Father's Day

For those of us with no living father, the day brings inevitable memories of the past. I thought a lot about my own dad today. He was Canadian, an Anglophile in many of his tastes, particularly food--he put on a clean starched shirt for dinner every night, and we ate on a linen tablecloth with cloth napkins and that relic of the past--napkin rings. And we ate meat and potatoes--period. We had to mind our manners--that was drummed into my brother and me, and I've watched us both pass it on to our children. Dad was the president of an osteopathic medical college and administrator of the associated hospital, a leader in his profession. Students called him "Black Mac"--his name was R. N. MacBain, but friends and colleagues called him Mac. I went to work for him in high school, and I attribute whatever success I've had to that training--I could still be a heck of an executive secretary today. A pillar of the Methodist church, Dad had certain expectations for John and me, and to some extent we both disappointed him. But after he and Mom retired to the foothills of the Smokies in North Carolina and he relaxed a bit, all those tensions seemed to disappear. We were close, all of us, including my husband, even though Dad thought my marriage was a huge mistake--well, it turned out he was right, but who knew! The last summer of his life, we took my children for our annual two-week visit. Jordan, my youngest, was four or five months old, and Dad thought she was invented for his own private amusement. He adored that child, as he did all my chldren.
Dad was a gardener. As cooking is my avocation, gardening was his. He had a huge garden in Chicago and spent weekends working in it, wearing clothes that were embarrassingly dirty and shabby. It never bothered him, even when students wandered by to say hello. In North Carolina, he had a magnificent garden, and Mom always had roses on her dining table. I wish I'd inherited that gene, but I'm afraid I want it to look as wonderful as Dad's garden, but I don't want to do the work.
I remember Dad with a lot of mixed emotions--he was a strict disciplinarian, and I lived in fear, I think, of disappointing him. But I can't forget the life lessons I learned from him, and I know I am who I am because of his influence. And with great certainty, I know that he loved me, the only child of his later life. And I loved him a lot. I frequently wish that my dad--and my mom--were here to see their grandchldren and great-grandchildren. They would not always have approved of my parenting, but they'd be proud of the way they all turned out. And they'd be proud of me as a mom and of my career. Yeah, I miss them both--and dream about them a lot.
Today I don't know where my dad is buried, though a distant relative has given me a clue to finding out. I do know that he and my sister who died in infancy are buried in the family plot in a cemetery in Oakville, Ontario. I'll find them someday.
For Father's Day this year, I went to see Charles, who seemed frail but alert and was waiting for his son, Brian, to come visit. I stayed briefly, then left so he could rest before Brian arrived. And late this afternoon I went to Jordan's house to celebrate Father's Day and Jacob's birthday with the Burton family. (Of course, I managed to leave Jacob's birthday present at home on the dining table--good going, Judith). Good brisket, beans (I brought Bush's in a can, but they can't be beat), potato salad that Jordan's cooking-minded brother-in-law made (his first, he said) and banana pudding (I swore off that). With three little ones splashing in the pool and a nice breeze outside, it was a lovely evening.
I keep my car radio on NPR but for some reason, on summer evenings when it stays light later and I come from Jordan's in the cool (well, comparative cool--we are having a prolonged above average heat spell) I put the top down, pop in my tape of Alex Beaton's Scottish singing, and sing my fool head off along with Alex. I love it, from songs about Glenco and what the Scotsman wears under his kilt to Bonny Dundee and Scotland the Brave. A perfect end to a nice day and a great weekend and maybe a nice tribute to my dad, who was very much a Scot.

Spontaneity

Tonight I decided that if I was controlling reitrement, it had to be about spontaneity. Tomorrow is Jacob's third birthday but I will be signing books in Albany, Texas. I'll miss the pool party, which doesn't bother me, and I'll get there in time for the heavy hors d'ouevres supper. I called Jamie to make sure they'd drive me home after supper, and he suggested I come home with them to Frisco and spend Father's Day. I said I'd think about it, and after about two minutes thought, I started packing a bag, arranging pet care, etc. I don't get that many chances to see those girls, and they apparently have something "special" planned for Father's Day, so it should be fun. I will probably have to take the train back Monday morning (unless by chance Jamie drives me to meet Jordan and family in Coppell Sunday night), so I might miss work Monday. But, hey, I'm on the edge of retirement. I'm practicing for a new life.
So all thoughts of work went out of my mind tonight. I did odd jobs, like laundry, writing a short piece for the TCU Press newsletter, ordering books for my Kindle--on the topic I want to explore: the use of food in mysteries. It's so prevalent these days, I'm curious about why it works so well and wondering if I should jump into the overcrowded pool. Earlier this week I queried the company that has had my first mystery for six months with no response and got--no response. So my evening project has been revising the sequel but I have given it up for this evening and probably until Monday evening. Good thing to let it burble in the back of my mind.

Rainy holidays

Jokes about Noah's Ark are no longer funny. We've had so much rain in the last few days that roads are awash, puddles stand in the schoolyard across the street, and the dog path, beaten by Scooby in my back yard, is a trough of mud. The Frisco Alters spent the night last night and brought their chocolate lab, Mozby, so there were two dogs--which meant that neither was in the dog house, both ran back and forth in the mud, and they were the dirtiest things I've ever seen. Jamie took Mozby around to the front porch, bathed and dried him, and he was fine. After they left, I thought I'd just bring Scoob in, towel him off, and make up to him for hurt feelings because Mozby had been in and he hadn't. Not so easy--he was the muddiest thing I've ever seen, and there seemed no sense in bathing him since he had to go outside again. I left him inside a while, had a heck of a time getting him out, and then had to mop floors, wash dog rugs, etc.--which involved figuring out why the wet Swiffer didn't work. But I did it. Now I have to think about getting him in for the night. The rain is supposed to stop tomorrow and then maybe I'll think about bathing him.
Megan and family were supposed to come for the weekend too but didn't make it--and this morning I was glad, because I heard on TV that the highway between here and Austin was undere water in places.
We gathered for Jacob's first birthday party Saturday--about 40 people and 15 kids, lots of scrumptious food, and a good time. Jacob loved being the center of attention, dug into his cake with both hands, was pretty much uninterested in presents (of which he got many!). His parents reported this morning that he woke screaming about ten last night--after the fact I diagnosed tummy ache. Too much cake and not enough dinner, except the pieces of chicken Maddie fed him.
I slept soundly last night. When I had teenagers at home, I loved those nights when they were all in their beds--I slept well with an easy mind. I guess it carries on, because even having one and his family in the house, I slept with a great sense of security. The rain helped. When Maddie finally got up she reminded me that I'd promised to buy her a Nancy Drew book, so off we went to the bookstore. She chose The Hidden Staircase, which I remember. To my delight she's a reader, going through as much as a book as day, as I did at her age. Edie chose three Dora books, because if you bought two you got the third one free!
Our festive Fathers' Day dinner lacked a little because two branches of the family were missing, but we had a good time. I fixed a turkey roulade, filled with green chiles, cumin, garlic, and feta, along with green chili rice and the marinated vegetables that the girls love. Maddie made the rice casserole but was hesitant about eating it because she doesn't like chiles. I told her she had to eat it since she made it, and she said "Okay, but I'm not eating the green things."
As always, at the end of the weekend, I'm so grateful for family. Oh, heck, I'm gratefull too for the rain, but what will I do about that muddy dog? Meantime, I've got to get back to work.