Pico, Pasta Salad and 'Pologies

My kitchen has new counter tops. In my joy of having the command center back, I took the time to make Pico and some rocking pasta salad. Since the kids are in a summer program and I had the house to myself, I cranked up the Beach Boys and let my fingers fly.
Pico for me is an easy thing. Chop, chop chop, mix, set.
Pasta salad, too, is a time tested tradition. While I chopped and sorted, scraped and cut, my thoughts flit from place to place. By the time I had set the pasta to cooking, my thoughts drifted back to my father.
You see, yesterday, he came out to inspect the tile. It met with his approval, which is a strange thing to say, considering it is my house, but I respect and value his opinion. Then he gave me a "dad-look" and said that he heard I wrote about him on my blog. He didn't mention if he had read it or not, or had merely heard about it from someone else. My blog apparently gets around.
I went back while the pasta boiled (may I suggest fiori pastas the next time you make salad, they are really pretty for summer) and re-read my blog.
So I am writing an apology. This story wasn't really about my Dad asking for help. It was about my father and I learning together and mastering a new task. I love my father beyond measure, warts and all.
He is often not an easy man to get along with. But never have you met a more generous person. He will open his house, his tool box and his wallet. He will give you help and oh, yes, his opinion.
He makes a mule look biddable, but an ox look under worked. He has never been one to shirk. He worked longer hours and more days ( except for maybe Steve and there are a lot of similarities there!).
Now in his retirement (which he still grumbles about) he is not above learning. And learning, as he will tell you, learning is a life long process. He plays golf and dotes on his grandchildren.
So my previous blog was meant to show that Dad and I both learned this new chore. We both brought something to it. I didn't work with Dad much in the office (ask Jennifer) but I have been my Dad's side kick on so many other projects.
From my Dad's side, I learned to paint and wall paper. I learned how to transplant trees in the fall. I learned out to use a hose to get PVC pipe under a sidewalk. I learned about changing tires, loading moving vans, household chemicals, how to conduct yourself in an interview, the nature of softly treating animals, how to play tennis and how to love.
I saw him love my mother (still does). Not with overt displays, but sometimes with extreme subtly. I have seen him love my sister and myself. We were everything to him and he worked hard to make it so. But he still coached soccer and helped hold horses at shows.

So as my pasta has now come to full al dente (another Dad thing), I leave you with this.











My father, flawed as he is, is a great Dad, Pop-pop and man. He has imperfections, and as we know, there are NO perfect people. Dad had no sons. He had two daughters. He couldn't have been happier.
I am a lot like my Dad. And that is just fine by me.





And how was your day?