This Wednesday our choir (and orchestra) at St. Ambrose is having a Passiontide Concert at 7:00 PM in the church. Tom Bonezzi, our music director is also the director of The Fest. What church has violins every Sunday? Ours does. Consider this my personal invitation to a truly spiritual musical event.
As a kid, my favorite thing to do on Palm Sunday was braid my palm. One. Singular. Tonight there were bushels full and the palm police were no where in sight. Here is mine.
I'm having a dickens of a time on a friend's credenza this week, therefore no posting. If anyone ever offers you anything made of pressed board, sawdust or anything made by Sauder, run away. Fast. Even with an oil primer, I cannot get the paint to stick to this thing. It is a nice enough looking piece, but TROUBLE, with a capitol T and that rhymes with P, which stands for Piece of ______. It is unusually heavy and I'm not really sure how I'm going to get it out of house when it is completed. It came in sliding on its top, but I dare not rub it against anything because of its paint shedding problem.
There are a couple of exciting things coming up this week: one is refinishing a 1945 Lane cedar chest, and the other is restoring a keepsake letter box.
Yesterday was my Dad's birthday. I thought of him a good part of the day and how he left so soon, I never really got to thank him and tell him how much he taught me. All my writing skills are from him. He wrote the SIC Manual (Standard Industrial Classification) for the Department of Labor Statistics in Washington, during the 60's, 70's and 80's. He also typed up Grammar manuals for each of his secretaries. As soon as he got a secretary trained, he would get them promoted. His co-workers were baffled by this. "Don, what are you doing? It's too much work to keep breaking a new one in." My father would answer back that they were single moms and couldn't support a family on that low of a wage. He also gave me my love of wood. Seeing as how my brother didn't come along until Child #5, I filled in as my dad's "boy" until then. We got up early to shovel sidewalks, painted the house together, and I helped him 'build' things. I was always amazed at what he knew, as it wasn't his trade. He was stationed in Labrador during the war, and the souvenirs he brought back were from the Eskimos. College trained him to be a teacher. Life trained him to be a defender of humans. My parents were social activists long before Jane Fonda even had the notion. I thought it was going to be my dad that helped me get through college when Howard died, but he died a month later.
The last photo taken of all of us.
Remembering you, Dad!
I'll check in more often from now on.
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