Missing Mustard
I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately, dreaming about him and hearing him in songs and voices on the subway platform. I miss him. I miss having football on the T.V. and mustard in the fridge. Unexpected memories and details about him are resurfacing again like how he loved carving pumpkins so much that not until I was an adult did I learn that it's usually a kid's activity. He took the task very seriously. I remember the four of us spending fall Sundays raking leaves, and I miss the way that we were together: a mother with high energy and too many plans, two daughters who fought over curling irons and internet, and a father who sat by with a smirk on his face shaking his head because he loved them so much. I guess the changing season reminds me of the changes that come whether we want them or not. Living and dying is a cycle, and so is the longing that autumn brings.
I never knew your father, but I think of him often. Maybe it is because I read your blog entries and get a sense of the man he was or the fact that I often think of how strong you are to lose a father at such a young age. I think that he must have been a remarkable man to raise such a unique, gifted and loving daughter. You are a talent....never stop sharing your work!
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