What you must understand is that I have a notoriously patchy memory at best, most likely caused by the myriad medications I am currently, or have in the past, been on. More than the physical loss of my dad, I fear the loss of memories of him; hence, the Journal. My memory is rather spastic, with snippets flipping in and out of mind pretty randomly, so I like to keep the Journal (or a scrap of paper) handy wherever I go - the idea being ... well, you get the idea.
The most recent addition to the Blue Journal:
My dad and I are a lot in common. When we get a bee in our bonnet, we follow the idea to an exhaustive end. Take, for instance, the Year of the RV. He researched different RV's, the pro's and con's of each, where to buy them, how much they'd cost ... and eventually purchased a trailer and red F250 truck. We only took one or two road trips with it, but spent many weekends with one of those smallish, white TV/VCRs you can buy on the cheap at Wal*Mart, watching movies and having sleepovers - sometimes with friends, but mostly just we chil'rens and dad. We kept a veritable arsenal of candy out there, for just such an occasion.
Around the same time, but something that wasn't followed through on, was the horn upgrade for his Honda Civic. He wanted the same kind of horn that Semi trucks use. I mean, the obscenely loud, low-pitched ones. I clearly remember standing next to him, looking at a few on display, smiling kind of bemusedly at his childlike enthusiasm. But, wow. Thankfully that one buzzed right on out of his bonnet.
So. I miss my dad.
/post.
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