Dear Daddy: Coincidence?

Coincidence perhaps, but Daddy, your death triggered one hell of a heat wave. We had a streak of 21 days over 100 degrees, followed by 2 1/2 days of highs in the 90s (we celebrated 75 degrees on the patio with coffee in the morning and beer (non-alcoholic for me) in the evening). Yesterday? Right back up to 109 at 4 p.m. with the next two weeks looking just about the same.


So could you do something about this? You must have someone's ear wherever you are - at least Harold Taft must be hanging out! Or maybe you and Harold are stretched out in recliners side by side, heartily belly laughing at all us poor schmucks making the SAME. OLD. JOKES. about the insane heat. Except for some time in Arkansas and one glorious summer in upstate New York, I've lived in North Texas for the majority of my 50 years. Every summer here sucks. Every few summers really sucks. Lather, rinse, repeat. The same pictures of car thermometers or screen shots of weather apps (hell, I'm guilty of posting them, too). The same jokes about cooking eggs on the sidewalk. The same complaints on NextDoor about people walking their dogs on hot cement when it's 105 degrees. It's North Texas. It's August. It's hot. Oh, and also, Earth is literally on FIRE. 

If you could talk to someone in charge about the weather, we would REALLY appreciate it, Pop. kthanks.

Incidentally, I've been digging through a bunch of your and Mama's albums and of course playing many of them. I have so many great memories of us listening to records as a family, often singing and dancing around. The Kingston Trio. Spike Jones. The Smothers Brothers. Peter Paul and Mary. It always made me so happy, even as a tiny tot, to hear your deep, rich bass. As I have put some of these albums on my turntable, I can hear your and Mama's voices in my heart. It makes me smile. 

The other day I was driving your Volkswagen and noticed you had left a thumb drive in the media slot. I pushed it into the slot and jumped a little when Fernando by ABBA blared from the speakers (by the way, I listen to the stereo in your VW LOUDLY. You probably already knew that about me.) The last time Daddy drove to Kroger to pick up groceries, he'd been jamming to ABBA Gold. 

And that brought me just a little peace.

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