Apple Pie...

My Dad LOVED apple pie, I think I get my addiction from him. I remember we used to buy the frozen dutch apple or deep dish apple pies quite a bit and bake them at home in the oven. We could barely wait for them to cool enough to make it edible, often times we'd just dig into it and bear the consequence of a burnt mouth, at least we had vanilla bean ice cream to cool it off a bit.

One time my parents were gone for the day and I decided I wanted to attempt to make an apple pie from scratch (for the first time ever, mind you). We had a bunch of random apples (I don't remember what kind they were, now I know it definitely makes a difference!), pie crusts in the fridge, and most of the spices (I think I had to omit some we didn't have if I remember right). I peeled, cored, and sliced the apples, followed the directions in mixing the spices, poured all the ingredients into the pie dish, baked and cooled it all before they got home. When they got home and my Dad saw there was an apple pie on the counter his face lit up (I think he even giggled a little). "Well, let's crack it open!," he said. Not knowing what to expect, we all took our first bites of my very first homemade apple pie, and surprisingly it wasn't half bad! I remember my Dad saying it reminded him of being a kid, someone had made pies that tasted like the one I made when he was younger and it took him back.

So today, I decided to try my apple pie luck once again (only the second time in all my 26 years, which bewilders me as I LOVE APPLE PIE)...I'm happy to say my Dad would have been in taste bud heaven. I used 5 different kinds of apples (2 Granny Smith, 1 Braeburn, 1 Fuji, 1 Honey Crisp, 1 Pink Lady) and the results were above and beyond my expectations, especially since I pieced together a few recipes I had seen online and added flavors I love in pies like vanilla, nutmeg, and cinnamon.

Daddy, here's to you! For your 50th birthday in a week, you get a homemade Apple Pie...feel free to come down and have a bite or two when I'm not looking!

The Million Dollar Superbowl...

The first year we moved from Portland to live in Crooked River Ranch, Oregon, we lived in a rental house while our custom home was being built on some property my parent's had bought. We hadn't lived there for long when we got a letter in the mail from Publishers Clearing House. The letter was stating that my parents were finalists for the Million + dollar sweepstakes that was being given away on Superbowl Sunday. Not only was this hefty payday being given away, but it was being given away live on TV during a commercial break. My Dad was convinced that God was behind this letter, that there was no way on earth that the Publishers Clearing House could have found our address so soon after having moved, and that we were destined to win that jackpot. We sent in our official entry and we waited patiently for Superbowl Sunday to come.

I remember it snowed that Sunday and I had studied the area around my house to make sure I'd know when I saw them driving towards our house on the television. The moment came and I saw the people with the massive check on the TV...there was snow...THERE WAS SNOW...I thought, "Maybe there IS a chance! They're REALLY coming to OUR house!"...and as I watched them pull up to a house that clearly wasn't ours, surprising a family that obviously wasn't mine...I felt a massive disappointment come over me.

So yesterday, 14 years later, the Superbowl came around...and now that my Dad is gone I remembered that moment again for the first time since it happened, and I decided to protest the Superbowl, which I don't really enjoy watching anyway. Instead, a few of my closest girl friends and I spent the day at beautiful Arrington Vineyards, next to a warm fire and we drank a few bottles of their delicious Tennessee wine and made what could have been a bad day a GREAT DAY.

What I found interesting was what I found after I got home. I read through my Facebook newsfeed...and it turns out I'm not the only one who feels this way...the Superbowl is actually a massive disappointment for most of us. Whether it be Publishers Clearing house giving away your millions to someone else, your favorite team was robbed and didn't make the cut, the commercials weren't as funny as last year, the halftime entertainment was boring and off-tune...for the majority of us, it doesn't live up to the hype. Actually, nothing ever does. We build it up in our minds and the truth is that the reality never lives up to the dreams we create in our heads. And that's okay...just as long as you're willing to accept it for what it is...or make it something different. It didn't have to be my Superbowl Sunday yesterday, and it wasn't...it was something much better. Just like the day that Publishers Clearing House didn't come to our house, the important part wasn't that we didn't win millions of dollars, the important part was that I spent the whole day with my family. At that time we were building a U.S.S. Constitution model ship together, and I remember my Dad wasn't even standing at the TV when they announced the winner, he was standing at the kitchen counter gluing a piece of that ship together. He didn't care that we didn't win, he had already turned that day into something far more valuable than a million dollars, he spent that day investing in his family.

Pickathon 2006 - Wailin' Jennys - Long Time Traveller

Sometimes...

Sometimes I don't want to write about a memory. Sometimes I just want to state a fact...I miss my Dad. I wish I could call him and tell him about my lousy broken leg, ankle, and heel, and laugh with him about how I managed to pull that one off. I can almost hear him laughing, just enough to make me cry and miss him even more.

I can't believe it's been 2 months short of a year since I've talked to him and I feel like I'm the only one who's still grieving. Everyone has moved on (or at least they all do an excellent job of pretending they have), and I'm stuck in these awful, sad, and incredibly lonely moments I can't share with anyone.

Some reasons to be thankful...

Although, I'm sure this is harder for my Mom and my Brother because they had been with him every holiday season, today marks the beginning of the first holiday season without my Dad alive. So in honor of Thanksgiving and in honor of my Dad, I'm going to give you a few of reasons why I'm eternally thankful for him...

1. He taught me about Jesus.

2. He gave me my sense of humor.

3. He instilled in me the ability recognize the worth of each and every human being, and gave me the heart to help them see it in themselves.

4. He told me to move to Tennessee, the best advice I ever received!

5. He taught me to never turn my back on a friend in need even if it's inconvenient.

6. Farting loudly in public could ALWAYS be blamed on toads or frogs.

7. He was never embarrassed about who he was or what he believed in.

8. He dreamed like a child, always believing in possibilities.

9. He loved me without end and always made sure I knew it.

10. He gave me music...without him I probably never would have sang a note.

I love you Dadio...I miss you so much and I wish you were around so I could call and say "Happy Turkey Day!"....

The Turd Bird...

My Dad had a saying for the rare (okay, not so rare) moments where my Brother and I would throw fits. He'd see us pouting, with our lips stuck out like Bubba from Forest Gump, and he'd taunt the laughter out of us saying, "Awwwwwh, is there a wittle birdy that's gonna come and poop on your lip? Is there? Is there a wittle birdy's gonna come and poop on your lip? Awwwwh!" over and over again until we could no longer hold a straight face. It worked without fail.

I realized just how real that hypothetical bird was to my dad the first year my Dad took me to "Take Your Daughter to Work Day" at Tektronix. His cubicle was nothing special, just four dividing half-walls with a small opening that served as a doorway. Take Your Daughter to Work Day was all well and good in thought, but it was in all actuality insanely boring to be with your Dad while he worked and you sat there and twiddled your thumbs all day. Attempting to soothe my boredom I looked around for anything to play with, and there sitting on shelf was "The Turd Bird". Yes, it was a literal piece of shit, horse shit to be exact. It had two pipe cleaner legs, tiny feather wings, a toothpick beak, and plastic eyes you'd get from a craft store. It was mounted on a tiny wooden pedestal and labeled, "The Turd Bird", and underneath was the scientific name (which I no longer remember, but I assume it went a little something like poopicus maximus or shiteous globulous).

Because I inherited the same humorous fascination with things other people would be disgusted by, I WANTED THAT TURD BIRD. I still want it. I don't know where it went to or how I didn't end up with it in my room on the night stand next to my bed....but if I ever run across one, it's going to be mine. (The picture above is not the actual turd bird...my Dad's was cooler...as in...the horse poo was horizontal and not vertical...it makes a massive difference.)

Making it Work...

For the longest time I resented my Dad. Even though at the time I thought I was old enough to understand, I just couldn't help but feel abandoned and unimportant. After we moved from Portland, Oregon to Crooked River Ranch, Oregon in 1996 my Dad had a hard time finding adequate work in central Oregon and was forced to commute back and forth from our new home to Beaverton, Oregon every week. He would leave Sunday night, trek the 4 hours to the valley, and then come back home late Friday nights.

As you can imagine, my Dad missed a lot of things. He missed me singing, he missed all but one of my 7th grade basketball games (although, he wasn't missing much, I didn't score once all season and let that be my only season ever), he missed me cheerleading at high school football and basketball games, my choir concerts, sports awards, solo festivals, etc. In my mind, I had sincerely thought he just didn't want to be there. That he didn't care enough to figure out anyway he could to show up for me.

As an adult I see that I had it all wrong. It was BECAUSE of me, my little brother, and my Mom, that my Dad worked so hard. I'm sure if given the option he'd of had a job in our new hometown and he'd of never missed a thing, but he didn't have that option. It wasn't his decision, the only decision he had was to provide for his family and keep us fed, clothed, and sheltered. It was an amazing and, frankly, life-altering realization that my Dad loved us THAT MUCH that he would drive 8-hours (or more) a week just to give us the things we needed and to see us on the weekends. I see now that my childish ignorance probably didn't give him the credit he deserved for many of the things I took for granted, and I regret that.

There's no doubt in my mind that my Dad did everything he knew to do to make it work, and I'm so proud of him for that.