  Romance/Love
This week: Edited by: Fyn  
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My father used to play with my brother and me in the yard. Mother would come out and say, "You're tearing up the grass." "We're not raising grass," Dad would reply. "We're raising boys." ~Harmon Killebrew
He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland
A father carries pictures where his money used to be. ~Author Unknown
The father who would taste the essence of his fatherhood must turn back from the plane of his experience, take with him the fruits of his journey and begin again beside his child, marching step by step over the same old road. ~Angelo Patri
The words that a father speaks to his children in the privacy of home are not heard by the world, but, as in whispering-galleries, they are clearly heard at the end and by posterity. ~Jean Paul Richter
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February 4th is (or I should say was) my dad's birthday. He's been gone many years now, yet still he hovers somewhere in my mind, just out of reach, yet he lingers in that illusive place that I can't get to, quite.
Puttering about the basement yesterday, I came across one of those carefully packaged boxes that had, over time, been shuffled back into the far corner. You know the area--where the stuff that one won't throw away collects, eventually buried by the accumulations so typical of someone (or in this case, a couple) who suffers from that insidious disease called 'pack-rat-itus.'
The bad part of the disease is that basements, seldom used closets, and out of the way nooks and crannies become cluttered with 'stuff.' The good part is that when you finally decide to winnow out the pile, you embark upon a scavenger hunt of retrieved memories, found treasures and an assortment of smiles and tears.
In this particular case, I unearthed a box that had been packed away for years. I'd found it in my mom's house after she passed away and as it said ' Robin, Keep this!' in black marker on it, had taken it along with everything else. I have no clue why I'd never opened it to see what was inside, but then, it took me a long time to go through my mom's store of treasures. I've moved several times since she died and this box got moved from place to place, usually found when time simply didn't permit the exploration inside. Then time and events and life would push it back into some dusty corner of my mind even as it got buried in the basement. This time, however, would be different, and I was going to see what was inside.
I brought the box upstairs and, after grabbing a cup of coffee, settled in the living room to go through the box. It was so carefully, and completely taped up, that I knew it had to be a 'something special.'
It was. It was like getting a birthday present from my dad. Old, favorite pictures that I'd assumed had been lost along the way. Dad, in his goggles, leather hat and bomber jacket standing next to the biplane he learned to fly in WWII. One of him and I (taken when I was about three) on vacation at Lake George, NY.
Underneath was his favorite old red and black plaid jacket. When I see dad in my mind, he's always wearing either this jacket or an old and tattered woolen shirt that he loved. The jacket was the one he'd wear puttering in the yard or raking leaves. It was the one he wore when he helped me build a treehouse and the one he wore the day he finally could let got of my bike and I didn't fall. It was the one he wore the time he took my son fishing. With a with a breaded hook tied to a string tied to a stick, my son caught a lake carp almost as big as he was. It was the jacket he wore chopping wood and pruning lilacs. When the jacket came out it meant seasons were changing and that fall or spring were on their way.
My dad loved chocolate. And in his pockets he always had a handful of Hershey's Kisses. I will always remember him handing me kisses and eventually handing them to his grandchildren. I will never forget the bright-eyed smiles that those kisses always brought.
I took his jacket out of the box. I sat there holding it and buried my face in it. It STILL smelled of his Borkum Riff pipe tobacco. And Old Spice cologne. It smelled like dad. It is said that scents can trigger memories. And suddenly it was if Dad were right there. Both memories and tears flowed. Happy memories and happy tears. He didn't feel so impossibly far away.
I put his jacket on. (It is on right now.) A thought struck me. I, very hesitatingly, put my hands in the pockets. Yes. In one there was a pocketful of kisses.
In the other was a note. To me. From my dad. Written a few weeks before he died of cancer. Written knowing I wouldn't see it until after mom joined him...
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Why did I share this? One reason is because I needed to write this. Another is that over the years, I've written about his jacket as if I had it. Because I did, but only in my heart.
The other reason is that parents and grandparents are a treasure trove of details and descriptions just waiting to be used, resurrected, brought forward and redefined within new characters. It is the details that bring characters to life. It is the descriptions of the little things they do that give them depth. Descriptions and details are tiny hammers striking golden chords within a reader connecting them to the characters by shared moments that make them real.
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Some treasure to read and perhaps remind....
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#320294 by Not Available. |
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#1180334 by Not Available. |
|  | I Miss My Dad (E)
Flashlights, peanut butter and playing cards all remind me of him.
#1004701 by Kenzie  |
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#841611 by Not Available. |
and finally, because, it simply 'fits.'
| | Email Song (E)
why isn't there a zip code or email addy for heaven?
#957760 by Fyn |
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Some feedback about the tears of joy...
Shannon  wrote:Oh, now you've done it! Where did I put that box of Kleenex? *Cry* Beautiful story, fyn ... and congratulations!
*grin*
Voxxylady  says: Fyn, I use tears of joy in my romances! How can you have tears of sorrow and not balance it with tears of joy? Great subject. I hadn't thought of books not including them.
Thanks. Such an important emotion, too. Sigh
monty31802 says: What's to say other than you did well on this newsletter and your picks. I found it enjoyable.
I'm glad you enjoyed it! *smile*
JACE  comments:Great newsletter, fyn. It's funny that I've found as the years pass by, happy tears come much easier.
You wrote: Oh I cried. I hung on and cried. Then my husband asks if I liked it. Men! Questions like those are part of our DNA--we have to ask them. *Delight* Thanks for sharing.
Funny...gotten that comment a lot. Guessing it is a mars/venus thing!
THANKFUL SONALI Library Class!  adds: Wow! I hadn't thought of this before - tears of joy! Great topic for a newsletter, thank you.
thanks *smiles*
Thanking you all for reading my words and thoughts. I love getting feedback as it often helps spark ideas for future newsletters! |
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Romance/Love: February 03, 2010 Issue [#3538]
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