Happy Birthday Daddy!

Happy Birthday Daddy!

Today is the 35th anniversary of his 27th birthday. You see, this time 35 years ago, my mother was pregnant with yours truly and 9 days after this day, my arrival would make Charles Clark, a father.
A father, to me at least, is a man who has physically created a child; nothing more.
To me, it is all that comes after, that makes a father a daddy.

First, let me give you some stats on this man. (I love rattling off his resume! It overwhelms me with pride!)
He is retired US Air Force- 11 years; retired US Army reserve Master Sergeant -10 years; retired Ashland Oil (Inc. for you newbies)- 31 years and is in his 23rd year teaching Computer Information Systems at Bluegrass Community & Technical College.

He met my mother in 1970 and asked her to marry him 6 months later. He ate hotdogs for 6 months to purchase her engagement ring, shipped it over to the states from England, where he was stationed. My brother (whose permission to marry his mother, was asked) placed it on her finger.
I love the look on his face when he talks about marrying her. He says there was no woman more beautiful than her. (He is right – she looked like Grace Kelly)
They have been married 38 years. I don't know of many kids who can say that these days.

He began his college days at Marshall University. This would seem normal except I think he was 30, went to class full time during the day and worked full time evening shift at Ashland Oil. I was 3, my brother was 15 and my mother had to deal with ALL of us - full time. He says he would & could have never done it if it weren't for her. I like to think of them, young, as a team; them vs the world. I like to think they won.
I remember him sleeping (when he could) in this little room that was attached to our garage. I’m sure I woke him numerous times hitting tennis balls against the building. I'm sure I didn't say I was sorry. I am.
He graduated Cum Laude four years later.
As an eight year old, I had no idea what it took for him to do that.
Today, it moves me to tears.

We moved to Lexington in 1982 with the Ashland Oil transfer.
The house my parents purchased is where I grew up and will always call “home”.
When I was 8 I joined the swim team at the neighborhood club. When I was 10 (I think) I joined a soccer team. I remember the look on his face when, during soccer practice, I asked if we were playing offense or defense. He looked at me and said “both” and when I looked COMPLETELY confused, he patiently explained it all.
I don't recall winning or losing ever being an issue. Instead I was always asked if I did the best I could do and he was proud regardless.
I don’t recall my dad ever missing a single meet or game.
Well . . . maybe once.
I was on the high school diving team. I remember telling him our meet was in E-town. The meet came and went. I was SO upset because I never spotted his face in the crowd AND he was my ride home. As I exited the building he appeared.
“Where have you BEEN???” I asked, surely with my classic annoyed tone.
“Stephanie,” he asked “WHERE are we?”
My face dropped and my heart raced.
“EKU” I replied.
“And is that E-town?” he asked.
“No. . .” I said, dropping my head.
"Well, howd'ya do tonight?" he asked.
He had driven 85 miles to Elizabethtown (E-town – like I’d told him) only to find out there was NO swim meet there, driven 117 miles back to Eastern Kentucky University (in Richmond, KY) to pick me up, then 27 miles home. It was a LONG 27 miles.
I don’t recall him seeming very upset with me although I think now, I know better.

This is just one story. One story out of hundreds I could tell you. No matter what they are or how they began, they all end the same; with a hug, a kiss and an “I love you.”
Why did I choose THESE things to tell you about my dad?
Because to me, they are examples of his love and devotion to his family, his determination to make his life better so our lives could be better, his patience in raising a daughter, and the honorable way in which he accomplished them all.

He is one of only two people I trust with my world, my life and my unconditional love.
He is unfailing.
He is my hero.
He is so much more than a father; he is all the stuff that comes after.
He is my daddy and I am so proud to be his daughter.
Happy Birthday!
I love you so very much.
Your chick a dee,
Dork-ette.

Dinner Part 2 - and "you say Good-bye and I say Hello"

It had been the better part of a year since I had people over to my home for a dinner. Several new coworkers and others have asked the question, "why do you do all that? Special occasion?"
I know my immediate response was "no, but why not? It's what I like to do."
But I've thought about it.
I know - ME thinking about something comes as a surprise!
I resolve to this answer.
Friends, they are the people you get to choose to surround yourself with. Each of them bring something to your life, each of them have a part of MY life. I love having them near, hearing them laugh, feeling their hugs, listening to their stories and making memories with them.
When these things happen, it makes my soul settle into this amazing happiness - brought on purely by their company.
So the fact that I like to cook and tend to do it well, that Real Simple and Pier One have taught me to create an inviting, warm atmosphere, it just all boils down to being a gift perhaps.
Something I can give to them for ALL they give to me.
My friends
Are Gifts.


This past weekend was ridiculous and is causing me to head to the barn, dust off the wagon, climb aboard and sit there until a horse comes and pulls me away. I should detail out the night but all you need to know was the send-off was done and done well! Now, where is that wagon. . . or right, I need to finish this story. Short term brain cells. . . Heeeeeere short term brain cells. . .



Thursday night. . . man o man Thursday night. Thursday night was my dear friend Jacob's going away party. My liver has fallen at the hands of this man more times than I can't count.
Jacob and I met in 1998 (I think, maybe it was 1999. It IS possible he caused me to lose an entire year!) He was a bartender at a la lucie's and when he moved down the road to Le Deauville, I of course followed. Over the past 10 years he has become one of my dearest friends. TEN years. That's a long time, longer than some marriages.
He's moving to a new town, new people, new job, new everything. I am so excited for him - but the selfish side of me is going to miss walking into that bar, sitting in my seat and having a talk with NOT a bartender, but my friend. Eight hours is a long way to drive for a drink; but a drink with a good friend makes it not seem that bad.
Good friends are hard to come by. When you find them - you never want them to go. No matter how much fun they're going to have.



Fittingly enough, that same evening, I said "hello" to two friends I hadn't seen in almost 1/2 a year.
It made me realize that some things just need to be forgiven and moved past; that hugs can heal better than any spoken words and that if all else fails. . . add wine! (and maybe some tequila!)
Indeed, good friends are hard to come by.
But they are worth the wait.



Friday night. . . well hell, Friday night was the Halloween Party, but this blog has turned out way sappier than I had anticipated so as to not ruin it, I'll write about Friday night - later.

But I will leave you with this!

Dinner - Part 1

There are those days when you wake up and think, “THIS is going to be a great day”.
Then there are those you . . . well, ya just don’t. Saturday was one such day.
My eyes rolled open (in panic) about 6:20am. I had been up stuffing pork until 1am Friday night. After a mental scan of all I had yet to do, I forced myself back to sleep only for my internal “Get your ass up and go get bread” alarm to ring at 8:08am.
Jeans on, t-shirt on, mascara and lip balm so you don’t look dead . . . on.
I traveled to Wine & Market for coffee and the best focaccia known to mankind.
I met and shared coffee with Krim (the owner) and newly met neighbors. After about an hour I gathered my bread and headed for home.
Upon arriving home I, to my COMPLETE dismay (tee hee hee), discovered I had managed to nibble HALF of one loaf – GONE! Shamefully I drove BACK to Wine and Market to pick up a replacement.
On on to Mom and Dad’s to do laundry and have another cup of coffee and get some puppy play time in!
1:00pm - home again where the cleaning and furniture moving began. By the time I looked up it was 4:00pm. SERIOUSLY??? Now official panic mode set in as I threw myself to the mercy of the shower. It would have to perform a miracle on my already aching back and feet. Make-up went smooth; hair was behaving (so far) and the two Advil I chugged down with a bottle of water would hopefully scare off any further aches and pains.
It wasn’t until 5:00 pm during the 1.5 mile drive to pick up Emily that I realized exactly HOW behind I was. Now all I could do was laugh and pray for wine.
Emily was a savior. We tag-teamed the final prep - I owe my fingers to her for I surely would have chopped one . . . or two, off in haste. She poured a glass of wine for us and with a clink of the class the night commenced.

Janie was the first to arrive and became the official Illuminator of the candles.
The rest arrived around 6:30 as I finished washing the last dish of prep.
I turned to see my home, softly lit by candlelight, my beautiful friends with smiling faces and laughter coming in for a round of hugs and I woke up again.
With a deep sigh I thought, THIS is going to be a good night.
I couldn’t have been more correct.