Windmill and Memories of My Father

I spent most of the day washing windows and am about two-thirds finished. It's not that I have so many windows, it's that I'm very particular about the way it's done and what the result is.

When I had finished for the day, I sat at my kitchen counter and had a cup of coffee. The view from the counter is out a window looking into my patio. Hanging from the eave is a windmill my father made from a couple of beer cans more than 20 years ago. The paint on the cans has faded. It never was an object of beauty, but whenever I see it, I think of him. That's the reason for its prominent place in my line of sight. He died in 1991 and I still miss him.

He was a quiet man. He was a good mechanic and would have preferred to be a mechanical engineer, but never had the opportunity for an education beyond high school. He wasn't demonstrative, but I knew that he loved me and would do anything for me. This little windmill is a reminder each day of all the other little things he did. I watched him make it, and I can still see him doing it.

Thanks, Dad, for all your love and kindness. I miss you.