Cozy Season

If you are anything at all like me - and I'm guessing since a lot of us (all of us?) are knitters, makers, crafters, whatever - you love being cozy. And here in the U.S. this is peak cozy season if you ask me. And it is The. Best.

We had a lovely weekend - nothing too much of anything, but just nice. The Tim finished his flooring project (well, I think he did. At least for now ...), and I managed to switch my summer clothes for warmer, cozier cold-weather clothes. We pretty much stayed put, venturing out to go around the corner to the market, to pick up prescriptions, etc. We watched two football games where our teams won (Notre Dame! Eagles!), and just listened to music, read, knit - I'm sure you are getting the idea by now. 😊

Yesterday I spent a lot of time thinking about my dad. He died 55 years ago yesterday, and it's one of the great ironies of life that someone who was even more of a holiday person than I am died the Monday before Thanksgiving the year that he died. I still think of him all the time, but yesterday I really felt him there. He would have enjoyed the kind of weekend we had.

I think I've mentioned here at least one hundred times that I have an ongoing text chain with my friend Lisa and my niece Amanda, where we update our progress with walking and exercise, share recipes, jokes, etc., and also set the world straight. Well, in the last few years, we have all posted daily gratitudes during November. And today mine was gratitude for having my father with me for 13 years of my life. Not long in the grand scheme of things, but I'm so glad I got at least that much time. And in some ways, maybe it was for the best - we never had time to argue about things, fight over things teens and adults do, etc. I sort of feel like I got the best of our time together.

This will be a busy week, probably for most of us in the U.S. as we prepare for Thanksgiving - the coziest holiday EVER! Today I have some cleaning I want to do. Tomorrow I have my volunteer gig with the kitties in the morning, and then in the afternoon I'll finish up with putting some things away. Wednesday morning I have a haircut appt in the morning, and my last physical therapy session in the afternoon. Then in the evening, I'll put together our stuffing for Thursday. Which is of course the big day. I'm hoping that The Tim will not have to work this year. And then on Friday, I'm getting my Covid vaccine first thing in the morning. So I have plenty going on, but it's all good stuff.

What about you? I hope that all of you had a good weekend, and are ready for a good week leading to the holiday. I hope you and yours have safe travels, if you fall into that category. I know how stressful that can be - we used to travel every year for both Thanksgiving and Christmas, and were fortunate because nothing really terrible ever happened. But I know until you arrive to your destination and then arrive back home, it can be exhausting. So take care, and do the best you can. 

And enjoy what I think is probably the coziest week of the year. 💖

Time Is Weird

OK, well, time is weird to start with - I mean, today is the very last day of November, which I knew intellectually, but still found surprising when I thought about it. 

But specifically, it struck me on Thanksgiving. I was remembering my dad, not only because he was a crazy holiday person (I've apparently inherited that gene), but because the date of Thanksgiving this year - November 24 - fell on the anniversary of his death. The year he died, it was the Monday of Thanksgiving week, so it's always around that holiday, but there have only been a few times it falls on the same day.

Then I was thinking about how he was only 53 years old when he died. And how, from my perspective now, that's so young. (As a kid of course, I always thought my parents were REALLY old.) I was gifted with 13 of those years, and though I would have loved more, I'm glad I was given at least that much of a sliver of his existence on earth.

But what really put me on the "Time Is Weird" train was when I realized that he has been dead for 53 years. So he has been dead for as long as he was alive, and I have to be honest, that kind of blew my mind.

But then you know what was really nice? I was pointing this out to The Tim, who agreed with me that yes, it was a weird thing to think about. But then he said to me "But he is well served by your memories of him."

I think that is one of the nicest things he's ever said to me.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

 

Today I'm joining sprite once again with a post for this year's Virtual Advent Tour.  She has been doing it the last few years, and I find it both interesting and a lot of fun.

Wednesday afternoon, when I was at home and The Tim was napping after his medical procedure, I was listening to Christmas carols, and singing along with some of them.  Singing Christmas carols was always something that everyone in our family did, as well all love to sing.  My father had a beautiful voice, and my middle sister has one too - my mother had a decent voice and I can carry a tune, but will never be asked to be a soloist anywhere.

And then there is my oldest sister, Nancy.  Nancy really loves to sing, and she never sings in anything but an enthusiastic manner.  The problem is, she cannot carry a tune even if one was handed to her in a bag.  I mean, she doesn't even come close to the mark.  But to her credit, she doesn't care, and still enjoys singing ... loudly ... and often.

I was thinking of one year when we had a plan to go as a family to Midnight Mass.  Both of my sisters were in high school, so I would have been in elementary school, and they convinced my parents that we should go to Midnight Mass because then we could sleep later on Christmas morning, and not have to interrupt/stop opening gifts to get ready and go out.  My parents finally gave in, and the plan was made.  

Now, it was pretty well known that if you wanted to get a seat in our nearby church at all, you had to be there absolutely no later than 11:30 p.m., and even that was pushing it.  On Christmas Eve, we were all ready to go, except for Nancy, who was still fixing her hair (being a self-proclaimed fashionista, she took longer to get ready than the rest of us combined).  She finally sashayed down the steps about 11:40, and suffice it to say that my dad was already annoyed.

Unsurprisingly, we arrived and there was pretty much standing room only.  My middle sister saw a friend of hers, who let her squeeze into the pew, and a couple of young kids got up to give their seats to my parents.  But Nancy and I would have to stand the whole time.  About ten minutes before the Mass started, some hymns were played and singing began.  The first one was "O Little Town of Bethlehem."  Well, Nancy was standing in an area of the aisle that had particularly good acoustics, and all of a sudden, all that anyone in our section could hear was her extremely off-key version of said hymn.  And as I said, we were all *very* enthusiastic singers.  As you might imagine, many heads turned and looked in our direction with either puzzled or amused expressions, but Nancy was so busy singing, she paid no attention.  And so it began.

On the way home, we were all having a good time being amused by everyone noticing Nancy's bad singing.  But my dad - who found it impossible to believe that she was that bad of a singer - kept asking her why she did it.  She would respond each time that she couldn't help it, that was just how it was.  Then he said to my mother, "Why do you let her do that??" which of course led to her saying that it wasn't her fault that Nancy couldn't sing, and how was she supposed to not let her sing, etc.  Of course, we all found it hilarious, but my dad was truly irritated with my mom, who then became really irritated with him, which made us think it was all even more hilarious.

Never again did we attend Midnight Mass as a family.  Apparently because my mother just couldn't find a way to not "let" Nancy sing poorly ... 

To this day, the first strains of "O Little Town of Bethlehem" make me laugh.

Fathers and Eves

Every year on this day, I always think of how - also every year on this day - I would say to my father, "Why is today not Thanksgiving Eve?"  And he would always respond with some version of, "Well, technically it is, but people just don't call it that."  I seldom asked this of my mother, since her response was *always* "Oh for God's sake!" and she seemed annoyed, so I just figured it was better to get an actual answer from my father.

And that was always the first of about a million questions I would have for my dad while I "helped" him fix Thanksgiving dinner.  He was always the cook on holidays, which we loved because although he would use every pan and bowl, etc. in the kitchen, he was a really good cook.  He would begin the night before, cleaning the turkey and starting the stuffing.  My sisters were enough older that they had their own things they liked to do, but nope, I was always available to spend time with my dad.  I'm 99.9999999% sure that I spent most of the time talking, asking "important" questions, and generally making him wish he was out of town, but to his credit, he always let me stick around and in the end, I learned a LOT.  (So much so, that when I still lived at home and my sisters were married and living in other places, they would call me to find out how to cook a turkey- ha!)

But I have to tell you that as a kid, I really gave way to much thought to "eves."  I guess because Christmas got an Eve, and so did New Year's, and those were big deals.  I tried to make Thanksgiving Eve and Birthday Eve happen but to no avail.  Easter doesn't need an Eve, because it has Holy Saturday.  As I got older, I realized that no one a) cared as much as I did about it, and b) that they also didn't want to hear me go on about it.  Go figure.

Anyway, Happy Thanksgiving Eve.  Make it a good one.  :-)

Harry's Hundredth

It occurred to me the other day that I forgot to do an update for July for Harry's Hundred.  So I figured since we were already into August, I'd just wait and do a two-month update.  So that's not what this post is about.

Nope, this is a post for Harry's Hundredth - 100 years ago today, my dad was born in Wheeling, West Virginia.  He was the oldest of four children - two boys, two girls.  At the age of thirteen, when his father was killed by a train on the way home from work, the kids would be split up, and the two oldest (Harry and Mary Agnes) would live with one set of relatives, and the two youngest (Helen and John) with another.  Though of course he saw his younger siblings often, he was never as close to them as he might have been had the family been able to stay together.

Here he is at four months old.  This is one of my very favorite pictures, and is in a frame on display in our house.

(Oh how this amused me as a child - a boy in a dress!)

The funny thing is, he looks pretty much the same as a baby as I remember him as an adult!  I know that most people retain some of the look of their baby pictures, but this one is really uncanny.

He used to tell stories of playing football in high school, where he said it was not uncommon when one guy came off the field, he would take off his jersey, so that someone else going onto the field to play would have a jersey to wear - try to imagine that happening today in most places!

Just like many of his generation, the defining event of his young adulthood was World War II.  He joined the Army, and his main claim to fame was as the singer in the base's band.  He used to claim that women would swoon when he sang.  (My mother claimed otherwise.)

He and my mother were quite a couple.

With a flair for the ridiculous, which was passed on to their children.

He was a real ham - loved to sing, dance (well ... ), perform, anything like that.  What would start as a card game at our house could easily turn into a sing-along.

In this epic drama, he's on the far right.  I don't know what/when this is.  (Probably for the best.)

We were a fun family, who moved a lot, and as a result were very close.  I've posted this picture before, but this is the only family picture that exists, and it was taken long before I was born.  But it's one of my favorite pictures, because everyone is clearly so happy and healthy.

My dad died when I was 13 years old, from liver cancer, at a time when the treatment was nearly as deadly as the disease.  And yes, I remember that, and I remember seeing him then and not really recognizing him looking like my dad.  But 99.99999999% [repeating] of my memories are the fun ones and the good ones.

When I was little, he would end up babysitting me a lot while my mom and sisters went shopping or who knows what.  It was not uncommon for us to end up at his favorite bar if it was during the evening, so he could watch 'the fights' with his friends.  On weekend afternoons, we'd park ourselves in front of the TV and watch baseball games or football games, and share sandwiches and a beer (OK, I'd get a sip and have something else for my primary drink, but *I* still consider it having a beer!).  He loved to cook (and would use every single available pot or dish), and I was always "helping" him.  (I realize now that I probably spent the bulk of the time talking to him non-stop and God bless him for never telling me to shut the h*ll up!)  But I actually learned a lot about food and cooking from him.  He and my mother loved playing cards, going to the horse races (the whole family went along), and laughing.  He was a crazy goofy animal lover (sound like anyone you know?), and a real softie when it came to helping someone, human, furry, feathered, etc.

He took me to the circus every summer (this was when it was still OK to go to the circus).  It would be just the two of us, and it was the highlight for me of the summer - right before school started again.  A lot of our family vacations were trips to the Jersey Shore (northern end of things), and they were always an adventure, as he didn't think it was necessary to make reservations for a place to stay.  He was an early riser, even on vacation, and would get up around 6 a.m. and say, "Rise and shine girls, time to walk on the beach!"  (He knew better than to try and include my mother.)

He was a good guy.  He had plenty of faults, which I realized even as a kid, but he wanted all of us to do better and be better than he was.  He worked hard for his entire life, and I think - or would at least like to hope - that he got to do a lot of the things he enjoyed.

This is the last picture I have of him, taken from a program for a work-related organization event where he was the outgoing president.  I don't know specifically when this was taken, other than it was sometime in 1969.  He died in November of that year, and I'm guessing this was probably in the springtime.  But this is the Dad I remember.  And love. And think of and miss every single day.  

So if you are inclined, please give your dad a kiss, a hug, or a phone call today, if you are lucky enough to still have him with you. And tonight if you have a drink, please raise a toast to my dad - he would approve!

Happy 100th Birthday, Dad - I wish you a day of sing-alongs, card games, and cocktails!  Give our love to everyone.

Opinions Requested

Hello and Happy Saturday!  I wanted to share something with you that has been rattling around in my brain.  It's not completely thought out,  meaning details are not nailed down, but I wondered if you guys could tell me what you think of the idea, and also feel free to add your thoughts and ideas.

August 21, 2016 is the 100th anniversary of my father's birth.  He was not famous, or a world-renowned leader, but he was my dad so that makes him the most amazing man ever to me.  A 100th birthday - even though he is not here in person to celebrate - seems like something that requires special notice.

I will turn 60 years old in 2016, so it's a landmark birthday for me as well.  Assuming I make it to then (and I have every intention of doing so!), I will have lived seven years longer on earth than my father did.  I have been thinking, and have a nugget of an idea.

I want to try and get my knitting, crocheting, sewing, and other crafty friends to try during 2016 to make something for a man, young man, or young boy who is living in a shelter, a nursing home, the VA hospital, a regular hospital long-term - you get it, right?  And in theory, we could have a total of 100 items made by the end of the year and distributed in our own communities.  I would call it "Harry's Hundred" (my father's name was Harry), and it would be my gift to his memory.  Anyone who participated could do so in honor of him, or in honor of anyone else they chose.

My dad grew up poor, and he was a WWII Army veteran, and I think he would approve of any type of organization like the ones listed above (and others I've not added) being recipients of gifts from others' hearts.

I have nothing against donating to women's organizations/shelters/whatever, but this is for my dad, so I wanted it to be for the males of the species, who need help and some love as well.

As I said, I don't have details worked out, but I wanted to see if you thought this was something you might consider doing, and/or asking friends to join you in doing.  In any event, I plan to do what I can on my own, but my dad was a true extrovert, and I'm sure he would think the more, the merrier.

Thoughts?  Opinions?  Criticisms?  Ideas?  Please share in the comments.

And have a wonderful weekend.  :-)

 (a newspaper clipping photo of my dad from 1969, the year he died)

NaBloPoMo Day #21