I hope there's a place to fish in Heaven

Fathers day is upon us again and not only celebrating our sons and my husband as fathers but thinking of my daddy. Daddy was only 53 when he died and I was 19 . It seems impossible that I haven't spoke with or hugged him in forty years but I have the sweetest memories of what he taught me in those 19 years. This is one of the last pictures taken of him, Fall '77.

Thaddis Warren, or "Fat" as he was most often called was one of eight children, in a home loaded with older brothers. When he reached that awkward stage as a 10 or 11 yr old, his brothers were there to lend a hand with a nickname. Well, be careful what you allow, because my daddy introduced himself as Fat Hicks my entire life. He didn't give it a single thought and certainly wasn't offended.

Daddy fished, hunted, lay brick, did electrical, plumbing, carpentry, raised animals, gardens, his children and made a mean pancake.  He had the mind of an engineer. He had a dry sense of humor. If you didn't know him well, you weren't sure if he was kidding or scolding you but when he started laughing it became evident.

[Uncle Fred holding a horse shoe over daddy's head, mama just to his side over his shoulder]

I never saw a man who loved fishing as much as my daddy. He went fishing on Friday but if you asked him on Sunday if he had been lately- he would say no.
I can still hear the rattle of rods and reels against the side of the aluminum boat as it bounced up the hill after a quick early morning fishing trip. He would pop in the door grabbing his fresh ironed shirt off the doorknob (where I left it), quickly bath, shave and head to work. He had risen before 4 am to see "if anything is biting" while we all slept.
Daddy didn't need much sleep. He ran most days on 4-5 hours, while mama needed her full 8 hours. Our freezer remained full of freshly cleaned fish though. Daddy was a serious fish cook as well. He made a fish cooker to use outside, like a grill. He made several prototypes until he finally settled on a "V" shape, inverted design which he said kept the oil just at the right temperature to cook evenly. He made the best hush puppies I've ever tasted. My brother Steve can make them just like he did too.

Daddy was slow to anger but if you made him mad, you better look out. He spanked me with a belt only twice in my life. His preferred method of torture was talking to you. Awe man.. just spank me already please, because when he talked to me I felt maybe 2 inches high- it wrecked me to disappoint him. (plus, I knew he was right and I was wrong)
Our childhood was spent about a quarter mile from Black Creek off the Warrior River. Often times my brothers and I would hike behind our house through the woods to the creek. We would wade in the streams leading to the creek and play in the woods. The rule was, you must get daddy's permission to go all the way to the creek. Otherwise, you were to remain in ear shot. Well, this particular day while wandering and having a great time, we noticed the sun was beginning to wane. Oops, we may be in a heap of trouble. We hear daddy calling faintly in the distance.
We pick up the pace and the calling is getting louder and he sounds a smidge agitated. Crant throws me on his back, he and Steve begin to jog up through the woods toward home. I was maybe 8/ which made Steve and Crant, 14 and 13. As we top the hill and look across the open pasture behind the house, there stands daddy- feet apart, his wide shoulders squared toward us. He looked 7 feet tall to me. You know the stance I mean, just locked into that spot as if a mountain could not have moved him. He is NOT smiling, hands on hips just staring at us on the horizon.
Steve being the oldest, says "be quiet and let me do the talking." I don't remember what Steve said but I do remember getting my behind torn up with a belt, right there in the edge of the yard. Whatever he said, it didn't work but we never did that again.

My daddy taught me to cook those pancakes. When we fished and I popped that worm in half and baited my hook, he beamed. He taught me about being dependable, honorable and acting with integrity. When I disappointed him, he showed unconditional love and forgiveness. I learned humor helps you on hard days and there's nothing I can't do if I put my whole heart into it. He loved his children fiercely, he provided a godly example for us to follow and he was humble enough to ask for forgiveness if he felt he wronged me.
On this Fathers day I still miss him but my heart is full of sweet memories. I had him only 19 years but the lessons he taught and the love he shared are with me even today. Amazing.

Men are from Mars and women should be at a Marriott

I've waited a long time for this remodel, for the stone flooring to come up and hardwood to go down. Fourteen years of travertine stone on the kitchen floor, counters and I hate it. I was mesmerized by the look of stone as I stood in that warehouse perusing the slabs and squares. It's easy to get caught up in the beauty of movement of all the stone. It IS beautiful. Honed, polished, natural? "Look at all the movement in this slab" they say. There's an earthy feel to it. You are now one with the universe.

 

 

By all means, don't let me spoil your love for stone and all that universe love it has to offer you but wow.. never again.  It's too much upkeep for me. 

Hardwoods have always been my favorite floor surface. I grew up on pine floors requiring regular waxing. Mama kept those floors sparkling and she buffed them to a luster [as I grew older, I stood at the helm of the buffer.] When finished you donned a clean pair of socks and slid from one end of the house to the other.. from my brothers bedroom all the way through to the dining room. Inevitably someone did a face plant on the wall but nobody cared, it was like you were flying. Mama sat back on the couch with her book and watched, warning us she was too tired to make an emergency room run tonight. We would have to stop the bleeding and wait until morning. [She wasn't kidding]

We came home to a refrigerator water line busted in December and damaged floors. Awe.. Don now knew it was time to tackle the job. Truly, my husband doesn't give me too much grief because he witnessed the damage and he knows I'm always willing to do the work with him. I am the chief painter, cabinet re-finisher, seamstress, drapery maker and get-the-grub-out girl. How can you argue when you have good help, right?
In my head I had a plan of how this remodel would go. Take up all the stone, access the overall plan and make any needed changes. We have a few cabinets to move and re-purpose and we are adding a window seat. Days one through five went pretty well. I helped carry out some of the stone but I have asthma and eventually had to get out of the stone and mortar dust. I was wheezing like a big dog.
Then I left one day. (huge mistake on my part)
When I returned, cabinets were all over the living room. I mean everywhere. Cabinets that didn't need to be moved are out. ??? Why did this happen? I should have known, its the way he works. I can see the vision that's quietly been waiting in my head for the last few years. Not Don, he needed to clear the room to see it.

I'm learning to live in the mess. The tools in the laundry room, cabinets in the living room, the huge table saws in the dining room, dust 2" thick covering everything. Over the last 38 years I've learned another thing- I can say one thing and "Mars man" hears something else entirely.
Example: (Me) "The range, sink and dishwasher are less than 6 feet apart. If we shorten the island and move the range to the far wall, it will enlarge my work triangle and allow more room to cook and prep.
(what Mars man hears) So you don't want to keep this stove? I love this stove and I'm not sure it will fit over there. You aren't going to like the stove on the far wall. You have to walk across the room to cook. When are we going to the beach?
Focus Mars man, focus. This intelligent man and I, may very well have a communication problem.
Right now I see a few options but the best involves me moving where there's room service until the work is completed.

Our conversations go something like this.
[Don] I'll measure for backsplash and you go pick it out.
[Me] How much do I have to spend per foot?
[Don] Get whatever you want. It's your kitchen.
[Me] I go through 9000 different backsplash options at two different warehouses, over two days. I am exhausted and limestone, glass, subway, honed, geometric tiles running through my head. I finally find the perfect combination of our tastes. I spend another four hours online searching for the best price, I use his contractor discount, I negotiate it down another .74 cents a sq. foot. I'm relieved and satisfied with the choice. Then I share my findings with my "Mars man" ...
[Don] Could you not have found something less expensive?
[Me] sigh...
(It's possible years from now someone may find the bones of an aged man in a freshly poured concrete patio) For the love of all that's good, why can't we speak the same language?

I chose to add a window seat to shift the table and create more space and I just love window seats. I will find a whimsical and sturdy fabric to cover my seat cushion. I can hardly contain my excitement. Then, we actually had this conversation, no lie.
[Me] Do you want me to mark the spot where the light fixture goes over the table? [Don] I'm not moving the light fixture. [Me] Yes dear, we discussed this back during the planning stage, at length. (He is looking at me as if I pulled this from the deep, dark recesses of my mind or either I am a "pod" person he's never met)
[Don] But the light fixture is lined up on the center of the window on the driveway end of the house.
[Me] Seriously? Precious Mars man, you can't leave the hanging chandelier over the backs of your dining family and no light over the table? You can't buddy. [Don] I'm not moving the light. [Me] Yes dear, I love you but we must move the light.
At this point, he is no longer listening. That' what "Mars men" do when they do not hear what they want. They walk away. So, these days I choose my battles wisely and because I indeed love this man, I walk away. (for now)

Many years ago I figured out his operating procedure (brain), anytime we had a project once we finished the discussion/rough draft or design, I wrote it all down and had him initial it. Yep, in writing. I didn't do it to prove anything but to hopefully cut down on the battles as I thought about how I would kill him as he said things like "we never discussed this" or "I don't know what you are talking about." Aha! I would pull out my signed and initialed copy of the agreement. He would smile and get to work.

I know this Mars man better than he knows himself. He's been my partner for 38 married years.
He was a blind date you know? Yes. My friend Cindy introduced us. "I have this guy you need to meet. He's crazy and you will love him."  (That's probably another blog post, how God worked this out)
I know how he feels about politics, faith and family. I can read his face like a book and know when he doesn't know what to say or how to respond. I know when he's hurting and disappointed. He's hard-headed, far from perfect (as am I), has to see something for it to be true and tunes me out when he doesn't want to discuss something. He's also a perfectionist, his brain is constantly thinking about how to save/reuse/restore something, he can't throw anything away and he's a thinker by nature. He's sitting back taking it all in while I'm actively throwing out ideas .. when my mind is racing or I'm falling apart: He is my "steady Eddie."

I suppose that's why I'm not sleeping at the Marriott (yet.)