This is one scary fish. What beast! My dad wouldn’t want to be caught dead trying to catch this thing or he might wind up dead.
My dad has fished for as long as I can remember. We lived in a house on a tiny lake, almost a pond, so that he could have a canoe and fish. The one thing I miss about Florida is the ability to go fishing even through I haven’t fished in well over a few years. I’m still drawn to the idea of rivers and lakes for the tranquil atmosphere and the easy going attitude of canoe fishing.
Of course my dad has the big fish stories like everyone’s dad. His is one in which he doesn’t catch the fish but the fish takes something of his. We’re in Destin, Florida for my uncle’s wedding. My dad goes out in a little boat by himself to try to do some ocean fishing. He goes out alone because I’m being cranky and don’t want to be stuck in a boat with my dad for more than a few minutes. He comes back with a whopper of a story. Apparently a large trout jumped over the boat and knocked him over. I think that’s about it. My dad lost his hat in the water but was spared his life.
Filed under: A picture for my Dad | Tags: atheism, door, Jerusalem, religion, Superior Mold
A red door in Jerusalem, Muslim Quarter.
My father was raised Roman Catholic in Buffalo, NY. My Mom was raised sort of Jewish in Brooklyn, NY. When the two got together and raised me neither pushed any religion. In fact Non-Religion was pushed more than anything else. At least the idea of finding my own way was pushed, not Atheism. Well to clarify that maybe Agnosticism was pushed or at least called to the fore front of anything else. Jerusalem is the epicenter of religious struggle. All these religions call it their birthplace and call it a holy city for their own. My household was never that kind of war zone.
At Superior Mold, my father’s business for 25 years, there was a blue painted door that one would go through to get to the middle section of the building. The paint was so cracked from the sun that it looked like mosaic tile. This old red door doesn’t look old at all yet it’s probably stood their for decades if not centuries. Of course I think it was repainted but it doesn’t get repainted every year. At least that stone of the building has been there for hundreds of years. Yet the blue door at my father’s shop looked far older far more dilapidated. They don’t build them the way they used to.
Filed under: A picture for my Dad
Found on Astronomy Picture of the Day
Readers, my dear Readers, I believe I have previously mentioned to you the radically amazingness of Astronomy Picture of the Day. Here is one of some Lunar craft on the surface. It’s a panorama of Shorty Crater.
As previously mentioned in yesterday’s post, this comment was not sent along with the picture I sent to my dad.
My dad, like me, tries to do things that you can’t necessarily do anywhere else. Growing up in Florida we have a lot of things that are Floridian. One of them being Cape Canaveral. One morning my dad gets me up and into the car for a 2-4 hour trip across the state to see a shuttle launch. I didn’t want to go. I went anyways because he forced me to. The shuttle didn’t launch that day, there was a delay.
The next day my dad gets me into the car to try again. On the way across the state we find out that there won’t be a launch that day. They will try again the next day. Another day Another trip. We get to a great spot along the high way about 30-50 miles from the launch site. We wait. We wait and we wait. I’m finally excited. After all of that I’m expecting the heavens to open up and rain pennies from the heavens. We listen to the radio. We listen to some more radio. We talk with some families around us. Finally the launch is scrapped.
The next day I wake up really early. I’m excited. This has to be the day of the launch! We don’t go see the launch. Of course that was the day the shuttle launched. We went outside, it was a faint little trail of smoke. Seems like a half remembered dream.
Filed under: A picture for my Dad | Tags: father, history, old picture, Tour de France
intro: This week I have not a lot to do except get rid of everything I own and fly to Miami to ship out on Sunday. I have paperwork to take care of, some faxes to make, some checks to write, but all in all my days are long and my work is short. therefore I will occupy my time by writing to you, the readers, about something personal.
But let’s make it a little fun. I found a picture online that I am sending my dad. Each day this week I will email my dad a single picture without much comment. Because you don’t know my dad, I will comment about it here to you. So to get this straight a single picture will be posted with some comment. On that same day it will be emailed to my dad without the comment. Get it? Let’s begin.
1922 Tour de France
As a way of staying healthy my father picked up biking. I’m not exactly sure when he started but he has definitely ended his formative biking days. He’s getting older faster and can no longer do the miles he once did only 5 years ago. In his biking days my father would watch the Tour de France each summer. I watched with him through the 7 glorious Armstrong years.
I even watched the Tour de France alone while in Gainesville for the summer. I took up biking in my years in Gainesville as it was the easiest and best way to travel around the city. Now in Chicago I sorely miss the days of biking around the cobble stone downtown and the Duck Pond area. There are some really hardcore biker here in Chi-town though. It’s 30 degrees out and people are still biking to work. The worker at a coffee shop I regularly go to even rides his bike through the snow.
picture found at Paris1903.com
