My dad.

I'm back in Lansing, and I thought I'd write a little more while waiting for my laundry. A friend told me about a place that is nice and clean and not very busy and it feels safer than a lot of places I've gone. So, now, the clothes are out of the extractor and into the dryer. I'm thinking I must have missed something in a pocket of my pants, because pants I washed have little white kleenex-like specks all over. Great. Ah, well...I have a great brush I can use for that. Works for beagle hair, will work for this. Note to self: Please check ALL pockets. You'd think I would have learned; in college, a ticket to see Rostopovich play on campus (fifth row, center!) evaporated in the wash. Thank goodness they believed me at University Auditorium, or I would have missed the ticket. I just had to wait until most everyone was seated in order to figure out which one was my ticket. By the way...the concert was really wonderful; he was magical on the cello. Glad I was able to go, despite the incident.
So Elvis and I made the leap and have moved back. And I'm a little scared tonight. All the way back--or at least most of the way--I cried. But I'm here. Dropped Elvis off--he was rather frantic, by the way--and headed to the laundromat. I noticed I'm going to have to purchase some mouse traps. Oh, goody. Another thing I have to do that was always done by John. Anyway...that's not what I mainly wanted to write about tonight.
I wanted to write a little about my dad. Today was his 87th birthday, and he's been gone almost 11 years now. There are a lot of great dads in the world; mine was one of the best. And because I was the only daughter, I was, well, his princess. I have many father-daughter memories. The ones that stick out today are when I sat on a roof while he shingled it and watched a spectacular sunset. Mom didn't learn about the roof incident until years later. It was better that she didn't know at the time. Other memories: Walking on stones on the shores of Lake Michigan....discovering the stars and planets as we lay on the soft grass of our back yard...learning how to throw like a boy because "no daughter of mine is going to throw like a girl!"....practicing my violin while Dad asked questions about the violin with the mind of the engineer that he was...going to Chicago to get the violin I now play...watching thunderstorms out the window, with Dad's calm reassurances that we were okay. And my favorite: On his way out the door to work, he used to come in and tuck me in the bed. Most times, I was awake, but would pretend to sleep because I loved the feeling of this loving action and the gentle kiss on my forehead. And another one: Any time I was in a concert or play, Dad never noticed anything but me. I would bet that he wouldn't remember the plot of the plays at all. If I was set dressing, he'd be watching me.
I miss him so much, especially now. Too many people gone out of my life. But...I know he's there with me, just like Mom, Curt, my grandparents, other relatives and friends...and now, my beloved John.
So...happy birthday, Dad.
And Dad...could you reassure me once again that I'm going to be okay?