While Sylvia was visiting her dad on Tuesday this week, the mail came.  There is nothing unusual about that.  There were 12 pieces of mail in his roadside mailbox.  He brought the mail into the house, sat in his recliner and began to look through it.

As he opened each piece he would look at the contents and drop them on the floor beside his chair.  Each of the 12 pieces was a solicitation for a donation to the sender’s cause.

And here is all of Tuesday’s mail.  Nothing but appeals for funds.  Do you receive requests like this?  Have you ever received that many in one day?  Makes one wonder.

Sylvia reserves Tuesdays for her father.  She has done that for the past decade.  At first, it was visits to her parents.  For 19 years we had lived in Connecticut and that meant only once or twice a year did we make it back to our native Michigan for visits with family.  Sylvia retired from teaching in 2000, and we moved back home.  She began visiting her parents each week.

Mom passed away April 1, 2001.  Dad, who is now 92, has lived alone in the old farm house since then.  Sylvia continues to visit him on Tuesday whenever possible.

This week on Tuesday morning, we were just starting to eat breakfast when the phone ring.  The distinct tone told us that it was a call from family.  Sylvia’s dad wanted her to bring her camera.  Here is why:

He wanted her to capture an image of the wisteria, which grows on the pergola he built a few years ago.  As you can see, it is in blossom and quite beautiful.

Sylvia thought you might enjoy these blossoms. I do too.

Yesterday, we observed Scott’s birthday.  Today is the anniversary of the birth of his paternal grandfather.  My dad would be 91 if he were still with us.  Unfortunately we lost him to cancer nearly 20 years ago.

Yesterday you saw Scott at age 1.  So here’s dad at about the same age.  (I don’t have a date on the photo.)  He was born at home near McBain, Michigan.  In 1939 he married his High School sweetheart.  They were both living in the same small community near Leslie, Michigan.

In 1943 he moved his family (wife, son and daughter) from Lansing to Leslie.  (By this time his parents and his in-laws had moved into the town.)  The draft was taking married men and even fathers by this time.  He had joined the Civil Air Patrol because he wanted to fly.  In the fall of 1943 he entered the US Army Air Corp as an aviation cadet.  The war ended less than two years later.  Because of delays and illness, he had not finished his training and so he never saw combat.

He returned to civilian life in November 1945.  I can remember when he returned home.  The next year, we moved a couple blocks from the rental where we spent those war years.  Dad lived out the rest of his days in that house, which he extensively reworked over the years.  I loved the evenings that he spent reading to my sister and me.  Later, we were joined by a couple more sisters.

Dad was a painter and interior decorator after High School.  He followed that trade for several years, but by the 50s he took a job at the post office.  He retired as a rural carrier.

He understood what it meant to be in need.  He was known for painting the homes of widows in need at no cost to them.  Yes he was a good example.

It was long ago and far away that we celebrated your first birthday.  I still remember that day.  I took the photo as your mother gave you some ice cream with chocolate sauce and an unlit candle on it.

Since that day, you have celebrated many birthdays.  I wish I could have been there for each one of them.  But there were other celebrations.

Remember when you earned your black belt?  How about later when you graduated from the USAF NCO academy?  I was glad to be with you on those special days in your life.

Then there was the time that you challenged Briana at Guitar Hero and found out that it should be Guitar Heroine.  Actually, we all had a lot of fun that day.  Sorry I’m not going to see you today, but know that your mom and I thinking about you.  Happy birthday son.