My Dad
A year ago today (the last Sunday in February) as Jolene and I were pulling into Hastings for our after church ritual, we got the phone call that my dad had passed away. I had just seen him that morning on another of my Sunday rituals. He and I watched "CBS Sunday Morning" with Charles Osgood, as we had done since he became ill in 1996. It was our time together alone since my mother was at church (and in those times I found out he "got" the Beatles, although he said he didn't in 1964, but he didn't "get" Springsteen, and he also like the art of Andy Warhol, who would have thunk it), even though he was sleeping that Sunday (as he had done almost continuously for the previous 3 weeks). I had expected this call for 12 years, but it still kicked the breath out of me.
One of my Saturday rituals (other than 2 Krispy Kreme frozen donuts in the microwave for 37 seconds) is reading Jorma Kaukonen's (the former guitarist of the Jefferson Airplane) on line diary and thoughts. Sometimes on the anniversary of one of his parent's death, he writes this poem from contemporary Jewish liturgy. It is my thoughts now and so I thank him also for this inspiration.
"In Many Houses" by Diane Cole
In many houses
all at once
I see my mother and father
and they are young as they walk in
Why should my tears come
to see them laughing.
That they cannot see me
is of no matter:
I was once their dream:
now they are mine.
To all who read my blog, thanks for indulging me today.
One of my Saturday rituals (other than 2 Krispy Kreme frozen donuts in the microwave for 37 seconds) is reading Jorma Kaukonen's (the former guitarist of the Jefferson Airplane) on line diary and thoughts. Sometimes on the anniversary of one of his parent's death, he writes this poem from contemporary Jewish liturgy. It is my thoughts now and so I thank him also for this inspiration.
"In Many Houses" by Diane Cole
In many houses
all at once
I see my mother and father
and they are young as they walk in
Why should my tears come
to see them laughing.
That they cannot see me
is of no matter:
I was once their dream:
now they are mine.
To all who read my blog, thanks for indulging me today.
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