Beneath the Wraps

          I remember my dad always salting his food when I was younger.   At times it seemed he was over-salting.             I remember one time he had asked for some popcorn.   Patrick and I put some in a bowl and added what we believed to be a generous amount of salt.   When we went into his room to see how he liked the popcorn, he said it could use more salt.   Patrick and I both dropped our mouths in disbelief.   So his next batch got an almost equal salt/popcorn ratio.   He said it was perfect.   Are you kidding me?   If I ever used salt on anything, it definitely NEEDED it.   I hate the taste of salt.           Now that I am older – even older than my dad – I find myself using salt more and more as I believe all my food is bland – and maybe it is.   Or maybe my lack of ...

                I don’t know that dad really had a motto he lived by.   The quote I remember him saying most were: “If wishes were fishes, we’d all have a fry” which is quite a mouthful for my dad.   I believe his favorite word was “ditto” as it provided him a way to mimic someone else’s complete sentence.   My dad was not a big talker

            When I'm teaching primary, I'm sitting down.   When I taught RS, I was standing up.   The sisters have decided to put themselves in a circle, which has its benefits.   I thought I might try walking around and pace myself back and forth as I've seen another instructor do - but my voice doesn't seem to carry as loud as hers nor did I have much of a voice on Sunday and so had to stand behind the microphone.             NONE of the shoes that I wear on Sunday are very comfortable and so my feet hurt as I neared the end of my lesson and later on that night I was experiencing back pain.   I blame the shoes.   I think Roland would blame my weight.   Probably a combination of the two.             There are posts on either my own or my brother's blog which provide several reference...

            As Jenna and I were walking toward the school this morning, there appeared to be a car backing out of a driveway.   She took my hand and gripped onto a little.   “Death Grip?” I asked jokingly. “What does that mean?” she asked. I told her that her grip was really nothing but related the accounts of my dad’s “bone-crushing” death grip.   We called it the death grip anyway. As a child, I had always thought that my dad’s hands felt clammy.   Yet he was always holding the hand of one child or another.   He did it out of love and responsibility. By the time he was in his early 50’s, my dad had been the victim of several strokes – many which went undetected, as they were considered “mild”.   But with each stroke came the lack of communication between his brain and his muscles. His speech slurred more with every passing stroke – and although he knew exactly wh...

My dad had had a series of strokes later in life.   Some of them were so “small” that they went undetected.   The first one I remember had temporarily paralyzed the left side of his jaw.   Not realizing the magnitude of what was happening, we made jokes about it. Because he was such a quiet man, we commented that his jaw was sliding off his face as he never used it. It eventually returned to his normal appearance.   It wasn’t until later on that we learned his downward jaw had been the result of one of the strokes he had had. Dad started keeping odd hours.    He’d be awake while the rest of us were asleep and vise-versa.    He was in need of care 24-7 and it became too overwhelming at times.    We were told that the insurance he had would not cover a live-in aide – but they did have a list of nursing homes.    We did our best to avoid it, but it finally got to the point that we needed assistance.    I don’t kn...

          “My dad reminded me of a tree – always present, steady and strong, but silent and still.   A person has to notice the tree.   It’s not going to make a big fuss over a person.   It will just quietly make a shady spot and keep it there day after day until someone needs it.   I loved my dad.   He loved me. ”   - from Palace Beautiful by Sara DeFord Williams           As I read these words I thought of my own dad who would silently support us from behind the stage – never wanting to be in the limelight himself.   He may not have been as mighty as an oak – for an oak tree stands out.   An oak tree gets noticed.           My dad was noticed by some – many who admired his quiet strength.   And yet there were many who really hadn’t noticed that he was there – because he was so quiet. ...