Teach a boy to fish...

The year was 1967. The fish was a Northern Pike. The boy was standing in his grandma's kitchen. And standing there in the doorway, just behind the boy...his dad.

Of all the things I learned from my dad, I continue to appreciate the truth that he was always there behind me...maybe not seen by others but there nonetheless.

During this Thanksgiving Season, I need to say to someone how thankful I am for my Dad. And how much I miss him, right there, behind me.

Meet Mike the Plumber!

I did it! I changed the kitchen faucet! It only took about 1.5 hours, and it doesn't leak!!!

Menards and Home Depot were all part of the process, as was Bethany my Home Improvement Assistant Extraordinare'!

I can now be counted in the running for Cutting Water Consumption! It dripped so much we had calls from Amnesty International inquiring about our use of water boarding!!!

The drip is gone! Long live the New Faucet!

A Place to Come Home

This past year, following my father's death and mom's move into the nursing home, my brother and his family cleared out the blue-grey with rust-red trim house on 19th Avenue, and put it up for sale. I grew up there, learned to ride bike amidst the prickly plum trees, made forts back by the crick, hauled firewood to the basement window, learned to drive a 3-on-the-column stick tranny, sat by the heat registers to eat my breakfast before school, ran from the bus stop into the house while smelling Mom's fresh baked bread and cinnamon rolls, sat by the basement laundry tubs as Dad cut my hair, and learned to ride a snowmobile in the back yard (that was long after I ate some of the cold cream from the jar Tim and Jerry and I found out back by the rock).

It was home. But no longer; without Dad there, without Mom in her familiar kitchen chair...home was gone.

For these past few months, I've felt detached, unanchored; like a ship cut loose, drifting at sea, fumbling for my compass.

And then, I saw the announcement in the JSOnline - Auditions for Acacia Theatre's Fall production. Deep inside, something stirred; something that felt almost ancient, something I'd forgotten or misplaced.

Yesterday, the eight-performance run of Acacia's The God Committee came to a close. We packed up the make-up, put away the platforms and flats, and hauled away the impossibly heavy credenza (they have to make lighter ones, don't they?)

It was, for me, more than nightly rehearsals and line memorization and audience appreciation. It was going back to a place I'd spent so much time, growing up, learning, becoming.

This morning, with muscles aching from set strike, and my mind gently packing away the lines, I've realized something - I've felt something - I've rediscovered something I've missed so much.

I've found home again. Like a warm kitchen with incredibly delicious smells, and a table filled with familiar & brand new loved ones.

"Don't be a stranger!" one person said as I left the theatre last night. Before I could answer, another said, "He won't be...we've got him now."

Inside, I knew I'd come home.