My dad has been gone fourteen years now. It was shortly before my thirtieth birthday that he passed on, in his eighties. As I look back on the memories I have of him, they are a mixed bag of good, not-so-good and bittersweet. My folks were divorced just after my 12th birthday and I did not spend any time with my dad until after I graduated high school, so my main memories were as a young child.

It was summer 1975. I was seven years old. We lived in a cute old house with an awesome yard in a not-so-great area. 


I remember how I’d spend hours and hours in this yard. It was large and had a huge persimmon tree. Mom made lots of persimmon cookies. I distinctly remember how the house sat on a corner. The front door on one street, the back yard along the side street where there were four large palm trees, two on either side of the driveway which was adjacent to the back yard. There was a large iron gate that closed off the yard near the street. I’m not sure why, since you couldn’t really drive into the yard, but that was how it was configured. Today the house has a wooden gate and a smaller entrance gate next to it, which makes much more sense as that is private and a slatted iron gate is not.


I’m not sure if on this particular day the gate was left open or just unlocked or what. But all I remember is one minute playing in my yard and the next minute two big teenagers had grabbed me under my arms and started hauling me off down the street. I screamed as loud as I could. I don’t remember any words beings spoken, all I remember was the teenagers were laughing and I was screaming. I’m not sure how long this went on, but I recall being quite a ways down the street, well past all the palm trees.


Then I saw him. My Dad. Running, full speed towards me. Now you need to understand I had never in my life seen my father run and in fact I don’t recall ever seeing him walk very fast. He was 54 when I was born, so he was 61 at this point. He was sprinting. He'd had to come out the front door of the house and around the corner past the yard entrance. As he came barreling down the street the teenagers spotted him after he passed at least a couple of the palms. They dropped me and took off. It was over.

It's odd because I don’t remember the fear of being snatched out of my yard or the terror that I surely must have felt at the time from being dragged down the street . All I remember is my old dad ran. And he saved me.


I ran out to the grocery store this morning for a few essentials. This is my least favorite store, but as irony would have it, naturally it's the most convenient and least expensive. One of the reasons I'm less than thrilled to shop there is the ridiculous lines regardless of what time of day it is.

As it turns out, I ran into a unoccupied line with an older man as cashier. Just before I'd approached, he'd sprayed down his conveyer belt and started cleaning if off during his down time. As I got in line, he joked about how he figured as soon as he did that, he'd get a customer! I laughed and told him not to worry, and that it was the kind of thing that would happen to me. I then told him how shocked I was he had no one in his line since usually their lines are three and four deep at least. He made a comment about no one being in his line because he's cranky  having reaching a point in life which no longer takes any crap. I told him I'd reached that point much earlier in life.

And that's why I love my Husband

I'm known for wanting things done a certain way and I can own that about myself. I guess I tend to be a tad on the anal retentive side. My family's emotions towards this tendency range from annoyed to amused. For example, there's a hotly debated topic about about how many pairs of underwear to pack for a trip.  I have my own formula to arrive at that amount. [Number of days x 2 + an extra 10%]

There are other various household methods I insist we follow and one such item is the rule when you open a package of lunch meat. There's nothing more frustrating when you go to make yourself a turkey sandwich for lunch and can't recall how long ago you cracked open the package. The simple solution, of course, is to mark the date on the package when you open it. We always keep a marker in the kitchen for this and other purposes.

So a couple days ago the hubby went to make a turkey sandwich and asked if we had a package already open. I told him we didn't and of course then threw in my admonition to please "remember to mark the package!"

Now this is where I must tell you that I am a firm believer in humor in everyday life and in my opinion it's absolutely required in marriage. When I went to make myself a turkey sandwich today I saw this;



His intended hilarious sarcasm is not lost on me! Apparently he looked up at the atomic clock in the kitchen and decided to not only write the date but also the exact time and current temperature. This cracked me up and totally made my day.