Saturday, 13 February

Dad is now the keeper of the fire. He's responsible for "keeping the home fires burning." And he's doing admirably, considering he's been forced into the position. Nothing major has changed in the house aside from Mom's physical presence. In fact those shoes that I mentioned in one of my first few entries are still situated on the back porch just where Mom took them off over two months ago. He still picks them up when he sweeps and then returns them to the same position. He has made some subtle changes, however. For example, he's taken to sitting in Mom's chair when eating. Growing up we each had specific chairs that we occupied for meals, and when we travelled, we each had specific spots in the car. Visitors and new members of the family quickly learned which chair was Papa's, and you deferred to him when he was in the room. Much like a king and his throne, but it seemed only right and fitting. Yes, Dad sitting in a different chair is subtle, but the more I think about it, it's huge. When I asked him why he was sitting in a different chair, he simply replied, "B/c it's where Mom always sat." Another subtle change today is that he decided to use a different pair of sheets on the bed. To stop using the last set that Mom slept on. This doesn't mean he hasn't washed the sheets in two months, b/c he is diligent in his routine of taking off the sheets each Saturday morning, washing them, and returning them to the bed immediately. Today, however, we put a different set on, and I folded the other set and put them away for awhile. I find this symbolic of Dad starting to put his grief away, a little at a time. It will never be gone, and he's the first to admit it, but he's making strides toward getting on w/ things. I think I am too, but just when I think that, I start to regress as w/ yesterday's episode. For the most part, the house is exactly how Mom left it. Each time I dust or clean the bathroom, I return things almost exactly where Mom had placed them.

Being now entrusted as the keeper of the fire, Dad was very talkative tonight about his childhood. He recounted numerous antics to my oldest brother and me. There was the time he was driving the dump rake, and the horses bolted causing him to somehow fly off the back. As they raced around the side of the farmhouse, they tipped over the gas-powered generator that was running Grandma's washing machine. He told how he and his friend Billy could get money for a certain number of front feet from pocket gophers. They'd sell them to the man, and when he placed them outside the back door, they'd sneak around the back, grab them, and sell them right back to him. This same friend helped him knock out pigeons in the hay mount w/ pitch forks. Another man in town would buy them, and w/ that money Dad and Billy would buy a pack of cigarettes. Dad's storytelling was on a roll by now, his deep chuckle starting off each new story as he first thought about what he did and then regaled us. There were several stories involving his cousin Paul, such as swimming in the large round cow tank, waiting until they heard the cows coming home to drink, then hiding under the water to jump out at them when they tipped their heads to drink. Dad's expression was priceless when telling how he and Paul would throw corn cobs at the chickens' heads, rendering them unconscious. And when he said that the chickens would just drop over, he'd demonstrate by tilting his head and closing his eyes. The final story I recall was he and Paul riding in a small cart pulled by a Shetland pony and knocking over the shucks of oats just recently stacked-up by the men. Knowing how hard Dad always worked, I found this last story hard to believe. For two hours, Dad talked not only of these childhood memories, but of the places where he "worked out." This didn't mean he went to a gym to work out, but that he went to live w/ area relatives and friends to help them work on their farms. From his stories, he definitely got a much better work out than most people do spending thousands of dollars at gyms and spas.

I guess I felt the need to write down some of Dad's stories b/c when he's gone, I'll have to help be the keeper of the fire. And occasionally, in passing, he mentions things he wants or doesn't want at his funeral. I talked to him today about how my husband and I will probably move in five years when our younger daughter graduates from the community college where I teach. He said he probably wouldn't be here to see that. I asked him if he was okay w/ that, and he said he was. He misses Mom a lot, and is working everyday to make sure he'll see her again.