Plowing

Dear Dad,
Thought you'd like to know that your little girl is driving around in a big green truck with a plow on the front. Being as how I'm year-round at the park now, kinda need to be able to clear snow off the entrance road and out of the parking lots. Today was my second go-round with plowing. Didn't do too badly, if I do say so myself. Hit a minimum of immovable objects (I only clipped two boulder guards, yay me!) and moved lots of snow. I even remembered what you told me about lifting the plow blade and pushing the snowbanks over. Not bad, considering all I got for instruction on the job was "this toggle moves the plow blade around. Have fun." I had to plow out Wolfe's Neck last month, got a compliment from the maintenance coordinator for our area on my work there. I learned from you, I guess, listening to you critique every plow that we saw and riding around with you when you were plowing for Ritch's tenants. Thanks for being such a good teacher, even if neither one of us realized it at the time. I mean, it's been ten years since that one lesson you gave me, but I still remembered you telling me what to do, like you were sitting in the cab of the truck with me talking me through it.

Well, just thought you'd like to hear what new skill I picked up this month.
Love you.
Tami

Where to start?

My father died last February, suddenly and unexpectedly. He had a massive heart attack at the age of 62, only three months after he retired from a life-long career working in bridge construction. He was looking forward to no longer working outside in the cold, was engaged to be married to a woman who, in my opinion, was the best thing that ever happened to him, and he had started working for my older brother as the fix-it guru in Ritch's grocery store. He and I had our differences and the relationship hadn't always been smooth, but we'd worked it out on our own and not only had the father-daughter thing worked out, but had also become good friends. I called almost weekly, just to shoot the breeze, or tell him about some new skill I'd picked up, my weekly wildlife sightings, stupid issues at work. My catalog of new skills amused him to no end, he loved hearing about any wildlife I encountered and he always had something to say about work issues. Sometimes it was advice, sometimes it was commiseration, sometimes it was just something that made me laugh and see the humor in the situation. When he died, I knew it was going to be the little things that I would miss the most, once the shock wore off. I find myself thinking "Dad would love this!" or "I can't wait to tell Dad..." but I can't tell Dad anymore, at least not in the physical sense, so I decided to write this blog instead. So here goes:

Dear Dad,
Thanks for threatening physical harm if I ever quit working for the park service. You told me I was an idiot for even contemplating it when most people I knew were urging me to find a "real" job. You said it was my dream and I loved it, so why on earth would I do something so stupid as to give that up? You had faith in me before I had faith in myself. I just wanted you to know that I finally got that year-round position. The job was offered to me four days before we held your commital service and I still find the timing to be eerily co-incidental. You would be happy to know that your chainsaw has found a good home ("I have a chainsaw and I know how to use it" has become a new catch-phrase between myself and Sue, and I now call her when I have something I would have called to tell you) and I'm still learning all kinds of useful skills. A couple of my summer co-workers are what you'd refer to nitwits, but I think I'll be able to handle it when they come back on in the spring.

Later, Pops
Tami

PS Miss you.