The Aisle

I don’t know if you ever had hopes of walking me down the aisle, I never really thought about it before.  I never knew what you really thought as my fiance and I were on our way to get married.  You wished us well, and had him promise you, to take care of me always.  I never thought about what your dreams were for me.  I was a selfish kid, like all the rest and I was madly in love, as much as you can be at that age, when we drove off to say our I do’s.   We thought we were saving everyone from alot of hassle and family connections that probably would have started another war.  I never once considered maybe you would have wanted to put my arm in yours and look me in the eye and wish me well.  Tell me you love me and send me on my way to happy life with a man/boy I wanted to be with.  I am hoping in your comfy room of heaven you are reading this and knowing I am truly sorry for what you may have missed because of my youthful desires and inconsiderations.  So in my mind we have walked down that aisle together arm in arm and you did wish me well and I said I love you dad and thank you.  And even though this picturebook of marriage didn’t last he has fulfilled his promise to you.   I think you knew that.  ……..Bustersdaughter…………

Don’t dink with that!

My dad was always busy, would be busy tinkering with something in the garage and then doting on the orange trees out back.  His look on his face spoke volumes,  it said, don’t mess with me I am busy.  He would come into the kitchen and sit at the table with his “work” and still  looking and tinkering intently to finish fixing whatever was wrong with it so he could  use it  whereever it belonged. 

 One occasion, his granddaughter sat down on the chair across from him and curious as she was, started to touch the work in progress.  My dad had a very effective way of saying no!…He’d say. don’t dink with that!  And  he’d use his very strong index finger , and I’m sure he thought he was lightly tapping on the back of her hand but he wasn’t.  Now some might think that was a tad strong, that he shouldn’t have done that.  He should have talked to her and politely told her no.  What planet are those thoughts from? My dad was from a generation of cut the apple switch off the tree so I can spank you with it.  If there is any question,  I’m still fine, my posterior is minus any apple marks, and I have no other permament scars as well, so you see the spanking didn’t kill or maime me, it did set a presadence that  I never did said problem ever again.  So don’t dink with that with an index finger was gentle compared to the apple tree. 

Years later after his passing we laugh about how funny it sounded for him to say that and imitate his intense index finger smack.  There is a lesson here, don’t dink with that and that  too was in the life of bustersgrandaughter.

Goo Goo Eyes

 

My dad didn’t dance very often , unlike my mother she would dance at the drop of a hat.    But when there was some music playing on the old radio or record player,  the mood just  right  he would grab mom around the waist and off they’d go.  He had a most unique way of dancing, he’d rock back and forth, this was his way of keeping time.  Every now and then I’d catch a glimpse of dad moving his eyes all funny with his eyebrows up and down.  Mom would have the biggest grin on her face and be giggling like a school girl, the words that would escape her would be Oh Bus’. Giggle giggle.  I was a teenager the last time I remember him dancing, he danced with me at a wedding of some friends and for bustersdaughter that was fun and special, but remembering my parents and the goo goo eyes was priceless.

The Bar b que Table

My brother was in high school when my dad started making the picnic table.  With all the wood he used you would think he cut down a forest to make it.  Our picnic table could seat at least ten and it would take almost that many to move it.   My dad never made anything small and simple,  whatever it was, it seemed to be large and heavy and could probably withstand hurricane force winds. 

 The barbecue pit was a hole dug in the ground with some bricks and the rack from an old refrigerator as the grill top.  Many chickens, burgers, and hotdogs were grilled to perfection.  Hickory was the preference over charcoal, but no matter, the care was there with every detail and each morsel would melt in your mouth.   This was done for graduations and other festive times or for just the urge for a good ole barbecue.

I cannot remember when this ended or what happened to the table, but when I do see a picnic table I have thoughts of pity on how pathetically small they are, then I remember with fondness the hard work once again invested in not only the food prepared, but the thought in including as many as can possibly sit  around a table under the blue sky.   This was a time and a place of family, protection, and the life of bustersdaughter.