Father's Day

I was doing a ten minute tidy on my bedroom when it occurred to me that I hadn't sat in my recliner all day. And I didn't miss it. Wonder of wonders. When I got up this morning, groggy, because I am at the end of a nasty cold, I grabbed my coffee and Bible and headed straight into the great outdoors for my morning talk with Jesus. Sitting in my rocker under the umbrella, and perusing the yard, I was suddenly overcome with thankfulness. I am so glad to be here, with the blooming Sun Parasols, and the Cannas, the vegetable garden, and the birdbath, with it's chatty flowing fountain. The coffee was good, the Word was really good, the air wasn't too hot yet. The Mr. came out and joined me, with Frankie, and we just sat in peaceful silence, enjoying the morning, and the coffee, while the dog capered around us. 

I could not ask for more. 

Then back in the house I came straight into the office, bypassing my usual recliner time. I pulled the office chair up to the desk and perused yesterday's creations. 

 My son in law and I are making my daughter a coffee table. Not just any old coffee table, but a coffee table for her library that you can peek down into to see another world. A miniature library, within her library. She knows something is up but she doesn't know exactly what. The son in law is making the actual coffee table. I am making the miniature books for the library shelves. Yesterday I made magazines from the forties. Today I was planning on making some paperback books. I had a printout of some classics, miniature book size, maybe an inch high and half an inch wide. But then I hit upon an idea. What about Dick Francis. I love Dick Francis. I have most of his books on my shelf. Last time I was over at Katie's I noticed she had several of my books on her shelf. She said I gave them to her, when I asked about them. Hmmph. Maybe. 

Anyway my love of Dick Francis is well known around here, so I thought that would be fun. I googled Dick Francis book covers and was thrilled to find out that someone has posted a web page with all of his book covers one page. Sooo I downloaded the page, scaled the page down, printed the image and then cut the covers out individually. Then I had to make backs for the covers, because of course it was 2 D. Image only. So I got out my scrapbook paper and matched the books to the paper. If you know anything about DF you know his books are very colorful. Then I made the backs, matching the paper to the book colors, and glued them to the fronts. Then I folded the insides and glued them into the books, one by one. It took a few hours, but at the end I had an entire DF collection for my daughter's miniature bookshelf. When do you think I should probably be honest with myself and realize that I have descended into madness? What will she say when she sees what I have done? Will she be amazed? Will she laugh her head off? Both, I hope. 

Anyway, this is how it has been with me lately. Since this new diet I started two months ago, my brain is working all the time. My cognitive thinking has dramatically improved, and I want to do things. Sitting in my recliner is such a waste of time. Yes, my knees still hurt, unbearably, sometimes, sadly the injections didn't do diddly squat for me. Despite that, I want to be creative, I don't want to sit around doomsday scrolling anymore. I got a new guitar and am spending time learning new music, new chords, new picking methods, and generally just having a ball. 

The diet can be a drag, but the benefits seem to be far outweighing (haha, see what I did there) missed foods. No dairy, or very little, no bread, no seed oils, other than avocado or olive oil, no sugar. No cheese. I thought that one would hurt a little more than it does. I still have a bit of cheese now and then, but not much. I used to live on it. The thing that hurt the most was the coffee creamer. Since I can't have sucralose I have had to let the flavored coffee creamers go, even the zero sugar ones. It has made me re evaluate my relationship with coffee. Turns out it isn't really the coffee I love, it's the creamer. We have found some substitutions, but coffee time just isn't the same. Still, sixteen pounds for me, and nineteen for the Mr. is worth it. And the fire going on in my brain makes me never want to go back to processed foods again. 

As I said, I got a new guitar. It hadn't been in my plans to get a guitar. I already have one that belonged to my grandfather, one that I love dearly, the one I learned to play on. It's a 1949 Epiphone Flattop Texan, very vintage, pretty rare, especially in it's good condition. It has real Mother of Pearl inlay on the fretboard and headstock and it has a lovely woody tone to it, the kind that only comes from a seasoned instrument. Did I mention I love this guitar? However it is hard for me to play. The fretboard is very long, 25 inches, and the strings, even after all these years of playing, still hurt my fingers. I was in the middle of trying to play it one day, and having trouble, when the thought occurred to me that maybe this was too much guitar for me. Maybe I need a smaller guitar. With less action on the fretboard. Less action just means the strings aren't so high. Can you tell that during my doomsday scrolling I have included lots and lots and lots of guitar tutorials? Vintage guitars tend to have high action on the fretboard simply because they are old, and the fretboard tends to bow over time, even if it's imperceptible to the eye. Old Tex looks perfect, but he is difficult for me. 

So I considered what to do. Should I buy a new guitar? I posed the question to my musical aunt, the one who gave me the guitar. Buy lighter strings? You should do that first, she told me. 

So I decided to follow her advice. The next time I was downtown I would step into the pawn shop and pick up some lighter strings. However, that's not how it worked out. 

We went downtown to the Mexican restaurant one day, shortly after this, and after lunch I strolled next door for those strings. I walked up to the counter and told the gentleman what I wanted. He got them for me, while I looked around. I walked over to the instrument area and perused all the hanging guitars, as I always did when I was in here. I have seen many that I would have liked to buy, but money being what it is, I always left empty handed. This time was different. This time, as my eye roved over all the feast of offerings, I saw something that excited me very much. Another Epiphone! Could it be possible that I could have TWO Epis? I looked at the price, and it was formidable. I looked at my husband and to my surprise, he said Get it. I was in shock. Absolute shock. The gentleman took it down and let me play with it. Bonus. I hadn't noticed it was electric. I have always, always, wanted an acoustical electric. 

Today seemed to be my lucky day. 

So that's how I came to have a second guitar. 

Not made in America, like Tex. This one is made in Indonesia. It has plastic on it. Plastic nut. Plastic binding, plastic saddle. It' has mother of pearlite. Not mother of pearl. It is an "Inspired by Gibson" Hummingbird, the Gibson Hummingbird being a famous guitar from the sixties played by the Beatles and a bunch of other people. Despite not being American, despite the plastic, it plays incredibly well, and all the reviews are outstanding. So I am happy. 

And because my brain is working better, I am better able to understand the music. I am playing chords I have never heard of and would have never attempted not that long ago. I would have just shaken my head, put the guitar down and walked away, or maybe just played something easier. I have a large book of chord songs that I flip through and play, or attempt to play. Most of them I can't play. But I like to try. To my surprise, I'm finding that some of them aren't as difficult as I had supposed. 

I'm still ridiculously slow, though. Even after all the years I have been practicing, I can't change chord positions quickly. I have to stop and look at the chord charts, sometimes. Most times, if I'm honest. However I am truly enjoying guitar time like never before. 

A few weeks after the guitar purchase the Mr. and I stopped by the pawn shop again. This time we were looking for an amp. I hadn't yet heard the guitar live. I had bought a couple of different cheap ones from Amazon and they hadn't worked out. I was way out of my element. Had no idea what to look for. But they had one there that wasn't too big, nor was it small. It wasn't a horrible price, but it also wasn't cheap. I asked the guy behind the counter about a cable for it, when he told me that there was something better than a cable. Bluetooth. Sometimes I love technology. You plug the receiver into the amp, the transmitter into the guitar, and wa LA. Wireless Amp. My mind was blown. I ordered it from Amazon while the Mr. was paying. 

And now I have gone on and on and on about the guitar, and the diet, but I just have to say that those two things have turned my life upside down. And I am painting again. 

Well trying to, anyway. I wrote in a previous blog about rescuing my grandmother's paints from the late sixties, early seventies, from my garage junk, and about how I got new rubber stopped bottles for them, and rehydrated them to bring the colors back to life. 

Well lately I have been trying to use them, and to my surprise, they are quite nice! The colors are crisp and bright. And Amazon still sells the paint, so I have been adding to my color collection, a little at a time. However I have had quite a few failed paintings. I start out well and then before I know it, I have muddied the painting or overworked it, and nothing I can do can bring it back. However, much like my guitar revelation, I realized I needed a different kind of paper. The paper I was using was not working for me. So I got a new tablet from Amazon, this time a brand name paper, that I know is good. A couple of days ago I prepared to paint. I got out the paper. I taped off the edges so I would have a nice clean perimeter. Then I stared at it for several days. What if I mess it up? So I hesitated. I procrastinated. I ruminated while some ideas germinated.

Meanwhile Father's Day was suddenly upon us. 

We had planned on going to church, but the Mr. was not feeling well, so we stayed home. I sat out in the garden and had a long talk with Jesus about fathers and other things. I told Him how much I miss mine. He already knows, of course, but He lets me talk it out. Daddy has been gone for three months now, and it still seems very unreal. In my mind he is just at his house, three hours away, and I haven't seen him for awhile. In my mind he is working in his shop, cooking breakfast, walking down to get the mail, and settling down in his recliner for his evening session of Family Feud. In my mind he is healthy and strong, buying groceries, reading books, taking Jo out for her doctor's appointments, and going to church. 

In my heart there is a dad shaped hole, caused by his absence. His house is empty, the shop is gone, his hands are still. I miss him. I look at his face on the blanket that someone so kindly gave to me on the day of his funeral and I am overcome with strange feelings of loss, feelings that are new to me, and hard to rectify. He is gone. I know it. This first Father's Day without him has been more difficult that I expected. I can't call him, or hear his voice, or tell him how much I love him. 

After church in the garden, we got dressed up and ready to have lunch with the family at a hibachi restaurant in Sherman. Just before we left town though, we stopped at the grocery store to buy some flowers. Since we would be close to the grave yard, I thought it would be very fitting to go to the cemetery and leave some flowers for Dad. I went into the store and saw many dozens of roses, all so beautiful, each and every bunch. My hand reached out for some red ones, but they just weren't quite right, so I kept looking. In the end I chose a colorful bouquet. My dad loved color. In his entire neighborhood, and I mean the entire complex, he was the only one with a turquoise garage door, and matching front door. Everybody else had tan doors, but not Dad. And in the house it was the same. Turquoise kitchen, Aqua colored Kitchen Aid mixer. So when I saw the bouquet, which had yellow, lots of blues, greens, pinks, and even some oranges, I felt it was right. We made it to the hibachi, and the girls were just floored by the fire show. They loved it. Arya was a bit scared, sitting on my right, but she did OK. They will be talking about it for the rest of their lives, I think. We had a wonderful time, and then went our separate ways. The girls with their parents to go shopping, Matt, to who knows where, and the Mr. and Ally and I to the cemetery. 

It was quiet there. So quiet. It's way out in the country, and when you enter the gates, all the city sounds fall behind you. It's just you and the wind. The church was empty, all of the congregants long since gone home. The sun was high and the wind was breezy. There were little American flags peppered all over the grave yard, each veteran a recipient. 

There it was. The tiny stone had all but disappeared beneath the grass and weeds. I spent a few minutes pulling it all off until the marker was completely clear. Then I placed the colorful flowers just below the his name. The Mr. and Ally were standing by, quietly. I could tell Ally was very moved. She misses her grandpa. 

After a few moments I moved along the row of tiny stones to Jo's parents. Their stones too, were overgrown with grass. I spent a bit of time pulling back the weeds, thinking about them, as well, and remembering the dream I had had the day before Dad died, about Jo's dad, and how in my dream he had been young and strong and healthy. I fervently wished he was here, that the dream was true. And I wished my own dad was, too. 

Then I was done. I spent a moment or two longer, snapped a photo, and then walked away, leaving the bright flowers to mark the spot where I had been, and he would remain. It was kind of sad, and moving. Very poignant. 

We were quiet on the way home. I looked at the pictures I had snapped of the bouquet and decided that was what I would paint. I loved the juxtaposition of the blues, yellows and greens. 

But could I do it? 

I came home and stared at the blank paper some more. Afraid to mess it up. When did painting stop being fun and start being about my insecurities? 

I got out a pencil. I put on my glasses. And then I started drawing. Then I got out my brushes, and I got a bowl of water. I got out the paints. I put on some music. 

And all the insecurities just melted away. It isn't finished, and I can't say that I won't mess it up. However, I am liking what I see so far. 

Dear Jesus, this has been a tough couple of weeks, within a tough year for our family. There is a lot of grief and anxiety, angst, and many tears. I lift up each and every member and pray for peace and comfort. Let us never forget that you walk beside us every single step of the way, and when it's too much you carry us. We cast our many cares upon you now and thank you for your continued provision and goodness to us. Tell our Daddy hello for us, and let him know we miss him.