Father's Day

My father died in 2002. While I think of him often, I tend to think of him more on holidays, Father's Day among them. And this year Father's Day falls on his birthday.

It's hard to describe my father, really. He was a quiet man - probably the only quiet person in my immediate family - and yet he liked to talk. He was quiet because he wanted to know what we were thinking and the best way to do that was to let us do the talking, so he did. But he did LIKE to talk, but preferred to do it one on one. He was never the life of the party (that would be my mom!), but he'd find someone to talk to and talk their ear off in an out of the way corner.

The only thing he loved more than his kids and grandkids was his wife. While some feel that parents should put children first, speaking from someone who grew up in a family that didn't - I think parents should put their marriage first. Don't misunderstand, both of my parents were VERY good to us. But I always knew how in love my parents were with each other. I heard him say many times that he was more in love with her than he was the day he married her. Until the day he died, his face lit up as soon as she walked into the room. Growing up in that kind of environment was amazing. Maybe that's what allowed 7 people to live in a house of less than 1000 square feet and only 1 bathroom! Things were different with post-WWII housing...

My dad worked in a steel mill for 30 years, then worked for the city of McKeesport for 12 more years. One of the things that he was proudest of was that none of his 5 children ever worked a day in a steel mill. He never nagged any of us about not working there. He would just ask us about our plans for college or some sort of schooling after high school. He'd never offer to help us get a summer job at the mill, but would make suggestions on where ELSE we could find one. That was his style, never in your face - just a gentle nudge in the direction he thought we'd be happiest.

And while he was quiet, he did have a temper. He didn't lose it often, but when he did you didn't want to be in the same room. Or area code... I remember once when my brother said one too many teen-aged smart-alecky things to my mom, my father picked my brother up, and pinned him up against the refrigerator (with my brother's feet not touching the floor) and snarling at him "No one talks to your mother that way!" And no one did, after that.

The last few years of my father's life were spent in a great deal of pain, because of a progressive illness that he had. But the grace with which he handled the ever-increasing pain was amazing. Selfishly I hope I never have to experience the kind of pain he did, but if that's what comes to pass for me, I'm very grateful for the role model my father was.

In so many ways.

I love you Dad. Happy Father's Day.

PIE! piepiepiepie!

MMMmmmmmMMMMMmmmmmm PIE!

My husband and I went to a benefit pie contest this past weekend. I had planned on entering the contest, but decided not to. We still went, because for a $5.00 donation you could have all the pie you wanted. I was in hog heaven!

I love pies - more than any other dessert. I can pass up a cake without giving it a second thought, but pie? No way! I learned to make pies about 8 years ago, so that I could make apple pies for my dad. My mother used to make them, but her Alzheimer's changed her personality in such a way that she no longer enjoyed baking and cooking. The first pie I made for my dad was I baked in a 13" by 9" pan. My mother and I each had one piece but my father, over the course of a week, ate the rest of it all by himself. Evidently he liked it.

A few years after that I was able to make a black raspberry pie for my mom, the summer before she died. Pies were her favorite dessert too and black raspberry was her favorite pie. But she hadn't had any since she was a girl on a farm in eastern Ohio, since black raspberries are so hard to come by in the city (until recently). The day I gave her the pie was a bad day for her (Alzheimer's patients often have good and bad days or periods). When my sister and I eye sat down to eat some pie with her, I watched her face as she tasted it and for just a moment I saw my mom again. Her eyes lit up in recognition of the taste and she made an "okay" signal with her right hand and kept enjoying her pie. It was a moment I'll never forget. It was worth the hours I spent on the berry farm picking the berries, just to know that she got her black raspberry pie again.