Milk builds strong bones

 

When he was little, Buster,  would ride along to help his dad, Walter, deliver milk for the San a Pure Dairy.  Milk really is good for you.

 Bustersdaughter……………..

The File Cabinet

The view from the mountainous seat came with a small price to pay bouncing  and jiggling guts all over the place.  It was a place of honor riding next to my dad.  Queen for a day on the way to the grain elevator.  I have no recollection of the reason he was working for this particular person and franky I didn’t care because it was a special day.  I know we got up really early to ride across areas I hadn’t ever seen before and he pointed and told me of this and that and I shook my head and laughed.  I’m sure I also was wide eyed from the visual  heighth alone.  We arrived at the destination to either leave or fill the trailer with the golden nuggets to be either left or taken to destination unknown as well.  I’m sure this was also a smokin’ moment but being able to be alone with my dad in his place of employment to see parts unknown across the miles, it didn’t matter how long I waited,  because this was  his file cabinet so to speak.   One of many offices with endless windows across the miles.   I’m sure you can only imagine what this created in the life and mind of bustersdaughter, jiggled guts and all.

Time has passed and people are gone now that I could have asked to fill in the details to enlighten one and all of this special journey, if I embellish, it just means how extra special it became in my life like the extra lick from the frosting bowl.    But even that didn’t measure up to the delightful day in the Mac truck at the Grain elevator.

A Breath Away

It was cold out there, standing and looking out the window even brought my breath visibly to my sight and I couldn’t believe he had to lay down on the ground under the truck.   The light was hanging from some part of the undercarriage  and LL Bean,  wasn’t a part of his wardrobe.  I can see right now the black boots he had on, the green work jacket with probably a flannel shirt underneath , the green workpants with the wire crease inbedded permantly down the length of his leg,  must have been ice to the touch.  In the big picture of life he made these huge sacrifices for us, his family.   A truck was a freedom and again it was a albatross, an anchor.  Lift up the anchor, get things running again, and the freedom would flap in the wind on the way down the road.  A sputter and an unplanned puff of the smokestack at the wrong time and the anchor was back. 

I know it was dark out, the hanging light was shining under the truck along with the glare of the porch light, it shone in my room.     The gravel in the driveway made a rough surface to lay down on and bustersdaughter was writing in the fog on the window,  and the coffee was black in the old restaraunt style mug, it was going to be a long cold night.