This week, had he lived, my dad would have turned 100.
It was hard to let him go. I’d take him back in a heartbeat, but I know he wouldn’t come.
But I see him everywhere. Not just in the way-too-many-but not-nearly-enough photos I have of him. In the redwing blackbird I spotted. For him that was the true harbinger of spring.
There are bits of him in all three of my boys.
Favorite hymns, harmonicas and accordions.
And whimsey.
Here is one of his favorite sayings:
“A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING AND EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE”
Here is one of my favorite photos:
He dropped a box of spaghetti in the pantry. It wasn’t edible. What to do, what to do?
And here is the answer. The place for spilled spaghetti. According to a 70-something retired schoolteacher. (And preserve it for posterity with a Polaroid)
Mom said they had to walk around the spaghetti house for a week.
The Tuesday Prude (aka Anita Klumpers) 
A spaghetti house to Hoover around. Yeah, I’d put up with that to have our dads around again! Thanks, Prude.
Isn’t it the truth Robin! I knew you would relate.
I love that story! Glad you had a special dad to cherish.
Thanks Sue. It takes the daughter of a special dad to know one 🙂
It’s a delightful story. Your dad was quite resourceful and artistic, and your mom had more patience than I would have, working and walking around the spilled spaghetti for a week!
My dad was pretty cute Lori. My mom gloried in his sweet eccentricities.