Missing My Dad -

My father died 3 years ago today. Gosh I miss him -

After becoming his neighbor, he would shuffle over to our home around 7:30 am, knock on the back door, or more often than not, open the door, step inside and holler, "Are you dressed?" as he continued into the kitchen. More often than not, I was getting ready for the day, and not dressed. Eventually I learned to keep the door locked, but he'd pound until Scott or I answered. As he aged he would continue with this journey in the morning, but now we could hear the shuffle of the tennis balls and plastic wheels on his walker - good warning. I miss this.

When I had cancer he'd come over during the day to visit. He said to me, "I don't know what I can do for you, but I can be available for you." Just his presence was a gift, and the fact that he didn't shy away from me while I was in pain was very endearing and typical Dad. He was always available - when I was a child and as an adult. I miss this.

I've had a couple of stressful months (career-wise). I liked to talk to him when he had his "boss" hat on. He listened objectively and gave good advice. I didn't always follow his suggestions, but I listened and learned. There have been many times when I have wanted his ear and his thoughts. I miss this.

After Dad retired from his restaurant jobs, he took up Dutch Oven cooking and woodworking. Both of which he excelled at - winning prizes for his cooking and winning hearts and buyers with his woodworking. He had a "can-do" attitude, and he definitely had this same attitude for his kids. He pushed us to excel, and he was the prime example of taking an idea and making it into something tangible. I miss this.

And with this, Dad spent hours a day in his workshop with his lathe or saws going, and his generator running. Living next door, I heard the hum from his generator all day, and sometimes into the night. If he remembered, he'd turn it off before ending his day, but there were plenty of times that I'd hear this sound into the night. And in the mornings, he'd turn this on first thing, and this became a sign, to me, that he was up and he had projects on his mind. I'd get a call or two during the day, or a knock on the door, "I need you to look at this." The lack of sound is more apparent these days than that rumble or ring ever was. I miss this.

My dad was an "experimenter." Whether this was a recipe, a wood-turning idea, or a gardening experiment, he enjoyed trying something new. He often created a new recipe from the goods growing in his garden, and he'd bring it over for me to taste. Dang, his peach/basil salsa, his watermelon salsa, his sweet and sour stir fry that was so sweet - I miss this.

Dad loved color, and this time of year this was apparent in the beautiful roses and flower beds. As time marched on and his health failed, he still could be seen pruning his roses. He wanted bright, big, balanced, pruned and sculpted. I miss this.

These days I have silent conversations with him - asking questions, giving thanks, and repeating back to myself his words of advice, concern, and love. And I hear him -