Even now, memories come rushing back at odd moments. . . . . . . to the times Dad helped set the table-- spinning the plates in the air, playing around till Mom had a fit. He'd laugh at her. "I won't drop'em! I'm good at this!" . . . . .the time he missed the plate . . . .! (:-O

The funny way he'd call Mom Tootsie . . . The weekend nights we got to stay up and we all sat around the TV to watch Rawhide, or Carol Burnett, or Ed Sullivan. Laughing ourselves silly at Dad, laughing himself silly over the crazy antics of Carol, Harvey and Tim . . . The picnics at our favorite spots--Nystrom's Pond, People's Forest, and the hikes on the Mohawk Trail . . . Always wanted to ride our horses on that trail-- never had the chance. But he'd taught us to ride, and that's still with us.

There were his half jesting, half serious claims to Perfection . . . in all things, but especially driving. In that almost impossible to manuver in driveway he claimed to be the only one of us to never hit the garage backing out. However, my youngest sister insists she made sure she never hit that dilapidated old building. (Really, you could've hooked a small dog to it, yelled "Mush!" and that've been the end of it . . .!)

One afternoon, after listening to him boast of his superiority, I called a local radio station and dedicated Mack Davis' song on the subject to him. Can't remember the title exactly. "I'm Perfect" comes to mind. Anyway, when my mirthful voice came over the radio, enumerating all the reasons this song belonged to My Dad, his expression instantly changed to the one that promised "I'm gonna kick your . . . .!" Teeheehee.

Mom's impish grin mocked him. "Well, it is your anthem! One day, your country's going to fall!" He didn't take her prophecy seriously. "HA!" he retorted with arrogance.

Yes, ma'am, sir, he taught us everything he knew about horses. Expected perfection the first day he showed us anything. Sometimes we'd ride bareback, and he'd toss us upon our steed so heartily that we'd fly right over, land with a thud on the hard merciless ground----no breath in our bodies. "What are you doing down there? Can't y'even get on this animal?" He'd shake his head, and look bewildered. "Taught y' everything I know, and you're still stupid!" . . . the unholy twinkle in his eye . . .

One time, after a drenching rainy period, we tromped out through wet, boot sucking, MUDDY fields to catch the horses we wanted to ride. Just had halters and leads with us. We'd ride 'em bareback to the stable. Some suitable rocks poked up out of the mud so we could hop astride. No problem for little ol' me to leap upon Mercury, my Welsh gelding, but Prince Henry wasn't exhibiting princely behavior that day. Finally Dad gave a mighty bound . . .and overshot Prince Henry's broad back . . . landing in the deepest yuckiest ooze . . . :-() Prince gazed down at him as if Dad were an absolute idiot-- "What are you doing down there?"

AFOMPIWLSH- (READ Almost Fell Off My Pony I Was Laughing So Hard!) 8-D Oh, me, that was worth the three year wait for that piece of perfection!

The way he hated to have his picture taken . . . . . . . . . . .

The way we had meals together, every day, at the table . . . The way Mom would sometimes wake us with a song, pulling the shades up to let the morning sun in . . . The way she took us to the library every week, and let us take all the books the library would allow out. The way she read us to sleep . . . The long walks she took with us in Northfield. Sometimes she'd poke my youngest sister in a stroller, take my brother's hand and come meet us older girls at the school and walk us home. The way she finally was recognizing my writing talent, and becoming my best sounding board and critic . . . . Those blissful days before Andy, the boys----just tots----and I moved back to New York that she and I would go shopping and out for lunch. And yakked like best friends . . .

One of our favorite things to do when we were small was hop in the car and go get lost. Mom would pack some PBJ sandwiches, some fruit and Kool-Aid, and off we'd go. Puttering down roads we'd never been down before, see where they came out. Sometimes we'd end up at a friend's house way over in Otis, Mass. "Hey, how'd we get here? We weren't really lost, were we? Were we?" Kind of sorry that we hadn't been, yet relieved to know Dad could find his way out if we had been.

The way my brother said, "Well, now we really are on our own!" as we sorrowfully left the funeral home after making the same arrangements for Dad as we'd made with him for Mom the day before. Remembering the last hugs and the last smiles . . . and feeling, for that moment, really lost . . . .

We miss you Mom and Dad. We love you. Always . . .