Westward Ho!

I typed that title twice…it just doesn’t come out right.  That is what they used to say, isn’t it?

Well, I’d be doing handstands if I knew how to do handstands…and cartwheels if I knew how to do those, too.

First born is coming home for the holidays and that means the decorations can go up! Including the phony tree that is not as “green” as a cut real tree after all.  [Seems a lot of good intentions didn't pan out (get that, westward ho, pan out? )] And I’ll have someone to go through the 27 boxes of Christmas decorations with, and someone to be in this house with me instead of it being my first Christmas alone….

I hope first born’s best friend is going home for the holidays, too….cause I want to know everyone is toasty warm and surrounded by loved ones this year.

And there will be pizzelles to be made and Anne Murray singing “Silver Bells”.  It’s going to be all right.

Yippee! And I really mean that.  I’m even looking forward to going to the airport at 11:30 PM!

Dad’s Birthday

Today is my dad’s birthday. Well, it is if you are on the west coast, but it’s yesterday for the other side of the country.  I only bring this up because some pretty important people live on the other side of the country, so they need to know that I haven’t forgotten what day my dad was born.

He lived a long and full life, and he got to stare over the table at my mom, which to him meant it was a good day. He loved the little things. He loved me. I felt it; he said it; I knew it.  I’m one of the lucky ones.  It could have gone differently if circumstances were different. It’s all because of a dog.

Pogo was an American bull terrier. He scared the wits out of me as a two year old. But he is the reason my mom met my dad.

We lived in Falls Church, Virginia.  The “we” was my mom and two sisters and myself.  We lived in an apartment and that apartment allowed dogs.  So when my future dad was hunting for a place to stay with his two boys and his dog, he landed in the apartment upstairs from us.  He had sworn off women, newly divorced from the mother of his children.  Then he saw mom sitting on the steps of the apartment. He wanted to take care of her because she looked so tired.

He spent the next fifty-some years taking care of her, and if he were here today, he would be doing it still.

Wait, hold on, he is doing it still. I found another hand written note just last week, explaining to her what their standing was on H/HH bonds and how to deal with them in 2012.  He tried to take care of everything.

I love my dad. I love him for loving my mom, for loving me, and for the way he loved his life.

I couldn’t ask for a better example of love between two people. I wanted that for myself. I even married someone with a big age difference, seeing that it worked for my mom and dad. It didn’t work for me.  But in a way, I could feel his love for my mom so much that, though I’ll never have that, just being on the sidelines of it makes me believe it can happen for other people.  And that makes the world a better place.

Happy birthday, Dad. I miss you so much.