I do not like to travel on Thanksgiving, and most years I successfully avoid it. This year, however, with my mother on a bus trip with friends to San Antonio, we traveled to J's parents' house near Charlotte, NC. I did insist that we would NOT drive up on Wednesday with everyone else in the world; instead we left our house early on Thanksgiving morning. I was still surprised at how much traffic there was on a holiday.
I had set my expectations very low for the trip, which I always do when family - either his or mine - is involved. That way, I am rarely disappointed or surprised. Overall, the visit wasn't too bad.
Thanksgiving dinner was held at the home of J's oldest brother, Rick. Rick and his wife, Maureen, are both physicians and moved into their new house within the past year. Their 10,000 square foot house. I like them both and don't begrudge them anything - they have, after all, studied long and hard, and work very hard in their practices - so if they want to live in a 10,000 square foot house with every bell and whistle known to man, then good for them!
I don't, however, particularly care for their choices and I do not envy them in the least. As Rick showed me through room after massive room, my father's voice sounded in my head: "This is a vulgar display of new wealth, a monument to excess." And I agree. It's as though they chose to include every option available with no thought as to whether or not they could really use it. The house and its contents are simply too much for me. I do envy the large size of their kitchen and some of the kitchen appliances, and my clothes really want to live in one of their walk-in closets, but that was really all that I coveted.
Several members of Maureen's family were visiting from Pennsylvania, and I enjoyed talking and drinking with them. The food was good as was the company, so all in all Thanksgiving, while not my choice of how to spend it, was pleasant.
Friday was a blur of whiney cousins and mediocre food, and then we drove back to Georgia on Saturday to our modest 1,800 square foot house. It may not be as large or as posh as Rick and Maureen's house, but it suits us and our lifestyle, and it certainly suits our budget! I just hope that my handbags and shoes never hear about the walk-in closet of my dreams...
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Happy birthday, Dad
My father was born on 21 November 1926, so if he were still alive, he would be 81 today. My father was a true character and I always told people that if they were to meet him, they would understand me a whole lot more. I am very much my father's daughter, which most of the time is something of which I am proud...but, of course, there a few annoying little traits of his that I reluctantly admit to having.
People who did not know my dad well would probably think that he was gruff and humorless. He did try to act gruff at times, but I think it was to protect his very sensitive nature. He felt things very deeply, which often led to him taking a long time to get over events. For example, it was years before he could talk about the Challenger explosion without choking up; as a NASA engineer and a member of the NASA community, the accident troubled him greatly.
Dad had a great sense of humor and loved to make other people laugh. The story that is famous in our family is the time back in the late '60s/early '70s when he and my mother attended a PTA meeting with their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Knoblauch. A rather well-endowed woman was addressing audience, her hands clasped in front of her bosom. Dad leaned over to Mr. Knoblauch and whispered, "If her bra breaks, we will all be flogged to death." Mr. Knoblauch laughed so hard that he had to leave the room, unable to regain his composure.
I miss Dad so much. We had so many interesting conversations about so many different subjects; he was well-read, inquisitive and informed. My tendency to form an opinion on just about any subject comes from him and while we did not always agree, he respected my opinion as long as it was educated and based on sound reason. I often hear news stories, particularly those about something the current inept administration has done, and think "I can't wait to hear what Dad thinks about that" before I remember that I can't.
Seventy-nine is old, and that was Dad's age when he died. He was ill and had been for some time, and I believe that he was ready to go. Unfortunately, we were not ready for him to go and I thought we still had many years together before us. My biggest regret is that A got to spend so few years with Dad and my big challenge is to keep Dad's memory alive for A.
Happy birthday, Dad!
People who did not know my dad well would probably think that he was gruff and humorless. He did try to act gruff at times, but I think it was to protect his very sensitive nature. He felt things very deeply, which often led to him taking a long time to get over events. For example, it was years before he could talk about the Challenger explosion without choking up; as a NASA engineer and a member of the NASA community, the accident troubled him greatly.
Dad had a great sense of humor and loved to make other people laugh. The story that is famous in our family is the time back in the late '60s/early '70s when he and my mother attended a PTA meeting with their neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Knoblauch. A rather well-endowed woman was addressing audience, her hands clasped in front of her bosom. Dad leaned over to Mr. Knoblauch and whispered, "If her bra breaks, we will all be flogged to death." Mr. Knoblauch laughed so hard that he had to leave the room, unable to regain his composure.
I miss Dad so much. We had so many interesting conversations about so many different subjects; he was well-read, inquisitive and informed. My tendency to form an opinion on just about any subject comes from him and while we did not always agree, he respected my opinion as long as it was educated and based on sound reason. I often hear news stories, particularly those about something the current inept administration has done, and think "I can't wait to hear what Dad thinks about that" before I remember that I can't.
Seventy-nine is old, and that was Dad's age when he died. He was ill and had been for some time, and I believe that he was ready to go. Unfortunately, we were not ready for him to go and I thought we still had many years together before us. My biggest regret is that A got to spend so few years with Dad and my big challenge is to keep Dad's memory alive for A.
Happy birthday, Dad!
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