Do you have "Family Heirlooms"?

Most of the items in the vintage section of my shop have come from all the various nooks and crannies around the house. No buy and resell here. Nope! Just loot from all those corners of the basement. While the term "vintage" varies from site to site, Etsy (where my shop resides) defines "vintage" as items that are over 20 years old.

That means just about everything in our homes qualified as "vintage." A friend and I recently looked around my living and dining rooms and pointed out the items that had been with us for what seemed like "forever." She noted my Boston Rocker, stating she remembered that from my Mom's living room years ago. I declared "That's a 'Family Heirloom', not just vintage."

So, what separates Family Heirlooms from your run-of-the-mill vintage pieces?

I believe it's the emotions they evoke and the stories that bring about those emotions.

That Boston Rocker brings me comfort. It reminds me of that living room in Mom's house, too. It brings back fond memories of the family sitting around together watching TV. It was my Grandmother's seat of honor most evenings. She wasn't much for super soft upholstered seats and she really did like to rock when she sat. I can tell you exactly when that rocker came into our lives, too - Summer, 1965!

My sister was getting married that summer and was out shopping for furniture for their new apartment. Mom, Grandmother and I went along for the fun. (The groom really didn't want to be dragged from store to store so he left this up to her.) One of the big furniture stores near us had a wishing well just inside their main entrance and invited all who entered to fill in a little slip of paper with one particular piece they would love to win just for the "wishing." Every month, a slip of paper was selected and the winner was given their item of choice. Well, Grandmother didn't really want to participate but we forced her. She had commented on the beautiful design painted on the top of the rocker's back. (It was kind of a standard design back then!) She listed the rocker just to make all of us happy and dropped her slip in the wishing well. She wiped it out of her mind minutes later.

A few weeks later, Mom happened to answer the phone while visiting my grandmother. it was the furniture store. Seems they'd been trying to let Grandmother know she'd won the most recent drawing and find out when they could deliver her new chair. She'd brushed off several prior calls by telling them she simply wasn't interested in buying furniture. What can we say? She'd never won anything before and really thought it was just some sort of sales pitch.

They soon delivered it. I think it was "Love at first sit." When she moved in with us a few years later, it became a prime seat in the living room. Years later, long after Grandmother's passing, it came to live with me when my mom moved in with my brother. It now sits in my over-crowded living room where it still remains a favorite spot to sit (and rock). I must say, I always think of Grandmother as I take a seat there - and, they ARE very GOOD thoughts.

I've considered refinishing it from time to time. The arms are actually worn to the point of showing the natural wood tone as opposed to the black lacquered finish. Parts of the design at the top are faded almost completely away. Then, I think of those "flaws" as part of the rocker's story. Most of the younger members of the family were rocked in that chair, I've read many a good book there and my friends have spent many hours sitting in it chatting with me over the years. Who would want to refinish those memories? Not I.


These days we keep an old crocheted afghan tossed over the back of the chair as it sits in front of a large curio cabinet. The afghan is there more to protect the glass front of the cabinet from the chair but we've all come to think of them as a pair. The afghan is also a family heirloom, thought not quite as old. Nothing special when it was made, it is still not much to show off but it was made by someone no longer with us and it holds a special spot in our hearts.

The good news is, the next generation has already laid claim to the chair "when we're ready to give it up." D says she wants it for "all the same reasons" I love it. It's just one of the many family heirlooms around here. (She's also put "dibs" in on quite a few other items around my house. Is it a bad sign when they start making such statements?)

So, what wonderful family heirlooms do you have lurking around your homes and what stories do they tell?

They kept us smiling!!

Tom Wilson, champion of the "EVERY MAN," died yesterday at the age of 80. With just a few words and a basic caricature of a short dumpy bald guy with a big nose and large feet, Tom evoked our giggles, tears and empathy for a "hard luck comics page hero." For over 40 years, his creation, Ziggy, has served as "a reflection of enduring wit and optimism in the face of adversity." Ziggy's life experiences have trudged on through Tom Wilson, Jr. since 1989.




Ziggy progressed from a comic strip (still seen daily in thousands of newspapers) to include a vast array of Ziggy cards, posters, magnets, mugs and more. We had a number of Ziggy items around our home in the 70s. (Had I held on to those, I could probably fill a whole section in my vintage shop today.)





***The Ziggy items shown here today are all currently available at www.whatacharacter.com. an online treasure trove of memorabilia (mostly figural pieces) from the 40s through the 80s. Check them out for a memory tickler - I'm sure you'll find your favorite characters there.







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I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the passing of Dolores Hope who also left us yesterday at the age of 102 ! You may know her better as MRS. Bob Hope. (Hmmm, maybe there's a big nose correlation here - not Dolores', of course - but Bob and Ziggy are both known to have big noses, bald heads and the ability to make us laugh. Hmmm, think about it.)

Seriously, those of us who watched and loved Bob's many movies and specials over the years owe Dolores (a singer, in her own right) a huge "Thank You." She shared her man with the world by allowing him to wander the world, for weeks at a time - at the holidays, no less - entertaining the many men and women (our loved ones) giving of their time, energies and lives for God and Country. (i.e. American troops, wherever they were at that time.) When the rest of us made plans to gather our family around us, Dolores was packing her man up and sending him off to the front lines and danger zones. Bob's holiday attire included a flak jacket and helmet, not a new red tie.

I've known several Viet Nam era Vets who fondly recall Bob's tour to their camps as one of their best Christmas memories!

Thank You, Dolores, from the bottom of my heart for all the laughter you allowed us to enjoy at your expense and personal sacrifice.

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Well, I'm off to see what Ziggy has to say today. Where's that morning paper?

SMILE, Y'ALL !!!!

She thinks we're just fishin'

Love Those Lyrics

N. turned 19 yesterday. Where on Earth did those years go? How did they slip by so fast?

Seems like just yesterday we were heading off to the Pumpkin Patch to see the Story Pumpkin Display - pumpkins painted to resemble and illustrate story book characters, nursery rhymes and fairy tales. I remember her giggles at the Cat in the Hat pumpkin. She loved the little goats in the petting zoo there, too. I think she was 5. In my mind, she still is.

Ah, the memories...

Trace Adkins recently so eloquently put those feelings into words with:

I’m lost in her there holdin’ that pink rod and reel She’s doin’ almost everything but sittin’ still Talkin’ ‘bout her ballet shoes and training wheels And her kittens And she thinks we’re just fishin’

"Future Fish Stories"
1999, Elaine Watrus
Coynes & Co.

I say, “Daddy loves you, baby” one more time She says, “I know. I think I got a bite.” And all this laughin’, cryin, smilin’ dyin’ here inside’s What I call, livin’

And she thinks we’re just fishin’ on the riverside Throwin’ back what we could fry Drownin’ worms and killin’ time Nothin’ too ambitious She ain’t even thinkin’ ‘bout What’s really goin’ on right now But I guarantee this memory’s a big’in And she thinks we’re just fishin’

She’s already pretty, like her mama is Gonna drive the boys all crazy Give her daddy fits And I better do this every chance I get ‘Cause time is tickin’ (Yeah it is)

And she thinks we’re just fishin’ on the riverside Throwin’ back what we could fry Drownin’ worms and killin’ time Nothin’ too ambitious She ain’t even thinkin’ ‘bout What’s really goin’ on right now But I guarantee this memory’s a big’in And she thinks we’re just fishin’

She ain’t even thinkin’ ‘bout What’s really goin’ on right now But I guarantee this memory’s a big’in And she thinks we’re just fishin’ Yeah, aww, she thinks we’re just fishin’ We ain’t only fishin’ (This ain’t about fishin’)


"These are the Days
We Remember Forever"
1998, Enesco for
The Coca Cola Co.



I just Love Those Lyrics !!!

D. and J. have done a great job raising her and I'm so glad to have been along for the ride. (She was definitely a little easier on them than D. was growing up! Much less challenging!)

Deep Thoughts and Memories

Today marks the second anniversary of my nephew, Tom's sudden death. He would have turned 44 that year.
As we weren't that far apart in age, we grew up together, more like siblings than aunt and nephew. He was away from us for several years while doing several tours with the Marines but, once back Stateside, we spent most major holidays together as well as a number of birthday celebrations and such.

There's so much to say about him: He was a prankster, a tease, funny, intelligent and a great hugger. He was childless but loved children and greatly adored by his nieces and nephew. hardly a get-together goes by that we don't tell tales about him. The kids love to have me tell them about his childhood adventures. He was always curious and extremely active and could climb or shimmy up any kind of structure, which made for some interesting situations along the way.

Hardly a day goes by that I don't think of him, still. He is greatly missed.

Memories...

Sorry, folks. I'm just not feeling very bloggy at the moment. Please bear with me.


I've allowed myself some downtime to wallow in memories of a close family member that left us way too soon. It's been less than 18 months and today would have been his 45th birthday.




He was a beloved brother, son, grandson, nephew, uncle and friend to many. He made folks laugh, could tell it like it was and gave really great hugs.


He'd been a very proud U.S, Marine and served our country well for several tours of duty. He fully believed, "Once a Marine, Always a Marine!!"


He could grate on my last nerve at times, was terrible at returning calls, often canceled out on things at the last minute, and did all the other things family does "just to irritate" each other, BUT, he was a hugger and could speak softly, saying just the right word or two to make my heart melt and grant him instant forgiveness.


He had the magic touch when it came to kids. They worshipped him. (Maybe he was just able to think like they do!) Yes, they still miss him and ask for stories about him from "the old days."

And you know what? We love to tell those stories.

Tommy, we really do miss you.

Another TV Icon Lost

Not Mr. C, too!!! It's been a traumatic week.

First, we lost June Cleaver and now, Howard Cunningham (Richie's dad)! Tom Bosley passed today at the age of 83 - another great loss to TV's fine history of parenthood! If you're old enough to remember some of his prior incarnations, Tom also rode herd on Charlie's Angels, was the trusted Father Frank Dowling and kept (or at least tried to) order in Cabot Cove as Sheriff Tucker, among many other roles in his long career. Though he never played the leading man, he was always a trusted and beloved strong supporting character.

Tom, when asked how he'd, like to be remembered, said : "He was a good husband, a great father and a damned good grandfather!" I'm sure he will be greatly missed by many. I know I will think of him often.

Who was your absolute favorite Dad on TV?

I know I'm showing my age but I always adored Steve Douglas (Fred McMurray) on My Three Sons. Never missed it. Funny, on the air from 1960 to 1972, that series has never resurfaced on TV Land, Nick at Nite or other similar stations. If you're too young to remember that series, he was the lead in the original Disney movies The Shaggy Dog, The Absent-Minded Professor and Son of Flubber. (All have since been remade.)

Hug your Dad today if you still enjoy his company. If he's no longer with us, think a pleasant thought about your time spent together.

Quiet Memories

This week marked the first year anniversary of the loss of someone very dear to me. It's been a tough week but I've struggled through by remembering the good times and laughing at a number of those memories. So, I thought I'd just share a few of those images with you.


We miss you, Tom!

The Christmas Eve Tree Tales

As a child, I recall, we always put our tree up on Christmas Eve.

In fact. there were a few years there where we actually bought the tree on Christmas Eve. I believe those may have been a matter of Dad "making a point." (He could be quite stubborn and determined at times. ) There were a couple of times when I remember a real life scenario depicted in so many heartwarming Christmas movies. You know the ones where the family arrives at the tree sale just as they're closing and there are only a few trees left to choose from. In the movies, they always find the perfect tree at that moment. I'm here to tell you, there are usually only pitiful imitations of perfect trees left at that point in time.

Charlie Brown had nothing on my Dad when it came to finding a tree. One time the choice was so bad, we actually had to tie two trees together to form one!! (I kid you not.) Tinsel, lots and lots of tinsel, can hide a multitude of flaws.

Then there was the year that he simply stayed too long at the office party, wandering in sometime after dark. This may have been the latest he ever pushed things. The fact that we still needed a tree didn't phase him. I, on the other hand was terrified that without a tree, Christmas simply wouldn't happen. Mom was simply perturbed, to put it mildly. (Let me take a moment to clarify, Mom didn't drive so we were dependent on him to get the tree.)

"Never fear," he admonished me, "There are tree lots on every corner around here." At least there WERE, a few hours earlier. By 6 p.m., most had closed down and gone home to celebrate the holiday with their families.

Dad and I set out to get the tree. On our way out of the neighborhood, we noticed one of the local delis had three trees leaning up against the wall with a little handwritten sign stating "Trees for Sale." We laughed at the pitiful twigs and drove by. After 20 minutes or so, going from closed lot to closed lot, we started considering those twigs again. There were only two left when we returned to the corner deli. I don't know what price they were asking but if they paid Dad any less than twenty bucks to take it, he was crazy!!! I was in tears by the time we got it home. (Maybe we should have just cut a bare limb from one of the maples in the yard. It would have had as many needles.) Mom was speechless though I'm sure she later found words and expressed them behind closed doors. It took an inordinate amount of tinsel and ornaments to turn it into a Christmas tree. The deli was called Anchor Bay and, to this day, we call it "the Anchor Bay tree."
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There was a major decorating routine and it rarely wavered. Sometimes I think it was Mom's way of sticking it to Dad. (Payback's a B----, you know!) She was always busy elsewhere in the house - doing Christmas dinner preps, wrapping gifts, whatever. Dad set the tree up and got the lights situated. Then, he supervised the decorating. He was usually assisted in this job by our hapless, bachelor neighbor, Jim.

Our tree was always situated in the center of our large bay window and Dad and Jim would sit in chairs against the opposite wall, with cocktails in hand, and shout out things like, "You need a red one down there", or "Put some color in that section", "Hang a long one over there", etc.

There was always at least one crash of a beautiful and treasured ornament in the process. I can still see my brother perched on a 6' ladder and staring down at the pieces of ornament he had just dropped. Poor Neal. It was always one of the ancient ones Mom claimed had come from her paternal grandparents. She usually was a bit upset but quietly swept up the broken glass. As a kid, I thought she over-reacted. Now, I can feel her pain. I've lost quite a few important old and irreplaceable ornaments myself.

Somehow, it always came together, Mom would come in and "ooh" and "ahh" over the finished product and we'd be pleased. Then, there would often be popcorn or brownies for the exhausted decorating committee.

All was well with the world.

My Life's Story on a Tree

For most of us, trimming the tree is a walk down memory lane. We have those "special" ornaments that mean something to us whether bought as a souvenir on vacation, received as a gift from a close friend or relative, simply indicative of something meaningful to us or handed down through the ages.

The tree this year is a little slimmer than the last few and holds way less ornaments. Each time I sit and admire it (as I tend to do often), I realize another "special" ornament didn't quite make it on the tree this year. But since all of our ornaments are memorable in some way, I love each and every one and like to simply look at them and think about their significance.

This is one of the oldest balls on our tree. There are about 4 of these left in my collection. When I was a little girl, my mom had a trio of these (in different colors) hung on ribbons (the old-fashioned curling kind) from a bow and a set hung in every window of our house. (We had a lot of windows back then, too.) For whatever reason, I adored these particular ornaments. We were constantly admonished to be very careful, as they were "very old." Since there was set for each window in that particular house I would assume she had specifically put these together when they moved there in 1953 or shortly thereafter. At one point in time, I had about 12 of them. In fact, one set was still tied in the little set of three until about a decade ago. Obviously, these remind me of Christmases at home so very long ago.

This tiny pink glass horn is another oldie but doesn't quite go back that far. I bought this one when I was still a kid in school and had started decorating a small tree in my room each year with my very own ornaments. I would put the card table up and drape it with a piece of Christmasy fabric. I had a small artificial tree that was about 3" high and I would go to town decorating it. This was one of the first ornaments I bought with my own money at the "after Christmas sale" at a huge Christmas specialty store that was in our community. Many of my friends and their families made a special trip to those sales to get the "fancy" stuff at 50% off each year. It was local tradition. It dates back to around 1970, give or take a year or two.

Yet another old one, this probably came to me in the 70's. I bought it simply because I liked it and it reminded me of so many of the old ones on our tree back home. The significant thing about all three of these is that they are a part of the small set of survivors that have made it through two major tree catastrophes when our tree fell completely over, smashing many an ornament.

Those incidents brought this beauty into my life.

It's a big glass ornament featuring a beautiful bright red cardinal with a bright yellow pear with a white flower. Green leaves add another touch of color. Again, we bought this at an after-Christmas sale for 50% off. At that rate, it was still expensive but I loved it. That was the first year the tree fell over. I was heartbroken at the loss of so many of my treasured ornaments and The Big Guy took me out in an earnest search for new ones. The cardinal was always my mom's favorite bird and it makes me think of her.

Lastly, this little guy is one of the newest members of the family. I collect reindeer and have over 500 in various forms. This is his second year with us. Plugged into the string of lights, he gallops constantly but never makes any progress. He gets a lot of attention by visitors so he smiles sweetly, too.

Well, we've still got houseguests so I really need to run. Just wanted to share some of these with you.

More Memories

Yesterday was my big brother’s birthday. Or, at least it would have been had he still been with us. He passed away, suddenly, on December 13, 2007 at the age of 57. That was a very rough time for us as the family experienced two deaths within 24 hours that week.
I wasn’t going to write about the occasion at all, but I felt like I needed to mention it, if only to soothe my own mind. There are still times when I hear news of an old friend or a family event that I think I’ll have to call and tell him about it - and then, I remember I can‘t do that.

When he came to mind throughout the day yesterday, I tried to think of all the good things he got to experience and how much he managed to enjoy his time here with us. He was married to the love of his life for 35 years and together they had two wonderful children. He was able to be there for both his son’s and daughter’s college graduations and weddings and welcomed his first grandchild in August, 2007.

A Harley man, he loved to mount his bike and head off down the highway with his riding buddies. His wife took a long time to come around to the joys of riding and had only begun riding with him in the last few years and had even (finally) gotten her own motorcycle operator’s license. (She drove along behind him in her car for many of his adventures!) He rarely missed a Bike Week in Daytona and had finally made the long ride from the East Coast to Sturgis in 2006. (My S-I-L flew out there!)
In the last decade or so, they had purchased a condo at the beach and had enjoyed many a weekend walking the boardwalk and stretching out in the sun on the sand. He was a laid back kind of guy, much more comfortable in a pair of bib overalls than in a suit. (I’m not even sure he owned the latter!)

As kids, we were close. He was my protector and my co-conspirator when we ganged up on our older sister. While I was single, he helped keep my vehicles running and provided other “male” support when necessary. Like most of our family, he was a bit of a night owl. The best, most involved phone conversations happened after 10 at night - the later, the longer the call. For the last 12 to 15 years, he’d worked the night shift and enjoyed it!

After my mom had become disabled by several strokes and was unable to live on her own, he and his family completely rearranged their lives and home to accommodate her and he made the best nursemaid and companion for her one can imagine. No amount of money could have bought better care for her in those last few years.

As always, we regret the things we never said. I hope he knew how grateful I was to him for all he’d done for me over the years. I’m sure I didn’t thank him enough. I know we didn’t talk as frequently as we should have in those last few years as we each pursued life with our individual families.

I’m not quite sure how to end this statement, except to say, I miss him. We all do.

Memories & Tears

As many of my regular readers know, we lost my nephew in early August. He would have turned 44 today.

Of my various losses within the last few years, this has been one of the hardest for me to accept. We were fairly close in age and my mother practically raised him until his early teens when he went to live with his Dad. We were more like brother and sister than aunt and nephew. My immediate family is small and we've stayed close. We spent all our holidays together, celebrated children's birthdays together and exchanged e-mails several times a week. Each morning when I check my mail, I expect to see some new internet joke or quiz or such, and once again my heart aches.

I am writing this post several days ahead of time, partly because we'll be away and I won't have internet access on the 2nd and partly because I know I won't feel up to doing it then.

He was born about 6 weeks early and was a skinny, scrawny looking baby with long dangly arms and legs. His father was quite upset and claimed he reminded him of a spider. My thoughts ran more to a monkey but then, I was, and still am terrified of spiders, and tried not to think about them when possible. As a little kid of 4 or so he played my hero rescuing me from many a spider.

My vision of him as a "monkey" was quickly supported by his ability to climb. If he could get a toe-hold, he climbed, no matter what it was. If there wasn't enough texture for a toe-hold, he shimmied up whatever it was. By the time he was 3, he could shimmy up just about any door frame and hang from the top by his fingertips. Once, when he was about 5, we caught him shimmying up a flagpole. He was actually high enough to be out of my dad's reach and he was ordered to slide down immediately!

I remember shopping with him and having him pop up out of the top of one of those round clothing racks. He didn't mind shopping as he made a game of it. Back then, even discount stores (predecessors of Walmart, Target, Marshall's, etc.) had mannequins . Tom discovered how to unscrew their hands and feet and would busy himself doing so throughout the clothing department. You could always trace his whereabouts by following the various dismembered mannequins! (He was good. He always left the parts laying next to where he found them.)

Most of the dressing rooms then had chairs near their entrance where people would leave their children or spouses sitting while they tried something on. (You could take your eyes off your kids back then without worrying.) He'd dutifully sit down, promising to wait patiently. About the time we'd get stripped to our undies, we'd realize he was crawling along the dressing rooms, looking under the curtain to locate us by our feet or shoes. How embarrassing!

He played football in high school and started college majoring in computer assisted drafting. Shortly, he joined the Marine Corps, a calling he loved. He served in the South Pacific and then in Desert Storm. He anticipated being a career man with the Corps but ensuing knee problems would have limited his assignments and he wanted to settle down and start a family. (He had married before heading to the desert.) Tom had always loved children and related well with them. In return, most worshipped him. He was a favorite and well-loved uncle. Fertility eluded them and the marriage eventually failed.

He developed new medical problems, suffering a heart attack and undergoing by-pass surgery in his 30s. Additional health problems ended his new career as a commercial truck driver. He took a less demanding job and became close with the members of that family-owned business. He got engaged. His fiancee came complete with grown children and a grandson. He adored that little boy.

He died from a massive coronary sitting in his parked car on a shopping center parking lot. He had stopped for groceries on his way home. Tom believed a military funeral was the highest honor one could show a veteran. He was well honored.

Once a Marine, always a Marine!

I just wanted you all to know what a great guy we've lost. Thank you for indulging me.

I will always miss him.

Father's Day Memories of Dad

I played with the idea of just what to write on this Father's Day. My Dad passed away almost 34 years ago but the memories (and lessons learned) are still very real. In the end, I simply decided to reprint something I wrote about my memories of him a while back. I published a family cookbook that featured essays and comments by various family members about those who are no longer with us, calling that chapter "Our Family Legacy." Because it was a cookbook, we geared those comments and memories to food related themes. My Dad always loved a good meal and thoroughly enjoyed all sorts of food. I have edited this essay and eliminated the pictures to protect the privacy of the rest of the family but I hope you will enjoy the tales and will take time to think about your special experiences with your Dads and Grandfathers. Be sure to wish them a Happy Father's Day. They deserve it.

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Reprinted from Cooking With Family:

Like many men of his generation, Dad was never known for his cooking. For the most part, I’d simply say, he DIDN”T cook. He always made sure we were fed if Mom wasn’t around - but he usually didn’t cook it.

When I was little, Mom was involved several days a month helping to prepare church dinners and the monthly dinners for the Kiwanis Club that met at our church. Before she returned to working full time, she would spend the better part of the day at church on those preparations. When she had gone back to work at the school (practically next door to the church), she would head over there on those days as soon as she got off work to help get the meal ready. She would then be there to help serve and return home in the early evening. On those days, it was Dad’s responsibility to see that my brother and I were fed. (I don’t remember my sister being at the house at that time. I guess she was either already married or out working by then.)

I now believe it was done mostly for my entertainment, but I remember him sitting at the kitchen table looking around the room where he had, literally, opened all of the cupboard doors and pretending to search out the appropriate pot, pan and/or dishes needed for an elaborate meal like boiled hotdogs and beans or frozen fries. (Mom had left a simple plan for him.) He’d make a big production out of that meal preparation. OR…, more often than not, dinner turned into take-out pizza or subs. (In those days, these were very special treats.) Sometimes, he’d simply take us out to eat at a restaurant.

When I was growing up, we always owned a boat that was kept at the marina where there was a clubhouse and bar. Mom used to make Dad take me along when he was going to the boat under the theory of how much trouble could he get into with a little kid tagging along. It didn’t always work as well as she’d hoped but he did make sure I was fed.

I can remember Dad and my Godfather sitting me up on the back end of the bar there and providing me with a nice fruit platter. (Oh wait, that was the cocktail garnish tray!) Well, aren’t orange slices and maraschino cherries fruit?

When I was a young teen, I’d often spend the weekend on the boat with Dad. It was basically a floating hotel tied to the pier. Mom would frequently choose to stay home with my grandmother who lived with us or tend to other matters on the home front. The galley on the boat was usually fairly well stocked with things like peanut butter, jelly, mayonnaise, Spam, chips, etc. We’d usually carry bread, lunchmeat and such with us. Dad made sure I was fed - but not necessarily from the on-board stock. The clubhouse at the marina had one of those (then) “new-fangled” microwave ovens and prepackaged refrigerated sandwiches and individual pizzas. These fascinated Dad and he considered them appropriate for any meal. See, he DID cook in his own way!

Dad was big on late night snacks. We’d run out to get pizza just before the pizza shop closed at night. (Back then, it was probably 9 p.m. - you know, just before they rolled the sidewalks up.) (At that point in time, we’d never even imagined home delivery of pizzas!)

He got on one jag when he decided Chef Boy-R-Dee boxed pizza mixes were tasty. It is one of the few things I do remember him making himself. I think Mom thought it better to simply steer clear while “the Chef” was at work and hose the kitchen down later! Luckily, that phase passed. It took me thirty years to grow out of wanting a late night snack!

Among many other lessons, Dad taught me to have fun, enjoy a good restaurant and the company of friends, and - instilled in me, a deep, deep love of peanut butter.

Mom said peanut butter flowed in our blood. I’m sure if they ever did a DNA assessment, Skippy or Peter Pan might show up! Peanut butter was Dad’s answer to everything. It was appropriate for any meal - breakfast, lunch or dinner (and snacks). You can put it on most anything. If all else fails, just eat it by the spoonful! I remember Dad finishing dinner before the rest of us and asking what was for dessert. Often it was fruit or brownies. He’d shrug and just go with a PB&J (usually grape jelly but apple would do in a pinch). If there was an interesting dessert, he might just fill in with half a PB&J while waiting for the rest of us to finish the meal.

We ate many a late night peanut butter sandwich. Sometimes, he got creative and made “chocolate peanut butter”. If the jar was real low, he was known to add a bit of Hershey’s chocolate syrup and stir it together. This went well on bread, graham crackers and even plain saltines. He encouraged Mom to make grilled ham and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch sometimes. And then there was the ultimate - the peanut butter and chocolate chip sandwich! White bread, peanut butter and chocolate chips! (Believe it or not, I did finally find someone else - not related to us - who ate these as a child. Of course, they did grow up on the same river where we kept our boat so Dad may have had some influence over them, too!)

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Thank you for indulging me, Dear Readers. If my Dad were here today, he'd be about to turn 89 and I'm sure he'd still be eating peanut butter every which way he could !

Happy Father's Day, Dad!