Nesting Period O-V-E-R

I am finally writing again.

After the semester ends, it takes me about a week to excavate my desk (worse if I have other projects going on elsewhere in the house), a week to catch up on other record-keeping duties, a week to “defatigue” from the semester, and a week of thinking to get myself motivated to write once again.

I have finally returned to the project that is so near and dear to my heart I cried several times yesterday:  my Dad’s story.  Originally, I wanted to focus on the Alzheimer’s portion–our journey together through this horrid condition.  But then I realized that if this were the only thing about my Dad ever published, all readers would know about him was his most vulnerable time.

No, I have to open the box that has sat in my office for 14 months.  A box of Dad’s memories from his childhood, little baby to college, and beyond, that has not moved since I scanned photographs last year for his memorial service.  I need to read through all of those newspaper articles, his grade reports, papers, certificates, his old resume, and glean as much as I can about the man before I knew him.  I need to lay the foundation for why his actions and words and humor during his last few years touched me so as his daughter.

So yesterday I opened the box and started writing.  And I couldn’t stop.  I blogged about it elsewhere (if you’re interested, let me know by sending me a missive via the contact me page, give me your email and I’ll send you the link).  I cried.  I remembered stories he told me, banging my head on the desk when I couldn’t recall the exact words he used, the people and places he mentioned, and how everything fit together.

Blasted memories.

After my post went up, my aunt wrote and suggested that her husband (Dad’s brother) would love to take me around to the old haunts and tell me more stories–fill in the blanks.  I have to take him up on that.  Another wonderful opportunity for photography.  Here are some photographs of one of the houses dad grew up in for a while.  And the farm where he milked cows every morning.  And where he snuck a farm dog up into his bed from outside in the cold, dark Missouri winters.

Anyway, enjoy the photographs:  😉  And please comment if you enjoyed this post.

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