Concrete

I became an expert pouring concrete. While I can’t make my living at it, I’ve poured a lot.

I remember helping build forms for the foundation of the cabin. This was my first exposure… digging, nailing, leveling… all of the skills of carpentry and child slavery. It was early ’62. I was five.

Packing to remove air as you pour.

I’ve poured what seemed like miles of concrete around the edges of the lawn. Dad said it would keep the grass out of the flower beds and make it easier to mow and edge – most of which benefited everyone but him. Mom weeded with Greg and I helped. Dad mowed occasionally, so the benefit truly was a lesson for the boys.

At my home in Kent I learned to poured exposed aggregate – my father in-law taught me that – 3/8ths plus or minus, gently floated between the leveled forms I had built – a walkway from the front through an arbor covered arch to the deck I built.

The slab for the shed in Seatac, the curbing under the chain link fencing Dad taught me to stretch between cemented metal poles.

I expanded the width of my current driveway with Dad’s help one day when we poured the slab for the dog kennel Jake used for about a week. We just couldn’t see fit to leave him alone outside. That was eleven years ago.

I have a newer walkway poured with forms to look like a stone pathway. It also runs through an arbor gate.

Dad taught me so many life skills. I miss him.

- Craig

Closing Doors

Sometimes my brother and I fought – physically. Those of you who know us may find that hard to believe. Usually the fight started with something small. Playing one-on-one football in our side yard resulted in an extra shove or two – more than once.

Greg kicked me in the crotch and the chase was on. He was a fast fellow and he was pulling away toward the upper driveway, but my leap onto the rock wall short cut several feet. Greg swung open the screen door deftly passed through the main entry and slammed the door closed – just as I crashed into it, my right foot going cleanly into the hollow wood door. I would be in serious trouble with Dad. Not so much for fighting, but definitely for the outcome – the purchase of a new door. (I liked the looks of the new one better anyway).

When God called my dad he closed the door on his physical life. It closed a door for all us and of our physical relationship with Dad. Easter reminds me that closing a door opens another.

In a movie yesterday, a woman spoke of losing her mother as a small girl. In the movie she recalled how her dad walked her outside and pointed to the stars in the sky. He said something profound and fitting both for Easter and for the passing of my dad. “Whenever God closes a door, he opens a window to heaven.”

- Craig