SUNDAY RERUN: Dad Tells Me a Story

This is an entry from my diary, May 12, 2003. It includes a story Dad told me, one which I'd forgotten:

There are times I'm intensely aware that any journal is a series of choices--what to record, in how much detail, what to omit. You may even have to choose whose stories to tell. I'm deciding tonight, here in the time-share vacation condo I'm sharing with my parents, Mom's sister Charlotte, and Dad's brother's widow Jewel. Already a week has passed since the fund-raising dinner/theatre entertainment for the new production of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, Mother's Day was yesterday, Bruce's hearing with his supervisor's superior was this morning, and I have spent a rare five hours alone with my dad as we drove from Portland, (actually he joined me in Hood River) to Leavenworth, followed by dinner here, a round of crafting stick-pins, and swapping reminisces until Mom and the aunties were too tired to stay up any longer. Dad went to bed shortly after dinner. The trip had worn him out.

Now here I am, sitting propped against the wall, sideways at the head of the Murphy bed. I'm trapped in pajamas, as the living room is my bedroom, and perspiration beads my forehead. Aunt Charlotte was worried some Peeping Tom could see through the vertical blinds. What would she think if I opened a window? I am ready to go out and sleep in the van. Anything to cool off. I am going to open a window.

I surprised myself by being ready to leave when Mom and Dad arrived this morning. The car was packed, I'd had time to eat, RC had checked the tires and transmission.

Mom rode with me as far as Aunt Charlotte's, in Hood River. We had a brief visit there with cousin Cindy, and a light lunch, and then loaded Charlotte's gear into Mom and Dad's little red Taurus and drove over to pick up Aunt Jewel. Dad was my passenger now. Said he didn't want to get stuck in a car with three gabbling women. He'd told me in Portland he'd switch with Mom. Sometimes I've felt as though Dad and I didn't have a lot in common. I think it's a male/female thing. Duane told me once he always fretted about what to get Mom for Christmas and birthdays, but Dad was easy. It's just the other way around, for me--with Mom, I have to take a l-o-o-o-n-g list of possibilities and pare it down; with Dad I walk around wondering what one earth he might like to get! But there's one thing Dad and I have always shared: Our love of music.

We sang together for long miles, reminding each other of songs we hadn't thought of in years, resurrecting lyrics in a patchwork fusion of mental filing systems. 

And Dad told me stories. 

He told me of the time he'd been out logging with his brother, (my Uncle Walt) and a couple of buddies. They'd set out from camp one morning, Dad and one of the guys. Uncle Walt was still in camp, and the fourth man was already out in the woods. Dad had a double-headed clearing axe over his shoulder, which they used the way I suppose one would use a machete, to clear brush around the trees they wanted to cut, or to clear a path through the forest. It was honed every morning until it had an edge you could have shaved with.

Well, it was cold and frosty, and Dad stepped up onto an icy log lying in the path, lost his balance, and tried to keep his feet by bringing the handle of the axe down, slicing his neck quite neatly at the base of the skull.

His buddy managed to get him back to camp, where Uncle Walt hustled them into their old car. Dad's friend had a thick, folded cloth over the gash, trying to staunch the bleeding, but it wasn't working. At the sound of the car's engine, the fourth man came out of the woods wanting to know why they were going back. Uncle Walt jerked a thumb at the back seat, where Dad and his friend were. 

That fourth man took one look at the two of them and said, "Stop the car!" to Uncle Walt, yanked the back door open and said, "Get out!" to the friend, who did, and scrambled into the front seat. Then the latecomer climbed in with Dad and pushed his thumb into the pressure point on the side of Dad's neck, stopping the flow of blood. Without his knowledge and action, Dad would have bled to death.

Now, back to 2011, with the latest photos from the yard:

Almost Summer in the Garden

Well, I think I've been brain dead for the last couple of months! Odd what dealing with even a non-threatening bit of cancer will do. (Update: My DH has been through the surgery, and the first six treatments, and is doing fine. No more treatments now until mid-July. As you'll see from the photos, he's feeling a Lot better!)

Today marked the first real day of spring/summer here, and was it a wonder. We went from day after day of cold drizzle, to mid-sixty temperatures yesterday, with more drizzle, to brilliant sunshine and a high of 90 degrees today.

There was just one thing to do: Get out in the yard and garden!

Bob and I had been working for a couple of hours when I looked across the yard and realized, It's finally coming together. After all these years...look how beautiful! I had to get the camera, even though some of the photos are littered with spades, wheelbarrows, and other tools.

We've lived here now for eleven years. When we bought the place, our main thrust was to keep the weeds mowed. The "lawn" was up to our thighs the first time we mowed it. There were no arbors, no benches, no swings, no paths, no flower beds other than the ones along each of the houses, and they're only about 18" wide. (Unusual property alert: We actually bought five houses on half an acre. We live in one, and rent out the other four.) Now...Well, I'll let the photos do the talking.

Okay, so what have I been doing? I have a new passion, or an old passion with a new twist: For the first time in my life, I'm taking voice lessons, something I'd always dreamed of doing. The new twist is what I'm singing--opera! Coloratura, to be exact. What's coloratura? Usually soprano, I'm told, and rather acrobatic, with lots of movement and runs and jumps from one octave to another. I am having SO MUCH FUN! Our teacher's master class is having a get-together tomorrow, and we'll all sing for each other. This is one of the tunes I'll be singing:

LUMIN, GARDEN DESIGNER TO BE

Another Coffee Pot Person who is currently shown on one of the "Celebrate Christmas" cards is a character named Lumin.

Here's his photo:

And his story:

Lumin may look vaguely familiar to you, especially if you’ve seen Disney’s “Beauty and the Beast.” Lumin is the great-grandson of Lumiere, the candlestick character.

Unlike his famous predecessor, Lumin is not in theatre, though he certainly doesn’t lack flair. He is on Sabbatical here from his job as a concierge at a quiet hotel in Paris, and while here he has discovered a delightful new hobby—touring gardens at night. His own personal glow is enough to illumine the ordinary, and make it exotic, and at this point he is already planning a new tourist attraction, Jardin Noir (Black Garden). He is so excited about it he can’t decide whether to stay here and learn more, or just rush home and get started.

In other news, I have two shows this weekend, one that starts tomorrow, and one that starts Saturday. I'll try to post all the info in the morning, because I'd love to see any and all of my friends!