Father’s Day is always a little bitter sweet for me. My father passed away on Father’s Day, when I was eight years old, and his passing left a little emotional void that cannot be filled no matter how good my fortune in life or how happy my family. My father bequeathed to me his scientific bent (he was a pharmacist), love of making things with his own hands, and barbequing talent among other things. I am not sad, only sorry that he could not have enjoyed the family we have created.
We celebrate every Father’s day at our house, an old 1929 vintage California, Spanish style bungalow on a hill in the middle of the city. Our home is an oasis behind private gates, with courtyards, and a small pool yard with a view. There is an ever-present hum of traffic and electrical equipment. It is our paradise on earth and we have spent many years configuring the house and yard to our liking.
My guests were scheduled to arrive at 4:30, by 5:00pm the hourdourves were being rapidly devoured, and I was scurrying to finish setting up the main course buffet. Happy father’s Day to all, especially to my wonderful Michael and Grandpa Jack, Michael’s Dad.