Dear Dad,

Happy birthday! You’re ninety one. It’s been a touch-and-go year. I’m so glad you decided to stick around a little longer. When I spoke to mom yesterday she thought your birthday had already passed. I told her it was tomorrow and we could celebrate all month. The date doesn’t matter, really. It’s the celebration that counts, right?

And oh how you loved to celebrate! Remember that, dad? Every meal was a “party.” Today, on my facebook page, I am posting lemon confections in honor of your birthday. That’s going to create a little stir in my ‘chocolate for breakfast’ community. They are used to seeing. . .

C H O C O L A T E !

And, when I slip into a different groove, boy do they start chirping. It’s a funny group, dad, this facebook community I have nurtured and grown. When I stop to think about it, I suspect this adventure is one more extension of you. My friends tell me I am my father’s daughter. I remember you spreading your joi de vivre wherever you went. You struck up a conversation with everyone you met: at the market, the butcher shop, the bakery. All of your neighborhood haunts.

Total strangers becoming fast friends.

I bet you did some talking at work, too, didn’t you, dad? I think I’ll pull out that old VHS tape tonight. You know, the one your colleagues made for you when you retired. I remember laughing so hard I cried when I watched it the very first time. They knew you so well. They loved you so well. Everybody loved you. How could they not?

Lemon. When I think of you I think of lemon and all the lemon cakes, pies, breads and cookies we’ve baked over the years to celebrate your birthday. You introduced me to ‘chocolate for breakfast’ but YOUR first love was lemon, wasn’t it dad?

Do you remember the lemon meringue pie I made for you the first time you visited me in the town house with too many stairs? It never gelled. So we poured that tart syrupy liquid into bowls, called it lemon surprise, and ate it with our spoons. Though it wasn’t a surprise, really. I love to cook but I was never much of a pastry chef. Even today, when I get ready to bake something, John pulls out the camera and waits for the kitchen calamity. It’s a good thing most of the desserts I prepare are “no-bake.”

I have photographs of you celebrating birthdays in lemon. Maybe we can grab one of those pies at Piece, Love & Chocolate when I arrive.  A few more weeks, dad, and we’ll have a little party. With spaghetti and meatballs. And lemon. Just like old times.

All my love and then some,
Sue Ann