austpicious said: I know how you feel. Just yesterday I saw a man whose shape and manner of walking reminded me so much of my dad that I had to pull the car to the side of the road because I couldn’t see for tears. Still hits me like that after 10 years :(
Lovely. I think of my dad all the time, in part because I am so like him, it is scary. He is with me. Thank you for sharing.
Thanks Jen and Fernando - wonderful to know my post about my dad resonated with you both as well. Nine years for me Jen and just like you, it can still take me by surprise - but it’s always a good memory with the sad moment. And yes, Fernando, we don’t like to admit how much we can be like them but at some point in time, I think we are finally resolved with it and embrace it wholeheartedly!! It is what it is!!
We all have them right? You know - those little shops on the corner of a street where you can get pretty much anything. Corner shop, corner store - here in la belle province they are known as a “dépanneur” or “dép” for short. At mine, I can get all the usual like milk, bread, newspaper, ciggies (if you are into fouling your lungs), beer, wine, all manner of groceries, and lots of other variouses and sundries - mine also happens to dispense tears. Yeah. No shit. It goes like this. I finish installing the jute runner for the outside staircase so that come winter (and winter is coming make no mistake), when they are slick with ice and snow, no one (including myself) does a four and a half gainer to land on their proverbial keister at the bottom of said staircase. Look at my watch and decide I better go get the weekend paper at the dép before he runs out and, of course, buy a ticket for the lotto (which I shall never win but you know, if you don’t have one, you don’t win as the saying goes sucker).
So there I am, standing at the counter, wearing my dad’s old jacket because it’s got one of those fuzzy linings and it’s loose enough so I can fit a warm sweatshirt under it (hey, it’s minus something outside okay - call me a weather pussy if you like) and it covers my bum (see the remark about minus something outside) and I was crawling underneath the steps to affix the runner so it wouldn’t be sticking its jute tongue out at my visitors all winter long. Dép guys looks at me and jokes as he always does that “you are like a dépanneur guy always running and always working” - did I mention I was kinda dirty from crawling about underneath the staircase? Well, I was. He looks at me and then asks “New coat? Looks a little big.” I replied, “no, not new, it was my dad’s jacket” and then I immediately burst into tears. I had no idea it was coming, but it always does - odd moments - standing in line at the bank once and seeing someone in front of me who reminded me so much of my dad that I had to walk out of there, sometimes when I pass through Gare Centrale and I remember how he used to take me down into the bowels of the station where the general public was never allowed and get real up close and personal with the trains and sometimes when I go grocery shopping and I recall how much he loved to go grocery shopping and how, when I would give him a list of my groceries, he would go to just about every store in a twenty mile radius (including multiple branches of the same store) to save me twenty cents on something and spend ten bucks of his gas doing it.
And sometimes, like today, it’s when I do a “dad thing” like putting a jute runner on the front staircase and sometimes the tears are just a tiny bit delayed until I get to the corner.
Thanks Fernando - Mr. Baddeley was truly a character and extremely charming. I stayed and chatted with him for quite some time and thoroughly enjoyed our conversation. People just naturally gravitated towards him. I was very late getting back from my lunch hour that day!
“No sun, no moon!
No morn, no noon
No dawn, no dusk, no proper time of day.
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member,
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds!
November!”—Thomas Hood (1799-1845) (from the poem entitled “No”).
One of my favorite flowers. This purple version is gorgeous, but rarely seen here or in Miami. Great shot, great color and DoF. Love the crispness of the water droplets.
Thanks Fernando! I bought this hibiscus a few years ago at one of our local farmers’ markets. I paid $11.00 for it at the end of the season which was half price. The woman who sold it to me told me it was very winter hardy and I would not need to bring it indoors over the winter. Now it’s almost six feet tall… blooms profusely throughout the summer. I normally cut it back by about one third in the late fall and I do absolutely nothing to protect it during the winter season and, do bear in mind that when the temps drop and the snow flies, with winter windchill here the temps can feel like -40C at times…it’s one of my absolute favourites out of all my perennials!
I might actually consider it if you: (a) were not so rude; (b) used proper punctuation; (c) didn’t ask twice in the same sentence (which takes me back to item (b) again to ask myself if what you wrote can really be considered an actual sentence); and (d) weren’t such a mother-honking spammer a.k.a. the scourge of Tumblrdom. So, yeah, all things considered… no.
“Is a picture really worth a thousand words? What thousand words? A thousand words from a lunatic, or a thousand words from Nietzsche? Actually, Nietzsche was a lunatic, but you see my point. What about a thousand words from a rambler vs. 500 words from Mark Twain? He could say the same thing quicker and with more force than almost any other writer. One thousand words from Ginsberg are not even worth one from Wilde. It’s wild to declare the equivalency of any picture with any army of 1,000 words. Words from a writer like Wordsworth make you appreciate what words are worth. ”—Jarod Kintz, This is the Best Book I’ve Ever Written and it Still Sucks