Wednesday, February 26, 2014


My direct child raising days are done. The children in my life now are my children’s children. I must trust them to do their jobs, and be encouraging as Grandpas can be.
As a young dad, I did my best. I leaned on the example of my father, unsophisticated parenting but with gentle eyes. Eric Clapton captured the weight, the worry well for me when he wrote, “And as I watch this seedling grow, Feel my heart start to overflow. Where do I find the words to say?
How do I teach him?
What do we play?
Bit by bit, I've realized
That's when I need them,
That's when I need my father's eyes.
My father's eyes.
That's when I need my father's eyes.

My father's eyes.”

Tuesday, February 25, 2014


Little children call people like me ‘the Wrinklies.’ My arm hurts this morning after throwing a few snowballs with grandchildren. My wife speculates about attending the 2022 Olympics in Oslo, Norway, our daughter in law’s home country and factors in that we will require travel companions because we will be close to 80 years of age. Already my ears ring as though I am standing in the centre of an electrical generator and my eyes contend with a universe of floating bodies that impair my sight. I wake predictably at 4:00 am, eager to write, to paint, to read and even after two cups of bold coffee, I am ready for a nap by 9 am. I am my father, married to my mother in law, because my wife is her mother.

Saturday, February 8, 2014


The photo is of me, not my father. He would be 99 very soon if he was still here. He influenced me over the years, and he did again today.

I LISTENED TO MY DAD AGAIN TODAY - My father and mother are both gone from us. Mom died in November 2007 and Dad in May 2008 six months apart. They were sweethearts, married for 66 years. Our family enjoyed the way the two of them enjoyed each other and cherished one another. The evening before her funeral, when the extended family was together, we all stood by her coffin and dad broke us all by saying, “goodnight sweetheart, I’ll see you soon.” When dad died and we siblings went through what was left, inside his wallet was a small piece of paper bearing a poem. “She was not created from his head to top him. Nor from his feet to be stepped on. She was made from his side to be equal to him. From beneath his arm to be protected by him. Near his heart to be loved by him.”

Monday, February 3, 2014

First 2014 Painting Project - Me and the Grandboys

Too many projects on the go, many of them having to do with putting words on a screen. That explains the long delay for an entry here. One of the projects however, relates to telling a story without words, and with which I am most pleased - a large painting, 30X24 inches, oil on canvas, which I meant to do for years. I finally accepted the challenge with some confidence that I could achieve it. I began before Christmas and with brief daily painting episodes, I am now 6 weeks into the scene.
Ryan (6), Papa, Jayden (4) and Kale (4) back in 2008