Daddy’s Hands

As I’ve mentioned, my folks have been visiting.  They live in Arizona, and I live in Virginia, so we don’t get to see each other nearly as much as we’d like.  Usually, it’s just a couple of weeks at Christmas, so it was a special treat for them to be able to come visit in the summer.

My dad hates to be idle.  He can be a couch potato with the best of them, but not for long.  He gets antsy and impatient if he isn’t being productive, so I like to have a little list in my head of things that need fixing when he’s here.  For this visit, Dad replaced my kitchen faucet,

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replaced the guest bath toilet,Image

built a table for a bathroom nook out of pallet wood, Image

repaired and refinished chairs that had broken (by the way, paint thinner seems to work well to get polyurethane out when it splashes all over your clothing—just a tip from me to you),

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repainted my bathroom mirror frame (it was totally gross before–yellowed plastic, rubbed off bits of color, weird pink discolorations, YUCK!),

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repaired a screen door handle,

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cleaned up Hubby’s work bench,Image and sorted and sharpened Hubby’s drill bits.  And, I’ve probably forgotten something else he made or fixed.

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Conking out on the couch.

He also used the blower to clean off the driveway, did some weed-eating, played fetch with the dog, took walks with us, played games, watched movies, and relaxed on the deck.

He was only here for a week.

There is a song by Holly Dunn called “Daddy’s Hands.”  Every time I hear it, I think of my father’s hands.  They’re so much bigger than mine, so much more capable.

Dad's hands 1Dad's hands too

I’m crazy about my dad, and so thankful for him.

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