Days 61 & 62...

Day 61:
In honor of our March 2 snow day...
1. building a snowman with my kiddies. Nevermind that I do all the work, nor that my snowman-building attention span will only allow me to make one snow "little person." The point is that my kids think it's the greatest thing ever. The building of the snowman is superseded only by the putting on of the face. Two years ago, we used Lifesavers... which -- f.y.i. -- bleed when placed in snow. This year, we used raisins, the end of a cucumber, cherry tomatoes, and some cappuccino pirouine cookies. Would've been great, but I kept having to remind Laney not to eat the face-making supplies... plus, the hair (cookies) and nose (cucumber) and part of the mouth (tomatoes) fell off approximately twenty minutes after completion.
2. making snow angels. The post-snow angel chill from snow in your pants and wet clothes plastered to your back is totally worth it.
3. exhausted post-snow adventure sleep... for the kids as well as myself.
4. wrapping my kids up in 27 layers of clothes so that they look like the kid from "A Christmas Story."
5. the way fresh snow looks... you know, before dogs/kids/vermin make tracks across it.

Day 62:
It's been one year today since my Pop died. I am not normally one to observe these kinds of anniversaries; I never understood, until now, why people dwell on the day they lost a loved one. Pop is the first person in my immediate family to die in all of my 31 years, and I'm here to tell you that while you learn to function again, it still hurts just as much today as it did when my dad called me at school last March. Some days are good, and I can talk about him without tearing up. Some days... not so much. Every day, though, I am aware of his influence on me, of the zillions of things that I loved about him, of how blessed I am that I had so much time with him... and those are the things I celebrate.
1. Pop's love for hats. Bless him, he didn't have much hair (ever) when I knew him, so he always wore hats when it was cold. My favorites were the ones that looked like those newspaper reporters wore back in the day... specifically his black & white tweedish one... but he was also known to wear a newsboy cap every now and then.
2. Pop's smile. I've probably blogged about this before, but Pop had a great smile. Lit up his face. When he walked into a room, whether it be on a visit or into a sanctuary, his smile could almost physically light up the room. It was amazing. I learned a lot about presence from him. He definitely had it, and his smile was part of his secret formula.
3. The Bible he brought me from the Holy Land. It's one of my most treasured possessions.
4. The way he loved my grandmother. Y'all, you've never seen a man sit on as many mall benches, waiting for the woman he loved to shop. I don't ever remember hearing him say one cross word to her or about her. Even when he wasn't quite aware of what was going on or who was who, he always knew and asked for my grandmother.
5. Pop's funny little habits. Until the last few years of his life, I don't ever remember seeing him wear anything other than a dress shirt and usually a tie. He walked really early in the mornings, and he carried a stick. Just in case. He always wore a bathrobe and slippers around the house. He wore the same aftershave for as long as I can remember -- some version of Old Spice. He took a nap in the recliner on Sunday afternoons. He loved to trade cars. He didn't listen to the radio. He loved sweets and nuts. He often cracked himself up, which cracked me up. He couldn't hear worth anything as he got older, and he did not like wearing his hearing aid. These are the things I love to think about, to remember, to laugh about with my family because Pop was just Pop. You got exactly what you saw, nothing more, nothing less.