Today, while the blossoms still cling to the vine.

I do remember with fondness the look on my daddy's face when he would sit at the head of the table, his entire brood around him in uproarious tumult of action and dad would put his hands on his head and roll his eyes back in his head and sing that song.
It was a beautiful way to capture a memory for him. He was enjoying some of the crazy madness that makes big family's tick. It was truly a madhouse sometimes. Still, in my heart of hearts there are the little voices of childhood that are etched into my memory that are only captured when I close my eyes and sing that song. I can see my daddy, in his mild moments. I can see myself at his right hand rubbing his arm and I can hear the melodies and harmonies that seemed cacophony at that time, but now are the songs of my mind.
There is no other way to capture the beauty, but to remember.
Today, I was recounting the day that Jack ran around Flushing Meadow, with Dad! What a brave and perservering child she was. We all had our way of getting Dad's attention. That was hers. Who will...? Jack had her hand up, before the question was asked. She made it all the way around the lake with dad. Maybe she was 5 years old? What a great memory that was.


It is nice looking back, while we make our own new memories.