Thoughts With Too Much Down Time (fair warning!)

I'm thinking a lot about my father these last few days, probably because I've been sick and that is a rarity. When we were children, he only kept a few things (oh, if I have said this before, and I'm sure I have, be patient or just come back another day) in the medicine  cabinet: Listerine, Vicks VaporRub and maybe Bayer aspirin. I don't remember my brother or sisters being sick but of course I remember my own. He would say (my brother and I disagree about this, but I'm older so I know I'm right), "If you don't feel well, go to the beach, get in the water, if that doesn't work, you must need to go to the hospital.") That meant gargle with Listerine. That meant getting one of his big white t-shirts so when he smeared our chests and backs and throats with Vicks, staining wouldn't matter. It was like a gift, being sick enough for the t-shirt and Vicks. I don't think Vicks healed me, I think it was the t-shirt. We weren't sick very much. And I'm not sick very much. But when I am, I think of my father.

He would, if he were alive, be 94, tomorrow. His sister, my Aunt Mimi, will be 96 this week. She misses her baby brother. What's 28 years when you are 96? I have no idea.

So what else for my father? He taught me about loving the sea, respecting the natural world, which teaches you a lot about the unnatural world. Some places you have the power to do something. Some places you don't. Pick and act accordingly.

He taught me how to fish, and that raw oysters were good. He taught me how to ride a horse, quite a few horses, actually. With a bullwhip in hand, he knew better than a *Florida Cracker how to snap that whip within an inch of my boot. "Heels down, back straight, knees in." crack! I learned. English, Western, we learned. But I kept returning to the sea.

When I looked at this, all I could see was a tiny little face...Bogie Face

The gift he gave to all four of us is that we all thought we were his favorite child. And all for different reasons, there were so many facets to him. He was a pretty amazing man and lucky for me, I got to tell him that before I couldn't tell him anymore. Love the ones you love in word along with deed.

Orchids and Ms. Iris in the background

Obviously, being sick takes me down some weird highways and byways! Thanks for being here, dear gentle readers of mine. One thing I do know. He would love love love me living here on Culebra. His dream was to get on a sailboat and go 'away'. He had his boat, but didn't get far enough away. Thanks, Dad. I'm here.

* I was looking up a link for Florida crackers and was fairly horrified at some things I found. To me a Florida Cracker was one who cracked the whip on cattle, the whip 'cracks; - but apparently it can mean much worse than that or much better, or it can be relating to a style of house, a pretty brilliant house, but a house nonetheless. I also found the following video.

This is a Florida most don't know about. And even though my Dad wasn't anything like a Florida Cracker (New York City Jewish boys don't get taught much about cows, even though he did have a farm, once upon a time), he taught us without saying it...be honest, be true, say what you mean and mean what you say. Yep, I'm blaming' it all on Dad. He'd be ok with that.

The idea is in your head now, see all the little faces?

Don't worry (thanks for the t-shirt, Chris, it's almost as good as my Dad's)

Have a sane Sunday. Do something soothing.