Because I'm so lucky

In the back row, my dad in a striped sweater, apparently without the moustache that he wore every day except 3 shocking ones in the 60s

Every year as we get close to Father's Day, I try, yet again,  to post a blog somewhat different from the ones I've presented in other years.  I'm finding that hard this year as I know he was a quiet man and would not have been comfortable if I were to write something he would consider boastful, so in spite of the over-the-top story I have in my heart, I'm just going for facts.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sorting out some photos that were print, not digital, and came across a photo of my dad, just days before his death, in a hospital bed, with family all around him. I was startled, dropped the picture and found my heart pounding. I do not cherish that time in our lives, but it is a real part of it.

For good or bad, I try to remember Dad as a sweet person (everybody said that), who seldom raised his voice to any one or about any thing, a man who was always at the heart of the family that we were, who was always available to us, who treated my mother as the equal that she was, and who taught me to drive despite the snippy attitude I brought to those days.

I know he was far more than that. He had left home at a very young age, had served in the Canadian Army during WW2 and until he retired in 1964; he drove a taxi off-hours for years to supplement the cost of raising six kids, always helped us to work out what our goals were and what might be the way to achieve them, and consoled us if we didn't get there. He could help us to understand why we weren't a two-car family, nor one that travelled the continents, and why family came first when things got rough.

At the same time that the people who worked with him called him Sergeant Dad, he became the most-loved Papa for all our kids and most of the kids whose families were close to ours.  Can you see why?

The first ten minutes after I got up this morning

I wonder how long it has been since I posted a story about something really clumsy that I had managed?

Today, I was following my routine for early morning: made my coffee and toast, and while they were in the process of getting hot, I zipped back to make up the bed and choose my clothes.  Came back to my raisin toast and coffee, remembered how yesterday I'd gone to my book club and only had one glass of wine, and told myself:  "High five, Lorna!"

Coming down from my half a high five, I smashed into my cup of newly-brewed coffee, and in my state of not wanting to ruin my toast, pulled the toast plate towards me, shoving the teetering coffee cup over the side of the counter.  It looked like a smallish coffee cup, yet there was coffee all over the counter, down the front of my housecoat, all over my newly-painted kitchen stool and, of course, on my bare feet and much of the floor on which I was standing.  Standing in disbelief.

In which I ramble

I love Two Cellos!  That, and the fact that I was alone in the house yesterday, is the reason that I found them on YouTube, turned up the sound and danced in the living room for about two hours.

Dancing where you can see yourself may be wrong, self-indulgent, fun or weird but for me, it was a reminder about how different "dancing" has become since the late1970s, which I felt was the best time for me and dancing.

My daughter Emily is a person who loves to dance and has always done it well, and seems to have no trouble moving gracefully into whatever is the present style. My granddaughters Robyn and Maddy take after her and dance as easily as they walk.

Dave can dance or not....

I don't know what Sarah looks like when she's dancing, if she does, and I can't remember ever seeing Chris dance, but I hope that if they do, they take joy in it.

And back to Two Cellos.  Give them a try.

The other day I posted this to Facebook, but I also want to have it on Blogger, as it's something I've been thinking a lot about lately, and Blogger is an easier place to get at after a few days than Facebook is .

On my mind today is loneliness. Not my own loneliness, because although I feel it at the moment, I have friends and family that I can connect with, and mostly I'm lonesome for Dave, who's been away for a while. I'm thinking of the loneliness of people that I see on the streets, in Tim Horton's and McDonalds or on the bus, who have lost contact with their former friends and family, and whose empty eyes won't make contact with mine. On the other hand, yesterday when I was out walking, I saw a man coming toward me, smiling, and when I smiled back, he asked if I would give him $5, as he'd lost his wallet and needed to get the bus home. I recognized him from other walks, but of course, he interacts with many people and saw me as just another target. I told him how he'd approached me several times, and he just shrugged and moved on. Fake loneliness....weird.  

How I managed to hold a dinner, without doing anything

Last night we had a family dinner.  For that occasion, family means me, my brothers Pat and Sean, my daughter Sarah, her partner Steven, her daughters Julia and Emma, and my daughter Emily and her two daughters, Robyn and Madison.

Emily, planner, chef and hold-it-together person

Julia, Emma and Sarah

Sarah and Steven

Maddy from the back

from left, the back of Robyn, Pat and Emily

Pat, Emily, Robyn and Sean

Me and Steven

from left, Sean, Robyn, Pat and Emily

We all missed Dave, as well as Em's partner Steven and their sons.

It is now 24 hours since we started yesterday, and most of the party stuff is gone or waiting for me to feel hungry again.  I feel privileged though, to have had all of those lovely people in the house