randulo’s unblog

I can remember feeling the sun on my back at the start of summer in Minneapolis and the mud scraper on the back porch, the one you used before you could go in. And the smell of burning leaves in the fall. And waiting for the ice to thaw so I could open the garage door and get my bike out to ride it when the streets were no longer slippery. And putting playing cards or baloons in the tires in the spring, to make the motorcycle noises. And walking in snow plowed up on the edge of the sidewalk, over my head in winter.

I can remember making friends in suburban Seattle and liking the climate with its fog and dark rainy winter skies with mild temperatures. When they got an inch of snow, Boeing closed its doors for the day! In Minnesota schools sometimes closed down. We used to listen keenly to the radio in the morning and be cheered by the news of an occasional school closure. Too occasional.

I can remember much later when all the "adults" in the tour bus in Germany wanted to just get there and that I wanted to get out and roll around on the ground like a dog, and no drugs of any kind were involved. And I did get out and roll around!

The rest of my life will need to be spent trying to find a few of those intense good feelings.

I have an uncle on his deathbed. I'm trying to go see him before it's too late, because this is a man who was a great influence to me in my early childhood when my folks had divorced.
 
My brother and I were talking on the phone the other week at about $0.02 per minute between Bordeaux and Portland, thanks to my VoIP Tollfree DID. My bro could use Skype but he's too lazy to make it happen.
 
Anyway, we were talking about our parents, both deceased and a couple of things came to mind that I throw out to you parents of young children. Here are the two of the most tender memories of spending time my father who was a high school drop out and CEO of a paint and chemical company that sold to a multinational when he retired.
 
Once, he took me to a diner. We ate at the counter, and he showed me how to squirt ketchup and mustard into the backed beans and hot dogs on my plate. Today, he'd have been talking on a cellphone or checking email. Think about it. That simple moment of attention from over 50 years ago still moves me. "Priceless" as Mastercard would say.
 
Just before Christmas, he'd bring me to the office. He had his secretary collect everything sent to the company for Christmas in a big cardboard box. They'd set me up with a desk, put me up on it and let me sort through the stuff, taking anything I liked home with me. There were always little toy like things, tractors, pens, playing cards, again, no cost to it but a great memory.
 
Moms and Dads, what do you want your kids to remember about you posthumously?