A dear friend of mine whose aging father mentioned how infrequently he hears from his children wrote this for him so that hed know how often he is on her mind. Its always the small things, a hundred times a day: For my Father I had split pea soup for lunch today which made me think of you. Licorice, red wine, Heineken beer; baked beans, dried apricots, cups of tea, ginger snaps and rye bread toast, I think of you . . . and now Cream of Wheat. Gloucester, Good Harbor Beach in particular, when I see a jar of Ragu or a Papa Gino’s, I think of you. A young Dick Van Dyke, though don’t ask me why, argyle sweaters, especially in shades of gray, I think of you. I’ve never seen anyone else whistle out of the side of their mouth, but if I did I would think of you. New York makes me think of you; Boston, especially the University Club, Back Bay, the South End, Appleton and Beacon Streets. Citroens, sail boats in general and especially on the Charles, I think of you. Being able to tell when a stop light will turn from red to green, saying “Blue” when a child says “Guess what?” I think of you. And you know that game where you put your hands together and slide your middle fingers through then twist your hands and wiggle your middle fingers? I think of you. San Diego, pretty much all of it makes me think of you. Newspapers, yellow legal pads, a well balanced pen, walking in to a business lunch or meeting, that I am in advertising and in sales, in business at all and self-supporting, I think of you. When I see a mini schnauzer, a man wearing a cap or straw hat. Watching Sam be a dad, I think of you. The Sunday puzzle on NPR, Mark Twain, Shakespeare, James Joyce, questioning organized religion, going to the library, books, books, books, reading, movies, listening to music, especially jazz, the sound of a piano, I think of you. Quite simply, you are a part of me, a part of my life, in my life, if you are in the same room as I am or three thousand miles away. I love you. I always have. I always will. I cherish the stories you have told, Jimmy Moore’s mole, sinking in quick sand, driving a jeep off a cliff, being a prison guard, how you and mom met, the club sandwich story, Uncle Doc, vodka stingers, Guatemala during a coup, sneaking in to jazz clubs. I will always be impressed by your courage or insanity in starting your own business on June 6, 1966. I am very grateful to have had, to have and to continue to have you in my world. Please know that I will think of you forever, a hundred times a day.
Posted on: Fri, 09 Jan 2015 19:14:11 +0000