cinnamon and walnuts for my father

No, this post is not about cinnamon, or about walnuts. And I'm not deceiving you, I'm just luring you in, and you'll know what the cinnamon and walnuts refer to, soon enough.

I usually avoid talking about my father. My father, it seems, was a great man with a genuine warm heart and a personality like no other. Every time I meet an old friend or an old acquaintance of his, I am touched with the kindness of their thoughts, their praise of how great a man he was, and their grief at his early passing.

And though I personally never knew him, I found myself building images, constructing memories from the pieces that he left behind. 

I usually avoid talking about my father. Because I never know what to say. And believe me, there's no call for pity in this post. On the contrary, I'm singing him an ode. Since there is no way for me to communicate with him, [except if I talk to him out loud when I'm alone, in which case I would be talking to myself,] I thought that I'd use the web platform. Why? Because the logic of my illogical mind dictates that it has a similar composition to the platform that separates earth from heaven. So he just might hear me, or read this.

In our old house, there was so much of him still left. It was all hanging on the walls, in the furniture; even in the smell of the house. And the imaginative child that I was always, well, imagined odd occurrences where he was still in this world. I imagined him living with another family in another country. Or that he came home at night, when it was really late, and left early in the morning, so that nobody ever saw him. I just imagined him to be there, and maybe, just maybe, he was. Of course the imaginative child that I was, also thought that a baby was conceived when a woman kissed a man, then had a really really tiny cookie crumb. Obviously not the case.

And boy did he love horses. He owned one, even. But he sold it right before he got engaged. And for that he got a tough scolding from his young niece [who will then become my cousin, Rowan], because she loved that horse too. I recently took home three of the horse figurines that he owned [they were still at his parents' house, where he lived during his bachelorhood] and have been using them as photographic subjects. 

This morning, as I sipped my cinnamon-topped coffee and munched on some walnuts, I decided to snap some pictures to test an iPhone app I recently downloaded, called "superpopcam". The app is rated as one of the best photography apps to get on your iPhone. Unfortunately for me, I wasn't that impressed, so I got my regular camera, and snapped some photographs of [you guessed it,] horses and books, thus taking advantage of the gloomy morning light shining through the living room.

And made my father come and join us for a while.


Horse with cinnamon-topped carrot cake.

with books, of course.

horses and butterflies? the epitome of cheese. 

... and look at that! SuperPopCam! :)


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