A String of Pearls

Without music, life would be a mistake

Friedrich Nietzsche

Right before my birthday, my baby brother came by to watch John Adams and enjoy a belated St. Patrick's day dinner with us. While he was here, there was an inexplicable accident when his flash drive fell onto my laptop and transferred some of his music into my i-tunes. Well it can't be helped now. Sometime later, I perused the list of music that mysteriously appeared. It was some of the "old" music there that brought a tear to my eye. This is music my father taught us all to love. These songs made up the fabric of our lives growing up with my Dad. Suddenly, I was missing him something fierce and I know that by finding this song in my new i tunes list, my brother was too. Today was my Dad's birthday and I want to thank him.

My father taught me many things in life. I think my stubbornness in part came from him. I can stick to something and see it through. One of his favorite sayings was "let's throw some shit on the wall and see how much sticks." I still ponder this saying frequently. What the hell does that mean? Whatever it is, I'm unafraid to think outside the box. He was an accomplished philosopher and by default, I like to think I am too. If I live to be 81 like him, maybe I'll understand his saying. I hope so. It gives me something to look forward to.

My father taught me to cherish and nurture friendships. He was an avid "golfer". Going golfing was a euphemism for hanging out with friends. He played cards weekly with his pals right after he duffed his way around the golf course. He continued this well into his 7th decade of life. He always had plans and those plans always included his friends, a cigar, a deck of cards and sometimes a little Glenfiddich Reserve. The lesson learned here is that friends are the family we choose; he chose well. At Dad's funeral, his children made sure he had a few cigars and a deck of cards in his pocket. We kept the scotch. Dad didn't raise fools.

My father taught me many things in respect to food. Number one is I am not a picky eater (none of us are). We enjoyed a variety of food growing up and we always had it in abundance. He also liked his food BIG. Now, I don't really need a huge amount of food nor huge food. This always impressed my Dad. He liked to talk about his last meal while he was eating his current meal and reflecting on his next meal. Being a product of the depression, I can see where his worry of food came from. Lots of people of this era discuss food all the time. My favorite cookbook is the one my Dad gave me and inscribed. It is an Arabic cookbook-and this is our heritage. It's dog-eared, well loved and used often. I don't lend it out. Another thing I learned from him is to always thank whoever prepared the food with the ultimate compliment: "that was utterly delicious."

I got my love of reading from my father; all four of his children are avid readers. I treasure the ability of getting absorbed in books. My Dad taught me how to tune out the soundtrack of everyday life and get lost in an author's world. He was so adept at this that the house could burn down around him and unless the flames licked at his lazy boy chair, he wouldn't notice. I have inherited this trait. In my house, it's a gift. It was a sad day when Dad lost his eyesight from macular degeneration and couldn't see to read anymore. Books on tape just aren't the same as the thrill of a page-turner in your hands. The written word is a powerful thing.

My Dad adored movies. All movies. Sad ones (he would cry each time he watched Heidi). Funny ones (he loved to laugh). Movies with intrigue were a close second only to spy novels. He loved historic epics. It didn't matter if movies were old or new although when he passed, we did have an extraordinary collection of World War II era movies we inherited. John Wayne seems to have been a favorite followed closely by anything with Humphrey Bogart. When I was young, he used to call me Sarah Bernhardt. Being young, I didn't know that he meant that I was overly dramatic. I've always loved the name Sarah. Guess what I named my first born? Yep. No h.

Music was an everyday part of my life growing up. The house was filled with my Dad's music all the time. And dance? When my parents danced it was like watching Ginger Rodgers and Fred Astaire. I always thought it was so romantic. When we went to parties that included dancing, my Mom and Dad drew an audience. When I was young, they threw parties at the house. The basement would be cleared out to make room for a dance floor. I used to sneak down the steps to watch. I was enchanted. Heck, my parents met right after the war in a ballroom. They were married a few months later and made it more than half a century together.



I love this gift my Dad (and Mom) gave me too. This love of all music but especially the music of their generation. There is a romance to their genre of music that others lack. So when I came upon this song in my i-tunes, put there by my brother, I immediately remembered the lyrics. Yes, I can sing along to the Mill's Brothers. I know the lyrics to all their songs. I'm sure my Dad wouldn't mind that this song is put to this montage. He'd be able to tell you each and every movie clip used-as he sang the lyrics to this song. I'm sure when they read this post, my sister and brothers will be singing along too. The songs in today's playlist were some of my dad's favorites. Mine too.

Happy Birthday Dad, I miss you.