It Was a Snowy Sunday and Remembering Dad

I hope all of you had a good weekend. My Sunday was rather lazy - lots of Facebook comments with a variety of people throughout the world who are fellow WildFit members, and an episode of "Vera" to end the day. But generally I didn't do much of anything. And that made it rather nice. 

This beautiful picture by Ansel Adams shows trees 
similar to what I was seeing, with the snow painting 
a distinct stripe up the bark on one side only. It's 
rather odd, but stunning in its beauty. 

We were supposed to get 1"-4" of snow throughout the night and until noon. As it turned out, we only got about 1". It was heavy, wet, Spring snow, but didn't take much time at all to get rid of. By the time I headed to our local Chinese restaurant to pick up our dinner order, the snow had melted from the streets completely and was only holding onto the northern sides of all of the trees and evergreen branches. It looked as if someone had come by with whitewash and a spray gun and had hit every tree and branch with a thin strip of white on the northern side only. Beautiful and rather bizarre. 

I remember Dad in odd moments on the spur, sometimes. 
Remembering how much he loved opera, especially 
Wagner. Remembering his love of history and language. 
And always remembering how much he enjoyed the 
act of learning new things. A true scholar. 

Today is the first of March, so my thoughts turn to my Dad, who was born on this date, more than a century ago. He was an extraordinary person - strong in ways he rarely showed, but there was a core of strength to him that allowed him to get out of Austria and Czechoslovakia during WWII and come to the USA with the barest minimum of possessions and money. He finally was able to send for Mom who escaped Vienna the day after Hitler's triumphant drive through the streets of the city. She spent the war as a house servant in London during the Blitz, and in the British countryside. NOT one of her favorite memories. 

Dad typed everything - Masters Thesis and 
Doctoral Dissertation as well as his numerous 
books on a manual Royal typewriter similar 
to this one. He was NOT a touch typist, 
but he managed to get the job done and 
done well. He would spend hours listening 
to opera and typing out his paperwork. 

My Dad was deeply in love with my mother, and determined to provide a good life for her. He managed that beautifully, pushing his own desires down until after he retired. Then he allowed himself the luxury of chasing his own dreams - an advanced education. He earned his BA, then went for his MA with a full scholarship to Denver University (a very elite private college), and finally got his PhD, again with a full scholarship, from CU Boulder. He then taught at CU for several years, and wrote several books before he died, a fulfilled man. 

One of Dad's books was this German 
grammar book, sized to carry along with 
you on a trip. He also wrote several books 
teaching German, and a another German 
Grammar book that is still considered 
one of the best. 

There are times when I miss him very much, although I can still see him and hear him in my thoughts and dreams. So here's to you, Dad. Happy Birthday. 

On that note, I'm out of here. Have an excellent Monday and please, be kind, stay safe and wear your mask. I'll be back tomorrow.