Keep Fishin'

Growing up I always felt my dad wanted boys, not that I didn't feel loved; I did.  My dad was very much the outdoorsy type--he hunted, fished, played golf, etc.  He wanted my sister and I to share in those things he loved.  We did not enjoy them.  We did love our dad, though.  He would wake us up at the crack of dawn, make us grab our Snoopy fishing rods (his way of coaxing/tricking us into fishing) and hit the lake.  I wish I could say those were lovely memories.  It usually ended in my dad's frustration, because a) I talked too much or b) my sister whined incessantly.  My poor dad.  He put up with a great deal from us.  But if he asked, we went.   I honestly don't think I've been fishing since I was maybe 10 or 11 (about the time I started to figure out I was way too cool to hang with dear old Dad).

The credit for the idea for this month's "thing," again goes to my friend, Cory.  He challenged me to get all the licenses I could.  I didn't go that far, but I did get my fishing permit.  I applied online and have not yet received it.  Once I do, I'm going to fish...cue the theme song from "The Andy Griffith Show."  

Just so you know, I can bait my own hook.

Stay tuned for August--it's going to be huge...driving lessons (I need to learn to drive a stick shift) and IRELAND!!!!

Perspective

Yesterday marked the 9^th anniversary of my father’s death. While I wasn’t completely devoid of emotion, I didn’t run the gamut of feelings (as I am prone to do). If you were to ask me last week, however, I would have told you a different story. Nine years still hasn’t lessened the hole I feel without my dad here, but I do have a greater appreciation for him as a person.

I know as time goes by I remember less and less of the truly horrible aspects of my childhood. I think that’s God’s gift to me. Perhaps I’m making a more concerted effort to hold on those wonderful memories of my father. There really isn’t a day that goes by that I’m not reminded of him in some small way. I hear a song or catch a line of a movie he loved and I instantly remember him—his smile or his infectious laugh.

I have a picture sitting on my bedroom dresser—my parents on their honeymoon. They look so young and happy. I like to think at one time they truly were happy and so full of possibilities. What happened along the way in their lives resembled nothing even close to the look of hope on their faces. The picture is a reminder to me and gives me perspective—we don’t always get what we want out of life (and I am learning that isn’t always a bad thing). My parents wanted the best for my sister and I and they weren’t able to see that fulfilled during their lifetime. Not that I’m where I need to be by any means, but this year I am definitely closer.

I miss you MOTO.

Kara made me do this...

My friend, Kara, tagged my blog with an interesting challenge:

1. Write the title to your own memoir using 6 words.
2. Post it on your blog.
3. Link to the person who tagged you.
4. Tag 5 more blogs.

Here's mine:
Thirty-Five and Holding: A Love Story
The story of a thirty-something who woke up one day and finally started living her life (and loving herself in the process).

Tag:
Danita
Amy
Melissa
Seth
Michelle

Update:  A Photo

So, perhaps I'm not as technically savvy as I would like to think.  Still having trouble uploading all the photos.  I had to go about uploading this one from Picasa.  So, this is a pic of the final product

I'm not saying it's perfect, not the way I remember, but it does at least taste ok!