Tag Archives: father’s daughters

Rules of the Road

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bus in the rearview mirror

Driving north on Washington Avenue in my hometown yesterday I heard, before I saw, the fire trucks headed my way.  As the line of cars ahead of me began to slow and move to the right the first truck came around the corner, screaming sirens, lights flashing and here comes someone alongside me on the left trying to pass.  The fire truck had to swerve a bit and hit its horn, if you thought the siren was loud this horn made it perfectly clear he should get the hell out of the way.  I don’t know what came over me, perhaps it was the thoughts of my Father on this anniversary of losing him nine years ago, perhaps it was the stupidity of this jackass but I couldn’t help launch into a blistering tirade on the rules of the road.  From the confines of my car I wanted to know who the hell this stupid bastard (a favorite expression of my father’s for use in cases just like this) thought he was putting these people, who were volunteering to race into a burning building, in danger.   As I started my tirade the next truck came toward us and this guy must have caught on and jumped in front of me and slowed down a bit.  On I went with my tirade, making it perfectly clear that under no circumstance should you ever put these people in danger and that you should summon up all the respect you can for the people doing this job for no pay both on and off the road. I was pretty animated. The man in the car ahead of me thought he understood why I was carrying on and offered that I go ahead of him.  I assured him he could go and it had nothing to do with him cutting in front of me.  I would rather he be in front of me.  My father always pointed out that people like him, before we had any understanding of Karma, were accidents waiting to happen and it would be best if you could see them when they made their last wrong move. Then you could react and avoid being caught up in their bullshit (he was a fan of that word too).

These were my Father’s words but certainly not at this decibel (ever) or with this ferocity (ever).  When teaching me to yield to emergency vehicles he simply stated that he never wanted to hear that I got pulled over for not doing so.  There was no drama, just the facts of a small town where you might get pulled over, you might not get a ticket, but your family would surely hear about it at some point. Probably at the bar over a beer shared after work one day. Life in a small town for a daughter, of a Father that everyone knew, that was a bit “high-spirited” could be a little precarious.  He knew what he was up against.

These were just the unwritten rules of his road.  They were written somewhere I’m sure but for me they were his.  My Father drove for our local dry cleaner for 40 something years and when he had spare time he went for a ride.  He loved to drive.  When he could no longer drive, I had the unfortunate business of taking his beloved license from him; he loved to be taken for a ride.  He knew all our local roads and he taught us any number of unwritten rules, like always know several ways to get home, pull as far to whichever side you are turning so the guy behind you can get around you, always use your signal, and never use your horn.  If you can yield to a delivery man you’ll make his life easier.  To this day I let the “working people” go ahead of me.  Never be the last person through the one lane anything, hang back let the other side go. Be that person that enjoys the road and leave the hysterics to the other guy.

I’m sure the unwritten rules he gave me were different from the ones he gave my sister.  I remember him getting in the car with me for the first time and saying where should we go.  It wasn’t like he didn’t know I had already been driving for several years.  Someone always had a car and I learned what I could from them.  I could do a mean jack rabbit with my friend Paul’s 62 Falcon with the shift on the column…but I digress.  My sister always talks about some double line rule that will always take you home.  I never had that particular discussion with my Father, we each had hand tailored discussions based on our personalities and our age difference.

I get my love of driving from him, I drive wherever I can and these days he would be over the moon to see what I’m driving.  I know like I know I can get home from anywhere and made it my business to put the girls in the car and explore my new neighborhood as soon as I could.

I’m glad he wasn’t around to see the advent of texting while driving, or putting makeup on while driving or the ever present road rage.  He used to drive during the day and be surrounded by “housewives and money hungry salesmen”.

He used to say that the best he could hope for on a busy day is that the school bus would be in the rearview mirror.  Yeah, that’s still true for me too. And yeah, his driving lessons, his driving legacy are secure, how often I wish others knew and followed them. Miss you.

 

 

Time Passages

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“I avoid looking at the clock, fearing the slow passing of time that will only seem slower if I watch its progress.” Michelle Zink

Except for today, of course.  I know you think this is going to be my annual “I want my hour back” rant but not so much this year.  I have to say there were a few very profound happenings this week that seemed to wake (yeah I know) my ass up.

First and foremost my dear friend Paul sent a wonderful email (after attending a school presentation by his daughter Greta) entitled The Secret of Time:

Today the 4th grade classes at Race Brook School presented their research and enactments of famous people in history.  Our Greta was Betsy Ross, and aside from the great job she did on her research and memorizing her speech, she personified the most famous flag maker from Philadelphia perfectly.  She even answered questions about Betsy in first person, and was very proud by how impressed everyone was with the flag that she had sewn on her very own “real” sewing machine that she got for Christmas.

 Greta As Bestsy Ross

Most of all she tested Dad’s ability to keep smiling and not succumb to the urge to burst into tears.  There’s a very fine line between being happy to be alive, and becoming overwhelmed by the realization of riches that have been bestowed upon us, and just how precious each day is.

Now the secret of life is enjoying the passage of time.  James Taylor

Somehow Paul always has something happening with his family in March.  It’s a time I walk softly and carefully and sensitively lest I fall on my knees from missing my Father.  He’s gone nine years already. Already? See what I mean about the passage of time.  Anyway, each March my friend Paul elaborates on something that he is doing to cement his legacy to his family.  More so, I see him creating “father’s daughters” and I couldn’t be happier.  For them and for him.  It gives me strength to watch a Father bring everlasting memories to the children in his life.  I remain in awe of him.  And I appreciate his sharing me right through the end of March.

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To add to the family theme I was honored to attend my dear friend Cookie’s grandchild’s baby shower.  Baby Cook.  So, of course, I did what I do in all matters Cookie, I hid behind the camera for fear of becoming a whimpering nut to capture the day and regret that he was not a physical part of it.  It was beautiful, she is beautiful, they will carry on the family name in some way (the baby’s sex is a surprise!) with notions of Cookie in the back of their minds.  This is the most validating indication of the passage of time, it’s natural and beautiful and fulfilling for legacies both past and present.

Later Muriel and I actually howled telling stories of when they were all kids and how her Father’s memory lives on and on and on.  Ironically it was a story of a family tree.  Truth, my friends, remains stranger (and a helluva lot funnier) than fiction.

So this morning I awoke missing an hour.  I walked the girls, made my coffee and treated myself kindly.  I didn’t piss and moan once about losing my hour.  Nicely my sister (who has lived with the rant far longer than anyone) brought me a wonderful gift of lox for my Sunday bagel and it was a delicious treat.  I’ll never get this particular hour back, but I must say after this very long, very cold, very snowy winter I am thrilled to be writing this with sun still shining and Spring on the way.

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No, I won’t get this hour back but I will get an hour back.  What a gift to look forward to:

Time does not pass, it continues”   Marty Rubin

 

 

 

 

 

 

Just Enough Rain for Luck

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lunch 10

Had anyone told me I would be quoting Steven “Dude looks like a lady” Tyler I would have said they were smoking what he smokes…the thing is he’s got this when he says “If you have a candle, the light won’t glow any dimmer if I light yours off of mine.”

I have been the recipient of more generosity than I ever could have imagined.  From my family, from my family, from my family especially my Father.  He didn’t have much, he didn’t know much but he shared everything from stories to lost dreams to insight to the yolk from his over easy eggs salted just perfectly to wint-o-green lifesavers.  We spoke a similar language that only we could understand.

So many generous people have shared their knowledge with me throughout my career that it’s hard to list them all.  Most notably my friend Cookie, a rare breed in the car business that thought it was ok, no more than ok, to share his vast, been there done that, know where the bodies are buried knowledge with a woman of all people.  I’m not talking about the read the financial statement kind of knowledge I’m talking about the watch out for this trick, keep an eye out for this on the bill of sale kind of knowledge.   It was invaluable but beyond that it was the same kind of knowledge my own father shared, the real life, you’ll get kicked in the ass once in a while knowledge in a kicked up more educated went to college version.

Over the course of the sixteen years I worked with him, he was my mentor, he was my friend and he became my confidant during a time when not much was going right.  You can’t help but know an awful lot about each other’s families working together every single day.  He knew my relationship with my father and I knew his relationship with his children especially his Muriel.  So it was no surprise to me when my father died he could see the future.

In the infinity of life that we all share, I have to believe that a promise kept is more important than many other things.  If something happens to me, he said…you’ve got Muriel.  Of course I would, and so I do.  Through the miracle of universal alignment she lives four doors away on our little Stowe Ln.  It’s been an easy friendship full of shared experiences and memories of both her father and mine.  It’s my hope that one day she will think of me as one of the generous people in her life and fulfill her promise of helping me grow old with a sippy cup of wine in my hand…just sayin

I had the honor of seeing her married this past weekend, of chauffeuring her in a shiny BMW the way her Father would have, of authenticating the day through photos that were beautiful but regrettably missing one of the most important people in her life. We didn’t speak of it, we didn’t have to.

It was a joyous day none the less, had I had a daughter I would want her to be exactly like Muriel. Beautiful, real, take after her Father in that sarcastic listen closely so you don’t miss anything kind of way.  We will always share the Father’s Daughter mentality, sentimentality although she will poo poo being capable of any such thing. What we know like we know is that they are exuberantly watching from somewhere and even if they’re not they have shared so much that we will never run out of all that they have left behind for us.

To that end the lesson for both of us from our Father’s has been  to share what we know, not just our knowledge but our way of looking at things, our perspective if you will, our sense of humor, our sense of family and our friendship so that we too can leave behind bits of ourselves.

prewed 10

My dearest Muriel and Martina no amount of love and health and happiness can ever be enough for you.  Know you’re loved, share your lives fully and leave behind all that makes you what and who you are, as individuals and as a couple, so that many can benefit from your having met and married.  Like your wedding day I wish you just enough rain for luck I know like I know it will be a breathtaking life.

Happy Mother’s Day from a Father’s Daughter

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With two you get eggroll

She loves her Chinese food, me not so much.  She has a million quips and quotes that somehow grew us up and we remember to this day.  She is eighty three and like most people her age she concentrates on herself, some amazing survival instinct of the aged. She truly made a silk purse from a sow’s ear, she scrimped and saved and has a wonderful nest egg, me not so much but she is generous.

In the eight years since my Father passed we have become…something.  Something more than we were and less than we will ever be.  I have developed a certain respect for her charm, her ability to bring people to her and to make them feel…something.  Loved, important, heard, special.  She has a long line of people who will always remember how she made them feel.  Including me.

But she and I couldn’t be more different in many ways.  I am hopeful that I’ve been able to cultivate that ability of hers to bring people to me.  Maya Angelou said today that her second greatest blessing has been her ability to turn people into children of hers.  I’ve had a string of people that I believe turned into children of mine but have now moved on into wonderful and satisfying lives through new jobs, new relationships or reestablished relationships with their own mothers, and new…something.

You never really know the effect you’ve had on people, there are no Mother’s Day calls when people have taken your love and lessons and moved on to send those lessons into their own worlds.  You can be grateful for the love and lessons you’ve received from a Mother you’re only now getting to know, love and respect.   I am grateful for both the sending and the receiving.

Happy Mother’s Day to all.