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Precious memories
Father’s day is just around the corner.
This is my father. He hasn’t been here for a long time. He died in November of 1995, but he was gone for quite a few years before then. Dad had several strokes, one finally damaged his brain enough to put him in a nursing home. He was to spend quite a few years locked in the prison of his damaged mind.
When I was a little girl he used to take me with him to run errands. He would tease me and say I was his favorite. I never thought I was, but considered it sweet of him to say so. I’m sure when he had any of the other four sisters out on excursions he would tell them the same thing.
For as long as I can remember an oil portrait of him as a young minister preaching a sermon hung in our home. That painting a few other items made any new house we moved to our home. He, on many an occasion caught me staring at his portrait, it was on more than one occasion that he told me one day the painting would be mine.
Dad is long gone and so is my mother. The dear to my heart painting is lost to me too. However, he lives on in my heart, and forever he will have residence there. There’s nothing in the world that can take my precious memories of him away.
If your father is still around, if he was a good man, hug him and tell him how much you love him. You won’t regret it.
You all have a good one!
Belling the cat doesn’t always work…
Many years ago we had a Siamese cat who should’ve been named Diana for her hunting skills. However, she was named Snoopy because she couldn’t resist checking everything out from her first day with us. She wore a bell and yet continued to gift us with many a dead animal. Snoopy did learn that killing birds brought nothing but disapproval from us so she restricted her hunting to small furry creatures.
When she stalked her prey you never heard that bell ring. Fagin’s juvenile crew of pick pockets had nothing on her keep-the-bell-from-ringing skill. That little seven pound cat could run like hell and keep the bell silent. You only heard that bell of hers if she wanted you to hear it.
I often observed her stalking some creature with the bell as silent as if she’d had a fifth paw to hold over it. Then when I’d call her she come running with bell making all sorts of noise as if we hadn’t seen her silent sneak. Once The Curmudgeon and I married, she came with me and became a house cat. That never stopped her from hunting–she kept our house mouse free until she died at a little over twenty years of age.
You all have a good one!
The final item out of the MIL’s house!
The last piece that needed to come home. It should arrive sometime today!
The Curmudgeon is better today.
You all have a good one!
Doggonedmysteries 