He Was a Damn Good Man - A Daughter's Eulogy to Her Father

Dad and Me March 2012

Looking out today I see many familiar faces of family and friends . . . It is such a healing gift to be surrounded by your love for my father. Thank you for coming and showing my family and me that he holds a special place in your heart too. 

I have struggled to find the right words, the right stories that would speak truly of my father . . . he was an example that I looked up too, an inspiration. We didn’t always see eye to eye. It wasn't always easy being with him, but so what? Easy doesn't always equal good. Being a father isn't always easy. Or being a husband, or a friend, for that matter. But he was a damn good man.

You see, I had a father for 82 years and have only NOT had a father for four days, so any thing I say today must be understood as the words of someone only four days old.  But still I will try.  Indeed, this trying - this effort to accomplish the seemingly impossible - is a gift I’ve received from my dad.

He was the most tenacious person I knew.  Ferocious, focused and fueled by a need to be his own man, accomplishing this in countless ways well into his later years.  To him, it wasn’t “my way or the highway,” it was “my way or the my way.”  The right way and dad’s way were one and the same. Especially when it came to doing things with his hands.

Dad had mastered the craft of a carpenter; building the house my brother and I grew up in.  There was always a project to be done, whether for family or friends who had hired him. I remember when I was young, the joy I’d have on Saturday mornings, climbing into his old pick up truck, with the rattles and creeks as he shifted the huge gear shift sticking out of the floor as we went to the hardware store to get his list of supplies. 

He’d hustle me along as I meandered and stared in amazement at all the tools and bins and bins of nails.  I’m sure I talked non-stop, with question after question.  But since I was asking about something he was interested in and knowledgeable about, the answers were full of patience and explanations.  He was always introducing me, “This is my baby.” Today, I am a professional seamstress/fashion designer and my brother is a woodworker, I know that our creative processes and workmanship skills were imbedded in us from Dad and his love of the perfection of carpentry.

However, carpentry wasn’t the only thing Dad did with his hands.  He was a skilled chef . . . though he always referred to himself as a cook. But I know he could stand up against some of the greatest names out there.  Maybe not in finesse, but for sure in taste and flavor!  He learned the skill of this trade while in the army, his food was simple but he could take a recipe for four and easily make it just as delicious for 400.

I would sit in the kitchen chair, watch him and observe . . . chopping, dicing, slicing . . . taking tastes, adding more of one ingredient then a sprinkle of this and a dash of that.  I learned much during those years of watching him. And once again . . . I’m so like my Dad.  I have the same passion for cooking, perhaps a bit more refined with varied ethnicities than him, but there’s no denying where my drive came from. The kitchen was the first place I headed when I got the phone call from Mom of his passing. It gives me the same serenity and peace that it gave him.

The past several years, he’d love when I cooked dinner and provided for him.  Sometimes he was never quite sure what it was that he was eating, but “um um, this is good.”  I always felt I’d earned his respect in the kitchen when I prepared all the food for their 50^th wedding anniversary.  It was so difficult for him to take that step back and watch, but he did. And after that, every time he spoke of that day, the gleam in his blue eyes twinkled with pride.

Mom and Dad have been together over 61 years now.  Yes, today is about him and the celebration of his life.  But I want to take a moment to thank her for the love, support and care she has given him.  Many days and times were difficult, but she made his life richer, fuller and rewarding.  My father's last years were not easy. Always used to being in control, he found it hard to concede to the body's imperfection and the growing need to depend on Mom for support. Always a giver, now he had to receive. Always the one in charge, now he was the charge of others.  Mom took on that role and did it well.  For that I am eternally grateful. 

Up until recently, I’d work with Dad on what he’d want to get Mom for Christmas.  Often times my picking something up for him, then showing it to him before it was wrapped and placed under the tree. Sometimes he’d know exactly what he wanted but felt the need to check with me to see if she’d like it.  He never wanted to disappoint her.  The earrings she wore last night . . . I’d forgotten about them until she put them on.  Dad and I had snuck off together one day, who knows what errand we told her we were doing, and went to the jewelry store.  He’d had them all picked out but was unsure of them.  I knew immediately Mom would love them!!  And she did.

Dad and I had just spoken last Tuesday.  I’d called from my vacation to check up on them after hearing of the storms in the area. As always, Mom said, “Here, talk to your Dad” then she proceeded to hand him the phone, not waiting for my reply. We chatted a bit and he closed with, “We just called to check up on you . . .” I chuckled to myself, not bothering to correct him.  “All right Dad, I’m doing good and I’ll see you soon” I replied. Little did I know that I really would be seeing him soon, less than a week later lying in his casket. So many telephone conversations I never could have recalled what we spoke about, but this one, for some reason, gave me a laugh and a smile. I’m so grateful I have those final words to keep in my heart and stash in my memory.  I know he’ll always be checking up on me.

Dad, today your body is going to a place I’m not ready for.  You’ll have to go there alone.  But we’ll all join you some day, and I will look forward to that time when we can raise a glass and toast to our memories and live in eternal peace together forever and ever.

Rest in peace, waltz the night away and know that I love you.  Always have.  Always will.  You’re my Dad, and a damn good man.

Love, Aprons, Cast Iron Skillets, Spices Create Valentine’s Memory

Thanks to my Grandma, the early days of my youth laid the foundation for my adventuresome foray into foods and spending time in the kitchen. It’s that affinity for the explosion of tastes and textures that I look for in recipes today. I love whiling away the hours in one of her old aprons, they give me the courage and strength to experiment and to keep trying and not ever feel defeated by ingredients and processes.

One of the most audacious dishes I’d done in a long time was for Valentine’s Day last year. Braised lamb shanks with kale out of the latest issue of Bon Appetite – YUM! The shanks were generously coated with a spice mixture of cinnamon, cardamom, and flour; then seared on all sides in my Grandmother’s old cast iron skillet. Every time I use it, I know it exudes love into what ever I’m making. I wanted this meal to be special and full of love. The remaining spice mixture was combined with scallions, garlic, tomatoes, golden raisins, saffron threads, ground cloves and beef stock then cooked down to a bubbly, thick sauce which braised the shanks. Braising takes hours, as the smells permeated the house our stomachs began to rumble. I swear at one point, when I opened the oven door to check the progress, I saw a rivulet of drool about to escape out of the corner of my boyfriend’s mouth, he vehemently denies it!

Once the meat was cooked, I stirred in Lacinato kale, a very dark, almost forest green, less curly leaf. The taste and meatiness of it was superb, as well as a wonderful compliment to the plethora of spices and headiness of the lamb. The shanks and sauce were succulent with meat falling off the bone. I served roasted, ruby red beets and a simple bulgur wheat to accompany the entree. It was spectacular and delicious, a real restaurant quality meal.

For dessert, I made an old family recipe –thanks again Grandma! A deep, dark, sweet, rich chocolate cake that forms a pudding on the bottom while it bakes. Served flipped and warm, topped with fresh whipped cream that oozes and melts into the pudding and large, plump, juicy raspberries on the side. It is a very orgasmic dessert, perfect for this Valentine’s celebration. The entire meal was one we’ll never forget.

Memories are a wonderful thing . . . conjuring up images, feelings, and smells of days and decades past. I continue to make new ones in the kitchen for us, wearing my Grandma’s stained, old apron, using her skillet. It’s those of special occasions that will always be the first to come to mind. I raise my glass of Petite Syrah and toast my Grandmother and thank her for all that she taught me! And to my Sweetie, I love him very much! She passed in 2003 at 91; I hope I have her longevity, in life and in my relationship. Salute!!