Welcome to my blog. A blog that I wanted to create, but not sure I'll openly share. We'll see what happens.
This is a repeat of the "About Me" section, but it is an introduction, so it fits right in:
I wanted to create a blog where I could pretty much post anything I
wanted, whether it be book reviews, crafty things, recipes, photos and
stories, and more. And then I wanted to think up a creative name for
the blog. After hours of rejecting ideas and feeling less and less
creative, I drove home to administer Bulldog Recess. It was a beautiful
day, and I had the music turned up and the windows down, and I'm not
sure what made me think it, but it hit me that if my dad hadn't passed
away five years ago, he would have a blog. And if he had a blog, it
would be exactly like I plan on mine being. So welcome to: My Father's
My dad was a man of many interests and talents. He would read an article, see something on t.v., or watch someone do something, and immediately become interested in the subject and want to jump right into it himself. Our garage and basement were full of forgotten tools of his sometimes short-lived trades. The possibly functional black and white photo enlarger (never used) for the photography interest phase, before his interest in photography was peaked again when digital cameras hit the market. The half-full sketch books full of still life drawings, portraits, and water color paintings I loved flipping through as a kid, sitting in boxes mixed with graphite pencils, water color paint tubes, and mixing palettes. The full fly fisherman ensemble, complete with waders, non-slip boots, vest, hat, ventilated shirts, fly tying kit, pole, and pole carrying case (used maybe twice). And the race-worthy bicycle and professional riding attire attained after standing for hours under the hot Parisian sun on the side of the Champs-Elysee, watching the final leg of the 2001 Tour de France. And books. Lots and lots of books.
I think we all may have inwardly questioned these fleeting interests (especially because they tended to be rather expensive), but I don't remember anyone ever giving Dad a hard time for his choice of hobby, or amount of time (or lack thereof) or money he spent on his new hobbies. Looking back, I certainly can't question what he did or why he did it. I am definitely my father's daughter. Guess who wanted her own set of graphite pencils after beginning a drawing section in art class, and who was happy to accompany her to the art specialty store to purchase some? And who wanted to get the photo enlarger fixed and set-up a professional dark room in the basement because her friend's mom (who actually was a professional photographer) had one in her basement and she just so happened to be taking a photography class at school? And who has a whole bookcase full of books she has read (listed in alphabetical order by author, of course) that she just can't bring herself to give up, even if she didn't especially love the books, and desperately needs more room to store books she hasn't read yet?
My dad and I, at one point or another, shared a lot of the same interests. And I owe a lot of my creative tendencies and very varied interests to him. I know this because I look in my own basement and see discarded supplies for craft projects I hope to return to and finish someday. I see something somewhere and want to try it. I'm always pushing myself to come up with creative solutions to difficult problems. I love cooking without using recipes, or start with a recipe and make it my own. And if I didn't have to work, I think there still wouldn't be enough time to do everything I want to do and try everything I want to try.
I didn't really intend for this blog to turn into an homage of my dad, and I'm not suggesting that it has, but I guess I'm happy I made the realization of how similar we are (which sounds silly, I know) because even five years after he passed away I find I avoid thinking and talking about him. I could tell you where one picture of him is in my house, and because it's in a locket it's not visible. I have spent a lot of time not thinking about him, because living in a world where he "didn't exist" and there were infrequent reminders he was once here, was easier than missing him everyday. But I know this isn't healthy (thank you Psychology degree!). Recently, I've found myself thinking and talking about him more. And yes, I find that I miss him more and get upset by something that makes me think of him more, but he was such a wonderful person and so important to me that it's not fair to just let him fade away. And maybe it's because I am so much like him, or because everyone always said I look just like my mom but I only see my dad when I look in the mirror, but he's always going to be with me and influence my life so it's silly not to acknowledge how I became who I am today.
So here I go...