A February 27th doesn’t go by, that I don’t think of Grandpa Dick. I really miss him. He gave a sense of steadfastness, of continuation, of belonging. He was something of the family historian, through his journals, his words. He could tell you so much history of his place and time. Grandpa was part of the community fabric. Everybody knew him. He knew everybody. It was fascinating to listen to his stories, no matter what age you were, you could find the humor or the intensity of his narration, and you had to hear him to the end. He had delivered mail with a horse and wagon in the early 1900’s and stayed with the post office into the 1950’s. He had so much to tell.

Grandpa was born in 1892, he was 61 when I was born. I always remember him looking the same throughout my life, though I do remember him becoming lamer as the years went on, and his glasses changed prescription, so that his eyes seemed bigger, more magnified. He had a bald spot on his head, and he carried a cane, sometimes leaning on it while he visited.

I can see Grandpa in his recliner chair in his livingroom, watching a football game on a Sunday afternoon, or at his desk in the corner, the one with the cubbyholes, that I thought was so neat. He wrote in his journal there, recording the comings and goings, the births and the deaths, the weather statistics, the years the lake froze over - he could tell you each one. I can see him getting in or out of his car. He would sometimes pick me up after school, waiting out front, with the engine warming. He would never forget.

I can see Grandpa at the lake, checking the rain barrel, carrying out the corn cobs or watermelon rinds from dinner. He could line peas up on his knife, and slide them into his mouth, just to make you smile. He methodically would wipe the gummy ketchup from its lid, so that it was always tidy. You could count on it. The cottage belonged to him and Grandma. He had built it. It was a great gift they shared with the whole family.

Every birthday, till he went into the nursing home, Grandpa would send me a birthday card, and started it out “Jan, old girl” or something like that, and it would warm my heart. I miss those tokens of his affection for me.

Today, my affection is for Grandpa, his birthday, never forgotten.