Roy

On this day in 1939, a beautiful baby boy was born in Saint Francis, Maine to a young couple. He was their first child of  a dozen. I wonder if they knew what they were starting upon his arrival. I may be partial, but I have always thought that their first was their best accomplishment. Others were not of the same caliber somehow, although, also loved much. Happy Birthday # 75 to their son, my husband, my kids' Dad, Grandpa, a/k/a Blue-Eyed Grandpa, brother, cousin, nephew, great nephew, uncle, great uncle, brother-in-law, and friend to many. xos tiab x 75!!!! Hope you're at peace among your loved ones now. more xos and toasts to you. Good Night. Happy Birthday!

September Memories

Today is full of 'em.  xos :-)

Stays the Same

I don’t believe that people change. It’s something I argue with friends and family about. I know that we can learn how to avoid the mistakes we typically make and that we can change habits in order to create change, but I believe that people are pretty much fundamentally who they will always be.

I have a lot to be grateful for because of what stayed the same in Dad, namely his desire to travel. That inspired me, made me curious, and even became a piece of the part of me that refuses to change—the bit that loves to travel and can’t get enough of it. This month, I was in San Francisco. This wasn’t my first trip there. This summer, I’m going to Yellowstone (and a few other places Dad would love). While discussing my upcoming trip to San Francisco earlier this month, Mom told me this:

“Your Dad had been through San Francisco briefly while in the Army. We just got so caught up in California, Arizona and New Mexico that we didn't have time to do it justice….all in all we always wished we'd seen San Francisco and Yellowstone too, but had seen so much of this fabulous country, we were pleased with trip we did make.”

She was describing the trip they took for their honeymoon. Mom still talks about the Grand Canyon, all of these decades later, a wing of that trip.

As I walked all over San Francisco on my last morning there, I appreciated the views a bit more, I sipped my coffee slowly—Dad would have loved how damn strong it was!—and I took my time. When I walked around Paris last spring, I posed for a picture in front of a shop called Pelletier. I smiled as I shivered in the rain and looked at Rodin’s sculptures. I spoke French.  And I took my time.

As the sixth anniversary of Dad’s death arrives, I am making a point to slow down—as I wish time would—and to enjoy the things that don't change.

Same

This year every single day falls on the same day that it did in 2008. :-( It's never easy, but this makes it even more difficult to live with/thru. You are missed. xos