This is my annual Father’s Day post, long but not even close to being long enough to tell you about my father, my amazing father, my funny and loving father. It brings back a rush of memories every time I read it. It makes me laugh and smile and long for my father. He was one of a kind in the best of all possible ways. This morning, as soon as I woke up, I wished him a Happy Father’s Day, and the memories came flooding in

I have so many memories of growing up, of family trips and my dad trying to whack at us from the front seat and never succeeding, of playing whist in the kitchen, with the teams being my mom and me against my dad and brother, of Sunday rides, of going to the drive-in and the beach and of being loved by my dad. Memories of my dad are with me always, but today all my memories are of my dad, and my heart is filled to the brim with missing him. When I close my eyes, I see him so clearly.

On a warm morning he’d be sitting on the front steps with his coffee cup beside him while reading the paper. He’d have on a white t-shirt and maybe his blue shorts. He’d wave at the neighbors going by in their cars. They all knew him and would honk back. He loved being retired, and we were glad he had a few years of just enjoying life.

He was the funniest guy, mostly on purpose but lots of times by happenstance. We used to have Dad stories, all those times when we roared and he had no idea why. He used to laugh along with us and ask, “What did I say? What did I say?” We were usually laughing too hard to tell him. He was a good sport about it.

I know you’ve heard this before, but it is one of my favorite Dad stories. He, my mom and I were in Portugal. I was driving. My dad was beside me. On the road, we had passed many piggyback tandem trucks, all hauling several truck loads behind them. On the back of the last truck was always the sign Vehiculo Longo. We came out of a gas station behind one of those. My father nonchalantly noted, “That guy Longo owns a lot of trucks.” I was laughing so hard I could barely drive and my mother, in the back seat, was doubled over in laughter.

My father wasn’t at all handy around the house. Putting up outside lights once, he gave himself a shock which knocked him off his step-ladder. He once sawed himself out of a tree by sitting on the wrong end of the limb. The bookcase he built in the cellar had two shelves, one on the floor and the other too high to use. He said it was lack of wood. When painting the house once, the ladder started to slide, but he stayed on his rung anyway with brush in hand. The stroke of the paint on the house followed the path of his fall. Lots of times he set his shoe or pant leg on fire when he was barbecuing. He was a big believer in lots of charcoal lighter fluid.

My father loved games, mostly cards. We played cribbage all the time, and I loved making fun of his loses, especially if I skunked him. When he won, it was superb playing. When I won, it was luck. I remember so many nights of all of us, including aunts and uncles, crowding around the kitchen table playing cards, especially hi-lo jack. He loved to win and we loved lording it over him when he lost.

My father always said he never snacked, and my mother would roll her eyes. He kept chocolate, those miniature bars, under the couch, hidden from everyone else, but, we, everyone else, knew. He loved Pilot Crackers covered with butter. Hydrox was his preferred cookie. His vanilla ice cream was always doused with Hershey’s syrup. That man did love his chocolate.

My father always went out Sunday mornings for the paper and for donuts. He never remembered what kind of donut I like. His favorite was plain with butter. He’d make Sunday breakfast when I visited: bacon, eggs and toast. I can still see him standing over the frying pan on the stove with a dish towel over his shoulders. He always put me in charge of the toast.

If I ever needed anything, I knew I could call my father. He was generous. When we went out to eat, he always wanted to pay and was indignant when we’d one up him by setting it up ahead of time that one of us paid instead. One Christmas he gave us all $500.00, not as a gift but to buy gifts.

My father left us when he was far too young. It was sudden. He had a heart attack. I had spoken with him just the day before. It was pouring that day, and I told him how my dog Shauna was soaked. He loved that dog and told me to wipe his baby off. I still remember that whole conversation. I still miss my father every day. 

The beautiful weather continues. It is sunny and 73°. The afternoon will get hotter, up to 77°, but the breeze keeps the feel of the heat at bay. I’m planning on a slow day. I have a couple of house chores but nothing too strenuous. I have an errand, a quick one. I expect to be napping by two.

Saturday has always been my favorite day of the week. When I was a kid, it was exploration day in the warm weather and movie matinee day in the cold. I rode in the summer and mostly walked in the winter. Uptown wasn’t very far. It was the center of my town and had just about any store or shop you might need. The exception was the First National. It was down the street from the square but still on Main Street. We once had a pet store next to Santoro’s sub shop. I bought a chameleon there. It didn’t last very long.

I was born in my town. It was called The New England Sanitarium and Hospital back then. It closed in 1999. It sits atop the hill where the first hospital was built in 1899. It looks a bit creepy now. Some of the windows still have inside window coverings.

I was never scared much when I was a kid. My father’s stories of the man with a hook had me looking behind me if I walked alone at night, but I was young. I really didn’t expect to see anything. I was just being cautious. I have never believed in ghosts. I don’t think of graveyards at night as scary. I used one as a shortcut when I was in high school. Nothing ever jumped out at me. I never believed anything hid under my bed or in my closet. Nothing unearthly moved in the dark. We did like to scare each other by jumping out of closets or screaming at one another when it was least expected. I did jump. I always laughed after.

The day is wonderful. It is 74° which will be the high today. Tonight will go down to the mid 60’s, perfect for sleeping. It is breezy. Clouds are predicted but no rain. I have more house chores today. I seem to be on a cleaning frenzy. I hope it passes quickly.

When I was a kid, summer didn’t start on any date. It started when school ended. The last day of school was a half day. We returned text books, cleared out our desks and got our final report cards. When we were let loose, it was a cacophony of screaming, of pushing each other to get out the door. We’d run down the pathway papers in hand. We were filled with the joys of freedom and of summer hopes and expectations.

In Ghana, school holiday also started in June. Buses usually waiting in the lorry park to fill with passengers came to the school to pick up students heading south. Trunks were loaded on the tops of the buses. I remember students with their heads and arms out the windows screaming goodbyes. They were as joyful at the end of school as we always were. That was my time to travel, to explore more of Africa. Even now, so many decades later, it still amazes me to say explore more of Africa. I think my eleven year old self, the age I was when I vowed to travel, would be thrilled and pleased almost beyond measure.

I joined the drill team when I was ten or eleven. We learned our maneuver all winter in the armory upstairs, usually on a Tuesday evening. I got teased because I used to do a bit of homework when there was a break. I’d bring index cards filled with vocabulary or history I needed to learn. Summer was drill competition time. Our first contest was usually in mid June under the lights in Everett. I remember being a bit nervous when moving from the inspection line to the ready line. One year, the person standing beside me panicked. She said she couldn’t remember a single step because we were at the wrong end of the field. She meant in practice we started at the opposite end of the field. I told her everything looks different under the lights. She believed me. She had no trouble remembering.

My dance card is empty until Tuesday.

The rain is coming. The wind is cooler and getting stronger. The clouds are dark. It is a storm coming from the south. The rug is on the floor to protect my newly washed and polished kitchen floor, but I may have to shut the door to keep the rain out. This is a lazy time of day for the dogs who are lying on each side of me on the couch and are napping. I always envy my dogs.

My dog Duke was never allowed on furniture. He knew the rule, but he also knew out to get around the rule. He’d stretch his body across the beds but keep his back paws on the floor. He slept on the couch at night, but he jumped off if he heard someone coming down the stairs in the morning. Duke never got caught.

When I was a kid, the closer we got to the end of school, the more effort it took to pay attention. We had end of the year exams, but nothing really depended on them. We had a longing for summer.

I used to ride my bike to school more as the year ended. I left my bike in the bike rack. It was wooden, painted green and under the trees on one side of the schoolyard. It had a slot for each bike. No one locked their bikes. They weren’t fancy bikes back then. They had no gears. They had pedals with back brakes. I remember biking through sand and jamming on my brakes to slide on purpose. We used to attach playing cards, sometimes bent in half, to the spokes with spring clothespins. The cards made a flapping sound, a rhythmic sound as the wheels spun. I lived on a hill, and it took me a while before I could pedal the whole way. I used to get so tired I would stand up hoping to get more distance. I remember how the pedals got heavier and heavier, but I also remember the joy of triumph when I finally made it all the way.

Today is a delight. It is 70° and filled with sunshine. The blue sky is striking. A breeze stirs the leaves on the lower branches. It is the best of early summer weather.

When I was a kid, I got car sick. I used to stick my head out the window hoping I’d feel better. Sometimes, though, I’d get sick out the window. I have two big car sick memories. I was quite young, and we were on our way to visit my grandparents in East Boston. I remember I was wearing a dress. We were close when I threw up all over me and the floor. My father turned right around, and we went home. He cleaned the car. My mother cleaned me. The other memory is a bit comical. I got sick out the window. A bit of it was caught by the breeze. My father said he felt drops. “It must be starting to rain,” he said. I said nothing.

I remember family road trips and Sunday rides. We’d ride north on Route 1. There was so much to see. The sides of the road were filled with old motels and some restaurants. I remember the giant cactus sign outside the Hilltop Steak House. The Prince’s Restaurant had a leaning tower. A giant orange dinosaur looked over the highway from a miniature golf course. Augustine’s had wonderful food and was a favorite restaurant of ours. Some old lady used to play an organ. The Ship Restaurant was another quirky place to eat. It was huge and was a long way from the water. One small motel was right on the road. I remember it was red, and a big sign was in front, far taller than the motel building which had only a few, maybe 6 or 8 rooms. I remember tacky looking bars with signs mentioning dancing girls. There were always cars out front despite the time of day. I always wished we’d stop at Russo’s Candy House or Putnam Pantry for ice cream. We seldom stopped.

One of my strongest memories from a family ride was seeing some deer grazing under trees on a small hillside near the road. I hadn’t ever seen deer in the wild before that. I can still close my eyes and see those deer.

It rained early this morning. Right now it is sunny and warm at 74°, but clouds are soon expected. It is humid, no surprise there. This is, after all, summer on Cape Cod. Tonight will be in the low 60’s.

When I was a kid, we stayed outside in the summer rain. During torrential storms we kicked and splashed water in the gutters and jumped into puddles. We got soaked. We loved every minute of it. We sun dried. I loved riding my bike just after a storm. I’d ride through puddles and lift my feet off my pedals into the air. Waves rose on each side of my bike. Sometimes the puddles were so deep I’d skim on the water and hold on to the handlebars to keep my bike upright.

I love early summer mornings though of late I have been seeing them at their beginnings, at first light. The first bird songs come with the glimmer of light, a single bird then the chorus. Some mornings have fog, ground fog. Those are my favorites.

The post office in my town was one of my favorite places. It is a brick building. Inside was grand. It had marble walls and table tops. The clerks were behind windows which looked like old time bank teller windows. Voices seem to echo. Inside always felt cool in the summer.

My town had three funeral homes when I was a kid. One was inside what had been a large white house. It was on Main Street. That was where my grandfather was waked. The funeral home was on the corner of the street where my grandfather had lived which, when I was older, I recognized as irony. He was the first person I knew who had died. The other two funeral homes were right beside each other just off Main Street. The Catholics were waked in one, the Protestants in the other. I always thought that a bit odd.

The First National was right up the street from my grandparents’ house. My grandmother even dressed up to go grocery shopping. She always wore a hat. She pulled a wire basket behind her to hold her groceries. She only bought just what she needed. She used to buy Circus Peanuts, those orange hard marshmallow candies shaped like peanuts which strangely enough tasted a bit like banana. She always gave them to my father when he visited. She also bought spearmint leaves and glass bottles of root beer. She kept the root beer on the floor of the closet in her kitchen.

I have a couple of house chores to finish, and I also still need to get a few groceries. Sounds like an exciting day!

The morning is hot at 79°, but the temperature won’t get much higher. It will be a sunny day. Right now we have a lovely breeze. Rain is predicted for tonight but in the wee hours. I knew it would rain. I washed my kitchen floor yesterday, a task which took a few hours given how much it needed to be cleaned and how often I took cold drink breaks. When I was finished, harkening back to Ghana, I took a cold shower to wash away the heat and the grime. It was quick.

The trees in my backyard are so full just the sunlight shines through the leaves. I only see glimpses of the sun and the blue sky through the scanty branches at the tops of the highest trees. My den is cool and shaded this time of day so the dogs nap on the couch. They take up two cushions.

When I was a kid, Sunday was my least favorite day. I had to go to mass, not out of any religious conviction, but rather because original sin and the black milk bottle in the Baltimore Catechism had me running scared of eternal damnation. I did try to make the services as painless as possible. I brought a book and read it. With my head down, I gave the appearance of fervently reading my missal. Back then, this time of year, the church was always filled especially during the early masses so worshipers could get on with their summer fun. If I was in the upstairs church, I often stood in the back with the overflow of church goers or sat outside on the steps. Downstairs, I also stood in the back, but I got to read all the pamphlets on the rack against the back wall. I used to vault up the stairs to the door when mass was over and my obligation was complete.

Sunday dinner was casual all summer. The oven kept the kitchen too hot. Even fans barely moved the air. I loved my mother’s peppers and eggs. She made great potato salad. In August we ate sugar corn. I can remember watching my father shuck the ears. We ate hot dogs and cheeseburgers. The cheese was always yellow American cheese. Back then I put ketchup on my burgers.

Today I have a few more chores, upstairs, and I need some groceries. My week has the usual uke events.

Yesterday was miserable. It was hot and humid, an August day, not a June day. I didn’t post as I had a concert smack dab during my usual posting time. Thankfully, today’s weather is better. A slight breeze is coming through the window behind me, a north facing window. The high today will only be 81° while the low will be in the high 60’s tonight, perfect for sleeping.

As I age, I have had to accept so many changes. Getting down is easy but getting up requires a boost from burly men or grabbing something so I can hoist my body upward. I can’t carry anything beyond 10 pounds in weight. I used to carry in 50 pounds of cat litter. Now I drag dog food bags and use my feet to push boxes cross the floor. I no longer carry my uke stuff. I use a basket I can push. My storm door windows will sit against the cellar door a while. I need to brave myself to take them down to the cellar one at a time, one step at a time. I used to be steady on my feet. I could walk on rail tracks (okay I was really young then), go upstairs without tripping and could go downstairs using both feet. Now I have to plan my route so there is something to grab onto in case I need it. If I ever get stopped on suspicion of drunk driving (not a possibility), I’d get arrested because I can’t stand on one leg. I had no wounds. Now I have cuts and bruises from hitting something. I even hit my head on the freezer door because I bent over and forgot it was open. I never walk fast. It takes too much energy, besides I might trip. I wonder how I have lived this long.

When I was in Ghana, I read all the time. One of my Peace Corps friends said one of the things she loved the most about being in Ghana was the unfettered time for reading. My town even had a library, the Bolgatanga Library built by American architect J Max Bond Jr. I had a book locker made of cardboard and once given out by Peace Corps. A volunteer who was leaving gifted it to me. It was a treasure. In it was The Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I devoured those books. I even read the trilogy twice, once each year. I read every night. It was always quiet. I found Ngaio Marsh in the library. I read every mystery they had and any books by African writers. I remember the library wasn’t loud but there was a murmur of voices. It was a warming sound. I visited that library often. I felt blessed to have it.

I’m thinking I want to sit and read the day away except I still need to wash that pesky kitchen floor.

Alexa told me it would rain between 7 and 8 this morning. It was ten by then, but she was right. It had rained. The driveway inside the fence was still wet.

We have another wonderful morning. It is 75° and sunny. The air is mostly still. Only the leaves at the top of the tallest oak are moving. I can hear the hum of insects and an occasional bird song.

I need to do house chores. My sloth has to ignore me for a while.

I have some mementoes from the town where I grew up. On the window sill in the kitchen is a Weiss Farm milk bottle. I used to bike to the farm and watch the cows. The path from the barn to the field was filled with hoof prints, and it was all muddy when it rained. I remember thinking cows only rambled. They were in no hurry. I think they were Holstein cows. I could see bales of hay in front of the barn. I never saw people.

I have several old post cards of places now only memories. The uptown card has all the stores where I used to window shop rolling my bike on the sidewalk. The police box in the middle of the square is still there. It was destroyed when a car hit it. I remember seeing the policeman inside working the traffic lights. Pullo’s Drug is there. Mr. Pollo was my father’s friend. His store was small compared to Middlesex Drug across the street. The soda fountain had only four stools. The tops were red. I can see Hank’s Bakery and another pharmacy two doors down from Pullo’s. My town seemed to have a plethora of drug stores. One picture of the square has a horse and wagon in the middle. I love the card of my grammar school, St. Pat’s, and of the rectory beside it. It is a wonderful three story building with a wrap-around porch. My school is beside it, the angel statue in front. Out the side door is a walkway with planks. In my day it was paved. I used that door because the crowd went out the other side. The Dairy Queen picture has a full parking lot. The building resembles a barn. In front is an ad for a quart of Mr. Misty.

The library is where I spent so much time. On the card is a picture of the original, small building. A girl is walking on the sidewalk in front. She is wearing a hat, a mid-length dress and what looks like button top shoes. On the back is a message starting with Friend and ending with bushels of hugs and kisses. The postmark is dated 1911. I remember seeing the metal plaque by the front door which said it was a Carnegie library. The building was opened in 1904. It is on the National Register of Historic Places. It is so much bigger now.

I loved growing up in my town.

Today is the ideal day. The breeze is constant. The bright sun is glinting off every leaf. It is 74°. I’m thinking it is time to put on the screen doors.

The other night I watched a WWII movie, The 1000 Plane Raid. The title is a spoiler. It is the entire plot. Though I had already seen the movie, I watched it again. The movie was released in 1969. I saw it in 1970 in Niamey, Niger of all places. It was at an outside venue. The showing was sponsored by the American Embassy. I don’t remember if there was popcorn. What I do remember are the mosquitoes. They were relentless.

When I was a kid, my father hunted mosquitos. He’d chase them with a rolled up magazine in hand. He’d go from room to room weapon in hand. I’d wake up when he was on my mattress and juggling his feet back and forth to keep his balance. The mattress rolled so much I remember thinking I’d get seasick. I remember his cursing when he killed a mosquito which had already bitten. The bloody spot stayed on the ceiling. I remember the blotches.

Summer suppers were more casual. The oven made the kitchen too hot to use. The heat just stayed there lingering in the air. We were not a salad family except when I was older, but it was potato salad, not green salad. We ate a lot of corn on the cob mostly in August. My father loved his native tomatoes slathered with mayo. I ate hot dogs often and never minded how frequently. I topped them with mustard and piccalilli. We only had yellow mustard back then. Nobody ever put ketchup on a hot dog. That seemed like desecration. When I was older, I ate cheeseburgers. That pattern still continues. I eat a lot hot dogs. My mustard right now is honey pineapple. I don’t cook burgers at home, but I order them often when I eat out. Sometimes I use mayo and other times ketchup. I like my roll toasted.

My dance card this week is uke heavy. In addition to practice and my lesson, I have three concerts. Our book this month is across America.