With Fathers Day approaching, I no longer have a card or gift to send, weekly phone calls to catch up on, someone to chew over Redskins results with, but I have warm memories of all that and more. In tribute to my Dad, who left this world shortly after a wonderful family Christmas gathering at my brother's two and a half years ago, I copy below his Father's Day gift from me from 1999. He said it was the best gift I could have given him. Wish I could give him another one like it this year...
MY DAD
He's a cool looking guy. Just under six foot and shrinking, a bit heavy around the middle, but that's his trademark. He's always been that way and I couldn't imagine him differently. His salt and pepper beard gives him an intellectual, or perhaps bohemian, look. Both are also accurate descriptions of the man. His dark eyes light up when he smiles and his laugh is contagious. He looks relaxed and unhurried.
He's been lucky in life, able to earn a good living around airplanes, the passion in his life. He and his wife made a decision a few years ago to make flying their priority (before it was "in" to re-evaluate your priorities and get out of the rat race) and readjusted their lives to achieve that goal. They know what they relinquish to fulfill their desire to fly and don't worry about it. I admire them for that! They can't be bothered with what others think or say about them, and I admire them for that too!
His material needs are few although he indulges in some of life's best pleasures, good food, good wine and Jack Daniels. I learned to appreciate the enjoyment of sharing a well-cooked meal with interesting company around the table from him. A wonderful dinner and a fine bottle of wine forever inspire conversation, debate, analysis, or reminiscing when he's at the table. An old Spanish refrain says, "Some eat to live and some live to eat." Happily he taught me how to fit into the second category.
He also taught me about football. I impressed many a guy in high school and college with my knowledge about the rules, strategies, players, statistics, and the like, all thanks to our dedicated Sunday afternoons and Monday nights. (Nobody likes to stay up that late at night on their own on a Monday) I still remember lighting a fire late in the afternoon on crisp fall Sundays, a cup of hot chocolate and the Redskins game. If it were against Dallas, so much the better!
He's a country-western and bluegrass fan, to the core. But don't give him Garth Brooks; give him Hank Williams, Charlie Pride, or classic Willy Nelson, but he'll take Vince Gil and George Straight too. THE CHAIR - one of my favorites, and I'll never forget two stepping to it with him in my living room in Spain. Or, two stepping with him in the bars in Ft. Worth when I lived in Dallas. Of course we laughed over songs by the Oak Ridge Boys, the Bellamy Brothers and Billy Ray Cyrus. Country and western lyrics are often a good source of laughter! They were also a good source of communication when I was in high school.
The best compliment paid to him, as a father, and to me, as a daughter, was something he said a few years back. " I'm lucky. During 18 years I gave you two kids the base on which to build your lives, and now I have two responsible, law abiding, and interesting adult children, who never gave me any serious worries. I couldn't tell you how to live your lives or what to become, you had to find that out on your own." And so we did, and when we're able to come together to share all that it's a wonderful experience.
I sure miss those wonderful experiences Dad...Love You Forever
From my peaceful mountain, I hear goats bleat in the distance, a strange overlay to the traffic I can now hear. I’ve walked back up from the ravine where mountains on all sides keep out those road noises and where I can still feel isolated, calm, peacefully alone with nature. The goat bleats louder and two baby bleats respond. It is the season, I have seen many shepherds with their goats and sheep on the mountain sides that flank the busy roads I travel. There are cranes and new development all around here on the coast, gradually replacing our natural back drop, so I love seeing these few reamining herds and solitary herders with their dog as only companion, even if between billboards and flags for soon-to-be-built luxury residences. I love the few hillsides left, still Spring green and covered with wildflowers, that nourish these creatures with the mediterranean herbs and grasses that give a special flavor to their milk: milk that gets sent to local co-ops for 
Manchego, de cabra, mahon, tetilla, Spanish cheeses made from sheep and goats milk in some proportion or another. So bleat mother goat, find your kids, for without them you would not produce milk, and without your milk your commercial reason for being would evaporate and then what become of you?
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