Happy Birthday - Poppy/ Dad - Three Score and Ten + 7

Poem

Do not ask me to remember,
Don't try to make me understand.
Let me rest and know you're with me.
Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.

I'm confused beyond your concept.
I am sad and sick and lost.
All I know if that I need you
To be with me at all cost.

Do not lose your patience with me.
Do not scold or curse or cry.
I can't help the way I'm acting,
Can't be different 'though I try.

Just remember that I need you,
That the best of me is gone.
Please don't fail to stand beside me,
Love me 'til my life is done.

~Author unknown

The Apple Tree

I knew this time was coming. I didn’t want to see it happen.

Dad’s apple tree, planted so many years before, now lays barren and dry waiting for the approaching winter.

Gone are the profuse, fragrant blossoms of springtime.


























The abundant, vibrant red apples have all been picked, harvested at the peak of ripeness.






























Even the leaves, now colored by the short days and cool nights, float to the ground, making wind-blown piles beneath the branches.


All that is left is to peacefully accept the changing seasons, with the full knowledge—and no regrets— that we enjoyed the fruit while we could, while we had the chance—making lots of deserts, sharing with others what we were given, and even storing up applesauce in the freezer for when the cold storms of winter blow and threaten to erase the memory of our little tree that gave all it had. It will be then that the fruit will taste the sweetest. When we remember….



While I can do nothing to change the course of time, I remain standing confidently and waiting patiently for the promise that heavenly springtime will come again.



Ecclesiastes 3
1To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

Their Father's Children?!

I had to go back and apologize two days later. It was a very humbling experience. I had gotten *slightly* worked up at my daughter's field hockey game and was yelling at the ref. The score was 0-4 and the ref (actually a former player for our exact team) was going overboard with her judgement calls as not to appear partial to her alma mater. She might not have even heard my more-than-irritated comments about her lack of eyesight. But the other spectators did. I was a poor example, and I did try to right my wrong.

Yes, I am that parent. You know the one.

I try to be encouraging to my daughter and her teammates, but I am NOT quiet. Most of them appreciate my comments. They say "Emily, away games are really quiet without your mom!"
The thought was not lost on me that Dad used to be the EXACT same way. I remember Dad, as one of my most loyal and supportive fans, attending as many of my games as possible. He would leave work early (prior to 4 pm quitting time) to take in most of that day's game (usually STARTED at 4 pm).
Larry can tell stories of his old wrestling days when Dad would get a little hyper (ahem) at the refs, opponents, and sometimes even other fans.
Why is it that Dad would get so worked up about sports and his kids seemed to have followed in his footsteps?
Barry joyfully received (for his birthday) multiple clothing items branded with the Penn State logo. "Dad taught me to love the Phillies, that's for sure."
Larry faithfully watches his favorite teams on television. Don't try to talk to him about anything else during one of those games!
As for me? Meh. Sports, shmorts. Or so I thought. Until my daughter was the one on the field!
Apparently, that trait has been passed on to the next generation (in my family, at least) as last week Emily received the "Braves Award" for her field hockey team--given to the player with the most dedication, positive attitude, hard work, sportsmanship (don't know if my family line can take credit for that one!) heart and talent (scoring the most goals for her team this season).