A blogger friend of mine posted right after Easter about hating the phone and how
it interferes with life. I returned with a comment and then went out into my back garden to check out all the new sprouts coming out of the earth. It wasn't right away, but in a short while, something she wrote returned to my mind and suddenly
I was aware of why my mind had been preoccupied with the past. 3T - thankyou.

The mention of her Dad and how she valued that relationship had me reeling backwards. You see, my Dad died over 12 years ago and although I know with a certainty that nobody else in my life has ever had such a positive influence on
me, I let him slip away for a while. There are all these moments when something reminds me of him and I smile, but for the most part he is just NOT HERE anymore
and thinking of him hurts.

My Dad...was a cerebral kind of man. He enjoyed quiet reflection, good
literature, music and gentlemens sports, (like Rally Racing or air shows).
He loved his children, but in a non-intrusive way that allowed us to realize
our stupidity or our challenges or our strengths. He loved crosswords, he loved
humour (the British kind), he loved model railways, he loved creative people
and he loved me. To be close to my Dad, I would seek him out in the attic where
his N-gauge railway of the Faulkland Islands was, or in his printing shop, where
he enjoyed doing graphics and printing for the local community or at High School where he was a highly valued teacher that students always returned to credit for there choices. My Dad was never overly ambitious, much to my Mums despair, as she had bigger plans for him. He was content with life that provided him with time
to pursue those things which he felt right in.

My Dad hated small minded people. He would rant sometimes when watching the news
at 11pm about situations around the world brought on by stupid people or even be spurred into heated discussions with people after a scotch. He hated ignoance
and he hated violence. He was what I hope others will someday say about me. He hated to be told how to do things or how to think and he never changed that point
of view. Right up to his death, my Dad cared, quietly about us all, even as he
lay dying in a hospital bed.

I miss him terribly and I always will. I hope that he is proud of me and that I have in some way fulfilled his expectations of me.

Thanks 3T.