The Weekend Word...for Sunday, June 26th

Last Sunday on Father's Day I wrote about my dad on my blog. Feelings of inspiration hit me late in the day, around suppertime, so I sat down in front of my laptop (which had spent the day on the patio table), logged on to my blog and typed up my little story. It didn't take me long, maybe ten minutes. Bada-boom, bada-bing. Easy as pie. Writing down what's already in my head is easy.

My paying job requires me to write minutes of meetings. Not so hard. (And yes, a little boring!) Although admittedly some of the more technical aspects of the meetings are harder to write about, I still consider it easy because what I have to write has happened, I've witnessed it, so I write about it. Just like a story about my father.

Writing NEW stuff though is hard. And frustrating.

My first book OPTIONS wasn't as difficult to write as the second one because so much of what came out of the ends of my fingers onto the pages of the book was loosely based on people I knew and actual things I had experienced. The second book ARTIFICIAL INTENTIONS was harder because I didn't have as much past experience with the story so I had to invent characters, do more research into the story-line and explore (in person) the locale.

My third book, still untitled, has been languishing because I'm having some trouble with the right side of my brain. I just can't seem to get the creative juices running when it's time to write ... I know the basic premise of the story, I've written about 27,000 words (which is about one-fifth of a book) but every sentence has been a struggle. I wonder where I could find a boot-camp style of kick-ass creativity jump start? Sigh....

Until next Sunday.

What I learned from my father

Anyone who knew my dad would agree that he was "larger than life" in more ways than one. One of my first memories of my dad was sitting on the porch of our house on Trafalgar Street in London, Ontario. It was a summer evening. Dad was watering the lawn with the hose and doing his trademark swoop with the stream of water to spray anyone walking by on the city sidewalk. (He was still pulling that stunt 40 years later.) He was whistling a ballad, the name of which I didn't know but I was entranced, watching him. He made whistling look effortless - so I gave it a try. I think the only thing that came out of my mouth was a little bit of spit, but I kept at it. I can still whistle.

Anyone I meet today who knew my dad always remembers his whistling. When we lived on the military base in Baden, Germany, you could hear him whistling several blocks away. If we got separated or lost in a store we only had to stop and listen for the whistling. It was entrancing and magical until the day he died.

It was on that same step that I first used my "low" voice - some people say it reminds them of Linda Blair in The Exorcist - but you heard it here first - I started using that voice when I was five. Dad taught me something silly to say to the people walking by in that silly voice - I think it was "Bob's your uncle!". I still have my "low" voice and use it occasionally to startle my grandchildren!

He had a sense of humour. I'm smiling right now thinking about his laugh which came from deep inside him. He always had something funny to say and he appreciated other people's sense of humour. He was forever asking me to tell and re-tell his favourite jokes.

He was kind. Oh so kind. Just thinking about some of things he did, without be asked, is making me smile. My sister dubbed him the "Food Fairy". When he and mom moved to Ottawa after they retired, my dad would often make dinner, and then deliver it to our house and my sister's place. We'd come home to find dinner with all the fixin's and a loaf of fresh bread laid out on the counter. Need a ride? He would drop everything and be there to pick you up and deliver you to your destination of choice. All of his grandchildren knew that they could always call Poppa Buck to pick them up. Need a dollar? Need a friend? Need a volunteer? Need some advice? Need a big lap to sit on? Need a hug? He gave it all freely with no strings attached.

He loved his family. His brothers and his sisters made him proud. His nieces and nephews were the apple of his eye. But he reserved his special attention for his kids and grandchildren.

His great-grandchildren and some additions to our family (sons-in-laws) never knew him but I see his traits every day in my kids and it makes my heart swell.

If he was alive today, I'd be having him over for dinner and we'd be making a big spaghetti dinner or my husband would be BBQ'ing a huge steak for him. He'd be sitting by the pool, whistling, singing, with a grandchild or two on his lap, holding court, with a Diet Coke close by his side.

He taught me a lot. I learned how to whistle and enjoy Nat King Cole and Eddie Arnold. I learned how to appreciate a good joke. I learned that family is everything. I learned that even if someone passes away their memories are always with you.

Happy Father's Day Dad. We all miss you.