What do you give a man in his mid eighties? (This isn't a set-up for a joke...)
What do you give a man in his mid eighties who has five kids and three grand-daughters? Who has a wife (also in her eighties), extended family and friends still around, and a dog who adores him? (Though she chases him down the dark hallway at night,growling, when he heads for the bathroom...)
What do you give a man in his mid eighties with lots of friends and family and a dog who loves him, for his birthday, Christmas, anniversary and Fathers' Day?
As he,himself, has pointed out, repeatedly: "A guy can only wear so many pairs of socks..."
Or tee-shirts (regardless of the wit printed on the chest); or khakis (chinos in his vernacular); or ties (even though he attends at least three funerals a week and enough rubber-chicken luncheons and benefits to rival a senator); pairs of sneakers (he keeps Krazy Gluing the three pairs he actually wears--the others have various deficiencies only his feet can identify...); sweaters and sweatshirts (he only wears the tees at home, wondering why he is constantly chilled...) after shave and colognes (OLD SPICE ORIGINAL and Aqua Velva, still;forever...).
In recent years he has cut down on the power tool usage--many being handed over to my brothers who actually have homes where powertool jobs are routine. However, in the cellar and garage, workshops remain. There are the answers we all look for on these gift-bearing occasions.
The garage: home to his newest hobby: gardening. Or: the yard.
The backyard and side yard and front yard are small. His mower is mighty--outweighing him by a few hundred pounds. It takes gas and oil and needs all sorts of screwdrivers and wrenches and wires and fuses and duct tape and rubber things and wheels and compressed air to run. It makes the kind of roaring sound he used to make on weekends...He loves his mower. He will not replace his mower. He will fiddle and twiddle and tweak but he will not upgrade. "I will die over this mower," he has been heard to mutter.
(My sister Ann fully expects this.)
My sister Bren is a gardener in a serious way. Flowers AND veggies. She usually buys him plants and seedlings and potted babies that she helps him set up and try to grow. (Dad overwaters, over sprays, absently cuts down--with the powermower--and basically truncates the lives of the green things in his care. However, he has a helluva time doing it.) Ann, my other sister, also a gardener (but of vines and flowers and animal friendly things) adds to the collection each year. They have tried upside down guaranteed to grow tomato plants and peppers. (He backed the car into the tomato stands...and the peppers grew something small and green and evil tasting--they actually scared me as they sat on the kitchen table after being proudly picked at the end of the season by Dad. They had mutated after their once a week bug spraying routine...). He watered the wildflower seed mats they bought him--also guaranteed to grow (but not on a floodplain). Still, stuff does rise.
He points that out proudly, every year. So they know what to get him.
His granddaughters and daughters- in- law and sons rely on electronics. (I sometimes wonder if they are making up for the powertools...). While he won't allow us to pry his JITTERBUG from its hip holster, he will allow flashlights; car interior gadgets; anything that makes noise or moves--solar powered is the newest preferred genre.
Solar paneled bird houses and feeders; a lighthouse on the front lawn; surveillance lights all around the perimeter of the house; in- the- garage- alarms; bug zappers; field lanterns; air compressors; auto vaccums...Dad has all of them in multiples. (You wonder who buys this stuff you see in the hand-shot commercials? My family does: for Dad.)
Oh, there are also the garden critters--the fairy balls and leprechauns and statues of exotic animals...there are whirligigs and metal sculptures. (Last year he put a wire-formed dog sculpture in the backyard garden amid the lillies--but he couldn't find the head....This year it appeared re-incarnated with a new head...he had soldered the old one backwards so the tail was on the neck..."Looks like an elephant. don't ya think?"...)
I have until Sunday. The entire clan plans an all-day bar-b-que. This afternoon,Ann and I and Maeve the dog are traveling to New Hampshire, to buy a special dessert. On the drive, I will be thinking about dashing back home to find an appropriate present for this Fathers' Day...something unique...loving...sensitive...reflecting all I feel and what I think of his persona...
I saw a solar-powered whistling gnome at the hardware store...(It would fit very well in the last patch of shamrocks by the back porch...)
Happy Fathers' Day!
What do you give a man in his mid eighties who has five kids and three grand-daughters? Who has a wife (also in her eighties), extended family and friends still around, and a dog who adores him? (Though she chases him down the dark hallway at night,growling, when he heads for the bathroom...)
What do you give a man in his mid eighties with lots of friends and family and a dog who loves him, for his birthday, Christmas, anniversary and Fathers' Day?
As he,himself, has pointed out, repeatedly: "A guy can only wear so many pairs of socks..."
Or tee-shirts (regardless of the wit printed on the chest); or khakis (chinos in his vernacular); or ties (even though he attends at least three funerals a week and enough rubber-chicken luncheons and benefits to rival a senator); pairs of sneakers (he keeps Krazy Gluing the three pairs he actually wears--the others have various deficiencies only his feet can identify...); sweaters and sweatshirts (he only wears the tees at home, wondering why he is constantly chilled...) after shave and colognes (OLD SPICE ORIGINAL and Aqua Velva, still;forever...).
In recent years he has cut down on the power tool usage--many being handed over to my brothers who actually have homes where powertool jobs are routine. However, in the cellar and garage, workshops remain. There are the answers we all look for on these gift-bearing occasions.
The garage: home to his newest hobby: gardening. Or: the yard.
The backyard and side yard and front yard are small. His mower is mighty--outweighing him by a few hundred pounds. It takes gas and oil and needs all sorts of screwdrivers and wrenches and wires and fuses and duct tape and rubber things and wheels and compressed air to run. It makes the kind of roaring sound he used to make on weekends...He loves his mower. He will not replace his mower. He will fiddle and twiddle and tweak but he will not upgrade. "I will die over this mower," he has been heard to mutter.
(My sister Ann fully expects this.)
My sister Bren is a gardener in a serious way. Flowers AND veggies. She usually buys him plants and seedlings and potted babies that she helps him set up and try to grow. (Dad overwaters, over sprays, absently cuts down--with the powermower--and basically truncates the lives of the green things in his care. However, he has a helluva time doing it.) Ann, my other sister, also a gardener (but of vines and flowers and animal friendly things) adds to the collection each year. They have tried upside down guaranteed to grow tomato plants and peppers. (He backed the car into the tomato stands...and the peppers grew something small and green and evil tasting--they actually scared me as they sat on the kitchen table after being proudly picked at the end of the season by Dad. They had mutated after their once a week bug spraying routine...). He watered the wildflower seed mats they bought him--also guaranteed to grow (but not on a floodplain). Still, stuff does rise.
He points that out proudly, every year. So they know what to get him.
His granddaughters and daughters- in- law and sons rely on electronics. (I sometimes wonder if they are making up for the powertools...). While he won't allow us to pry his JITTERBUG from its hip holster, he will allow flashlights; car interior gadgets; anything that makes noise or moves--solar powered is the newest preferred genre.
Solar paneled bird houses and feeders; a lighthouse on the front lawn; surveillance lights all around the perimeter of the house; in- the- garage- alarms; bug zappers; field lanterns; air compressors; auto vaccums...Dad has all of them in multiples. (You wonder who buys this stuff you see in the hand-shot commercials? My family does: for Dad.)
Oh, there are also the garden critters--the fairy balls and leprechauns and statues of exotic animals...there are whirligigs and metal sculptures. (Last year he put a wire-formed dog sculpture in the backyard garden amid the lillies--but he couldn't find the head....This year it appeared re-incarnated with a new head...he had soldered the old one backwards so the tail was on the neck..."Looks like an elephant. don't ya think?"...)
I have until Sunday. The entire clan plans an all-day bar-b-que. This afternoon,Ann and I and Maeve the dog are traveling to New Hampshire, to buy a special dessert. On the drive, I will be thinking about dashing back home to find an appropriate present for this Fathers' Day...something unique...loving...sensitive...reflecting all I feel and what I think of his persona...
I saw a solar-powered whistling gnome at the hardware store...(It would fit very well in the last patch of shamrocks by the back porch...)
Happy Fathers' Day!
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