My dad died seven years ago, today.
A big Dutch farmer, he tended to sit in the corner and say very little...but he filled the room.
I miss him so much.
The loss is probably sharper because The Mama is visiting for another week. She spent the day grieving, and trying desperately not to show it. We went to the store and bought a red rose. (Normally she puts it on his grave.)
We went out to Applebee's for ribs. (Another tradition, apparently.) And she got ninety million phone calls, checking on how she was doing.
Didn't matter. She STILL missed him.
I do, too. Love you, Pa. See you soon.
|A quilt from Paducah 2015 that reminded me of my dad...Farmer to the end|
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On a better note, thanks in great part to the help of Daughter #2 and Keith, we finally got the stove insert dragged in and set up in the fireplace. Had our first fire last night...and the stove, a Craigslist find, worked beautifully. Even the blower turned on and off like a champ.
The insert still needs some tinkering. The fireplace tiles need to be painted black. I want to black the stove up a bit, and polish its brass. But meanwhile, we'll have many more warm, cosy fires this season.