My Father...

My father is the kind of father who has a very big lot of axes and a very big lot of wood.

My father is the kind of father who pays for you to go on a lovely adventure with your mother to Minniapolis or Venice or Barcelona or Paris or Pisa, and then stays home to look after the swearing cat.

My father is the kind of father who tells a story about how you saved his life at your wedding when he is speaking at conventions, and then gets a tear in his eye.

My father is the kind of father who takes minor obsessions with things like baking, and buying cooking equipment, and starting computer clubs, and going to Ard Lui in the summer.

My father is the kind of father who retires early and buys my mother part of a mansion near the sea.

My father is the kind of father who teaches other people about word processing and how to make some head way with "Steps".

My father is the kind of father who competes with your son at computer games, and gets your girls flowers after a dancing show.

My father is the kind of father who takes one day at a time, and does not like Edinburgh that much, and tells the "Chief of Edinburgh" that fact - by accident.

My father is the kind of father who is over awed by no one, and treats window washers and millionaires just the same.

My father is the kind of father who creates a community out of strangers in the back shop or at Redheugh House, and also bakes good scones every Monday morning.

My father is the kind of father who takes you to the sea in the morning when you have chicken pox and lets you have dressing up clothes, even when you are far too old to play with them.

My father is the kind of father who likes to tell you how to put puzzle rings back together, whether or not you are paying attention. (you were not!!!)

My father is the best father in the world, and I am lucky he is mine, and you can't have him.

My Mother...

My mother is the kind of mother who tells you to put a lion's dropping in your bed to prevent cats urinating there.

My mother is the kind of mother who cooks for another family because their mother is sick.

My mother is the kind of mother who gets stuck in water flumes and slides down the side of a muddy hill on a sledge.

My mother is the kind of mother who fights windmills, and organises for Santa Clause to come up the street in a double decker bus, and makes Christmas Wreaths even though they jag her.

My mother is the kind of mother who shakes a ladder when you are up it with a gleeful look in her twinkly eye.

My mother is the kind of mother who tells you to get human hair from the barbers to put round your rose tree to prevent bambi eating your flowers.

My mother is the kind of mother who goes para-gliding, and makes fancy glittery eggs.

My mother is the kind of mother who keeps on keeping on no matter what life throws at her, and then paints a bear on a rock.

My mother is the kind of mother who looks after two of your children for you, and reads them a story, when another one of your children is very ill in the hospital.

My mother is the kind of mother who makes you laugh till your sides hurt, and keeps conkers on the windowsill because that will keep spiders at bay.

My mother is very elegent in the swimming pool.

My mother is the best mother in the world, and I am lucky she is mine, and you can't have her!

Goodness

Courage can be a hidden virtue. Faith can be personal. Goodness is the kind of character trait, however, that cannot be practiced alone. Goodness requires a public posture. To be good you have to be good to someone else. Makes you think, doesn’t it?



To be smart is an accident, to be beautiful is a cultural definition, but to be good is a choice.

Sister Joan Chittister

Trapped

• Remember the time when I was doing a night shift, and you were all in bed, and dad went out into the porch, which was also the home for our little black and white kittens?

• And, remember that dad was doing some kind of work around the house and was putting his tools away and the porch door closed?

• And, remember how there is no way to open that door without a key. And, remember how he did not have a key. And, so he decided to shout "HELP!!!" in a really loud voice but no one heard him.

• And, remember how the kittens were jumping all over his back, and he was lying down trying to shout under the gap in the door, and no one was hearing him. And then he found a mouth organ.

• And, remember how he was blowing and blowing and blowing the mouth organ, and the kittens were biting and scratching him, and he was sneezing because he is allergic to cats?

• And, remember how he was blowing that harmonica and banging on the door and shouting for a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong, looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong time and was just about to give up because he was getting dizzy.

• And, remember how you, Emilie, came down the stairs, and in a little girl sleepy way, and opened the porch door, and looked at dad like he had lost his mind.

• And remember how you put your little hands on your little hips and said to him in a puzzled voice, "Daddy, what are you doing?"