When you’ve only got 100 years to—

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:

dad spaghetti

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.