, wheelchairs, and breathing equipment. Now you all know that my natural tendency here would be to tell this story light-heartedly, but I'm finding that I cannot treat this subject humorously at all. I'll ask that you humor me and my dark rambling a bit.

I spent nearly four hours today surrounded by frail, dependent elderly people and I am just depressed as hell. It is not distate for old people that I am expressing...and I certainly don't mean to sound disrespectful towards my elders. But, I got a long, hard look at my mother's future...and mine as well. That's going to be me someday, sitting in a disinfected, quiet-as-death waiting room, depending on some young scamp of a doctor to call my name and tell me how he's going to help me. I'm sure he'll be kind and Hippocrates-esque, but deep down I'll know that this is just the beginning. I'll be sitting in another waiting room soon, waiting for another doctor to give me another prognosis to something else that's wrong with my body. And then, sure enough, as I walk out of that doctor's office, I'll be depending on somebody, husband or child, to drive me home or get my medication or set up my next doctor's visit.

And then, see, my quality of life depends on doctors. They name my maladies, give me medicines, perform my surgeries...so that I can live longer and experience more of the aches and pains of growing old. It's quite ironic, actually.

And it's all a part of the cycle. It happens to everyone. I'm fine with the end result...I've reconciled myself to dying. I haven't quite come to terms with the way that I'll get there. I may never.