How do you like my new letter box?
I've always wanted one of these stone letter receptacles and finally I have one. Bit of an impulse buy for myself on Fathers Day. Why should Dad have all the presents?
It was probably time. The old one was on the other side of the driveway, being engulfed by a daisy bush. I am sure it used to give the postie the shits, having to fight with a daisy bush, let alone our dog who is obsessed with barking at things with wheels. Or maybe it's just the postie. That aside when I tried to bend the metal pole to remove the old letter box, the rust had eaten it and it broke off straight away. Totally justified the 99 dollars I dropped on the new one.
There was some words thrown about concerning where the number eight should go, with me stating it would go wherever I bloody well wanted it to. I've Tarzan gripped it there so it doesn't "move".
Last night was spent at my sister's having dinner with Dad. Roast pork with all the trimmings.
I love listening to Dad tell stories. He talked about the wolves in the mountains in Spain. How they would attack at night, that they wouldn't attack alone. If they came across you alone, they would howl to call for help with the kill. Scary shit.
He said his first job out of the army was as a goat herder. They would leave at 8am and take the goats up the mountains, when the sun was high in the sky (noon), they'd start bringing them back down and lock them under the house for the night, so the wolves wouldn't get them. He'd seen lambs torn in half, like the wolves had used a knife.
In the army (which was mandatory) he became a chauffeur because he couldn't shoot for shit. They sent him to school for two weeks so he could pass his licence exam, and he drove generals and military big wigs around, mainly to pubs apparently. Well not mainly, but it did come up in conversation.
We remembered the time he made soup for us and stirred it with a plastic spoon, which melted and disappeared into the soup. The time he made my nephews pancakes and used garlic powder instead of flour. They didn't get eaten. "These pancakes don't smell right Pop".
I'm glad I've written it here actually, because I am forever telling myself to write this sort of stuff down otherwise it's one ear and out the other, and one day he won't be around to talk about it.
My Dad's mum had dementia, I hope he doesn't go down that path. But it's starting to seem like he is, according to Mum anyway, and she spends the most time with him. It saddens me to think he will not be my strong, invincible Dad forever, just a shell. I want to hear more stories.
