Steele Blue moments

As I grew older there was less and less time spent with my dad.  We spoke on the phone at least every other week.  We lived in the same state but trips seemed to be harder because of commitments,things that seemed to take precedence when in reality it should have been the reverse.  I try not to look back on the shadows that are cast on my heart because of distance and priorities.  It only makes for a gloomy day if I do instead I forge on with some hilarity that happened or some moments almost forgotten.

On a rare weekend trip over to Holiday I arrived,  I can’t remember the particulars on how dad and I decided to take a trip to Homasassa Springs or where mom was, but  I was looking forward to spending time with him, hearing his stories, and seeing what all the fuss about the manatees was.

We headed out in his van, it looked like a throwback from the 70’s and probably was.   It was Steele blue, definitely dated, with carpeting everywhere and all of his necessities like tools and tools and did I say tools, and his 8 tracks, they came with the van. (Anyone younger than 20 will probably have to research this phenomenon)  This particular model was stingy on windows, so because it was warm he turned the air on.  A very rare occurance, but since his move to the Sunshine state he was using it alot more than usual.  

We finally made it to the springs, and it was nice as springs  go.  People in all shapes and sizes were  hovering around the spot where the manatees were feeding.  Eat and swim and swim and eat.  What a schedule.  I’d look like that too if that’s all I did.  Talk about mass descruction, they were creating loads of it.

I  was just so glad to go somewhere with my dad.  I felt special.   From the time we left the van to the entrance there was always a difference in the way my dad did things, I see how evident it is in my own life.  I can tell the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.  We started  walking  around and saw the manatees.  They are definately large and float so easily.  But after a few minutes of watching them it was a little tedious.    We started  walking on a cement pathway, a nature trail with many plants and signs of identification for spotting them, and some of the birds native to the area as well.   

I noticed a lady and her stroller with one child in it and another was walking beside her.  We let her pass, and dad was telling me one of his many stories, I only wish I could remember which one, when all of a sudden, out of the blue the nasties, vilest smelling crap, landed literally all over my hair and shirt.  They say in some countries this is a sign of good luck and if that’s the case my luck shouldn’t be over until I’m about 60.  It was huge.  I can’t even remember what my dad said I know we laughed, there isn’t much else you can do.  The lady with her children was nice enough to give us some baby wipes, but that was  like trying to mop up a spilled ocean.  This wasn’t a small bird it was a crane or a family of them.  ..I smelled so bad.   I bought a t shirt in the gift shop and went into the ladies room to mop myself up, there just wasn’t enough papertowels or soap to get rid of the smell.

I came out smelling as bad as I did when I went in, it was getting late, and I was getting riper by the moment, it was time to head home.  Only we never just head home when you would ride with my dad.  He was taking me to places I could never begin to find again and telling me stories of Lord only knows what.  One thing is for sure I smelled, and stories were at a premium, the air conditioning wasn’t cold enough and the breeze wasn’t blowing hard enough, but there was never a better day to be bustersdaughter than today.

Hill, Dale, and Catfish

Eagle Creek was the setting, which meant trapsing over a fence through a cow pasture, with cows across a field through a little woodsy area and down a slight hill to the creek.  At this time it was a nice flow of water and a perfect setting to fish.   With cane poles, rods, tackle box, some sandwiches, we were set to make an afternoon of it.  

My heart conjures up a man that worked so hard for his family, that took the time to enjoy the little pleasures in life to share with us something that made him happy as well.   He would take the time to set each one of us up with a cane pole, and we learned how to put the bobber on as well.    Quite a bit of time past before he even had his own pole set up before one of us got our hook stuck on something or we actually caught a fish, more than likely a sunfish, and not big enough to be taken away from its own mother.

I vaguely remember him running back and forth to see if he caught anything while taking care of us.  I know there were some frustrating moments for him and I can’t imagine there not being any considering the circumstances.  At the end of the day the the stringer that held a variety of fish were proof positive it was a successful jaunt across hill and dale to a little creek that made a nice memory and alot of work for a hard working man.    

 The work wasn’t quite over yet, still alot to be done but what a memory and an impression it was going to make in the life of bustersdaughter.

 

Morning moments

It had been so long since I spent a morning with my dad.  I’m really struggling to crawl through the dusty corridors to remember what his usuals were. 

For some reason I remember while I was still in bed the smell of the cigarette smoke.  In better times he was already dressed, shaved, sitting in his easy chair reading the paper, his coffee at hand, and smoking a cigarette. Everything finished before he would leave for work. 

 It was almost an unwritten law to not talk while he was watching the news or reading the paper.   Those moments are vivid in my mind, because even now I rarely talk to anyone while they are watching tv or reading. 

I do remember as a little girl leaning against the bathroom door frame watching my dad shave.  He would lather up the soap in the cup with the lathering brush, get it all foamy and expertly put it on his face in all the right places.  Then he would start the shaving process.  Starting at the neck, methodically working his way up to the chin.  You could tell he wasn’t a novice doing this especially the way he would wind his way over his chin to his cheeks and around his nose.  It was very entertaining but let me tell you watching him brush his teeth was even better.  He would have his mouth all foamy with toothpaste and be brushing away until he would take his index finger and expertly slide all the excess off his mouth.  This probably doesn’t sound like much to the reader but as a little kid standing and watching , this it was pure entertainment and I am sure he loved the attention and to be center stage.

Some of the mornings are coming back to me, some are not.   Trying to dredge up memories so sparsely gathered and so long ago is a real test of my own set of decrepid cells.   It’s like excercise and if I keep working on it,  my mental picture will be fit for sharing.  bustersdaughter……