It's been awhile ... lost my happy thought

Hey there ... It's been a while since my last post.  With winter and then the loss of my dad in January, I guess you could say that I was speechless for a while.  I associated it with a loss of my happy thoughts ... it was a tragic loss for me, loosing my dad to leukemia.  Just less than a week ago, it would have been his 69th birthday and, of course, he was ever in my thoughts but more so on that day and I realized that I hadn't lost my happy thoughts ... they had been just hiding for a while and they were there with me the whole time.  They were the memories ... memories of times with my dad, with my sister and my mom, with my children and husband and friends.  All those beautiful moments captured forever in my mind were just clouded temporarily by the pain I have been feeling. 

Buck Calaway, my dad, just before I was born.

So as I was sitting alone last Tuesday thinking about my dad on his special day and sifting back through all those memories, two memories stuck out more than any others.  Wouldn't you know ... it was like a lightening strike and I found them ... the things that make me the most creative ... my happy thoughts.  And I thought it would be good to share them.  Probably one of the main reasons for my love of picnicing is that it is nostalgic ... it reminds me of happy times during my childhood.  I've already shared how my sister and I would picnic under a big oak tree on the hill so my mom could have some time to get things done.  But another memory that I had buried came to light the other day and its another reason I love packing up a meal and finding someplace interesting to eat.  When we were little, we would take vacations or road trips to see family or to just have family time together ... it was always by car ... in our station wagon much like the Griswalds but less comical.  We would pack that car up so tight with suitcases and things that we needed and just set out for our destinations with unknown stops along the way to see interesting things (probably also why I love to find kitchy and unusual places in my travels).  And  for lunch, my dad, a great lover of the ever popular bologne sandwich, would find a grocer deli.  He would order up a pound of lunch meat and a pound of cheese ... grab a loaf of bread and stroll proudly back to our station wagon and declare a picnic.  Or maybe not offically a picnic but rather a lunch stop at picnic tables in a park or rest area.  And I thought that was the greatest meal in the world. 

We would have these impromptu lunches often with him ... even while working along side him on the farm.  We would just stop what we were doing and he would pull out a bag (the bread bag) filled with lunchmeat sandwiches and we would sit in a hay field or along the creek and eat our lunch.  I look back now and wonder if I could do that today given the absolute mess that we were after doing so much work and getting so dirty.  But as a kid, you never mind any of that ... you just enjoy the time with your parents.

Anyway, I was also looking through some photos and that's when I discovered the memory that reminded me of the first memory I mentioned.  There was a photo of my dad and my daughter, Lauren, sitting on the floor surrounded with toys and both barefoot that I had snapped while watching them when I was making a "carpet picnic" for them to share.  Lauren was just a little over a year old and was just absolutely in love with her grandpa and was so proud to share her toys with him.  It was on that visit that she coined the name "Pappy" for him and would squeal it out everytime she hugged him ... which was quite often.  It was that photo and the memory of that moment that triggered the memories from my girlhood days of sitting in the grass with my dad and enjoying a picnic together.  Of the immense love that I felt for him.  My dad may not be here physically but he is here with me in my heart and in my memories.  And he left me with the most wonderful gift I could ever ask for ... the memory of his unconditional love, of his lightheartedness, of his strength and devotion to his family.  Memories of playfulness ... running through the tall grasses or walking for what seemed like hours with us ... marveling over every small discovery that we made and teaching us through his wisdom and kindness of things that someday we might need.  He shaped me without knowing it into the person that I am today with his love, kindness and open heart.  I love you dad ... you are my happy thought and I thank you for that always.