January 25, 2019 - 134 - "Like Father Like Daughter"

  Nature or Nurture?

     I was sitting in my dad's office the other day.   It's a place full of all sorts of interesting projects, plans (literally...house plans he's working on), photos, and artifacts. 

Dad's Shelves

     I looked over at a shelf and noticed something I hadn't really seen before:  rows of white binders, with white labels, with black writing on them.  

     He used these notebooks to keep various projects corralled, track goals, keep notes on new software he's learning.  He also had some divided by year, or type of plans he'd 'drawn'.  

     I suppose drawn is sort of an archaic term now.  Growing up Dad always had a drawing board at home.  I'd watch him carefully measure, and draw various elevations of buildings.  He'd notate things in his perfect architect's lettering.  It always intrigued me that his handwriting was as clear as a typewriter.  

     Anyway, this row of notebooks made me laugh.  Dad asked why.  I told him I'd send him a picture later.

My Shelves

     When I got home I took pictures of some shelves in my office and sent them to him.  

     Yep.  Same binders.  Same color.  Same labels.  Same purposes.  

    Though, to be wildly different...I keep my exercise binder in another room with my exercise equipment.  

     Hilarious.

     I'm not sure if those binders were always sitting there in dad's office and I just picked up on the idea by osmosis, or if he's recently changed to them. 

     

      I need to ask him that. 

     I swear I have no memory of them before.  It felt like when twins are separated at birth, then reunited as adults, and find they have a lot of things in common.  It's not that I didn't know 'I am my father's daughter'...it was just a detail I never picked up on before.  

     I thought I evolved this mania for tracking stuff all by lonesome.  

     Yeah...right.  

    Besides designing buildings, and tracking random stuff, Dad also likes to garden.  (Something I haven't spent a lot of time doing, but have loved in the past.  If we ever have a sunny yard again...maybe.)

     Here's my Dad looking at a Burpee seed catalog.  

     On a cold January day he was rhapsodizing about the possibilities of rows of zinnias, okra, and summer squash.  He said:

                                   ---

"Hope will never die as long as they sell color seed catalogs."-Richard Stewart

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"I smile because you're my father.
I laugh because there's nothing you can do about it."

-Unknown

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