HAPPY ANNIVERSARY SEATTLE! 
Here’s to 30!
Celebrating 30 years of living in Seattle
January 22, 2024

I spent my first 18 years growing up on Long Island (New York) and called it home for the four years I was at Davidson College in North Carolina and a year or two after college while working in the city For Brooks Brothers and living with my Mom and Dad on Long Island.

Brooks Brothers moved me to Hartford, Connecticut in 1985 where I lived 4 years.

In 1989, I matriculated at Cornell University for a graduate degree, and I lived in Ithaca, New York (Finger Lakes) for 2 years.

1991-1993 were spent in Ridgewood, New Jersey at my first hospital administration role.

But on January 22, 1994, I finished my westbound, cross-country travels in my Honda Accord and crossed the I-90 Floating Bridge, drove through the Mount Baker tunnel, and

arrived in Seattle, Washington. My new home! It was driven by love (which was unwelcomed, later to evolve and over the years emerged into an amazing, wonderful different kind of love.)

So today, I celebrate, honor, question, wipe a tear and I smile. Today marks 30 years of residence in the Pacific Northwest, specifically Seattle, Washington.

Over the last 30 years, I have had over 8 different jobs here in metropolitan Seattle, 5 in healthcare administration. I took a chance and opened my own retail store OSLO’s; only 5

years later to close it. And I had a 12-year love affair with a golden retriever who was the namesake of the store. I have lived on Queen Anne Hill for 29 ó years (in the same

apartment). I served as the Junior Warden of St. Mark's Episcopal Cathedral, the President of the Puget Sound Healthcare Executive Forum, and a served as a board member of the Seattle Bravo Club. I reinvigorated the United Way Campaign at Evergreen Healthcare to raise over $100,000 from employees was named one of the 1999 Campaign Coordinators

of the Year. In 2007, I was recognized by Menswear Magazine as owning one of the best men’s stores in the country.

But what really happened in those 30 years?

I was at the Seattle Gym (I have been a member for 30 years) when the World Trade Centers were attacked back on the east coast, we stood and watched the second plane fly into the second tower and slowly we put our dumbbells down and went home. I volunteered for the Seattle Commons in South Lake Union, a proposed “Central Park” from Lake Union

to the then existing downtown. It failed to a new baseball stadium. I went to work at Evergreen Healthcare in a tuxedo for W2K just in case the computers all failed at midnight. I

stood outside a gay bar and danced in the street when Barack Obama was elected President. And a few years later, I took my t-shirt off and proudly danced at my first Gay Pride street party at the Cuff.

I went to the opening of the new Nordstroms new downtown flagship, and ran the St. Patty’s Day Dash on the Viaduct, and soaked in the views of Puget Sound and the Olympics

Mountains before the viaduct was torn down and the tunnel became the fast way to the airport. I recall when the Opera House renovated, the Kingdome imploded, and the Seattle

Art Museum moved downtown, followed by the Seattle Symphony after building Benaroya Hall. I listened to CDs on Friday nights at the new Barnes & Nobles at the old shopping

center that became the new University Village. At some time or another, I had season tickets to the Seattle Supersonics, Intiman Theatre, Seattle Opera, and the Seattle Mariners. I watched Ichiro adjust his sleeve hundreds of times before setting up for the next pitch at the new Safeco Stadium in 2001 with 116 wins.

I took Norwegian lessons at the old Nordic Museum and slept through Greek mythology lectures at Burke Museum on the UW campus. Some days I ran around Green Lake, other days I walked around Green Lake with Oslo, and still other days, I accompanied a friend around Green Lake while we momentarily thought we had solved the problems of the big world, or our world, or at least a job, or a relationship issue during the 3 mile loop.

I experienced with my parents Wagner's Ring Cycle at Seattle Opera and the Nutcracker performed by Pacific Northwest Ballet and took my parents to Folklife in Seattle Center. I listened and cheered to Dionne Warwick, James Taylor, Beyonce, and Burt Bacharach perform live, to name just a few, and I danced under the moon on the pier to Hit Explosion with new friends. And I jumped up and down with other friends at a small intimate Super Bowl Party (replicated throughout the city) when the Seahawks won the Super Bowl in 2014.

I fell in love, cried during breakups, finally came out, and with time reconnected with past loves who became best friends. I officiated a friend’s wedding and danced at many other friends’ wedding receptions. And I walked for Breast Cancer, wore a pink hat in the Women’s March in 2016 and cried when same sex marriages were legally recognized.

I have seen the Tulips in Skagit Valley, been to birthday parties in Palm Springs, mistakenly driven over the Snoqualmie Pass in a snowstorm, hiked with friends in Whistler, BC, driven the loop around the Olympic Peninsula and walked in the Hoh Rainforest, been to “Paradise” (south slope of Mt. Rainier) and enjoyed Chuckanut Drive on a Sunday afternoon. And I ran with Oslo in the surf of the Pacific Ocean. Spent weekends in Spokane, Portland and Vancouver, BC. Drank Aperol Spritzes on Orcas Island. I have attended Spring Training in Arizona, and admired the flowers in Butchart Gardens in Victoria, BC.I have

shopped fashion in Los Angeles for Oslo’s, skied in Sun Valley and left my heart in San Francisco.

And all the oh so many, hip, and very trendy, new Seattle restaurants, been there, done them. The coffee shops, and the local brewery and wine cellars. I learned to use mobile

apps. Ha, I had a landline, a BlackBerry, a flip phone and an Apple. And of course, the sudden realization to pause, to turn, and to watch the sun set over the Olympic Mountains.

Done the street fairs, watched the naked bicyclists pass by, seen the hydroplane boats and the Seafair Pirates, walked on the new glass floor on the Space Needle. And toured the

neighborhoods, shopped the nursery in the Spring and eaten Frangos at Christmas. I have stood on my deck to watch the July 4th Fireworks over Lake Union and stood in line at

Larsen’s Danish Bakery for a fresh Kringle on Christmas Eve. And of course, the ferry rides, “Come on we gotta get out of the car and stand on the upper outside deck and see the views” as the ferry skims across Puget Sound.

These memories are my life’s memories.

And life happens. And I have lived more of my years here than elsewhere. I have said goodbye to my parents, a few colleagues and a few friends and come home, sat quietly, reflected and listened to my favorites playlist. I have enjoyed the community I have found at Betty’s my neighborhood restaurant. I have endured a lot of rainy days. New construction downtown has finally blocked my view of Mt. Rainier, but my daily “good

morning” to the mountain continues. I still gasp in awe when I turn a corner and there is a full view of Mount Rainier. Watching the sun rise over the Cascades on a sunny morning still

captures my attention.

And I know I have been enriched with friends, some who I have known for 29+ years (you know who you are), others who came and then disappeared and then others who I met just a moment ago. I have had experiences that have brought joy, laughter, tears, and heartache.

Everchanging. One of the few things we can count on in life. After 30 years, I am uncertain where, when or what will come next, none of us ever do, but the Emerald City has enchanted me for past 30 years and I smile in what has been just simply, my life.

Happy 30th Anniversary Seattle!

WELCOME to the Celebration of Life ~ Patricia Morgan

I was asked by family members to welcome their family and friends as the Celebration of Life began honoring their Mother: Patricia Morgan.

Read on August 6th, 2023 in Spokane, Washington

Good morning.

 

What a beautiful summer day as we come together to celebrate, to honor, to remember, to say goodbye. 

 

This is our time to share, our love, our stories, our regrets and our memories of an accomplished women, mother, friend, grandmother, neighbor, attorney, and nurse. A lover of the arts local and beyond and an active member of the Spokane community. 

 

Today we share our memories.  Your memories will join together with others’ memories.

 

Today we begin to create a beautiful tapestry of our shared memories that will help us keep Pat alive in our hearts and minds. 

 

Today is as much about Pat as it is about our own individual loss.

 

Today we come together to listen, to laugh, to learn, to cry, to celebrate, to remind us of how lucky we all are to have had Pat a part of our lives. 

 

Pat Morgan. 

 

Patricia Bladykas Hall Morgan… as I liked to call her. 

 

On behalf of her family, Jennifer, Emily, Wendy, Baxter and Edi, We welcome you.  

 

I am John, a family friend. I met Pat 31 years ago in 1992, Pat and Emily had traveled east to attend Jennifer’s graduate school graduation.  When I moved to Seattle, I would see Pat on her trips to Seattle and my trips to Spokane. I always knew I had Pat’s support as my friendship with her daughter grew, stumbled, changed direction and went the distance as lifetime friends. I was honored that her daughters, Jennifer and Emily, asked me to open today’s celebration. 

 

To start today, let me take just a moment to share my favorite Pat story. 

 

Pat and I were both Long Islanders. We both grew up on Long Island and we talked about it occasionally when we were together. A twin, Pat and her sister Betty, “The Bladykas Twins” as I use to call them to her daughters, had a tradition of getting their childhood girlfriends together for a long weekend of catching up, sightseeing in whatever city they had chosen to meet up in, sharing memories and having fun.  One weekend when Pat was hosting at Jennifer’s condo in Seattle, Pat called me up (I lived a few blocks away) and said the girls were in town (I thought she meant Jennifer and Emily). But mistaken, much to my surprise, l later learned and met the “Long Island Ladies!” 

 

The Long Island Ladies, had come together in Seattle to do their thing and to continue to nurture their own unique and special friendship. Pat asked me to join them for lunch at Café Campagne down at the Pike’s Place market. So off I went. And I had lunch with these 4-5 accomplished ladies sharing their lives and catching up. We laughed and talked about Long Island and had a grand time. Truly one of my favorite memories of Pat and her twin Betty. 

 

When Pat’s sister Betty died, I shared this story with Jennifer and to her astonishment she said: “Emily and I were never invited to the Long Island Ladies’ weekends… How the heck did you get to attend?” 

 

I shrugged and simply said maybe because I grew up on Long Island? It was a unique day, where I became aware of a different Pat, a lady beyond just my friends’ mother. And the stories they shared were fun and rich. 

 

I smile every time I think about that luncheon. I can so clearly see us sitting at the table together chatting and sharing. And all those ladies who were celebrating, living, learning and their friendship. I like to think they are with us today. It was a special luncheon I will never forget. It was a gift Pat offered to me. Thank you Pat for that afternoon and all the treasured memories.

 

Pat would have loved to be here today, and she is… She is in all our hearts and in our minds and she will live on in our memories. She is, though, intently listening, smiling, laughing along with us and loving that this morning we came together to celebrate her life and her love. 

 

On behalf of Pat’s family, we are honored you are with us this morning. 

 

After the family and a few of her close friends honor Pat’s memory and her influence on their own lives, We will honor Pat, together, with a toast, assuring she begins her new journey keeping an eye on all of us.

 

We then will adjourn briefly to the lobby while the staff of the Spokane Club sets up a wonderful brunch for us to enjoy. During that brunch, we welcome you to share your own stories and to enjoy the photo montage. 

 

Come back into this room, talk to someone you don’t know, but knew Pat. Share your memories. This morning is a special morning for all of us to come together. It is through our stories we gain strength and keep Pat present in our hearts. 

 

Together we weave a new tapestry to warm our memories of Pat Morgan. Head home to your own personal lives remembering Pat and the intricate ways our time this morning weaved together, the sharing, the tears, the laughter and the beauty.  Cherish how it enriched our souls and preserved her memory in our hearts.  

 

Lucky us!

 

Indeed, What a beautiful morning!

 

Dad's Ski Sweater

One Fall afternoon a few months after his death, my sister turned and asked what we should do with Dad’s old ski sweater. “I just am not sure what we should do with it?” She asked.

I remember in the mid 1970s, when he bought the sweater at Ed Richardson, Ltd - a men’s store in Manhasset on Long Island. It was on sale and he thought it was a good deal and my Mom encouraged him to spend some money on himself. Hand knit in Norway, he wore it on special holidays and cherished it. Somehow never spilled on it, or tore it, or changed the oil in it! It was in amazing condition being about 50 years old!

We had already donated and disposed of much of his clothing, some left at the nursing home. So we were in the final stages of going through his closet.

I paused and took it out of Carol’s arms, saying wait a minute and held it up and thought “geez that could fit me, maybe I can wear it?” So I pulled it over my head and realized it fit perfectly and my sister said “you need to take that back to Seattle.” I walked out of the room and replied I am taking it, and put it in my suitcase!

My Dad was a practical dresser, his son was the Brooks Brothers Manager, and later owned his own men’s clothing shop in Seattle. There are pictures of Dad being quite stylish after he returned from WWII and graduated from Harvard Business School. But as he aged he didn’t much care about his attire. Yet, He always admired my clothing and how I dressed.

I cherish the sweater! Wore it today for a lunch meeting. I have worn it a few times this winter in Seattle. And I alway seem to just smile from the inside. Because I know he’s looking down in amazement and saying to my Mom: “Look, John actually has on one of my sweaters” and then they both smile! …. Mom probably says “just as handsome as you were when we bought the sweater.”

Sentimental, but like I said, it is a happy, warm moment and a warm, good looking sweater!

 Lessons My Father Taught Me

Eulogy for my Father:

John Adams McDowell

September 6, 1922 – July 10, 2022

Written by John Adams McDowell, Jr. 

and shared at his father's Graveside Funeral / Lakemont, New York

July 15, 2022

 

One of my first jobs, an important one, was learning how to stand on a cold winter night with a flashlight, holding the light at the point of work. Focusing! 

Making sure who you were helping was able to see the screw, or the hose, or the whatever in the cold of December under the hood of a car.  However, when the co-worker was your father, John McDowell, you damn well needed to keep that flashlight steady.

 

“John stop shaking and direct the light to the point of work!” 

 

“John you are not paying attention and you have moved away from the point of work. The center beam should be directly on the point of work, let me show you!”

 

“John, right here, see where my finger is, shine the center of the light here!”

 

And so, I have already begun sharing with you all the intricate, often complex, stunningly amazing, amusing realities of being John Adams McDowell’s son. 

 

Or more simply stated: the lessons my father taught me.

 

¨¨

By the way, I am also, really, really good at holding the ladder. That was another job I mastered early in life, and I excel at. 

Never was I considered spry enough to climb up the ladder and clean out the gutters, nor strong enough, or flexible enough to paint the trim, and by the time I was about 45, I realized I did not need to try and prove that I could otherwise, my job was to be steady and hold the ladder.

I had come to accept that I was good at holding the ladder and no matter how good I was, and how often I tried to avoid it; I was re-instructed on how to hold the ladder every time, and most every time, retold how to brace my legs firmly apart and how to distribute my weight against the ladder in case it kicked out. 

 

“Steady!” 

 

“Don’t get distracted!”

 

My legs braced to support an un-expected deficiency in perhaps the best quality Sears and Roebuck’s ladder money could buy and assuring that your father would not fall to the ground. Never happened. I excelled at holding the ladder. 

 

And just once he let me climb up onto the roof with him. But carefully assuring, that I did not get too close to fall off. 

 

Second lesson, focus on the work at hand, be steady, and plant yourself firmly to help others.

 

¨¨

Much later, as Dad aged, and I was home in the Spring, he’d want help lifting or maneuver some large and awkward piece of porch furniture out of the barn. He’d stand frustrated, when I did not follow his instructions and placed the chair in the tractor’s wagon. To his astonishment, I’d walk straight to the house with it, regardless of his very clear instructions on how we were going to load the wagon up so everything fit. 

 

“Geez, you are strong!” 

 

I would listen and then just pick up another piece. What I realized was his explanations were more about how to keep going, the tricks and resources he had learned to stay independent. How he kept getting stuff done with his aging body. 

 

Another lesson, strategize and think ahead on the work at hand to save steps and not hurt yourself. 

¨¨

But back to that best-in-class ladder, also a project, a study in comparisons, a long-drawn-out process. Back in the days, before Consumer Report Magazine and there was no internet. His analysis included a yellow tablet, sharpened pencil, and many trips to Sears, then the local hardware store and perhaps Korvette’s and, after his naval retirement benefits, the Navy Exchange. Saturday afternoon trips to make the best decisions. Do the work, analyze the options.

 

When it was time to buy a new appliance or wall to wall carpeting or a car or a suit of clothing; the challenge was to study, compare and make the most practical, best quality choice.  Other children went to the playground. Carol and I went with Mom and Dad and got to play on the rack of carpet samples the year the beloved Karastan blue carpet was bought. The salesmen were skilled in patience. And you know what, that was a well-educated, mastery of comparative study. That carpet stood the test of time first in our house in Long Island and as many of you know was moved to Lasata, recut, and laid back down and damn, that quality analysis worked, and the carpet outlasted him. 

 

The lesson: Buy Quality. Buy the best you can afford. It may cost a bit more, but in the long run, you will save money. Oh, and buy American!

¨¨

Dad taught us to have fun. Trips to Jones Beach when we were young, but always very strict about not bringing sand into the car. He’d carefully and thoroughly wipe Carol and I off, sometimes twice before we were allowed to get inside.

 

Radio City Music Hall to see the Rockettes, sailing in the sunfish, in Hempstead Harbor, the big, tall ships during the Bicentennial, a three-month “trip of a lifetime” to see National Parks, Disneyland, the Pacific Ocean, Sunday's at New York World’s Fair and camping trips to New England and Nova Scotia.  He was a big fan of the $1 movie theater. 

 

Family visits to North Carolina, when he’d drive Mom, Carol and I down on a 

Saturday and catch the bus on Sunday morning to be back at work in New York on Monday. Only to return two weeks later by bus on a Friday overnight bus trip, to arrive on Saturday and then drive us back to Long Island on a Sunday. We'd play Barnyard Poker and the Alphabet Game as we drove down the highway. 

 

And of course, visits here to Glenora, hikes to the Glen, swimming to the float and standing at attention when the flag went up. He loved all his nieces and nephews. He loved his brothers and missed them greatly as they, one by one, passed away, and the legacy of the families he grew up with. 

 

When the circus came to town we’d go. Museums, concerts in the park with a picnic dinner, Long Island Islander games, when the firm’s tickets were available. And so much more. He’d take us sledding and ice skating and tried to teach us to ski and he loved to take us on bike rides, through East Williston. And he’d come into the living room and sit and listen to us practice the piano.

 

On day long drives to North Carolina, Mom and Dad would plan lunch breaks in Washington DC at one wing of Smithsonian Museum, or one of the National Monuments just so we would learn and see what a great country we lived in and how lucky we were to be free.

Have fun, do different things, just remember “if you have a good idea, so do a whole lot of other people.” A favorite statement he’d say, when suddenly stuck in the middle of a crowd or a traffic jam.

Love your family, have fun, honor your country. More lessons. 

¨¨

My father taught us about the value of money. Saving and being thrifty.  His first job was a paper boy delivering the Star Gazette in Elmira, New York. He worked hard to assure he paid off his mortgage as soon as possible. Much later offering to match our contributions to our first IRA fund and encouraging us to go to the best colleges we could go to, and he paid the entire bill, leaving my sister and I student loan free to start our adult life. This he felt was his responsibility. 

 

On Friday night when the Long Island Trust Company started staying open. He’d walk the dog and ask if anyone wanted to accompany him to the bank, encouraging us to go with him and to put some loose change into our own savings account. 

 

Save and make frugal decisions.

 

¨¨

His curiosity amazed me. When we traveled through Europe together, he’d see something only an engineer noticed and exclaimed, “Look the Metro in Paris is on rubber wheels.” Others go to Paris and come back and talk about the fashion, the Eiffel Tower, the food. Dad talked about the rubber tires. Constantly observant, constantly noting how things were put together. 

 

“I have the perfect part in the basement to fix that. Just the right thing” ….and he usually did.

 

Be observant and be curious and figure out how things are put together. 

 

¨¨

 

On that same trip to Paris, he started to cry as the city bus tour we were on, looped around the Arc de Triomphe, I reached out and held his hand, and he said his father often spoke of his time in Paris during World War 1. 

 

My father born in 1922, arrived soon after the World War I ended, and grew up in the depression. College years were war years and every male anticipated and strategized around military service. Dad served in the Second World War as a SeeBee, the Navy’s Engineering Corps, and they sailed into Tokyo Harbor an hour after the Japanese surrendered, to help rebuild the country. He shared that the day he returned to the United States, "on a naval war ship sailing under the Golden Gate Bridge back to the land of the free" was one of his most memorable days in his life. The GI Bill came along and allowed him to chase the 20^th century with a Harvard MBA and the dream that followed.

 

My Dad taught us a sense of patriotism. He’d bring out the American Flag the night before a national holiday and tell Carol and I that in the morning we could watch him raise the flag in honor of our presidents, or our veterans or our independence. And when he would hear the piccolo solo in Sousa’s Stars and Stripes, he‘d tell us that the piccolo solo was his part in the high school marching band. 

 

I fly my flag on all national holidays in Seattle and just like Dad, I get my flag out the night before and put it near the door. And each morning as I unfurl the flag, I think about my dad. And I cry when the piccolo solo starts during the Sousa's Stars and Stripes.

 

Be curious, love and honor our country. And enjoy a good John Philips Sousa March.

 

¨¨

While other Dad’s watched football, on Saturday afternoon, Dad listened to the Texaco Metropolitan Opera Broadcast. Every Friday night during Opera Season, he’d review the small strip of paper, safely hidden between the Hi Fi stereo and the side of the stereo cabinet with the annual full season broadcast schedule, carefully cut out from some newspaper or magazine into a conveniently small piece of paper and tucked next to his Hi Fi. I looked at it once and did not put it back in the correct place. He was less than happy, but we found it and he could anticipate that Saturday performance like any other early Saturday.

 

What do I remember most about Saturday Opera broadcasts? The castles and the forts on the living room floor, built from my wooden blocks, while the melodies of Wagner, Puccini, and Mozart were amplified out into the living room over his collection of speakers, he’d stop often and just listen. Often a fire crackling in the fireplace. Dad never had enough speakers, the bigger the better. 

But the castles he built in front of the fire were wonderful! These were special afternoons, when he stopped and would say "listen," he'd tilt his head and just listen to a beautiful melody, an aria or a stunning duet. 

He loved that I grew to love opera and we shared a 4-day adventure attending Wagner’s Ring Cycle in Seattle one summer. He was always so excited when I told him about some performance I saw in Seattle. 

Find passion in the arts, pause when a beautiful melody begins, imagine big with just a small set of building blocks and your collection of Matchbox cars and make sure the fire in the fireplace is put out before you go to bed.

 

¨¨

Simpler lessons. 

• All Chocolate is a delicacy.
• There is never enough Peanut Butter.
• Every dinner my Mom made was the best.
• Scott Joplin’s ragtime piano was wonderfully fun.
• Scotch was an acquired taste and well worth acquiring it.
• Keep a "To Do" list and if you do something not on the list, add it and then you can cross it out. 
• Every man should know how to tie a bowtie.
• And polish your dress shoes.

¨¨

Yet other lessons, were learned indirectly, observing and recognizing, what Dad did, you should do just the opposite.

 

But they were still lessons.

 

Now this will shock you all, but my father was perfect!  PERFECTLY IMPERFECT.

 

He was his own worst enemy; idiosyncrasies, stubborn, stern, he taught me not to slam my bedroom door simply by removing the door from the hinges. He’d show up at college with a mismatched shirt and jacket and always wanted to eat in the cafeteria to experience what our experience was. His way of doing things was clearly well thought out and why question it. 

“I have control, let me control.” 

 

But one thing I always knew was that he loved my mother, and my sister and me. Sometimes maybe one of the many dogs came first, perhaps he loved his dogs just a bit more, his childhood friend Andy, and later a Cocker Spaniel named Cindy, a Cairn Terrier named Pepper, and then the Goldens: Tobie, Cash and Colby. He enjoyed his evening dog walks around the block by himself, but was just as happy if you tagged along. 

 

He’d get involved at church or community events and often got disappointed, discouraged, and even disgruntled and tell others they didn’t know what they were talking about, when the committee or board did not agree with him. 

Yet every night he came upstairs and laid by my side on my bed, and we sang our prayer to God. 

 

He did the best he could. His life was focused on how he could make things better for us. He did his best he could to provide. And he did that quite well.

 

And as he got older, and lonelier, He consistently broke one of his most important lessons, one that was a theme throughout his life. It is odd, because in his loneliness he often lost sight of it and talked too much and didn’t listen. He always coached us and say: 

 

“Let the other person talk, ask about their day, how they are? It is how you 'win friends and influence people.' You listen.”

 

¨¨

 

And in the last decade he often forgot how to listen. Perhaps it was his hearing loss, perhaps he just wanted to be acknowledged, but if we take that flashlight back out and shine it on the point of his life’s work, we’d clearly see how simple his life work was, where his heart and soul were. 

And we would remember, how he’d reach out with both hands to grasp your hands and pause and ask you how you were and then ask, “what can I do today to help you?”

 

Be passionate, be quirky, hold that ladder firmly for someone else, focus, enjoy life, have fun, invest wisely, love our country, eat chocolate, love your friends, dogs, neighbors and your family, and just ask, the simplest question when you see a friend. 

 

‘What can I do for you today?”

 

¨¨

And so that is my request as we say goodbye to Dad on this

glorious day. Get past the curmudgeon, the lonely old man wanting to be heard and remember one of his most unique qualities. A lesson he has taught all of us. And I am betting we've all experienced it.

 

Honor my Dad today and every day into our future, by getting out your flashlight, focus, stand steady and point that light on your neighbor, your family or even a stranger.

“WHAT CAN I DO FOR YOU TODAY?” 

And know that Dad will be smiling.

That’s a lesson I still need to do better at… in fact we all do, but it was taught to me by a very simple man, my Dad.

 

Thank you for honoring and celebrating my father’s life with us today.