All My Ancestors

I learned a lot from my Dad. He was the repository of surprising information and beliefs.

I wish I would have inherited his ability to let things go and to seemingly not worry about life. Sometimes I thought he was a little too fatalistic, but maybe that’s what comes from being a farmer in the Texas panhandle.

He believed in drinking out of glass glasses only–the plastic ones didn’t rinse well, according to him. And he always had a glass of ice water handy, usually with his coffee. If your feet sweat too much, soak them in a 10-15% Clorox solution and you were good to go. Rinsing out your thermos with soda and water was essential to keeping your water fresh. And you really shouldn’t scrub out your coffee pot if you wanted to make good coffee. I learned to extend the blooming in my flower bed by deadheading spent blooms from him. He “translated” Mares Eat Oats and Does Eat Oats for me. And he also would tell me that “Shank’s Pony” was the way for me to get to town when I’d want to use the car.

My mom used to respond with a mixture of amazement and almost aggravation when he knew some esoteric word in her crossword puzzle. He wasn’t an educated man in the traditional sense of the word, but when he came up with one of those answers, he just grinned his satisfaction and ducked his head.

I’ve been listening to the cd of Bette Midler doing Rosemary Clooney songs. I really wasn’t prepared for the memories one of the songs brought. Who knew “This Ole House” was a Rosemary Clooney hit? And who knew my Dad sang her songs? I suppose he learned lots of those songs the hours he spent on the tractor or combine or in the pickup–listening to the local am radio station.

verses 2 &3 from This Ole House
This ole house is a-gettin’ shaky
This ole house is a-gettin’ old
This ole house lets in the rain
This ole house lets in the cold
On his knees I’m gettin’ chilly
But he feel no fear nor pain
‘Cause he see an angel peekin’
Through a broken windowpane
CHORUS

This ole house is afraid of thunder
This ole house is afraid of storms
This ole house just groans and trembles
When the night wind flings its arms
This ole house is gettin’ feeble
This old house is needin’ paint
Just like him it’s tuckered out
But he’s a-gettin’ ready to meet the saints

One of the last conversations I had with my Dad ended him with informing me in no uncertain terms that he was not winding down. He had lived through the health challenges he did because of that spirit, but the rest of use could see him getting “tuckered out.”

Rest in peace, Dad. Lots of love.