This past weekend was Father’s Day.  And I realize I miss my Dad.  We lost him 17 years ago to cancer.  Life has moved on, of course.  Grandkids, moves, other deaths, changes, all fill the days.  And that is just the way it is.  I know the same will happen with respect to me, and I’m very OK with that.  There were a couple of songs that I heard recently that brought my Pop back into focus, I think.  One is “Live Like You Were Dying”, which talks about taking each day as a precious thing.  Talk sweeter, love deeper, enjoy what you have.  The other is “The Living Years” from back in 1988.  It talks more about things you didn’t say to a loved one when you had the chance.  And wishing you had…

My Dad and I did not have any problems.  We both loved each other, respected each other, were proud of each other.  I went through stretches wishing he had been around more, but I know he was showing love for his family the way men of his generation did: they worked as hard as they could to provide.  And he did a great job of that.  What I hope to do from this day on is to tell those I love that I love them.  To be there as much as I can, for whatever.  So that the phrase from the song “I just wish I could have told him in the living years” does not apply to my spirit as I’m passing on to Heaven…

Had the chance to camp for a night with 2 kids and 2 grand kids (a coming blog) last Friday.  And it was terrific.  But while we were there, unpacking the CRV, Josh looked in the back (under the carpet), and asked where my spare was.  I had no idea.  I started looking on the inside walls, and finally decided the car care place had forgotten to give it back (had tires rotated).  I was frustrated, because we are on the road a lot!  So I had started looking through receipts to see if I could document when.  After I found it, I was planning on going to the garage to confront them…

Fast forward to last night.  I’m grilling at the opening to the garage.  Bryson is hanging out with me.  He has discovered the “what’s this” question, and uses it all the time.  He touched the tail light on the CRV and asked “what’s this”.  He touched the bumper and asked “what’s this”.  He touched the spare tire cover on the outside back of the car and asked “what’s this”.  At that point, I went in to get Becky to show her…  I am so glad I didn’t find the receipt.

Went to see Caleb play his second t-ball game last night.  It was too much fun.  Each team has 2 at-bats, where everyone gets their turn.  No one makes an out, no one keeps score, and the kids seem to love it.   When it is time to be in the field, each child has a turn to field the ball and throw it to first.  Lots of concentration on how to throw, which foot to step off of, and follow-through. 

What is really going on is a group of loving, involved parents spending time with their kids.  Sure, it would be less trouble to stay at home and watch TV.  Lots of cranky little brothers and sisters in the stands, missed bed times, insect bites, upset schedules.  But the memories, and knowing you are trying as a parent, is worth all the momentary hardships.   

Becky and I were in Fredericksburg the 17th and 18th of this month.  It was a “combo” trip:  got to visit family, and I ran the Historic Half Marathon.  It was a great, but rushed trip.  Left at the crack of dawn on Saturday, flew to Baltimore, drove to Fredericksburg, took Madisan and Braden to lunch and a movie, came home and visited, then all went out to dinner.  Typical full day for us… 

Sunday was another full day.  My race started at 7, so I had to be at the starting line by 6:30.  Becky drove me over, went back home, dressed for church and rousted the little ones out of bed, and came back to see me on the course.  It was wonderful to see them holding thier signs, smiling at me.  As Becky has pointed out, they are not good “yellers”.  She then took them to another spot to see me pass, then home.  Then back to get me at the end of the race.  Wow!  Becky is so supportive of the running, and all the stuff it takes to get it done.  I am so appreciative, and feel the love it shows…

Bryson, who is almost two, like to identify who owns things.  “My big truck”, or “baby’s bottle” (which comes out ”baby’s bobble”).  Most of the things in the house belong to Nana.  She is the big winner in the ownership department.  I thought with two vehicles, I would get “assigned” at least one of them.  But for a long time, that was not the case.  Everything belongs to Nana.

With one exception.  We have a cabinet that stands in the corner of the breakfast nook.  In the cabinet is the liquor.  And Bryson, from day one, has always said that it is Pop’s.  And the stuff in there is “Pop’s Juice”.    I’m good with that. 

Not a dance.  An “iRobot Intelligent FloorVac Robotic Vacuum”.  She (my Mom, Juanita) has been talking about getting one for over a year.  I can safely say that, for years, every week when I go by for coffee she has mentioned the floor needing to be vacuumed.  Never looked bad to me, but she spends most days looking at it.  So it is on her mind.  I think she should have gotten one the day she saw them advertised.  But she puts off spending money she can avoid spending, even when she can afford it…even when it is something she wants and needs.  She has one of those recliners that will push you up to a standing position, instead of you having to lift yourself with your arms and hands.  It took her six months after her hands were in constant pain to make that phone call.

My first thought was “Well, it’s about time!  Why would anyone deny themselves like that?”.  Then it occurred to me I have been putting off a sports massage for almost 2 months… 

I made the call for an appointment a few minutes ago…the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it?

Nana and I were fortunate enough to be at the hospital when Emily and Jason were to bring Colby home.  He has to stay an extra day or so, so it was even more exciting to get him home.  At the hospital, we watched Bryson while the parents did paperwork.  It took all our tricks to keep him occupied.  We walked the halls, talked to nurses, looked at the other babies in the window, played in the water fountain, looked at the wall displays, etc.  Whatever it took…

When they got Colby out of NICU, he was wrapped up and in the carrier.  Bryson went into “helper” mode instantly.  He leaned over and talked to him, was very gentle.  And when it was time to carry him out, he put his hand on the handle to share the load, without being asked.  We were walking down the hall, thinking “what a wonderful, caring big brother!  He puts everything aside instinctively for his little brother…”.  At least, that is what he did until he spied the water fountain.  Then he forgot about Colby and made a beeline for the water…

So the current score is: Water fountain  1     Colby  0                                    

We got to witness a sweet, wonderful moment the other night.  Caleb and Zak, the two two-and-a-half year olds, were outside playing with footballs.  We were having a family dinner, and watching college football on TV.  It was a cool evening, so I had a fire going in the pit on the patio.  Several adults were out there talking, and the boys were running back and forth, kicking and throwing the balls.

We noticed that they were still, and looked around to find them.  They were laying side by side, with their feet propped on the fence, counting stars.  Neither of them is very comfortable counting past 15 or so, and they were taking turns with their numbers.  Every so often, they would talk about something else, but would soon go back to their counting.

It was beautiful…

We are in New York this weekend, and having a terrific time.  Becky really comes alive when she is here.  We have seen 1 play already, have 2 more today, and the marathon tomorrow.  She will go to church with a friend, then have lunch, then meet me at the end.  We will come back to the room to watch football after that…

We have had one small disaster.  Becky got a ball cap when she made a speaking trip to Alaska.  I loved the hat, and wore it as my “dress” ball cap often (dress meant I did not expect to sweat, which would make it pretty yucky).  This morning, walking to breakfast, the wind blew it off my head, and flipped it up about 12 feet high.  It is now residing behind the “H” on a Photo sign over a little shop on 42nd street.  We are in mourning…

Update:  11/7/2007  My poetic cousin Barbara wrote this, which is fabulous…

Requiem for a baseball cap
Where the Tony flic’r Sparrows nest
Jay’s festive cap
came to rest
flung skyward by a city gale   
on forty-second street.

Tra la.
 

I love playing with the grand kids.  When we would visit Jason and Sandy and Madisan in Virginia, it was never too long before we would go back to her room to play.  I played with dolls, read books.  One time I was a slide.  I sat with my back to her bed, and she would climb onto the bed, sit on my head, and slide down the front.  I figured out pretty quick that my glasses had to go…

The strangest thing was when Braden was on the way.  Madisan became fascinated with babies and “where they came from”.  And she did not buy the stork stuff;  she had to have it make sense.  So at one point, she took a doll, put it up under my sweater, and “delivered” the baby. 

Not sure I will ever get over that…