It's been a while since I've had a good egg roll: the book.

Always talking that one.
When I set my Chinese New Year 2012 book deadline way back in the good ole days of 2011,  my father was not dying nor was he dead, as he finds himself now.

Don't you love a little frank morbidity at the start of the year?

All funeral dirges aside, y'all should know that while my handsome and tolerant husband has always been my very noisy cheerleader, my Dad was my quiet, yet most loyal supporter. I always thought he wanted an architect for a daughter (that was my first major at Temple). I always thought if that did not pan out that he would want a mathematician or engineer (we shared a certain love of a good puzzle and numbers). What I failed to realize, is that my Dad just wanted me--plain jane or fancy shmancy with a side of glitter-- just me.

And while I will not devote the rest of my life to mourning him--that would indeed be ridiculous--I have reached a certain clarity in my life. This clarity only came through truly realizing the inheritance my father gave me--his second, yet if I do say so myself, most interesting child. He gave me the gift of gab--the gift of filling the world with words--good ones, sometimes very bad ones and sometimes funny ones. He gave me verbs and pronouns and expletives. He gave me plots and conflicts and resolutions. I've inherited scores of characters, motivators and epilogues.

My inheritance is burning a hole in my pocket.

I have 20 days until Chinese New Year. I am terribly behind schedule. But, a deadline is a deadline, right? So if you don't see me or I seem distant or I seem stranger and more anti-social that usual--apologies, I've got an inheritance to blow.

Happy 2012.